Wednesday May 3rd, 1933

3 days until the wedding

It was another miserable night in the wretched clothes I was borrowing from Esme. I was staring out the kitchen window, mourning my closet back home, when I realized that I'd been busy transforming into a vampire instead of attending my final wedding dress fitting on Monday.

What would become of that dress? Had I lost enough mass from my midsection? How many buttons remained, when all was said and done? Had the boutique completed the alterations in time? And if they hadn't… would they, even though I was missing?

I was furious all over again that Royce had taken my dress away from me, on top of literally everything else. My nostrils flared and my hands balled into fists, craving some kind of release. I took my frustration out on one of the cabinets, ripping the small door off its hinges and snapping it in half. Wood chips fell to the floor like confetti.

I was not satisfied.

I was irritated further when I saw that there was a whole lot of nothing inside the cabinet. No baking tools or provisions of any kind. I pulled a drawer all the way out, off its tracks, and was met with identical negative space.

A third cabinet revealed a kettle that looked at least a hundred years old. The fourth had faded linens and towels. One drawer had some mismatched cutlery strewn about. Before I knew it, I was standing among the skeletal remains of the least functional kitchen I'd ever seen.

"What's the point of having a kitchen that nobody cooks in?" I exclaimed, exasperated. I knew they could all hear me – Edward and Esme, that is.

"To keep up appearances," Esme answered from outside. She was watering some plants.

"You're doing a piss poor job," I spat. "You don't even have ingredients."

"Well, dear, we don't eat."

"How could I forget?" I let the sarcasm flow thick.

"Watch your tone," Edward grumbled.

Beg your pardon?

I flashed to where he sat cross-legged on the floor in the next room, devotedly enthralled with his stupid anatomy book and seemingly committed to abstaining from eye contact with me.

"Come again?" I snarled.

And then Esme was there too. Fantastic.

"It's all right," she said in an attempt to pacify the both of us. "Edward, she's brand new. Have some patience."

I flinched, recalling that "patience" was one of the last words I'd heard as my assailants cheerfully fled the scene of the crime.

Edward reacted too. He tensed noticeably.

"What?" Esme said, looking back and forth between us, her eyebrows arching up with concern. "Have I said something?"

My lust for vengeance returned tenfold. It choked me. I couldn't find my voice.

And then, of course, Edward looked at me. Just as I was at my worst, my least capable.

I was surprised to find myself momentarily stunned by his gaze – my emotions were coming on more quickly than I could process them. A nervous energy was sparking in my palms and fingers. I felt – out of control.

I sharply recalled hearing Carlisle cautioning Esme, immediately following my burn – don't be reckless. She's unsafe.

I didn't feel unsafe. I felt ferocious. I felt powerful. I felt chaotic, but I felt justified. I felt a bit feral. Maybe a bit rabid.

"Rosalie, calm down," Edward demanded.

"Don't tell me what to do," I spit through my teeth.

"Don't talk to Esme like that," he retorted.

"Fine," I huffed. "You shop for groceries, then."

"We don't need to eat, obviously," he began, sounding out each word as if speaking to a junior kindergartner. "Therefore, we don't benefit from hoarding food items, given that they're scarce. You might not be aware, seeing as how you were raised in a palace, but times are tough for most, Rosalie. It's the very least we can do to not waste resources.

Like that was even relevant in the slightest.

"It wasn't a palace," I argued. "Obviously."

"Alright. A modest six-bedroom," he hissed.

"Edward," Esme chided. "Be kind."

"Yeah, Edward, watch your tone," I teased.

Esme glanced my way, and I swallowed my next insult.

I didn't need to listen to her. It wasn't like she was my mother. She was only a few years older than me, really.

But I would need her support if I were to go through with my revenge.

Shit.

Before Edward could expose my thoughts, I mentioned the first thing I could think of as a distraction – which, in a way, was the original topic.

I'd missed an appointment at Walters Bridal Boutique.

"I'm sorry, Esme," I said, deflating. It wasn't totally an act. I wasn't lying. "I got upset earlier thinking about missing the final fitting for my wedding dress. It was supposed to be yesterday."

And she melted.

I kept my apology going, not bothering to monitor Edward's reaction. "I ruined the kitchen. I hope it won't be too costly to replace the cabinets… and some drawers. I'll – "

I'd been about to say that I would pay for the repairs myself – as in, I'd ask Daddy to write a check – but realized I had absolutely no way to access any of my accounts.

I hadn't had access to them when I was alive, of course. Only men held bank accounts. But it was understood that the men would use those accounts to build a comfortable life for his wife and kids. Daddy had taken care of me all my life; I'd never had to think about it.

I'd been days away from joining the bank of Royce King – the first and second, both the men and business. I'd never worried about worrying about not having access to unlimited funds.

I remembered Carlisle's profession and my stomach turned. Was I going to be expected to live off of a doctor's salary?

"Never you mind, dear," Esme rushed to comfort me, misinterpreting my expression. "Truly. It's not worth your time to fret over material things."

I wanted to throw up. She'd reached the opposite conclusion entirely.

"I just want my dress back," I exhaled before I lost my momentum.

Esme took on a regretful expression. "I'm… not sure that's possible."

"It's conclusively impossible, actually," Edward chimed in, arrogantly.

I knew he wasn't looking at me, so I didn't look at him. "Shut up, you fussbudget."

"You wanna trade insults, ginger-snap?"

"I don't remember soliciting your opinion in the first place," I snapped.

"Alright, then," he finally closed his book. "Let's just say my opinion here is moot. It doesn't change the fact that you're not ready to be around humans yet. So, bearing in mind that you will murder people if you go into town, exactly how many people are you comfortable with murdering before you can no longer claim to be a good person?"

"Five," I answered instantly. You said exactly, right, dunderhead?

His lips twitched. "Five innocents?"

I hissed.

To my surprise, so did Esme.

The look on Edward's face as she did was priceless.

Tail between his legs, he followed up: "I merely meant that it's not that simple. You lack control. You'd kill your own mother or father, if given the chance."

The thought of murdering Daddy — Mother, Tony, Tom — brought me up short.

A flood of emotions overwhelmed me so quickly, I could hardly keep up with the thoughts assigned to them.

Terror — my entire family, dead by my hand. Mouth. Whatever.

Longing — longing for the bliss of domestic normalcy.

Blame – it had been their idea to set me up with Royce.

Betrayal – it was their shameless social climbing that had taken my life.

Edward's sermon came to an end. "You can't be around humans right now. No dress could be worth the risk."

Petulance – I didn't give a damn what this dickhead thought.

"I'll find a way," I vowed. "To you, it's just a dress. But the way I look wearing it…"

I trailed off for dramatic effect – for Esme's benefit, at the very least. But when Edward heard my next words in my head before I said them, he rolled his eyes and started walking out of the room.

"...to die for."

/

Now that my wedding is over, I have much more time to focus on my passion projects - and I can proudly say that I am committing to regular Monday RORH chapter updates! See y'all here in a week. M