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Put On a Mask

"The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask."

- Jim Morrison

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Beginning of July, 1932

The room is rather smoky. Even though the tea shop is frilly, it doesn't stop society ladies from enjoying their "guilty" pleasures. I've never understood the habit, but consider to each their own. We all have our vices. Mother would practically have kittens if she heard me admitting such weakness.

I try not to wrinkle my nose as Mildred exhales in my direction. One mustn't see such trifling things having an effect on me. "Your weakness is their gain, daughter. And you are far better than they."

Sometimes I want to ask mother if I'm truly better than her. It would garner me a slap across the face, but it'd be worth the short-lived pain, not the long time consequences.

"He was positively dreary, darlings," Hazel warbles on. "I told father it simply couldn't be. I shan't become acquainted, yet alone engaged to a man with such a terrible complexion and boring personality. Truly, what were my parents thinking?" she hems while studying her fingernails. Her manicure is perfect, not unlike my own; however, she continues to search for any imperfection. The story of our lives.

"I can empathize with your plight, dear," Mildred coos disgustingly. I want to sneer at her pandering.

I hold my tongue while keeping my mask so firmly in place. Many cruel things pass through my mind, but are safely guarded behind my mask.

As if you could ever talk, Mildred, darling. You're as repulsive as your name and barely skimming our social circles. What man would want such a sniveling, smelly, trying-to-be-pretentious suck up?

I don't say any of these things, but plaster an agreeable smile on my lips. Society can be terribly tedious at times. I bat my thick lashes a few times, letting concern shine through. It's almost too easy, if not horridly boring.

Both Mildred and Hazel look over to me, waiting for my input. Hazel may try and act Queen Bee, but she knows the final word lies with me.

"It's quite dreadful, darling. To think, one's own father would ever sanction such a man near his sanctimonious daughter," I fuss regrettably over her. It's clear she doesn't understand my description of her as she smiles gratefully at me.

Truly, don't these ladies ever pick up a book? Not even almost-destitute Mildred seems to understand. Their lost brains are my gain.

"In times of my terrible times, it's wonderful to know I have my friends to comfort me." She picks up her lace napkin from her lap and daintily sniffles into it. I want to roll my eyes at her lack of compassion.

People are going days without food; children are dying from starvation; many people are taking their own lives wanting to escape such a grim, horrific, depressed reality, and Hazel believes herself to be suffering.

"Where else would we be, dear?" Mildred sickly asks. Does her pride know any bounds? She brings her slim cigarette to her lips again, pulls deeply and exhales, in what she can only think to be enchanting, enticing even.

Hazel's napkin is placed over her nose as her little hand clears the air around her. It seems as if we agree on one thing.

"Honestly, Mildred! Must you blow that revolting smell near me? How many times have I asked you not to? Plus, mother claims smoking gives one premature wrinkles. And let's be honest, darling; you can use all the help you can afford." Her scathing comments are quite harsh. Mildred's cheeks become flush and her hand trembles as she puts out her cigarette.

I want to feel sorry for her, but I'm only grateful no more smoke is sullying my clothes and hair. It's very common, for our peers and parents to partake in the vice, but it still doesn't mean I like smelling of it.

I once asked Hazel why she tolerated Mildred when it was so obvious she hardly endured the girl.

"It's a necessary evil, Rosalie. Mildred is short of dreadful in the looks department and makes anyone look twice as better. Mother encourages me, and I can't complain about how she all but trips over herself to be in my presence. Isn't it quite yummy?" she softly, maliciously inquired.

"Yes, Hazel. Quite," I answer in a bored tone. She looked at me as her cheeks flushed. It was obvious she caught my drift. While Hazel was pretty, dainty and appealing, she was nowhere near my league. No one could compete with my beauty. Her eyes drifted down as if she is literally embarrassed.

Mother had been quite thrilled to hear of that story. "It's your rightful place, Rosalie Lillian," mother claimed. I basked in her hardly-given praise.

Mildred finally raises her head, her wounded gaze seeking me out. I truly should feel terrible for her, but it isn't to be. When one allows such a spectacle to be made, then one must endure the consequences. I know the truth of that lesson. I live it every day with my mother and her demanding rules.

My face remains composed and uncaring; bored even. I shrug my shoulder delicately, as if to tell her it's beneath my notice, and I shan't do anything.

I pull my attention from the petty grievance as I pick up my tea and sip soundlessly. Inwardly I cringe at how cold it's gotten. The good cup of tea was the only good thing in my afternoon.

Oh, well, I shall be done here, soon. One can only hope, I think unkindly.

" . . . and aren't you positively tickled for the party, Rosalie. It shall be great fun. Think of all the men that will be in attendance. It may not be the social event like the Governor's Ball, but definitely on the event calendar of the season." I give her a small smile, wanting to be away from such inane conversation.

I think of my golden-haired little ones and the opportunity to look for a husband. Such important and heart-endearing thoughts get me through the afternoon of tea and gratuity.

"It's such a shame," she titters, trying to shamelessly sneak glances at her puppet, Mildred, "that some aren't invited. To think . . . not being on one's social invite list. It would be completely mortifying. How can such a lady hold her head up high?" she asks mockingly aghast.

I should be surprised at her cruelty, but I'm not. It's a role all well-bred ladies of leisure are to act. But one moment or one faux pas could send one's social standing tumbling. I truly shudder at mother's reaction if it were to ever happen to me. Her stunt with the medical doctor checking to see if I still had my virginity unbroken would seem like child's play.

"Tis' true, dear. It isn't to be suffered. Of course, to think my name not on any list is wholly laughable; inconceivable. Who would not want Rosalie Hale at their soirée? It would be quite dull," I say as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

I bring my hand up and make sure all of my beautiful golden hair is in place. It draws their attention to something I have which they envy. I bit my lower lip and tilt my head elegantly, inquiringly towards my unwanted companions, waiting for their automatic answers.

It's such a pity they cannot hide their jealously better. Mother would laugh at them in scorn. I simply remind myself it's all for a higher purpose. All things worth truly having are worth fighting for.

"Too true, Rosalie, darling," Hazel pays homage to Queen Bee. She knows her place is beneath me. It wouldn't do well to upset me. The envy in her eyes has faded and is replaced with her sickly sweet, adoring smile. "I cannot imagine someone not ever wanting you. Isn't that right, Mildred, dear?"

She quickly and predictably agrees. I sit back, make sure to keep my posture perfect and soak in their fake adulation.

"Anyhow, darlings, have I told you about Constance. The poor dear, she ended up bleaching her hair some awful forsaken color. To think, white-blonde hair would look good with her already washed-out complexion. She looked positively silly, and I was all but in stitches trying not to laugh in the poor dear's face. Virginia and I had to hurry and leave before . . ."

And on and on the dreadful conversation continues. If one could even define such gossip and back-biting as conversation. Cringing inside, I keep my fake smile shining through, pretending to be completely enraptured.

All the while I study the room, making sure no one is quite as fetching as me. Women sit drinking their tea and eating the delicate sandwiches that come with the service. Some women are smoking while others are listening intently to their companion's conversation. They come in all different sizes, hair colors and fashions. I can admit some are pretty, beautiful even. But I can safely admit, none are as lovely as me. I do honestly wonder, at times, how my parents were able to create my beauty. It's something that's always boggles me.

While much of my vanity comes from my well-practiced public persona, I also admit to being somewhat conceited. Without Rosalie Lillian Hale, I'm not quite sure who I truly am. Besides wanting desperately to be a mother, I don't know anything else truly intimate about myself.

That girl Edward seems to bring out, still scares me. But with his patience, encouragements and handsomely sweet smiles, I find I like getting to know her.

"My dress is imported from Paris and all the rage in Vogue and Harper's Bazaar." Hazel pulls me from such lovely thoughts back into reality. It's such a shame.

Friday will be the dreaded event, and while I genuinely love to dress up and look stunning, I shan't be looking forward to it. It's just another event that will preclude me from seeing Edward once again. Some things seem exceedingly unfair.

Hollywood Glitz is the theme, as if impersonating stars at this "fundraiser" will alleviate the plight of the poor, stop the awful Depression and truly focus on such heart-splitting conditions. At least it's the Rochester General Medical Board putting on the Soirée. Most of the money raised may actually make it to the helpless.

One can only hope.

And one can only hope, with Carlisle sitting on the board, that all the Cullen's will be in attendance. Although I know it's an exercise in uselessness. Edward has already assured me he isn't to attend.

"I cannot stand the tedious company, Rose. If it were some accolade for Carlisle or Esme I should attend. But putting on Airs and consorting with our social class is something I'm not interested in. Esme and Carlisle shall make my apologizes. It's quite unfortunate my parents' Estate had business to attend to on the same night."

A sly, tantalizing smile played on his lips. Goodness, the boy was beyond gorgeous. How could one do it so effortlessly? It boggled my mind.

"Yes, Edward," I pretended to pout, trying to garner his sympathy. "It's absolutely shameful." His laugh reverberated around the high ceilings.

"Only you, Rose, love." I melted like butter.

I'm saddened he won't be there, but perhaps it will be easier to keep my mask in place. Edward does tend to bring out emotions in me that mother would like smothered.

I turn my mind from him and back to my tea. This afternoon seems never-ending.

Sigh.

. .

The reception hall at the hotel (for the fundraiser) is what I expect. Even though the event isn't as prestigious as the ball, it still holds a charm of its own.

The Governor's Ball was quite eloquently breathtaking. The old world exquisite design of the ballroom matched the women dripping in diamonds and the gentlemen looking beyond debonair in their three piece tuxedos. The authentic crystal chandeliers had sparkled spectacularly and danced light off of the beautifully wallpapered walls and the wine glasses filled with champagne.

And while this party is also beautiful, it rings a certain nouveau, with the gold silk canopy hanging from the center of the ceiling to the stationary street lamps placed intermittently around the large hall. Their light casts beautifully dark pockets of shadow. It gives it the flare of a true Hollywood set. The ambiance fits in perfectly with the soiree's theme.

Waiters pass through the crowd like flowing wind, felt but not seen. They play their role as employees flawlessly. Guests hardly pay attention anyhow, yet their champagne flutes miraculously stay filled. I want to roll my eyes at their attempt of snobbery, but restrain. Such isn't the place for displays of disapproval. Mother would be most displease.

Unlike the waiters, when I pass through the clustered crowds, I can't help but be noticed. It isn't any wonder on my part. Such beauty as mine isn't to be ignored or stymied. If so, it is done out of jealously and spite. When one doesn't have my loveliness, it's easy to see one's cattiness and ill-feelings. I take such reaction and let it feed my mask, let it run though my veins and sustain my tremulous nerves.

However, one doesn't see the process. They only see the perfection that lingers on the surface, on the ridge of my skin. They only see what skims the surface of my thoughts, only what I allow them to see. Mother's training is stained into my mind. I cannot forget such lessons. It would be foolish of me to.

There is one guest who has the capacity to make me fall apart at the seams. Her sparkling gemstone eyes gazes through to my very core. She seems able to see beyond the impenetrable walls I place around me at such functions and in public. Even Edward, for all his eerily insightful talent in reading people, cannot see in as far as Esme. I like to think it has something to do with woman's intuition. Or there is a deeper connection we share, something I cannot quite place.

I already make my conversations with the Cullen's. I give Carlisle a very warm greeting, allowing him to kiss the knuckles of my left hand. Though his lips are slightly chilly, my fingers seem to heat up under his skilled attention. Esme must have a beastly of a time keeping women in check around the debonair doctor. His "talent" is in very high demand and sought after.

"Lovely as ever, Ms. Hale," he compliments. I can't contain the pink tingling my cheeks. I feel on display as I search out Esme's reaction. She only seems tickled happy. She must know the thoughts running madly though each and every woman Carlisle greets. Esme gives me a covert wink and I feel myself sigh.

"Thank you, sir. The fundraiser seems to be quite the smashing hit." I feel utterly stupid under his penetrating gaze. Even though my mask is in place, I can't help but think he is sizing me up. He must know of his brother's and my peculiar friendship, yet alone his wife.

"That is does, my dear. It is even more of a success with you gracing our presence. It's a shame some decide to hide in the shadows and miss out on such a beauty."

This time my cheeks flare red. Though I don't understand his little riddle, I understand his compliment. He truly has quite a way with people, and even with my well-trained mask, I cannot help but fall victim to his charm.

"Um, thank you again, I believe," I stumble horridly. I quickly look around and make sure mother is nowhere near.

His laugh fills the space between us, creeping pleasantly onto my skin. I calm myself, reminding my turbulent mind that I'm beautiful and no one can compete with my beauty. My thought process wouldn't make sense to a lot of people, but it has become my cloak, covering and blanketing me in a solid truth. It helps me to stay grounded.

"What is so funny, darling?" Esme asks, finally finishing up with her other conversation. She gives Carlisle a swift, yet loveable kiss to his cheek. Such displays of affection between them seem so private, as if I'm intruding on something as innocent as a peck to the cheek.

"Nothing, Esme, dear. I'm simply enjoying our Ms. Hale's company. Is it a crime to laugh at tedious functions?" My mouth wants to fall open at his honest comment about the benefit, but I refrain. I'd look terribly ridiculous.

"Never, my love. Rosalie is always enchanting." I turn for a moment, trying to catch my breath around these Cullen's. They always seem to have me at such a disadvantage. Not that it's such a bad thing.

"Thank you, Mrs. Cullen," I reply softly, falling back on good manners. Even though Esme and I are quite friendly, I feel it rude to address her as anything else in public and around the doctor's subordinates.

"I was telling Ms. Hale, here, that places in the shadows cannot truly see how lovely she is. It only obscures her charm." I truly want to turn away again, but don't. Once again I'm confused by the vague reference.

I watch as the married couple share a look only they can understand between them. Something seems to pass over Esme's exquisite face before it fades. I know I'm not mistaken, yet I cannot process the queer look. Her lips wobble for a moment before she turns to me again.

"I agree, darling." My friend gives me a dazzling smile that would have every man here on his knees, begging her to have them in any type of capacity. She could have quite the harem of slaves if she chose. I smile at the secret thought before letting my public persona slip effortlessly back into place.

Someone to our right calls out to Carlisle. He bends over my hand, places one more kiss over the knuckles, tells me how delighted he was before giving his attention to another person. He is the quintessential gentleman.

"My Carlisle," Esme says long-suffering. I know it only to be a jest. It's clear she adores the ground he walks on. We both share a secret laugh. It's the laugh all ladies share with over an exasperated man.

"Anyhow, darling," she starts, officially changing the subject, "your gown is quite stunning. How do you always seem to outdo yourself?"

I take her compliment to heart. I truly pale in comparison to Esme; something I've come to accept, graciously. But I quite love my gown. The light green satin gown shapes oh-so-marvelously to my curves. It's the vogue style of art deco; the back is cut out and woven with sparkling rhinestones. The front is sleeveless and dips into a v-cut. Words couldn't express how I fell in love with the dress. Though it is slightly indecent and more revealing than I normally wear, even mother agreed with me.

"You simply must own it, Rosalie. Such a dress would turn every man's head."Mother's prediction had turned out correctly. I feel like a queen in the evening dress.

"Luck, Mrs. Cullen. The dress seemed to have found me," I tell her honestly. She gives me another dazzlingly smile.

My mind thinks of Edward as I stare into her glimmering eyes.

"Was Edward not able to make it, then?" I ask. Even I can hear the light tremor in my voice. It embarrasses me. I pull myself together and only allow myself to feel the sad disappointment churning my stomach. She doesn't even need to answer the question. I can see her sadness and pity for me lingering on her visage.

"He sends his regards, darling," she consoles me softly, staring over my right shoulder. She can't even stand to see the sadness on my face. I don't blame her.

Once again, I rearrange my features, making sure they are the essence of grace and refinement. Edward had already warned me. Why should I feel such a crushing dejection? I like to believe his absence has nothing to do with me and everything to do with his aversion to such 'tedious functions'.

"Please thank him for me later and tell him his presence was missed. Could you please do that for me, Mrs. Cullen?" She turns back to me, something lingering in her eyes I can't comprehend.

"I shall, darling. Make no mistake about it." My friend gives me a subtle wink before taking a sip of her chosen drink.

"How is the garden coming along? I feel like I'm in such a wonderland there." I praise her truthfully. Esme talents seem to know no bounds. She and Carlisle are so wonderfully matched.

We gab for a few more moments before several people start circling around us. It's nothing new for me. Several people always circle around me at such parties, wanting my attention, having a desire to bask in my splendor.

Masquerade firmly back in place, I hear my mind say.

"It seems your attention is required elsewhere, darling," she titters slyly, watching the men around us. "You do look quite enchanting tonight, and I would have been remiss if I'd missed the chance to have the pleasure of your company tonight, Rose, darling." My façade slips at her quite blunt honesty. She never ceases to amaze me.

"Thank you, Esme," I whisper softly, for her ear only. She gives me an endearing smile before kissing both of my cheeks.

We share one more look of sisterhood before she's off and looking for the distracted doctor.

I allow my mind to drift, but only for a second before pulling my wits about me. The interlude is over and the show must go on. My shoulders fall back, my chin rises and my face become the grace of radiance.

No one here can compete with my beauty. Every gentlemen's hungry look towards me tells me the truthfulness of my foundation.

So I preen shyly under the attention of others. I let them think me timid and submissive. "It's what draws a rich man to your attention, Rosalie," she lectured. "One doesn't want brass in a wife, but eloquent and soft spoken. Oh, show them occasionally you have a working and functional mind, but never let them linger there too long. Your greatest gift is beauty, Rosalie. You would blind them all."

"Well, if it isn't the sensational and ever incredible Miss. Hale?" Lawrence Andrews praises me. I turn around and grant him the full spectrum of my attention. At least for a little while.

I tilt my chin down and my head to the side. I look up through my heavy lashes and bat them several times. I watch as his eyes glaze over somewhat before they begin to clear. I give a coy smile, making sure my cheeks become pink.

"You seem to get only lovelier. I often ask myself how it's possible." Not the actual words but the sincerity in his voice truly causes me to blush. I can feel as my cheeks become heated. It takes a lot to surprise a natural blush. The only whom seems capable is Edward. And now Lawrence. Something to ponder later.

"Thank you, Mr. Andrews," I reply softly, honestly. "You look quite debonair yourself tonight." And goodness does he.

While his tuxedo isn't as fancy as the one from the ball, it is no less expensive. The deep black of his silk fabric only enhances his light brown hair and clear blue eyes. His skin is perfection and looks as if it never needs a shave. His fingers are long and curl around his champagne flute. And even though they aren't tapered like a piano player, they are still quite fetching.

The Andrews Family is old money. His family invested in property and land, making thousands if not millions. It's something I know quite well. Mother keeps me informed and educated on all the "acceptable" eligible men in our social circle. Lawrence Andrews is someone she considers very acceptable for my future husband.

It's something I've also considered. I could see his face in my children. I'd think we'd make beautiful children. Of course, he is only one of the eligible suitors. And even though he comes from old money, his family isn't the most influential or prominent in Rochester.

"I fall in comparison to you, Miss. Hale. It's like asking a candle to give one warmth when there is a roaring fire not five feet away." Again, I cannot contain the light blush staining my cheeks. It's actually embarrassing. Natural reactions make me weary. I like to be in control and well-practiced.

"I don't have a reply, Mr. Andrews." I look at him, letting him see the honesty in my eyes but for a moment. The mask comes back over me, but he cannot tell the difference. Only in my mind can I feel the momentary slip. It's a gift he doesn't relatively know I've given him.

"No need. So tell me, Miss. Hale, how have your university course being going? Is this not your first year at university?"

I want to gawk at him, let my mouth fall open and stare in surprise. How can he be so intimate with my schedule? Does he know of my meetings with Edward? All these questions fly through my head, but are hidden deeply beneath my mask. The only thing on the surface is my staggering beauty and mock introversion.

"How are you familiar with my schedule?" I ask politely. I don't scold or ridicule. Mother would faint if she knew I ever treated a potential suitor in such an unladylike manner. I take a quick, dainty sip of my champagne.

"You need not be surprised or weary, Miss. Hale." I know he isn't referring to my solid facial expressions. My mask has yet to drop, except for the bit of honesty I showed earlier.

I let my head fall gracefully to the side as I continue to study the handsome man before me. Conversation and light music drift around us, but Lawrence has my immediate attention, something not easily accomplished.

"You must know or even realize that someone as stunning as you would be studied. It's no surprise that many a gentlemen would kill for the honor of you becoming their better half, Miss. Hale. Therefore it stands to reason that such knowledge of you would be sought after. I'm no slouch in that department." He gives me a very charming smile and a flirty wink.

I want to truly laugh at his slightly salacious behavior but refrain. It would be unbefitting in such public company. Instead I give a brilliant smile, one I know can render him speechless. My cheeks feel a little sore as my muscles stretch widely, but I know it pays off.

Lawrence's' eyes once again become somewhat glazed, and I smirk internally. No one here can compete with my beauty. I outshine everyone. I let the mask continue to swirl in my thoughts. I never knew Lawrence Andrews to be so charming and forthright.

"Well, regardless of all that," I start demurely, "my courses are quite fantastic. I enjoy learning new knowledge and gaining a better understanding of our environment and world we reside in."

Though I'm not really into politics or trying to solve the answers of the Depression, I do like to keep informed of events around me. It is to be the world my children will be raised in. I want to be a protective and informed mother. I want to give my children every opportunity, but also have the knowledge to provide for them if ever necessary. Everything I do is for my future children. But it is a secret kept in the deep recesses of my heart.

No one here can compete with my beauty. I outshine everyone, I let swirl in my mind, blocking anything else coming to the forefront. It wouldn't do well to have my mask drop.

I must stay diligent. And even though I cannot see mother in my eye-line sight, I can still feel her gaze on the back of my neck and slightly bare back. It sends chills running along my flesh. I ignore the intrusion.

"What course interest you the most, Miss. Hale?" he questions, as if truly wanting to know about my education and not some fabricated attempt to see how stupid I seem to be.

I answer his continued questions. And though I become more comfortable with him, I never allow my facade to fall. It's something I've worked too hard maintaining.

As the conversation flows and times passes I watch others around me. I'm involved in the conversation, but also aware of my surroundings. It's something that Clarence has educated me in.

"She has to be some kind of witch," I hear whispered cattily behind me. "How can Lawrence Andrews be interested in such a dried-up, boring snob? She's terrible!" I go on speaking, pretending I don't hear their snide comments towards me. I've heard the insults all before.

"I know, darling. One would think she's the end all, be all. Is that even her original hair color? I hear her mother makes her dye it. I hear old Lillian Hale makes dear Rosalie do a lot of things. Imagine . . . like mother, like daughter."

Their shrill laughter rings in my ears, but I refuse to allow it to affect me. I'm more than they will ever be. Their jealously knows no bounds and it's something I've always endured.

"Well, your education is a credit to you, Miss. Hale," Lawrence says. He seems to speak louder as he continues. "One would think that such beauty has to be accompanied by such a beautiful mind. I cannot bare those insipid ladies whom only seem to expound on the latest fashion or gossip. Goodness only knows how shallow their minds are." I bring my folded napkin to my lips and cover my slight giggles.

I hear the ladies behind me scoff as if affronted by Lawrence's comments.

"Oh, don't let me fool you, Mr. Lawrence. I can wax poetic about the latest fashion and gossip. For instance," I lean in closer, "did you know Elise's father is stepping out, working long, arduous hours with his 'secretary'. Yet their financial troubles would suggest otherwise." My voice is sickly sweet. There is no malice or edge to my voice, thus making the blow even more severe. Do those spiteful cats not think I know who they are simply because I can't see their faces? No one here can compete with my beauty. I outshine everyone.

"On my honor as a gentleman, Miss. Hale, I shall never take you for granted." A graceful giggle escapes my lips as I bask under his attention. I hear more snide comments but they are accompanied with the clacking of their heels as they retreat.

Oh, the beautiful agony of defeat. One should know they cannot outshine Rosalie Lillian Hale. I'm the grandest of them all.

"Indeed, Mr. Andrews." Our conversation continues in another vein for a few minutes longer. The evening is lingering down and it is a fine way to end the party.

We end our very pleasant conversation on cordial goodbyes, but I can see and sense a longing in him. Though his eyes are amiable, there's something deeper under the surface. He doesn't give anything else away beside his salutations.

As I make my way out of the emptying ball room, I see my mother and father already heading to the main entrance. Both have their outerwear on and ready to depart. My father, as if sensing me, turns around and gives me a rather indulgent smile. I give him the most real smile I can muster for the night and hold up my hands. Ten minutes I signal to him, letting him know I shall be joining them shortly.

I know it won't be much of a problem. Mother will take the time to review the evening's success with father. He'll listen patiently, or tune her out when needed. I think his skill in handling her is what's kept their marriage together.

I quickly turn the corner and head for the ladies room. Though we could be home in twenty minutes, I don't think I can last.

When I'm through and refreshed once again, I head out of the powder room and head for the coat checkout. The band has stopped playing and faint voice can still be heard. The clicking of my heels and the sweeping of my dress on the floor accompanies me.

I pick up the front of my dress, not wanting to trip on the gorgeous fabric. Only two minutes have passed since I signaled father. I shall have plenty of time to meet them in the awaiting car.

As I go to turn the corner, my breath clogs in my throat and my feet render me immovable. I feel as if lightening has just struck me dumb along with stopping my heart for a time. My empty hand comes to my lips as a gasp falls from them.

In front of me, as handsome and princely as ever, is my recent dream. I'm confused and, for some unattainable reason, quite sad. What will become of this confrontation? From the unyielding look on his beautiful visage, I cannot guess. Or perhaps I'd rather not.

Oh my.

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Author's Notes: "Oh, my," is right, Miss. Hale. So, we have a little cliffhanger. Sorry, for that, loves. The chapter was already long enough and ready to end. Also, hopefully the suspense will have you coming back for more. I can only hope.

So, I'd like to thank those who reviewed last chapter. As always, darlings they are so appreciated and enjoyed. Just taking those extra few seconds, makes me happy in ways you can never imagine! Thank you, truly!

Well, what'd you think of this chapter? What do you think of Rosalie's evening dress? I thought it so stunning! Did you like the little party? If you have the time please, please review! I can't ask any other way!

Anyhow, I hope all is well with everyone, and for once I was able to keep my promise. I did post on Tuesday. Yay. The next chapter is all but written. If I get enough enticement, I just may post early (*smirks stupidly*). Like in a couple of days. Just saying, but feel free to ignore me . . . LOL.

Take care, darlings. And until next time, so much love sent to all.

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(1) Rosalie's evening gown is the one in the story's image at the top of the page. I tried putting in the link to see it full size but couldn't get it to post. Also you can google image it. Simply put in the search box, light green satin evening gown C.1932. It should be the first two images to pop up.

Posted: Tuesday, 17 July 2012