Learn To Do Without
"It is easy to get everything you want, provided you first learn to do without the things you cannot get." – Elbert Hubbard
.~~.
February, 1933 – Rosalie's POV
It seems like no matter how much one wishes time to stop or go backwards, it doesn't comprehend. It continues to move forward, ever upward and onward. My life is no different and my plea no louder; stunning beauty has no claim on either. I can't explain my inclinations or requests, only that from time to time I feel them deeply within my heart.
No longer am I numb to the mundane flow of life. Somehow, since the induction of Royce King into my life, I've shed that skin. Every day, yet alone every second, feels as if I'm on some kind of new emotional Farris wheel.
Old acquaintances have come back into my life while others have faded. New relationships and companionships have been forged while others not so much. Among the faded is sadly Esme. I still see her often at events, but I know even those small glimpses will soon perish.
I can't help but think about our last interaction and all but the crushing anguish I felt in conversing with her. Slowly and painfully she explained her reasons to me, her reasons for Carlisle and her moving from Rochester. Edward was already departed from here, why would the rest of the Cullen's moving be any different? Any more painful?
I can still feel my eyes sting with tears wanting to pool there. I brush my long golden locks out from the evening festivities and think about our last true conversation.
. .
Mid-December, 1932
With the emergence of Royce into my life, I find that Rosalie Hale is more than anxious to return. She is like an old friend to me, a worn comforter which gives me security in the hustle and bustle of my very active social engagements.
I find myself standing in a pleasantly dark corner. Though there are many persons pooling about me, I find solace in my momentary breather. It gives me a few seconds to let go and actually breathe. I swirl the white wine in my glass and think banally how pretty the liquid is in the dim light. It is a trivial thought, but keeps me pleasantly occupied.
Quiet shuffling pulls me from my mundanely attention-keeping thought. I feel chills run over my bare shoulders, raising tiny little bumps on my flawless skin. Perhaps with her coming towards me, it's only natural for me to look less than her.
My hand comes to a still and the transparent liquid stops spinning. It's unfortunate the spinning starts in my head instead. One would think I've had more than this small glass of wine to drink. No champagne tonight; I'm not in the mood for bubbling beverages. Ever since my eyes landed on them and I saw the gossip confirmed in her eyes even before hearing it roundabout me.
The Cullen's were leaving . . . at least the remaining ones.
Perhaps she now finds it necessary or obligatory to tell me in person. To be quite honest, I can do without the pleasantries and well-wishes. Just go and be done with it, I think faux-bravely.
I push away all my anxiety, all my pain and take a much needed deep breath. Happily I feel my mask start to fall and wrap gratefully around my being. I now have the courage to look up.
"Ms. Cullen, always a pleasure," I extend, embracing the full embodiment of Lady of the Manor. We are at my significant other's soirée, after all.
Poignant confusion falls over her exquisite face before her lips can all but match my smile. I wonder what she's thinking and if she can – for the last time – see through my façade. I don't need to ask the question aloud to have the answer echoing in my raging mind. She knows . . . she can see beyond my façade.
"Always so gracious," she responds sincerely. Like so many times, she has the power to make my façade crumble, but I withstand; I'm Rosalie Lillian Hale. She goes to say something else, most likely polite, but it isn't needed; I want to be away from this crushing situation. I can feel it seeping into every crevice of my exposed skin.
"Please, Esme," I sigh, breaking manners while calling her by her Christian name. "This isn't really necessary. I already know." I give her my most winning smile, but fear it isn't truly working. "It seems as if everyone here can talk of nothing else. The women are happy someone as beautiful yet mysterious as you is leaving our fair town. They now get to shine a little brighter. The men . . . well, they're upset about losing such apparent beauty and someone of Carlisle's caliber in the medical field."
Esme looks away from me, as if she's trying to hide her reactions. I want to giggle at her sincerity, her modesty, but refrain. I only speak the truth while trying to stop the flow of pain running through me.
"I'll miss you most of all, Rosalie," she whispers for my ears only. It is my turn to look away and frantically will the tears not to cloud my eyes. I can only imagine the disrepair it will do to my makeup. It's surprising how such superficial thoughts can take away one's staggering pain.
"Your easy acceptance of me, your gracious disposition and beautiful countenance will always stay with me. You are truly one of a kind, Rose, darling."
I swallow the lump in my throat. Pain erupts in the pit of my stomach. I don't know how much more of this I can bear; I need to be far from this too gracious woman . . . my once-friend.
I wonder why the people I come to regard the most seem to hurt me the most.
"It was a pleasure you made far too simple, Esme." I turn back to her, wanting to see the effects of my words on her ageless visage. Thankfully the tears stay away, but I know they shall dampen my pillowcase later tonight.
We stare at each other, in that timeless wisdom which only women seem to understand. It is an unwritten language, but speaks directly to the soul. My hand wants to reach out and trace the shape of her face, the perfect curves of her cheeks. I don't want to forget anything about my sweet, too sincere friend. However, I resist and trace her features with my eyes.
"When are you and Dr. Cullen leaving?" I ask, not wanting to know the answer, knowing my last fragile connection to Edward will disappear as quickly as it began.
"Not until the beginning of summer next year. We still have a few months until departure," she jests, but I know her words go deeper. They will be here for some time, yet, we won't be interacting.
"You know I wish you all the best . . . don't you, Esme?" I need her to know of my deep and lasting sincerity towards her family. No matter what happened between Edward and me, I want nothing but happiness for them. Her family deserves nothing less. I hold no ill-will towards her.
"Of course, darling. I think nothing less," she reassures me with a sad, wobbly smile twisting her lips. "And you, also." She looks away from our sparse corner and into the party crowd. Standing in the center, with all his friends around him is Royce. I feel my heart flutter momentarily as I take in his handsome profile and commanding stance. He is no mere mortal, even among the elite.
"But then again, you seem to already have that," I hear my departing friend speak happily.
I turn back and allow my wistful grin to linger.
"Yes . . ." I leave hanging between us. I don't need to say the words for her to know what the most inner walls of my heart whisper. She is well acquainted with her brother and what I wanted with him. I wasn't very subtle around her . . . yet alone . . . Edward.
"Well, I think it time for me to retreat. I can see my husband wanting my assistance."
I look towards her beyond gorgeous husband, and though he is smiling graciously and speaking kindly with those around him, there is a slight tired sheen to his eyes. I know the look terribly well. Those of us who tire of these tedious occasions notice the look very well. I can't fight the smile tingeing my lips.
"He looks adorably lost without you," I tell her candidly, trying to suppress my giggles. "He loves you so, Esme. You are indeed blessed beyond measure, my friend." It is the most heartfelt and earnest truth I can give to her.
A queer looks overtakes her face, and though I can't read the emotion, I know it is something deeply personal. I almost feel terrible for making her feel such a thing before it disappears and is replaced with a blindingly beautiful smile.
Quicker than I think possible, Esme leans towards me, rests her silk-gloved hand on my cheek, and busses my skin with a kiss. "Remember my adoration for you, Rosalie. I shall you . . . always, darling."
And with a piece of me falling away, it goes with her towards her husband and him.
I allow one single tear to run down my powdered cheek and onto the marble floor. I can always blame the swirling dust. Somehow, it seems to nourish and fill in the sinking feeling.
My breath catches as the illustrious Dr. Cullen looks my way and gives me the most breath-taking smile of the evening. I reach out and allow my hand to linger on the papered wall. I fear I'll fall without the support.
These Cullens' and their affects on me.
A wobbly smile is returned to him as he tips his head in respect and mouths a "thank you" to me. Somehow, I know it's in regard to his family and my brief acquaintances with them all.
I find myself being grateful also: no matter how short my acquaintances may have been or how spectacular the kisses were.
I break our short, meaningful interlude and shakily bring my wine to my parched mouth. This evening is more tiring than even I predicted.
As I pull myself together and remember who I seem inherently to be (my mother's creation), I finish off my wine and swipe the wrinkles from my immaculate, most fashionable dress.
No one here can compete with my beauty, I simper. No . . . no-one.
My eyes rise back up and land on my apparent future . . . the one who shall give to me my most ardent dream.
A confident, handsome grin breaks over his masculine lips. I feel my feet begin to carry me over to his side . . . regardless of his gesturing me over or not.
. . .
31 December 1932, New Years' Eve
There are moments in life every fanatical girl imagines: the perfect prince, the perfect saving grace moment, the perfect courtship, the perfect life with the perfect little babies. But in the beginning, she imagines the perfect engagement.
Of course, soft music is present . . . sweet smelling flowers, flickering romantic lights, swirling silk dresses and never-ending smiles from the beloved on bended-knee pledging his eternal devotion. It all adds up to the perfect culmination.
I wasn't any different. I'm not any different. The graceful tears falling prettily down my flushed cheeks testifies of it.
After dinner was finished and Royce made a toast without even sipping his alcohol, he turns to me.
I look up at him with my soft smile. I know he likes it when I give him my adoration. Being in a public setting doesn't seem to distract from his wanting and seeking my sole attention.
Like so many times and countless experiences, he bends over and caresses my cheek. "You are beyond beautiful, Rosalie," he compliments me in front of everyone. He has no shame in telling me of his affection. He claims my beauty should be revered in public.
The room goes silent as we capture the attention of everyone present. I find myself heating in the cheeks. I'm not one to shy away from the spotlight, but this seems much more intimate. It is only our families and close acquaintances, but the moment is intense, for reasons I can't even explain.
Royce's fingers linger over my skin as his light-colored eyes all but bore into my soul. It's as if he is trying to meld his into mine. His stare is a little daunting, unreadable.
"From the first, I knew you to be the one, Rosalie Hale. There was something about you which captured me. You enraptured me and have done little else since. And why wouldn't you? You're an absolute beauty among these mere mortals. So many pale in comparison to you, darling."
I'm utterly speechless at his words. If not for his fingers clutching my chin, my jaw would surely fall open. He's spoken of my beauty countless times, but I know this to be different. His all but possessive look tells me so. If I'm not mistaken, he would consume me if possible. Shivers of excitement run helplessly over every inch of my skin.
My breath catches in my lungs as he pushes away from the table and bends on one knee.
The culmination . . .
The chandelier in the Grand dining room sparkles brightly, the wine in my glass bubbles happily, the soft swish of my evening gown sounds pleasing, the tears in my eyes gather eloquently, and the glittering from my engagement ring all but blinds.
"Be my wife, Rosalie," I hear Royce say, all but softly command. I study him, our surroundings, my mother's happy tears, my father's solemn face and the brilliant diamond ring encased in black velvet.
"Yes, Royce," I hear myself saying . . . without thought or contemplation. It is what I've known to happen since he began courting me. And I'm so terribly happy. My useless tears are testament to my endearing happiness. Our short courtship hardly matters.
Only my heart knows of the sad jewel-colored eyes which flash momentarily in my mind and just as quickly disappears.
The weight of the ring and Royce's firm, demanding lips on my own push everything away but his presence taking over mine. I fall helplessly into my new fiancé's arms.
.
Early morning of the first day of the New Year, 1933
As I stare at my newly placed engagement ring, my heart flutters madly under my skin. If I didn't know better, I would claim a hummingbird resides in my chest. Though I'm floating on the top most clouds, even my mind isn't that zealous. My feet are firmly planted on my floating cloud.
The light of the moon catches the facets of the diamond exquisitely. Such a huge, magnificent diamond. It does weight heavily on more than my ring finger, though.
I giggle a little manically, thinking such inane thoughts, yet trying to retain my sanity.
It is terribly late.
Tonight is the culmination of my every fervent wish. I no longer need to close my eyes and think of my future husband. He now has a face, name and important place in our social circle. Many will praise our union. Our parents sure seem to look on our union with a keen, well-pleased eye.
My memory quickly cautions me to rethink the last thought.
After the congratulations had been given and our future union toasted by mostly everyone sharing in on my most joyous occasion, I looked over to my father. It was all but instinctual. This was the man who was part of me, helped to create me, provided for me, loved me. How could I not look to him?
The moment was brief, but unforgettable. Amongst the laughter, praises, flowing champagne and hard liqueur, father's face was momentarily stilled. The handsome lines around his eyes were pulled tight, his forehead wrinkled and lips frowning. It was his eyes, however, which captured me.
Though they didn't spill, tears lingered in the violet color; the color I had received from him. It tinged his eyes grey and remarkable. This was the moment he terribly dreaded, I knew. Oft times I heard him and the Madam discussing this very moment. And now it was before him, as solid and real as our bodies.
When father finally caught me staring at him, all but drowning in his reluctance in letting his baby girl loose, the frown of his lips turned ever slightly. Despite the fact that his face still spoke of his sorrow in seeing me go, he was proud of me. Not Royce, not the engagement, not my mother's flowing happiness . . . but me.
It was no wondered I loved and favored my father so fervently. He was my friend, my protector, my ally against mother and tedious social norms.
I slowly but surely walked over to him, smiling and thanking those who offered me their well-wishes for my set future.
Once I finally reached him, I free fell into his opened arms. He smelt of after shave and sweet after dinner drinks. This was the very embodiment of me.
"Never have you been more magnificent, baby girl," father whispered in my ear. The tears I had so valiantly held at bay wistfully fell. There was no stronghold against my father's proffered love. "Love suits you so thoroughly. Royce King is beyond blessed to have procured your hand."
I knew this was my father's jaded opinion, but I took his heartfelt words to my soul, promising myself I'd always remember them and the cadence in which they were spoken. My father loved me endlessly, and being married wouldn't change it.
"Thank you, daddy," I cried quietly into his shoulder. My safety port. "Thank you for everything under the stars." I had no other words of thankfulness to offer. For my father gave me everything tangible to him under the heavens.
This was the moment I knew would eventually come and the one which spoke of the unembellished reality I now found myself in. I am to be Mrs. Royce King . . . all but unbelievable to me, yet it isn't.
I wipe at the tears running from the corner of my eyes. They are a combination of happiness, contemplation, and a loss of my childhood.
I close my eyes and let everything go.
.
I toss and turn in my bed, wondering if I'm actually coherent or in some state of sleep. It seems as if I'm floating in some unconscious reality, where reality is dark and love is inbounding.
Short, beautifully soft memories of my childhood pass before me. My memories have always been startling sharp. If I were more coherent I would reach out and touch them. What a stunning child I was: all curls, golden skin, rosy cheeks, captivating to all who pass by me.
Somehow that little girl morphed into Rosalie Hale, and even I can't account for all the passing time. For goodness, was it quick?
And soon, I shall have little ones of my own. They shall be the light and soul of my life. They will be my reason for breathing, living and enduring. Though I love Royce and know he will provide handsomely for our future, it will be my children I love the most, cherish the most. Nothing shall ever take their place.
I wonder if my fiancé can see that about me, can see beyond the beauty of my face and body he praises so much.
There was someone who did . . . my heart traitorously beats. Oh yes, he knew so terribly well. Could see to your very depths.
Ed-ward . . . Ed-ward, my heart beats in succession.
His exquisite words repeat in my mind. For how can I forget our ending, our goodbye . . . "Never have I seen someone so made for the role of motherhood. Like I've told you before, it is so intrinsic in you. As if it's woven into every fiber of your being . . ."
More tears leak uselessly from under my closed eyelids. I beg my eyes to open, to pull me from this sad weakness. Truly, I've worked hard, to move beyond Edward and to put our interlude behind me.
But it must be true, the clichéd first love; more like the first fall. Regardless of where I go, what happens in my life and who may touch my heart, Edward belongs first; was there first. And though I feel pain and a tearing weariness when I think on him, it wasn't for naught – and something I'll never trade in.
A gentle smile now spreads over my dry lips. He was the first . . . he was the first . . . he was the first! my mind comforts my erratic heart. And I'm able to let go, to embrace the future (Royce), to fall blissfully into sleep, content in the knowledge that Edward was my first love; my first fall.
But the queerest feeling now surrounding my odd sleeping reality is the strong arms I now feel wrapped around my torso. Soft, cool breaths tickle my neck as a hand entwines with mine. It gives the lightest of pressure, as if telling me all is well.
My heart starts to beat even more slowly, knowing I am safe and in the arms of my love. Nothing can ever compete with such blissfulness, to such rightness I want to argue. My thought remains silently unspoken.
Though I know this to be a figment of my sleep-addled imagination, I allow myself to wallow. I want the comfort of my Edward one last time, to be surrounded and encircled in him, to be freely, unreservedly lost in this night. It doesn't matter that the first part had belonged to Royce and our engagement.
"Love you endlessly, love," I think I hear brokenly murmured into my hair. I want to turn and comfort my apparition, but I'm too comforted by his phantom arms around me. Instead I let go and endlessly sink into him. "Never forget me, love . . . please!"
"Never, my darling," I hear myself respond wildly, knowing I'm only speaking to myself. But even my phantom Edward would receive all my love if possible. I want all versions of him happy.
Arms tighten around me as a cold cheek is laid on mine. I am wholly surrounded. Heaven personified.
Tomorrow I can be Rosalie Hale, soon to be King. But tonight . . . tonight, I am Edward's Rose. She makes one last grand appearance.
"Love you endlessly," I hear whispered over and over until all I know is darkness and nothing but Edward's love.
My first falling!
.
My body starts awake as if every nerve-ending under my skin is jolted. I could swear I hear the window creak open. However, as I scan the room and pathways the weak dawn light underscores, I see nothing but the familiar. All is still in my room.
I fall gracelessly back onto my bed and chastise myself for being so foolish. I even wonder if this is all a dream, a continuation from earlier.
But as I close my eyes and feel my conscious departing, I can't help but think my pillow is a little cool, indented and smelling of candied apples.
Nineteen thirty-three starts off with a resounding bang and heavy eyes.
. . .
February, 1933 – Late Night
I cringe quietly as I will the floorboards not to creak under my weight. I should feel terrible about my actions, but find I cannot stay away. Sometimes the only way to learn something is to be underhanded.
Something akin to guilt twinges under my breastbone, but it's easily ignored. My mother's vexing voice helps to alleviate any sense of wrongdoing.
I want to peek around the corner and witness my parents' interactions, but fear I'll be caught. I comfort myself with being able to hear them all the same.
"You must have the best intentions for your daughter, Rich?" the madam demands of her husband. I can't tell if it is a question or a command. "Are you not able to see Royce is that young man?" I wonder if mother's face is wrinkled. It gives me a perverse happiness thinking it is. Especially after the many times she lectures me on the 'offence'.
I want to yell at mother, "how dare she speak to father in such a manner," while stomping my foot, but find it unnecessary. I should always know he has everything regarding his wife well at hand.
"Listen, Lillian . . . and listen well, my dear," father intones. I can't help the chills running under my skin. It is rare when his voice ever becomes so cold and his wife must know she's crossed a line. Father is more than in command of the situation and our family.
"Don't ever presume to lecture me on what is best for this family or my daughter. I am the head of this house and will make the pertinent decisions facing us. I don't take such responsibility lightly, especially Rosalie's well being. Do I make myself more than abundantly clear?" he asks slowly, evenly, coldly.
I have never seen my father raise a hand to my mother, but even I know she has now pushed him far beyond his limitations.
"I only meant to extend my c-concerns, R-Rich," mother stammers horridly. Again I feel myself feel perversely happy at her fright. It makes me a terribly bad daughter, but I can't find the wherewith to care. She deserves nothing less.
My teeth bites down on my bottom lip, making sure no sounds of mirth comes from me. I don't want my father's ire directed at me, and I especially don't want to alert them to my presence. I know eavesdropping is inappropriate (uncouth maybe), but it's the only way to find out information in my family, without confronting the source.
"I know of your quote on quote concerns, wife. Don't try and defame my intellect. You want all that the King's connection can offer."
"And you don't, Rich?" mother demands harshly.
I jump terribly as I hear glass shattering against the wall. Blood blooms on my tongue as I wince from where my teeth cut into my lower lip from surprise. My shivering starts again, and for the first time, I want to scurry back to my room.
"What have I told you, not five minutes ago, wife?" father asks callously.
"N-Not to presume." I can hear the fright thick in her answer and fragile tone.
"Most correct, Lillian." Footsteps from their room sound in my ear and I can't imagine what's happening. I push myself further back into the wall, all but wanting to blend in flawlessly.
"You know me well enough to know I wouldn't turn my nose at such a connection. It would add prestigiously to our family and our prosperity . . . especially in these financially-straight times. I've already given him my blessing; what more would you have of me?"
I can hear the hard edge to my father's voice loosening, but can't imagine what causes the change. However, it isn't required as father unknowingly answers some of my confusion.
"I've heard whisperings, Lillian. And though I know our daughter's well being only means a climb in society to you; however, it means a damn sight more to me."
Mother goes to respond, probably to defend herself, but her husband silences her once more. Thankfully.
"There is a reason he's come back a semester shy of graduating from university. People talk, wife – something I'm positive you are familiar with. Don't you hear the whisperings . . . the insinuations?"
All is silent, and I feel myself shake from my father's tone. I am beyond confused and don't know what to think or feel.
"No, Rich. I only hear the best of Royce King." For once, I can hear the ultimate sincerity in the Madam's voice.
But I can't help but think (perhaps meanly) she sees only what she wants, hears only what she wants. Everything else seems to magically disappear.
"He's the most sought after gentleman and desires your daughter above all," mother continues. "He wants her for his wife. I can't think of a more advantageous match or better circumstance for her. Rosalie will never want for anything, Richard."
Oh, mother is good, I think sharply. She knows just how to appeal to her husband. Perhaps she would do well as a talking advert.
"Do keep your machinations to yourself, Lillian." I quickly cover my unladylike snicker. Father knows all of her games.
"I gave my blessing and will stick by it. The marriage will proceed, the connection will be beneficial, you shall rise in society, my dear, and my daughter shall have everything she should. Her happiness is paramount to everything, Lillian."
A soppy smile blooms over the entirety of my lips. My father will never know fully of my love and adoration for him. Always.
My mother has no response and neither does father. I know the conversation – at least the pertinent information – is over.
As quietly as possible I stand up from the wall and make my way back to my room. Their conversation will give me a lot to think over.
As I walk on I can hear my father's fading voice, "And be sure to clean up the glass, Lillian. It should be good for your constitution."
I can't help but giggle into my pillow as I collapse onto my bed. Mother was rightly handled.
. . .
March, 1933
Woman after woman models the latest fashions for Mrs. King and myself. We sip our tea daintily as we discuss what we like and what should have never been created in the first place. Some fashion trends boggle the mind.
It was my fiancé Royce who first requested I accompany his mother on this shopping excursion in New York City. It is still different to hear myself refer to a man as my fiancé. Sometimes it seems all but a floating dream.
I'm quite surprised I like his mother as much. She tends to come off cold and unfeeling. But what many fail to see is the quiet regard and somewhat shy manner she wraps herself in. The reservedness comes off as cold and aloof.
My regard for her rises when I witness her with the Madam, especially during forthcoming wedding plans. Constance King doesn't seem to be the biggest fan of mother, but one couldn't tell. I, however, have the pleasure of knowing when one is simply tolerating mother. And Mrs. King reeks of tolerance for Mrs. Hale.
Once our purchases are made and the quibbling over who pays is rectified we make our way from the high-end department store and onto the busy streets of New York City. I immediately quash the trembling wanting to rise inside me. Done and finished, I remind my forgetful, sentimental heart.
Mrs. King and I quickly kiss each other's cheeks as we separate into our awaiting cars. Constance will be leaving immediately for Rochester, not being able to tolerate the city for very long, and me for my Aunt's.
I give Clar a winning smile as he shuts my door for me and begins the process of weaving through Manhattan traffic. His aggravated low rumblings about the congestion is quite funny. I allow it to distract me from memories best forgotten.
I'm an engaged woman, anyhow. Soon to be married.
.
Nothing has really changed at Aunt Jacqueline's. The place is still immaculate, antique furniture polished to high sheen, air smelling fresh of bountiful bouquets of flowers, and Aunt Jackie's candid comments of life, love and her sound investments. I love the flow and ebb of her posh townhome.
After she retires for the afternoon to attend to her business–"money doesn't make itself, girl, and an old spinster has to live on something!"- my brothers and I just bask in each other's company. It is rare when I have the opportunity to see them, and cherished when I do.
We each snack on the little cakes and finger sandwiches Aunt Jacqueline ordered for afternoon tea.
Surprisingly it isn't Benjamin who is cuddled up to my side. He is usually inseparable from me when we have time together. But I guess it is passed. Like Henry at his age, he now feels too old to be snuggled by his older sister. It gives my heart pains, but I know it to will pass. Henry pressed to my side is evidence enough.
My arm tightens around the second eldest child in the Hale family as my love for him swamps me. I will forever love them both as if they were still fair-haired little boys only wanting to snuggle in my waiting arms.
"What gives, Henry?" I finally ask my quiet, reserved brother. I can't help but think of Vera and her little Henry. His deep smiling dimples and wild, soft curls.
I feel my brother exhale sharply as he turns towards me. My fingers motherly push back the hair falling into his violet eyes. They stare intently at me. When older, I know he will be quite the heartbreaker. If he isn't already, I think sadly wistful.
Instead of answering, Henry picks up my hand and studies my rather large engagement ring. Five carats situated in an antique Victorian setting. The ring is beyond exquisite.
"You're happy, aren't you, Rosie?" My breath catches in my throat as my brother plays with my ring without looking into my eyes. I wonder about his reluctance.
"Of course, darling. What would give you a reason to think otherwise?" I inquire curiously. His white teeth shine over the bottom lip he's chewing on. I wonder, absentmindedly, where he's picked up the habit. Mother would have kittens if she saw the "perceived" weakness.
Henry shakes his head, as if clearing something from his mind, before meeting my eyes. He tilts his head and seems to study me as he did my engagement ring.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything," he explains, but I brush it off. I don't want him to ever feel as if he cannot confide in me.
"What is the matter, darling? Truly?" His eyes seem to grow even more solemn than usual, and a little sad. My heart beats painfully for the look.
"You just seem different from this past summer," he mumbles, but I catch every single word. My breath stutters in my lungs as I nod my head. When my brother goes to look down I catch his chin gently in my hand. I want him to see my most ardent appreciation of him and his concern for my well-being.
"Don't look away." I push the hair away falling in his eyes. "You can always feel free to tell me your honest opinion; both you and Benjamin," I sooth. He nods and smiles briefly. I think it too short, but continue on, "And as for being different, I'd agree. Engagements tend to do that to a person," I jest good-naturedly with him.
His low laughter rumbles over my fingers still holding his chin. I swipe my thumb lovingly over his cheek before letting go.
"You really like Mr. King, then?" I can see the apprehension in his eyes, even though I've just given him my reassurance. He and Benjamin would never make such a statement to the Madam.
"Yes, Henry, darling; I really, really like him. He is a wonderful man and we'll make a great partnership. I know our engagement seems rushed and out of left field," Henry's laugh at my baseball reference isn't wasted on him. "But," I continue poking him in his side for good measure, "I know this is right. Royce will make my future wonderful. You'll see, baby."
As his laughs subside, his bright eyes never leave mine. "It's all I want for you, Rosie . . . to be happy. You've been an amazing sister/mother to Benjy and me. And though we don't tell you often enough, we love you very much."
I am helpless to the happy tears which mist my vision. I defy anyone to not fall for such sweet-hearted, innocent sentiment. My love spills over my already full heart.
My lips meet his soft forehead as my hands wrap around his boyish face. He's already shed most of his boyhood fat, and his face is sculpted to resemble me so very much. He will be the embodiment of handsomely refined.
"I got a letter from Edward. Well, Benjamin and I both," he whispers. I can hear his reluctance in wanting to talk about the subject. Henry, Benjamin and Auntie also received letters from me, explaining about Edward's subsequent move and wonderful opportunities to advance his career. It was needed after they all asked me after him and his well-being.
"Yes?" I reply, trying to keep my voice steady, light and stable.
My little love pulls away from my embrace and watches me. I'm not naive enough to believe be can't see some residual sadness, but he can also see my acceptance and happiness for Edward's blooming career.
"He wanted to thank us for allowing him to pal around with us, for allowing him to "intrude" on our limited family time. And also for us accompanying him to the Yankees' game. Can you imagine, Rosie . . . thanking us for accompanying him?" My brother sounds astounded, but I'm not.
Edward seemed to find himself lacking, and those who paid him any honest attention surprising. I didn't understand his terrible lack of self-disregard.
"He only wanted to extend his appreciation to you both. I know he enjoyed your company."
"And yours, Rosie." I give him a tremulous smile. I want to argue with my brother's astute observation, but I can't. Regardless of how things ended with our friendship, I know Edward cared about me, understood me. It doesn't matter that the pain says otherwise.
But it is over and put away. I now have Royce and our future to think and reflect on. We shall have gloriously beautiful children. With fair-hair and violet eyes.
"And mine," I validate. My fingers smooth his dark golden hair from his eyes. "I'll miss Edward, but I'm also happy for him, Henry." I feel the need to explain myself even further. He seems to need the explanation. I can see his hurting for me. My brother was always too attuned to my feelings. My darling little Henry.
"Edward was a wonderful addition to my life for a while, but he was needed elsewhere. Mourn for those you miss and keep the happiest moments close to the heart. Then, they will never really leave you." I swipe my fingers on the nape of his neck before settling them over his heart. He studies me.
"Life has a funny way of bringing on the most unexpected and life-altering experiences," I tell my little brother, while smiling.
My young life has certainly attested that to me: first infatuation . . . first love . . . first perfect kiss . . . first heart break . . . and my future husband with the one least expected.
"Understand?"
My hands still on his healthily-flushed cheek as he nods solemnly. I can see the clear understanding in his intelligent eyes. But I can also see some of his worry and discomfort for me disappearing from his gaze. I should have known he'd want to make sure–in person–I am truly well. It is who Henry Richard Hale is.
"So I'll like Mr. King, you say, Rosie? And you know me so well . . ." My fingers resume their relentless poking into his side as his laughter bubbles around us.
"Cheeky little snot," I scold him as he tries to angle away from me. His laughter is the calmest balm to my heart.
Benjamin, hearing his brother's loud mirth, runs into the room to make sure all is well. When he sees his brother in peril from my fingers, he charges. Sadly it is to avenge his brother from the evil Big Sister. They have no loyalty to their sister, I think happily as Ben's joyful shrieks join in our happiness.
My brothers, my little loves. I adore them endlessly.
.
On the way back to Rochester from my wonderful interlude with my younger brothers, I console myself. I tell myself, yes, all is well.
My brother's sweet concern has me on edge. But it is only to be expected. My wedding is in less than a month away and my married life soon after will follow.
Things will be well with Royce. Beautiful even, I tell myself. I love him. And from the way he studies me so intently, carefully, I know he has deep feelings for me. Goodness can he stare endlessly, deeply at me.
Clar, in seeing my shiver, gives me a wary look.
I wave him off, stunning him with my beautifully confident smile. Yes, all is well.
.
.
Author's Notes: Hope you liked the chapter. I know there wasn't much Royce interaction with Rosalie, but it is intentional. This story has always been about her and the evolution of her character. How seemingly unexpected things can turn into great experiences in one's life, regardless of their endings.
I always thought Rosalie misunderstood and short-changed in the books. Compared to wonderful, incredibly deep-feeling Bella (*snorts inelegantly*) Rosalie was painted as a one-dimensional character with nothing but astounding beauty being her saving grace. I thought it unfair and wanted to try my hand at making her more than a flat character; no offense to Ms. Meyer's or anyone else's interpretation of her.
Anyhow, just wanted to state my reasoning for some reason . . . hehe.
Hope all is well with everyone, and please, if you have the time or inclination, review. Hope everyone who reviewed got my responses. I cherish them all and thank anyone who does take the little time to review. You are my continual muse. Much love, everyone!
Updated: Saturday, 09 March 2013