AN: First off, abject apologies this took so long to update. When I took SotF off the schedule, I had no idea it was going to take me so long to write this next chapter. I also had no idea it was going to be over 10,000 words. But then you're reading this story, so I suppose you shouldn't be expecting brevity any time soon :)

Lyrics are from "Dreaming with a Broken Heart" by John Mayer-and the playlist is updated.

A huge thank you goes to my pre-reader, Dixie, who warms my heart, and my beta, Josie, who despite being sick as a dog, managed to beta this beast.

Chapter 29: Deconstruction of a Dream

When you're dreaming with a broken heart,

the waking up is the hardest part.

You roll out of bed and down on your knees

and for a moment you can hardly breathe.

Rosalie

It was so warm—not just warm, but the absolute perfect balance of hot and cold—and I didn't want to open my eyes, I didn't want to detach myself from the arms that held me close, as if I was the most precious possession they could hope to win.

Edward, I thought drowsily, he'd never held me like this before. And in the witching hour, during this purgatory between sleeping and waking, I marveled at the sweetness buried inside this man that I thought I knew so well. See, I insisted to myself, he wasn't all bad. There was good even inside the worst of men.

But there was something off, something wrong. I couldn't exactly put my finger on it, but as I wiggled further into the silky sheets, I could practically taste it on my tongue. While I felt what must have been triumph at finally convincing Edward to stay the night with me, I wasn't sure I wanted him to. It wasn't Edward's arms I wanted around me, his breath on the sensitive skin of my neck, his legs tangled up with mine under the covers.

It took me a few moments for my half-asleep brain to grasp the concept—that it wasn't Edward that I wanted any longer. That it hadn't been Edward that I'd wanted for a long time now.

Reality seeped in bit by bit, memories crawling into my consciousness until a name leapt out and in my surprise, I murmured it, the sound on my lips sounding right and true. "Emmett," I breathed out, and though I hadn't even been talking to him, the man behind me grunted in response. With the familiar sound, the last two weeks focused into laser clarity in my mind. It was Emmett I was falling in love with. Emmett who I was with now.

It should have been a wonderful way to wake up, but instead I felt sick. I had, even for the briefest of moments, thought that I'd finally been the girl to discover Edward's good side, when I knew better. It hadn't been me—it had been Bella Swan instead.

I untangled my legs from Emmett's, pulled away, rolled out from under the covers despite how warm and lovely it felt to be with him underneath them. I didn't deserve it. I couldn't seem to conquer the inadequacy that had swamped me lately.

I grabbed my phone off the bedside table, and wrapping a robe around my underwear-clad body, tiptoed out onto the balcony, shutting the glass door firmly behind me.

I didn't even bother to glance at the time before I dialed the familiar number. A number that I'd been dialing with far too much frequency lately. I should be stronger than to rely on this crutch. If Emmett found out how much I needed this, he'd pull away and insist that he give me more time to come to terms with what had happened with Edward, and that wasn't acceptable.

Not just for me, because I wasn't sure what I'd do without him, but for himself as well. Alone in the world, without the protection that my name and my family offered, he was vulnerable, and I couldn't bear the thought of him hurt or terrorized by the same people who had forced him to kidnap one of his closest friends.

"Rose, it's early," she answered groggily, and I forced down the all-too familiar guilt. Gianna didn't even sound surprised these days.

"I had the dream again," I announced in a quiet murmur. "Just the same. I'm in Edward's arms and all I can think of is how I've won. And I want to do a fist pump right there. In bed. But of course it's not Edward at all. It's Emmett. The man I could possibly love."

"We've talked about this, Rosalie," Gianna said, the patient edge of her voice wearing thin. "You're feeling resentful of Bella. You think she succeeded where you failed. But her actions aren't a success, and yours weren't a failure. You just weren't a good match for Edward. That doesn't make you any less of a person."

"I don't want to feel this way," I said sulkily, annoyed with myself. Annoyed with Gianna. Annoyed with Edward, who had brought this on both of us. But most of all, I was annoyed with Bella for revealing the parts of Edward that I'd always dreamt of, but that I'd never found.

"I thought you said you felt better after you warned her. You said that you felt like you did it because you were genuinely concerned for her. That you were growing to like her as a person."

"I do like her," I insisted, and it wasn't even a lie. I did like Bella Swan. What I didn't like was how she'd changed Edward without even seeming to try, and how that change had reminded me of everything I wasn't.

"Then try to not to think of her as a winner and yourself as a loser. If you have to quantify either of you, you're both winners. She won Edward, and you won Emmett. Who you just admitted you could care for deeply."

"The crazy thing is that I know of the two, Emmett's the greater prize. I feel it. He's good for me, I'm good for him. I adore him. I don't know why I was ever wasting time with Edward when Emmett was right there, on the sidelines, loving me from afar."

"Rose, your dream isn't about you caring for Edward instead of Emmett. Your dream is about your self-esteem and your self-worth. We've talked about that," Gianna reminded me kindly.

"I know," I sighed. It had never made sense to me that Rosalie Hale, the girl who was adored all over the world, couldn't even like herself, and it still didn't.

"It'll get better," Gianna reassured me. "I told you this was a long process, and you've made great progress. But right now you're just in a bit of a rough patch, and being in such close proximity to Bella and Edward isn't helping. Maybe you and Emmett should get away for a little while."

"I don't know," I hesitated. "We're pretty alone here, strangely enough."

"Not that alone," Gianna said, and there was an odd tone in her voice that I couldn't place. "I'm honestly surprised that you called me about the dream. I was sure you were calling me about . . ." She paused and my stomach gave a sickening lurch. Whatever she was hesitant to say wasn't good news.

"What happened?" I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

"I thought you said you were careful when you went out. That there weren't any photographers," Gianna said.

"Oh god," I said in a rush, my stomach roiling with anxious nausea. "There were pictures? How bad?"

"Though I'm not your publicist and I don't know the intricacies of the media, I thought they were bad enough. I'm surprised she hasn't called you yet."

"She probably knows that I'll be furious that she didn't manage to buy them before they became public."

"You should call her," Gianna said gently. "I could have been wrong."

"I'm sure you weren't," I said flatly. "And I will. Right now."

"Give me a call later if you need to talk," Gianna reminded me, though we both knew that if the pictures were as bad as I feared they were, I would definitely be calling her later. To talk me off the metaphorical cliff.

"Thanks," I said, pressing the end button. I'd turned my phone on silent overnight, and of course, that was when the story had broke—the first pictures of Edward in weeks, with me and Emmett in proximity, plus Bella? It was going to be bad, and I wasn't surprised to see a list of ten missed calls, all from my publicist, Leah.

I dialed her number with shaky fingers, and held the phone to my ear. She answered on the second ring.

"Clearwater," she barked. "Talk to me."

"It's Rosalie," I said hesitantly. "I . . ."

"It's about damn time you called me back," Leah informed me with an edgy tone. "What did I tell you about turning your phone off?"

"It was just on silent," I defended, "and I was out with my boyfriend. I forgot to turn it back on until this morning."

"Which one?"

My legs wouldn't hold me anymore. I collapsed ungracefully on the chaise lounge and buried my face in my hands. "It's that bad?"

"On a scale of one to ten, it's about a thousand. You don't want to know what they're saying."

She was right; I didn't want to hear. But it would be better knowing than not knowing. "Tell me," I insisted.

"Oh, the usual Rosalie Hale is a slut, a whore, has zero self-respect. Watching Edward get it on with a random, beautiful girl. They have a few shots of you with Emmett, and those are making the rounds with talk of polyamorism and partner swapping."

"You were right," I groaned. "I didn't want to know. What I want to know is how these managed to go public? Didn't the photographers contact you first? You know I'd have authorized you spending any amount of money to get them before they went public."

"Sorry, Hale. They didn't call me. I didn't get wind of it until the auction was over. And by then, it was too late." Leah Clearwater usually didn't bother with regret or sympathy, but I could hear both in her voice this morning—and that made the whole thing even worse. "So is this what you warned me about?"

I'd called her after Edward and Bella's abduction by Emmett and had warned her that there was something big that could possibly get out—which was what I was supposed to do. What Leah didn't know could only hurt her.

"No," I added quietly. "This isn't it."

"Great," Leah snapped. "Do you have any good news for me? Anything at all? Who's the new boyfriend?"

"Emmett."

Leah made an incredulous sound over the phone, and I didn't blame her. From a publicity standpoint, I couldn't have picked anyone worse. "But I do have good news," I persevered. "I'm starting a business. A serious business. With someone who isn't famous. I bet you that she wasn't even in the pictures because she's totally off the radar."

"Tiny girl, dark hair? Nope, no good. Photographs have her with Jasper Whitlock that night, and then last night, they went out to dinner in Hyannis Port. Small, quiet restaurant, but paps got them leaving. She's on the radar now."

"Damn it." It wasn't just that I wanted to use Alice as leverage to dig myself out of the media nightmare that I'd created for myself, but I knew what it felt like to be scrutinized every day of your life, and I didn't want Alice to have to suffer through that. "What do you suggest?" I finally asked, because I knew that Leah didn't think in problems—she thought in solutions—and I knew that 24 hours had passed since she'd discovered the auction and the photographs. That was plenty of time for her to come up with a plan that she'd talk me into.

"You're not going to like it," she said flatly, and I rolled my eyes—as if this was news. I usually didn't like Leah's strategies, but I couldn't deny they were almost always effective.

"Actually," Leah continued, "I was going to do a different direction initially, but something you just said gave me a great idea."

"Not Emmett," I countered. "I won't have his face plastered everywhere."

"Sweetheart, his face is already plastered everywhere. It's time to figure out how much he likes you, and also the size of his cojones."

"His cojones are plenty big, thank you very much," I said stiffly, because I couldn't think, I almost couldn't breathe. Emmett's picture was going to be everywhere; it already was everywhere. Since he'd returned with Bella and Edward, we'd talked about the way the Red Hands had blackmailed him, and how they could still hurt him, if they could find him.

And now his picture was everywhere. I felt ill, but I couldn't tell Leah that. She didn't know anything about Edward being kidnapped, or the Red Hands, or anything that had happened in the last two weeks. I'd considered it, but then had thought better of it—because then if she was ever asked, she'd have plausible deniability.

I cleared my throat, trying to gather what was left of my wits together. "Could you please tell me what we're going to do about all this?"

"We need to go on the offensive. Instead of issuing denials, statements, etc, etc, we need to own the news cycle." Leah's words sparked something inside of me. Maybe that was what Emmett and I needed to do with the problem of the Red Hands. Go on the offensive—because sitting around waiting for him to be terrorized or attacked was beginning to wear both of us down.

"Explain."

There was a long pause, in which my stomach—already near the vicinity of my knees—dropped to my ankles. "Sweetheart," Leah said calmly, "I think you need to give some serious thought to your future."

"My future?"

"Your future with Emmett," Leah clarified. "That's the plan. You need to get yourself engaged and fast. Right now everyone thinks that you're just screwing Emmett on the side to get back at Edward for screwing everything in his vicinity. You look like the desperate victim."

I wanted to tell Leah that I was a desperate victim—or at least I had been—but I swallowed back the words. Nobody except Gianna had to know how poorly I'd thought of myself. "Engaged?" I asked instead. "But we just started dating."

"I know," Leah said, so patiently that for a second I wanted to ask her if she was alright—but it was my alrightness that I was more concerned with. The direction this was going had me more than a little concerned. "That's the issue; you need to demonstrate that you and Emmett isn't some fling, that you two are serious. The best way to get that message across is to slide a diamond solitaire on a significant finger and pose for some lovely pictures."

"You're serious." We'd joked around only moments before about how much I wouldn't like her suggestion, but the reality was, the idea of forcing Emmett into making a commitment to me—who couldn't even remember in my half-waking dreams that we were together now—made me physically ill.

But not as ill as the thought of Emmett at the mercy of the Red Hands. If they thought he was protected and safe, Rosalie Hale's fiancé—then maybe they'd leave him alone. He would definitely be more visible, and if he went missing or was hurt in any way, the world would know about it because I couldn't walk outside my house most mornings without it being on every gossip blog.

Emmett wouldn't probably ever be that visible, but with an engagement ring on my finger, the world would definitely sit up and take notice of the man who had put it there.

"If you don't want to do it," Leah began to say, but I cut her off before she could finish. "I'll do it." This wouldn't fix the Red Hand problem entirely, but it would help a lot, and if that meant I could rest easier at night, it would have to suffice. Plus, it also addressed the pesky issue of my reputation, which I wasn't surprised to hear was in tatters from Edward's knife-edged ego.

I didn't think I'd ever left Leah Clearwater speechless—words were her currency and she used a lot of them—but she was dead silent for a moment. "Alright," she finally said. "I'll call People, I think I can swing that one. US Weekly is a bit too Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt these days."

"Agreed," I said wryly. "Let's try to keep it classy."

"Rose, you know. . ." Leah began and then paused, clearing her throat. "You know this doesn't have to be real real. It's just a ring on a significant finger, some posed pictures, and you talking a lot about how blissfully happy Emmett's made you."

"I know," I said calmly. "I know how this all works."

"Of course. Of course you do. You've been famous for . . . well . . ."

"My whole life," I finished for her. Any naivety I'd had about the world and what celebrities did in it had been stripped away a long time ago.

"Right. Well, I'll call you back in an hour or two, when I have the deal all set with the magazine. I think the sooner the better—they'll want to jump all over this before anyone else has a chance to scoop them. I think we can probably get a photographer out there today, if they have someone they want to use on the East Coast."

"Today's fine," I told Leah. "My whole week's wide open, but I think that this is pretty timely. Let's get it done as quickly as possible."

"Good. Stay strong, babe." Leah clicked off, and I sat there, on Esme's balcony, overlooking the ocean and tried to decide how I was going to tell Emmett that not only we were engaged, but that we had to tell the whole world about it this afternoon.

But first, I had to tell Edward about the pictures.

I paused outside the door of Bella's bedroom—I wasn't dumb enough to think they slept in Edward's bed; she would be smart enough to wait until he came to her, unlike me, who had always forced herself on him—and listened for any tell-tale noises that they weren't only sleeping. But there was only silence, so I opened the door without knocking.

They were still asleep, and as I walked closer to the bed, something hard and unbearably sharp-edged settled in my ribcage.

Bella could have been me—but not the real me, the me in the dreams I still had all the time. The dreams where Edward held me all night long and never wanted to let me go. The dreams where Edward had a soft, romantic side that made his tortured artist act so much more bearable.

I looked down at them and wanted to cry—wished I could cry, but the despair at the scene in front of me, at my own reaction to it, was too deep, too pervasive for tears. I wasn't jealous of Bella because she had Edward, but instead because she'd managed to fall, effortlessly, into the one position that I'd always craved. Without even trying, she'd discovered the inner beauty deep inside the beast.

"Edward," I croaked out of a suddenly tight throat. "I need to talk to you."

He opened his eyes slowly, and he didn't even seem surprised to see Bella curled into him like he was a human pillow. If he'd ever woken up and found me too close, he would have pitched a fit. Now, he just gazed down at her with unguarded, almost foolish amusement, as if she was part of a private joke that I didn't understand. And then he looked back up at me, standing at the foot of the bed he was sharing with Bella, and his expression grew noticeably colder.

I knew he wouldn't be happy with me for warning Bella, but I couldn't have done anything else. It had to be said. She couldn't go on without knowing that he'd always tried to pretend he was different, but he'd never actually changed.

Except this time, I thought with brewing annoyance. It seemed that I might have been wrong after all—at least if the way he'd looked at the still-sleeping Bella was any indication.

"What do you want?" he asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and sitting up. I told myself not to notice that he was naked—but it was hard not to. I told myself not to think about what he and Bella had done the night before—but it was impossible not to.

I took an involuntary step back, wishing that I'd waited until they were downstairs and fully clothed, and . . .I don't know. . .a little less happy. "Pictures," I stuttered out. "There were pictures taken at the bar, and they hit the blogs late last night. I just talked to Leah."

Edward's eyes narrowed, and I could tell he was pissed, though why exactly that was, I didn't know. He didn't have a reputation to destroy, and if anything, this whole scenario would add to his whole rock star cred. I'd never really hated him before, but I kind of hated him now. Or maybe that was myself, I thought tiredly. It was hard to keep track anymore.

"Just of me and you? What about Bella? Did they get take any of her?"

Of course, I vented bitterly, he would only care about his poor, sweet Bella's reputation. Screw Rosalie and any self-respect she had left.

"I guess so," I said, because even though I hadn't seen the pictures personally, it didn't make sense that they would have missed an opportunity to prove that Edward had moved on so visibly to another woman. Right in front of me.

Suddenly, I was exhausted—of the drama, of the gossip, of the bullshit. All I wanted was to go back to my room, crawl in next to Emmett's warm body, and fall asleep. But I'd made this bed, and I was going to have to lie in it.

"Great. Fucking great," Edward grumbled. "I hate those fucking bastards."

"Well, you're not the one getting skewered as a whore," I retorted. "They got me with Emmett. Right in front of you."

Edward shrugged, as if he could have cared less. And I supposed that I shouldn't have expected that he would, but the reality still stung. "Fine," I flung back at him. "But just so you know, I'm taking steps to alleviate my public image, and protect Emmett while I'm at it, so don't worry about it."

"I wasn't going to," he said.

"Of course you weren't." I turned on my heel and left the room, shutting the door not very quietly behind me. If I'd stayed any longer, I might have killed Edward, and that would be unfortunate to happen right as he was discovering that he might have a few measly bits of humanity in him.

Even if they existed, it shouldn't have surprised me that he wouldn't let me see them. I hated how he treated me, but even more, I hated that I'd let him for so fucking long.

But most of all, I hated that there was some residual part of me that still wanted him, despite everything that he'd done to ruin me, and everything Emmett had done to save what Edward had left behind. It wasn't fair. Emmett should be the one I was dreaming about every night, not some egotistical, fucked up, washed up rock star who'd fallen in love with someone else.

I paused in front of the door to the bedroom I was sharing with Emmett, but I didn't go inside. I couldn't face him, not when I felt the rage and hurt still churning inside me from the confrontation with Edward. Emmett deserved better than that.

I didn't want to face it, but the more I thought about it, the more I believed that he didn't deserve me. I was way too fucked up to be worth his time, but I was selfish and I didn't want to let him go. So to even out the score a little, I'd do whatever I could to protect him from the Red Hands. If that meant marrying him, then it meant making that lifelong commitment. Of course I wasn't under any delusions as to who was getting the better end of the deal—it was definitely me.

I walked down the stairs and into the breakfast room. Esme was sitting alone, a cup of coffee in front of her and an open newspaper. She looked up, a softness in her face and in her eyes that I hadn't seen in her before she and Carlisle had started sneaking around. They thought, I was sure, that we didn't all know what was going on, but we knew better. He was head over heels in love with her, and I didn't think she was all that far behind him, though it was pretty clear she was fighting it.

But this morning she just looked peaceful and happy. "Good morning, Rose," she said with uncharacteristic smile. "How did you sleep?"

"Terrible," I admitted to her as I sat down in a chair, pulling my robe tighter around my body. "I had bad dreams."

"Oh, no. That's unfortunate," Esme said sympathetically.

I shrugged. "They're pretty normal these days. Gianna is helping me work through them."

"I'm glad, dear. You're too strong of a person to live under that cloud forever, and I might add, you have too fine of a man who loves you to live in the past."

"About that," I said hesitantly. "There were some pictures . .."

"Oh no. Not the paparazzi again," Esme said, disapproval for the rogue photographers evident in her voice. "Is there going to be trouble? Should I call for additional security?"

I really hoped that there wouldn't be media camped in front of the estate—none of us wanted to deal with that—but I shook my head. Hopefully, the People story would alleviate the curiosity and settle the matter once and for all. "I think you'll be fine. I'm going to give an interview. Emmett and I both, actually . . ." I trailed off. I didn't want to tell Esme the plan before I had a chance to tell Emmett. If I was going to drag him into marrying me, the least I could do was ask him first before I announced our engagement to everyone else.

"Whatever you need to do," Esme said kindly, "know that I'm behind you. Carlisle and I both. And let me know if you need anything."

"There will be some people coming this afternoon," I admitted to her. "A photographer and a reporter. And my publicist, Leah Clearwater."

"I'll let the staff know," Esme said, marking it down on a pad next to her newspaper. "I was just making some notes for the big garden party I host every June. Carlisle and I have been debating whether I should still hold it, but I think it would look odd if I didn't. It's a Platt tradition."

I remembered the garden party; I'd gone to them for years, and last year, I had met Edward at it. That was when our affair had begun.

"What does Edward think?" I asked. I was pretty sure he didn't have a preference, and that Esme hadn't consulted him, but I was curious if they'd spoken, and I thought asking her more directly might be rude.

Esme sighed, and I knew then that they hadn't spoken since he'd returned. "He's avoiding me," Esme confided softly, leaning over the table conspiratorially. "But I have a feeling that he wouldn't approve. He never approves of anything I do."

"Just ask Bella to suggest it to him," I said, hating the way my voice slid into a snider register when I said her name. "That'll convert him real quick."

Esme didn't say anything at first, just looked at me with those sad, beautiful green eyes. "Oh dear," she finally sighed, "I thought you might be taking that badly."

"I'm trying not to," I insisted, "but it's hard."

"Taking what badly?"

I looked up, and saw my worst nightmare, who I'd last seen sleeping in Edward's arms, standing hesitantly in the doorway. She must have known we were talking about her, because her face was a mixture of confusion and hurt and a trace of rapidly-dawning comprehension.

"Oh, good morning, dear," Esme said swiftly, rising to her feet and leading Bella into the room with a much sunnier smile than she'd given me. Esme was nothing if not a consummate hostess, and she covered our social gaffe by plying her son's new woman with coffee and orange juice and bagels with homemade strawberry jam.

I didn't answer Bella's question because I didn't think I could without confessing everything—how much I envied her, how much I loathed that I'd failed, how much I didn't want to sit by and watch her with Edward, even if I was perfectly happy with Emmett.

Really, how much I hated myself.

But Bella proved that she wasn't as stupid as I wanted to think she was, and even though her plate was full of a steaming pile of freshly-scrambled eggs and she held a toasted bagel in one hand, she didn't let it go.

"Rose," she said, her voice deceptively mild, "what did you mean by what you said earlier?"

"I don't know what you mean." I wanted to go toe-to-toe with her, with this woman who had so easily managed to snatch everything I'd always wanted, but unsurprisingly, I couldn't do it. Patience, I repeated Gianna's words to myself, it isn't going to come overnight—but it still hurt and it still stung that I couldn't face Bella and tell her the truth.

"Bullshit."

Esme's eyebrows raised in surprise, but she stayed out of it, merely reading her paper as if she wasn't even listening to what Bella and I were saying. Or what Bella was saying and what I wasn't saying.

"I should have thought," Bella continued, "that watching Edward and I would be hard for you. But I thought you were with Emmett now. That you wanted to be with Emmett now. I'm sorry." I couldn't deny that she sounded genuinely apologetic that she'd made things uncomfortable for me, but I didn't like how she seemed to be laboring under a completely delusional idea that I would ever have picked Edward over Emmett.

I didn't want to admit it, but her words were what pushed me to find the backbone that Gianna kept telling me was buried somewhere underneath all the insecurities and the doubt.

"I love him," I said, reaching for an English muffin as if I hadn't just dropped a bomb at the breakfast table.

"Edward?" Bella asked in disbelief, her bagel paused inches from her mouth. "You love Edward?"

The abject fear in her eyes at my declaration had me laughing and suddenly feeling like we were even. Plus, it confirmed that as terrified I was of her, she was just as scared of me. And as ridiculous as it was, that couldn't help but feel good.

"No," I corrected, unable to stop the smugness in my voice, "I'm in love with Emmett. My hangups with Edward don't have anything to do with love. My pride's a little pissed off that you managed to do something so easily that I tried for months to do."

Bella looked even more surprised than before—more flabbergasted than shocked. As if she couldn't believe what I'd just said. She set the bagel down slowly and deliberately and looked at me right in the eye. "Easy?" she said in disbelief. "Easy? Do you have any idea what we went through when we were locked up?" I opened my mouth to take it back—that I hadn't even thought of what Edward and Bella had endured at the mercy of the Red Hands, because I hadn't wanted to—but she cut me off before I could say anything. "You don't. I know you don't. If I was you, I wouldn't either. You'd have to be there, to be in the darkness 24/7, to be waiting, terror building hour by hour in the blackness, in the silence, for the insane fucked up psychos to show up and hurt you, or even worse, to kill you." Bella's voice was still calm, but there was a steel edge to it that made me recoil at what I'd said. At how fucking petty I had been. "And the only person who is there, the only person you can talk to, who can maybe take away the fear for even a few moments, is a heartless, mean, nasty, cruel jackass who only wants to fuck you. So no, it wasn't exactly easy." Her point made, she picked up her bagel and took a casual bite, as if she hadn't just blown all my careless preconceived notions to pieces.

I glanced up at Esme, to see her reaction, and the paper white of her complexion told me that she'd heard and absorbed every single word. As I had. Bella, a writer, definitely had a way with words. I could practically taste the terror she and Edward must have felt, cooped up like that together for days—for weeks. And I'd resented her for getting through to Edward, but maybe it hadn't really been her at all. Maybe it had just been the unique combination of the situation and Bella's personality and the explosive alchemy of the two had wrought the night-and-day change that we all saw in Edward now.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, and for the first time since Bella had entered the breakfast room, I meant it. I hoped she could tell, because suddenly it was unacceptable that she thought I hated her or resented that she and Edward were trying to forge some sort of relationship.

"I know," Bella sighed. "You didn't mean it that way. I just . . .I wanted you to know. It would be easy to blame yourself, and I could see why you would. I just didn't want you to."

"I needed that," I admitted wryly. "I'm grateful, but my therapist will be the one really thanking you."

"Don't worry about it," Bella dismissed, waving her bagel with a smile in my direction, widening it to include Emmett, as he entered the room. He dropped a kiss on my cheek as he sat down next to me, and I wanted to grab and hold him close, take him away from everything that seemed so determined to tear us apart. But he looked so . . .light this morning, his burdens easing away each day that nothing wrong happened, that I couldn't bear to break the news, but in the end, Bella broke it for me.

"Now, tell me what you were talking to Edward about this morning. I heard something about photographs," she asked as Emmett spooned bacon and eggs onto his plate.

I saw his hand still on his fork and I knew Emmett was thinking the worst. If he'd wondered why he'd woken up and found me gone, he didn't have to wonder anymore. He knew. I'd gone straight to Edward—it wasn't like that, but he didn't understand. Maybe I was crazy for even considering this thing that Leah had suggested, but it seemed like the best option available to us. The one thing that I could do to fix both situations that were haunting us. I cleared my throat and gripped my coffee cup with white-knuckled hands. "The press has gotten their hands on some pictures that were taken while we were at the bar the other night. They're circulating on all the blogs."

Bella's brow furrowed, and I could see the confusion in her eyes. She didn't understand—but just the way that I couldn't comprehend what it had been like in that little room with Edward, she didn't get it because she'd never been in the position before. She'd never had millions of people gossiping and passing judgment for sheer entertainment value.

"There are pictures of me on blogs? Pictures of me with you?" Emmett's voice broke in, and I knew the place he'd gone and I supposed I shouldn't be all that surprised. He was so worried about my safety because of his proximity to me. Announcing his whereabouts wouldn't be an ideal situation in his eyes.

I wanted to say no, but I couldn't exactly lie. So I just nodded, not trusting my voice. Of course, I was going to have to find the courage to propose to him sometime before Leah showed up with the reporter and photographers and stylists, but that was then, and this was now.

"Rosie, this is not good," he said in a low, clearly upset voice.

"I know." I tried to sound as reassuring as I could, but it fell flat more because I was too nervous about what I was going to have to do. It was looking more and more like this was going to be our 'magic moment.' "My publicist, Leah, thinks it's better that we go on the offensive," I explained. "Instead of waiting for the news cycle to control us, to judge us, we're going to tell our side of the story first. Not," I continued, before Emmett could interrupt and insist that we weren't telling anything of the kind, "the way you think. Not about Edward and Bella and the Red Hands. But about me and you. That we're in love. That we're getting married."

Silence fell over the table, and Emmett looked stunned, as if I'd hit him in the face. Which I had. Metaphorically.

"Rosalie, congratulations," Esme broke in, that saccharine, fake smile on her face. The smile I knew she fell back in difficult social situations. I supposed this counted as one of those.

"Thanks," I said, sounding a lot less enthusiastic about the prospect than I think she was anticipating.

"This is exciting news. I didn't realize that you two were so serious about each other," Esme continued, and I wanted to tell her to stop talking before she dug us further into the hole, but of course, she was Esme Platt, and she kept going, a determinedly bright smile on her face as if she knew exactly what she was doing. Which she probably did.

"We're not," Emmett said flatly, his eyes never leaving my face. "Well, I am about her," he added, sounding suddenly self-conscious. "I mean, she's Rosalie Hale. I've been in love with her almost from the moment I met her. But I didn't know she was that serious about me."

I took a deep breath, hating the accusatory note in Emmett's voice, and hoping that I could extricate us out of this mess without making him hate me. "Of course, I'm serious about you," I said, "but this isn't exactly . . .real."

Emmett's eyes grew impossibly darker, almost a midnight blue, and I got the feeling that he was beginning to understand what I meant. "Not real," he stated.

"Well, it's real in that I care about you, and you care about me," I explained, "but the engagement is perhaps. . .a bit hasty. But there are a few good reasons to tell people we're getting married. First, it protects you. You fly under the radar now, but if you become Rosalie Hale's fiancé, suddenly you're big news. A disappearance, any retribution against you is examined under the media microscope. And second," I added, "it helps me because it'll make people think that I'm not a slut with a short attention span. They'll know I'm serious about you, that you're not just some fling."

Emmett didn't say anything, but Bella spoke up for the first time since I'd brought up the engagement. "I understand," she said, her look in her eyes sympathetic and supportive, "people are talking about you. I'm sure they're saying terrible things. But they can't know what you've been through or what Emmett means to you. It's too complicated to tell them, but you can shut them up with a simple statement that they'd understand. An engagement."

"Yes." I smiled gratefully at Bella for explaining it so well—so much better than I could. But Emmett still looked angry and I didn't understand. Didn't he get that this what it took to live in this world? What it took to live with me? If you were a celebrity, your life wasn't really your own; you had to fight for every inch of freedom.

"Rosalie," Emmett sighed, finally speaking, and he gently pried my fingers off the coffee cup, setting it down, and holding my small hands in his much bigger ones, "you know I love you. You know I want to be with you today, tomorrow, and in ten years. But this is moving really fast."

"I know," I said in a small voice, hating the way that his eyes seemed to see right through to my soul, to all those parts of me that didn't deserve him. "But we need this."

I held my breath as he paused, but I finally saw resignation in his expression. "We do," he admitted. "I hate to say it but your reasons make a lot of sense. I don't like it but I'll do it."

Relief flood me and I flung my arms around him, and buried my face deep in the crook between his shoulder and neck. We hadn't been dating all that long, but I still felt so much comfort and reassurance with just his touch. I felt so much better, in fact, that I didn't realize at first what he'd said, and I was further distracted by my phone ringing. It was Leah, informing me that she and the team she'd put together would be in Hyannis Port in an hour. I was to take a shower and be ready for the stylist when they arrived. Leah asked simply if I'd discussed the plan with Emmett and I'd said that everything was ready to go.

I finished breakfast, brushing a kiss over my brand new fiancé's lips as I exited the room, and it wasn't until I was in the shower, the hot spray erasing away the stress and anxiety that I remembered what he'd said when he'd agreed to marry me—or at least to say he was marrying me.

I don't like it . . .

In the wake of the jolt of the sheer joy I'd experienced when he'd agreed, all I'd felt was unadulterated happiness that we'd be facing our issues together, as a committed couple. But now all I could think of were his words.

. . . but I'll do it.

And the beginnings of a knot formed in the base of my stomach.

The knot didn't go away when Leah arrived. Or when the stylist handed me the pretty floral sundress she'd brought along. Or when she'd handed Emmett his suit, and he'd looked as if he was headed to the gallows instead of a long life of wedded bliss. Or when the reporter had sat us down while the photographer set the stage in one of Esme's lovely rooms, and asked us about how in love we were.

His answers were all perfect, but there was something lacking . . .it was so subtle that I almost couldn't put my finger on it, but the longer the interview went on—normal, silly questions about our favorite date nights (dinner in and a movie on the couch), our favorite restaurant (Barefoot Contessa's takeout service), and how we'd grown closer together (I described getting sick and tired of Edward, and of Emmett being the guy I could talk to)—the more I felt like Emmett wasn't happy about it all.

There was an important distinction between being happy about our future together and being happy about being forced to share it (and to an extent, manufacture it for an audience). While I was definitely not pleased about the latter, I was thrilled about the former. Emmett, on the other hand, didn't seem particularly happy about either.

The photographer finally announced he was ready for the pictures and Leah announced that we'd answer one more question.

"I'm sure our readers would love to know how you proposed to Rosalie." She leaned towards us, an almost predatory hungriness in her gaze. She was getting the scoop of the century and it had made her greedy.

I'd fielded most of the questions before now, which was definitely something that the reporter would have noticed—and I had no doubt that this fact was why she'd directed this one exclusively at him. She was smart and savvy, and she wouldn't miss the hesitation on his face now. Flashes of an article that was anything but a confirmation of how in love Emmett was with me began to dance in front of my eyes and the knot in my stomach grew.

"I don't know about that," Emmett said, and I saw with horror that the smile on his face didn't come close to reaching his eyes, and the reporter's expression grew downright avaricious. She sensed a big scoop—possibility bigger than the one she'd come out here for—and she was going to go in for the kill strike.

"Don't know about what?" she asked slyly. "The engagement? Surely not?"

"No. I'm sure about that," Emmett said, though it was clear from his voice that this wasn't true at all. "I'm not sure if I want to share such a private moment." He glanced over at me, and I shot a desperate look at Leah, who staring on in horror at the trainwreck happening right in front of her.

"Interview's over," Leah briskly inserted, walking over and not-so-subtly standing between Emmett and I and the reporter. "Let's take a quick break before pictures. Rose, Emmett, can I talk to you for a moment?"

The reporter flashed us one more insincere smile and disappeared from the room. She was only gone for a moment before Leah turned on us, fangs bared. "Rose, Emmett," she hissed, "I thought you said you were on board with this."

"We are," I said firmly, and I gave Emmett a little shove when he didn't answer. "Right? We are."

"Rose," he sighed, and I wanted to slap him.

"What?" I snapped. "What is your problem? You agreed to do this!"

"I know. And it is a good idea. I never thought it wasn't."

"Then could you please explain why you're not exactly overflowing with enthusiasm over the idea of marrying me?"

"It's not even a real marriage," Leah intervened. "Just a quick little sham. A ring on a certain finger. That's all."

Emmett's expression grew harder and I wished that Leah would shut up and let me handle this.

"Is that what it is, Rose? A ring on a certain finger?"

I twisted the ring in question—a ring that Leah had brought with her and slid on my finger herself. Emmett hadn't even been in the room. I'd told myself at that moment that it didn't matter. I didn't need the princess fairy tale that I'd built in my Disney-tinged fantasies over the years. Reality didn't allow for any of that, so I would just have to ignore the heartsick twinges I felt.

"You know what this is," I tried to explain patiently. "It's just a front for the public. We can do whatever you want."

"Whatever I want? What about what you want?" Emmett raised an eyebrow and I felt the knot expand exponentially, pushing on the sides of my stomach until it threatened to burst like a bubble.

"I want you," I said more than little desperately. "You know that."

There was something in Emmett's face now—a hesitation, a pulling back that I had seen once before, and the realization nearly finished me off. I swallowed convulsively, praying that I wouldn't cry and destroy the makeup that the stylist had worked so hard to perfect. The photographer was ready in the next room, ready to preserve for eternity the perfection of the American fairy tale. The Princess kissing the Frog. Jasmine saving Aladdin. Beauty marrying the Beast.

"Emmett," I said, desperation clearly evident now. "Tell me that you want the same things I want. Tell me we can go in the other room and let the photographer take our picture."

He just shrugged, and the dream that I'd constructed around him began to crumble, the same way that the one about Edward disintegrated every time I woke up and discovered that it wasn't true after all. I wanted to be stronger, I wanted to be the girl that faced down death and destruction and terror. I wanted to be Bella. But I wasn't her yet, and the possibility that this was all just a paper mache façade was too much to face, so I did the one thing that Gianna always told me not to do.

I ran.

When you're dreaming with a broken heart,

the giving up is the hardest part.

She takes you in with her crying eyes

then all at once, you have to say goodbye.

I stopped running by the swimming pool. I paused and listened, but I didn't hear any footsteps following me, so I sat down on one of the chaise lounges and finally let the tears that had been building all day rise to the surface.

As they dripped down my cheeks, I found I didn't even care that the flawless perfection that the makeup artist had created was destroyed. It felt good, in fact, that for once, my outward surface looked somewhat like how I felt inside.

"Rosalie." I looked up and saw Carlisle standing in front of me. I hadn't heard him approach and I hastily wiped my eyes, embarrassed that he'd seen me lose control. I wasn't a pretty crier, and I was sure my face was red and blotchy, but he smiled sadly at my gesture, as if he could care less what I looked like. Which sounded just like Carlisle.

"Can I sit down?" he asked, gesturing to the empty spot next to me.

I nodded bleakly, and he sat down. For a long moment, he didn't say anything and I just stared ahead, sure that he had come out here to convince me to return to the scene of the crime. But I didn't feel much like submitting myself for more emotional trauma—at least not today. I had had enough with Edward to last me a lifetime, and the worst part was that I'd naively believed that that part of my life was over, now that I was with Emmett.

"You don't understand why he was upset, do you?" Carlisle finally asked.

"Of course I understand," I snapped. "He doesn't want to marry me. And I can't even blame him for that—I'm a fucking wreck."

He smiled kindly, and I wanted to cry some more. So I did. Screw looking like shit for the cameras. I had a pretty good feeling we wouldn't be taking any engagement pictures today.

"On the contrary," he said, picking up my hand and holding my ring up to the light. The diamond flashed and sparkled brilliantly in the late afternoon sun. Leah had, unsurprisingly, picked a beautiful ring. "Emmett's been in love with you for a long time. He wants to marry you. Desperately, in fact."

I stared at him in confusion. "I don't understand," I finally said. "He acted as if he didn't even want to be there. He wouldn't even try."

"Ah, and we get to the crux of the problem. He didn't want to try in front of the reporter—and I bet you if you had actually made it to the photographer, he wouldn't have wanted to try there either."

"But he said he would do it," I cried, not even caring that I sound like a whiny, selfish brat who hadn't gotten her own way. "Why would he say that if he didn't want to try?"

"He wanted it to be real, Rosalie. He wanted to be with you, and plan the perfect proposal, and get down on one knee and ask you to be his wife. He wanted to be able to slip this ring on your finger for real. Instead, all he's getting is a reporter from People magazine asking questions that you two have to make up the answers to and a photographer taking fake engagement photos. Can you see why he's upset? He knows it's a good idea—Emmett's a logical guy, most of the time—but he loves you and he wanted it to be real."

I wanted to believe him, but while his words had shrunk the knot, they hadn't dissolved it entirely. "He wanted it to be real. That's why he's upset?" I questioned. "How do you know this? Did you even talk to him?"

"I didn't have to," Carlisle said neutrally. "I know exactly how I'd feel if I was in his situation and I wasn't able to be real with Esme."

I'd long suspected the truth, but it still brought a watery smile to my face. "You love her."

He turned towards me, a matching, incandescent smile on his face, and I wondered how it was possible she didn't realize. "I do."

"You should tell her," I said softly. "A woman would want to know. I would want to know. I wish Emmett had told me."

"And he's going to," Carlisle said with another blinding smile, and I looked up to see Emmett walking across the patio towards us. I jerked up instinctively, and Carlisle shook his head as he held me fast. "Don't run, Rose. Running only makes things worse. I think he's come to apologize and tell you the truth, so you should let him. Just don't ruin it by letting him know I already told you. Look surprised."

"Alright," I agreed, and Carlisle stood and walked into the house. Emmett approached hesitantly, and I surprised myself by looking him straight in the eye.

"Rose," he began when he reached me, but I held up my hand.

"Don't," I said. "I can't believe you would agree to do something and then bail on me like that. Don't you think I've had enough heartache for one lifetime? You saw me with Edward, so you should be able to answer that question pretty accurately."

"I'm sorry," he said contritely, and I felt the rage of being let down still simmering in my blood. This must be what Gianna was always telling me about, the necessity of standing up for what you believed you deserved. And suddenly I was fairly sure—despite those dreams I kept having about Edward—that what I deserved was standing right in front of me.

"Why did you do it?" I asked.

He sighed. "It sounds so stupid," he admitted, "but god, I hated how fake it all was. I've loved you for so long, and the idea of all this—like nothing I'd imagined it would be—was suddenly more than I could stomach. I wanted it to be real."

I smiled at his words—so like Carlisle's. "Really?" I asked hopefully. "You do want to marry me?"

He laughed then, the big hearty Emmett laugh that I loved so much. "Weren't you listening to that reporter? I should be so lucky as to marry the Princess."

"But you're not marrying her—not really," I admitted. "You're marrying Rosie."

"Good. Because that's who I want. That's who I've always dreamed about." He reached for my hands, and wrapped his fingers around mine, until I wasn't sure where his began and mine left off.

"Aren't you afraid that your dream will be ruined? Because of all this?" That was a fear of mine—that he would wake up and realize that all the sacrifices it would take to be Rosalie Hale's husband weren't worth the benefits.

"You're my dream. So if you're there, it couldn't possibly be ruined."

I pulled him down to sit next to me and let my head fall into his shoulder. We sat there for a long moment before I asked, "Does this mean that we have to go back inside and deal with the photographer?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Emmett sighed, "but then we do need engagement pictures. So I suppose it's worth it."

"Alright, let's do this, then," I agreed, tugging him to his feet. As we walked to the patio door, I loosened my grip on his fingers. and handed him the ring that Leah had given me. "I'm still waiting for you to propose, after all."

Emmett beamed goofily at me. "Let's get inside then, because I'm not going to lie—I've been dreaming of making you my fiancée for a long time, Rosie Hale."

"Me too," I said softly, leaning in to kiss him and surprising myself by meaning exactly what I'd just said.

Maybe Emmett was right. Maybe I'd been looking at this wrong the entire time, and Emmett was my dream. Maybe I didn't need to be Edward's savior. Maybe I didn't even want to be Edward's savior. Maybe I only wanted to be Emmett's.

But more than all that, maybe I just wanted to be my own.

AN: Phew.

Next chapter? We're back with Edward and Bella. Will he and Esme finally have a conversation about something other than breakfast foods? Will he and Bella manage to have a conversation about their relationship? Will Edward be able to say he likes Bella?

Stay tuned :)

A note about review replies: yes, I will still be doing them, but they won't go out until I have a good start on the chapter 30, so you might have to wait a week. But I am still doing them, and will still be sending a teaser out as well.