Disclaimer: SM owns everything in the Twiverse, but please don't steal my plot.

Let's catch up with our Roseward after their bittersweet reunion in the woods.

Chapter 22: Double Date

Edward's POV

It is New Year's Eve, a few hours until 1934 will grace us with her presence.

It is the first time I have bothered to care about the future since a never-ending tomorrow stretched out in front of me.

I could feign ignorance about my recent change in mood, about my rising concern for the substance of my days.

But even I cannot lie so well.

"Will you be ready sometime this century?" she calls from the other room.

I hear the not-so-silent snickering from the Cullens as I reply, "It is a distinct possibility."

"For pity's sake, Masen." Her voice floats into my room as she steps across the threshold. "You take so long to dress, one would think you were female."

My retort turns to smoke as I feast upon the inhuman loveliness before me. Though the long-sleeved gown skims her ankles, its silky sapphire material hugs every tempting curve, leaving little to my eager imagination. My eyes long to lose themselves in the dangerously deep neckline, while my fingers itch to unravel the complex knot at the faux waistline; a knot, I presume, which keeps the fabulous frock from sliding off her shoulders to pool at her feet.

It is official.

She is trying to kill me.

As if knowing my thoughts, Rosalie saunters into the room with a slow twirl, gifting me with a view of her exquisite upper back before facing me with a glint in her eye. "Is there something on my dress?"

I meet her in the center of the room and lift her hand to spin her again. "My full attention, as a matter of fact." I do not release her hand, raising it to my lips instead. "I am bewitched."

She tries to smirk, but her pleasure at my kiss ruins the attempt. "Why the delay?"

My lips trail across her knuckles, and she turns her hand on instinct, granting me access to her palm. "Need you ask?"

"Not now," she murmurs as my lashes flutter against her fingers. "Before."

"Does it matter?"

She snatches her hand away and places a hand on her hip. "It most certainly does, and you well know it."

Her frustration is doubly diverting as she so rarely displays it. But as I return to the infuriating task of righting my tie, my amusement fades. "I have seen countless men do this in both my lives, but for the life of me, I cannot get the infernal fabric to cooperate. Maybe if I…"

"Stop." She swats my hand, waving me off to do the deed herself. "We'd be here all night waiting for you." She presses her manicured hand against it when finished. "There. Now you're perfect."

"I believe that title is taken." I lean in, unable to resist the call of those red lips. "I shall settle for passable."

"Passable?" she murmurs against my mouth. "You far surpass passable, darling."

"If you say so."

"If it's all the same to you." Her hands snake around my neck. "I would rather not say anything."

"From your lips to my ears, love."

Her head tilts, granting me access to the luscious insides of her mouth, and I soon forget why I need the tuxedo, my brain scrambling instead for excuses to take it off.

And her gown shortly thereafter.

"Rosalie?" Esme calls. "The performance starts at nine, dear."

Right. The double date.

I pull back with a low growl, and Rosalie chuckles. "Coming, Esme." She fishes a handkerchief from the secret depth of her bosom, removing the ruddy evidence from my mouth. "We shall continue this later."

I haplessly follow the cloth as she tucks it back into her chest, sighing in envy. "Is it later yet?"

She gives full voice to her laughter then, the rich sound warming me to the core as she loops her arm into mine. "Come."

We enter the living room where the doctor and Esme are waiting for us. Her thoughts bubble over with glee at the sight of us, and I admire her restraint as she speaks. "You look very nice, both of you."

"Thank you," I say, pleasing her to no end as I assist Rosalie with her sable stole. The chilly evening temperatures are of no concern, but as this is our first forage into human society together, we must look the part.

Dr. Cullen smiles his approval as I don an overcoat of my own. "Shall we go?"

I return his smile and escort Rosalie out the front door. As we settle in the backseat of his Victoria Coupe, Rosalie checks her lustrous waves in the rearview mirror and slips on her gloves. I glance out my window, and the doctor catches my eye as he proceeds to the driver's seat. And as he winks at me, I remember how this night out came about.

—B—I—

When Rosalie and I returned home two days after kissing in front of the Cullens, they were perched on the edge of the sofa as we'd left them, waiting for an announcement. But Rosalie decided that lone gesture was the extent of her plans to go public.

So after I closed the front door, my nonsister pulled me to the middle of the room, pausing as if we had no audience. "I know we have just returned." She fingered the lapel on my jacket. "But I would like to rinse the woodsy scent off my body. Would you be so kind as to vacate the premises?"

Her deliberate diction painted a bold vision in my brain, and as I struggled to reply, she batted her lashes. "Unless you'd care to join me?"

She usually warned me before taking such liberties at their expense, but this time I was as shocked as the Cullens. And as her saucy expression challenged me, I ignored their audible gasps and hid my incredulity behind a knowing smile.

"We both know that is impossible." I brushed the back of my hand against her cheek. "Or have you forgotten the last time?"

She laughed aloud at the imaginary indiscretion. "As if I ever could. And I maintain that was your fault entirely."

"A debate for the ages." I leaned in to sample her lips. "Enjoy your bath, love. I shall return in a few hours."

"To play something for me?"

"With you." I kissed her again, unable to resist. "I much prefer we do it together."

Her eyes widened at my remark, and she slapped my arm. "Rogue!"

I chuckled and headed out the door, my good humor fading when Mrs. Cullen added, "Carlisle, why don't you go with him so we girls can have some privacy?"

I suppressed an eye roll at the unsolicited company and continued my journey toward the trees. Hoping the doctor would take the hint when I increased my speed, I was dismayed when his thoughts and limbs caught up to me. "How long has this been going on?"

I stopped walking so as not to be rude but did not turn around. "I don't know what you mean."

"You have been away two whole days and return with her scent all over you." His mind raced. "And now, after that illuminating exchange, you play coy?"

Had his tone been familiar or even conspiratorial, I might have continued the charade for frivolity's sake. But he sounded disapproving, a father scolding his wayward offspring, and that I could not abide. "Whatever you presume to know about Miss Hale and me, our relationship is private."

"Private, eh? As you like it, son."

I whirled around to face him, irked by the endearment. "Don't disrespect me by scoffing at my choices."

"Then don't disrespect Rosalie by toying with her feelings," he retorted. "Rosalie is a great many things, Edward, all of them intricate and enticing. But she is fragile after her ordeal in Rochester, and I think she needs…"

I folded my arms across my chest. "You are the last person qualified to speak of her needs."

He winced at the jibe, and I was briefly ashamed. "A point I shall forever concede," he replied after a moment. "But does your intimacy with her body necessitate an understanding of her heart? Are you prepared for the emotional chaos inherent in such an entanglement? The scars of your rebellion have yet to heal, so how can you possibly be…"

"We are not having this discussion!"

Dr. Cullen regarded me with exasperating calm, his eyes noting my clenched fists. "Very well." He turned away and started down the quickest path to town, leaving me alone with an ache for which I had no proper name. Hurling a mental barrage of obscenities at his back, I vowed never to speak to him again.

But such censure was impossible while sharing a roof and, I later realized, unnecessary. We seldom shared two words under normal circumstances, and continuing the trend would aptly serve my punishing purpose.

But as harvest yielded to Yuletide and the neutral décor of the house with it, I resolved instead to prove him wrong with evidence. I would show him my readiness with Rosalie, rub his obnoxiously noble nose in our success.

And the perfect opportunity to do so arose when he returned home last month with news of a New Year's Eve performance of a symphony orchestra in Nashville. Esme's eagerness was expected, but I shocked the room by asking the doctor to secure a pair of tickets for Miss Hale and myself.

She whirled around, her coral eyes shining despite her uncertain tone. "Are you sure?"

"Quite." I looked past her to my master. "I think a double date is the perfect way to ring in the New Year, wouldn't you agree?"

"I would," she replied with a sweet smile that stole my breath. Dr. Cullen nodded his assent and allowed me to pay for them without as much as a smirk.

He has not thought anything untoward since our night began, and as we arrive at the winding driveway of the concert hall, I am surprised to hope our truce survives the night.

—B—I—

With our inhuman senses and appearance, our seats in the last row in the uppermost section are sufficient to enjoy the performance. The musicians seem skilled, the symphonic selections appropriate, and the conductor creative enough to keep me interested. Even the understated design and acoustics of the auditorium please me.

But my greatest gratification is the commentary of the beautiful musical virtuoso to my left.

"The timpanist needs a lesson in subtlety. That is a delicate instrument he plays, not some upended slop bucket."

"In what universe does one strike a minor chord capriccioso? I do not know whether to dance a jig or slit my throat."

"Are the cellists having a contest to determine which is the most inept? Thank the Great Composer for the brevity of their parts."

"My, my. The way he fingers that instrument, we may safely assume 'Mrs. Bassoon Player' is a very satisfied woman."

"What?" I cry, and she giggles behind her gloved hand. From the end of our row, Dr. Cullen leans forward, the corners of his mouth amused. I tip an imaginary hat in his direction, and Rosalie's laughter deepens.

"Behave, you two," he smirks. Esme pats his leg, diverting his attention.

In that moment, I bring my lips to Rosalie's ear. "You are a troublemaker."

"I do not know what you mean," she replies lightly. "I have uttered not a single word since the first movement of the suite. Perhaps you need a lesson in self-control."

I say nothing, and my silence compels her to look at me. I take my time exploring her from head to hip, noting her eyes have darkened a shade when I return to them. "As I have yet to whisk you away and ravish you in secret, I think I am a model of self-control."

The Cullens gasp in concert with Rosalie, and I hide my satisfaction and return my attention to the players below.

At length, Rosalie's hand returns to the armrest between us, her face a mask of calm. "That was uncalled for."

I cannot reply without betraying myself, so I say nothing.

"And 'ravish'? Did you have to use a word which unleashes such potent sensual imagery?"

She licks her crimson lips, summoning my gaze to her face. "Do you not see it?"

As she invites me into her mind, some self-preserving instinct warns me away, and I pull out before seeing anything. Praying for an apt distraction, I nearly faint in relief when the audience erupts in applause and the house lights rise, signaling the start of intermission and the end of my obligation to behave.

As soon as the Cullens descend the stairs under the guise of securing refreshments, I lift her hand from its position on the armrest. My eyes hold hers as I turn her wrist and unbutton her glove. Her soft gasp pleases me, and I raise the exposed skin to my face, inhaling her fragrance. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Yes, the musicians are delightful."

"They are rather good." I run my lips along her wrist. "Is anything else to your liking?"

"My liking?"

"Yes." I feel the tension in her arm as I place an open-mouthed kiss on her skin. "Your liking."

"I…" My tongue slips out to taste her, and she moans under her breath. "I do not think that word quite covers it."

I chuckle against her skin. "I see."

"Do you?" She sits up, her eyes blazing with unfamiliar curiosity. "Do you see, Edward?"

I release her wrist to entwine our fingers, discomfited by the shift of the conversation. "See what?"

She closes her eyes, and I begin translating the Bhagavad Gita into Greek to keep myself from eavesdropping. When she opens them again, the curiosity has solidified. "Do you see what we are becoming? What we are doing to each other?"

Though my grip tightens, my voice softens. "What are we doing, Rosalie?"

The question hovers in the electric air between us, and though impatient for the answer, I shall not rush. Our eyes are locked, and it requires all my concentration to stay out of her mind. She cannot block her thoughts from me, but it is my choice to avoid them.

My duty in moments like these.

The longer we sit, the deeper the silence grows, and the more I fear her eventual answer.

But I promised patience the night she changed me, and I can and must wait.

For this answer, for Rosalie, I will wait forever if I must.

Rosalie's POV is next, so this is the best place to stop.

See you again soon, dear readers! xoxo