Friday May 5th, 1933

1 day until the wedding

Edward and Esme both made a point to express their discomfort about actively deceiving their patriarch, which was understandable. But in the end, they agreed that our unique circumstances allowed for an exception regarding the specific ethical issue of lying about a plot to commit five righteous murders.

I was very grateful, and I let them know.

It was going to be tough.

I obviously couldn't fetch the dress myself. I couldn't risk being seen, nor did I trust myself not to kill anyone I might run into.

So it would be a two-person mission; Esme would stop by Walters Bridal to have a hem tailored and ask questions about my wedding dress – "The whole town had been on pins and needles to see which dress she'd picked from this very shop!"

Even if the dress's location wasn't revealed aloud, Edward would be standing by on the street, listening to the thoughts of the staff and waiting for the right moment to snatch it. Esme's presence in the main showroom was a perfect alibi, so no one would suspect she had anything to do with it. No one would know that Edward was ever there.

A bridal boutique and tailoring shop were no place for men, after all.

The only catch: I was to remain at the house with Carlisle while they carried out the plan.

Carlisle, with whom I'd not spoken since the conversation that had led to Edward's temporary dismemberment.

I'd strategically remained in my room for the sake of drama. Carlisle hadn't even seen a glimpse of me since the previous night.

I'd need to keep him occupied while they completed the ruse and provide a distraction when they brought the dress inside — exactly an hour after their departure.

I had a pretty solid idea.

Since learning I had an ally in Esme (and, shockingly, in Edward), I'd allowed myself to fantasize about murder as much as I pleased. I had a lot of work to do if I was to kill 5 men without consuming them or leaving any trace of evidence behind.

For my first murder, I thought it best to air on the safe side. I'd likely need to sacrifice the pleasure of watching him die if I wanted to remain in control of my instincts. It would have to happen from a distance.

The foxglove was certainly enticing, but I had another plan in mind. I didn't have much time to waste; the vigil was to be held tomorrow night, and from my understanding, everyone would be headed back home on Sunday morning. Given the condensed timeline, I didn't want to use the foxglove just yet — it sounded like an all-but-guaranteed strategy for success, and I needed more than one method at my disposal. Suspicion might arise if wealthy men started dropping dead of the same cause.

The idea first blossomed from our conversation in Esme's garden. While repotting the foxglove, she'd inspired me with her tale of how Carlisle had helped her find the knowledge necessary to handle her plants with care. I decided to take a similar approach with Doctor Delightful.

Esme and Edward headed into town on foot. I waited twenty-three minutes, then headed out of my room to execute phase one.

I peeked into the study meekly.

Carlisle's head swiveled around; he'd been arranging books on the shelf behind his desk. He wore an expression of surprise as he acknowledged me.

"Rosalie," he breathed, hopeful. "It's good to see you."

Perfect.

"Doctor Cullen," I greeted him.

He turned all the way around to face me and clasped his hands behind his back — an unmistakable display of openness and courtesy.

Apologizing to him would be out of character for me and would likely raise his suspicion. I pressed on with my prepared opening remark.

"…What kind of doctor are you, exactly?"

His eyebrows raised in the middle. He appeared to be surprised that I'd asked. "I have several degrees in different fields of study."

"Okay, sure, but…" I fidgeted with my thumbs. "What do you do at the hospital here?"

"I'm a surgeon," he told me. "Liver and kidney transplants."

"You can do that?" I asked, genuinely shocked. I detoured from my original line of questioning, too curious not to inquire further.

"With the proper resources, equipment, and education, anyone could, theoretically."

I rolled my eyes. "No. You can do that? Just — cut into a person and not…"

"Ah." He nodded, understanding. "I believe the word you're looking for is frenzy."

Good to know. "How on Earth…?"

"With a lot of patience and a lot of practice." He smiled with his lips closed. I barely even flinched when he said patience.

I had to know. "Have you ever… slipped up?"

He shook his head. "Not in my two-hundred and ninety-three years."

"And… have you ever wanted to?"

He furrowed his brow and looked at me seriously. "Of course. But it is our actions, not our thoughts, that define us."

I barely managed not to roll my eyes. "That is very wise."

"Is there something weighing on your conscience, Rosalie?"

I answered honestly. "No."

He studied me for a moment before the clouds in his eyes cleared. "I hope you'll feel comfortable to seek my counsel if that ever changes."

Not even when Hell froze over. "I will."

He went back to the bookshelf. "Did you have a specific query about my line of work?"

"Not really," I answered, examining my nails. They looked perfect. "I've just been thinking about… how to occupy my time."

"Mmm."

"I didn't really have any hobbies to speak of outside of babysitting… embroidery… the like. But," I lifted my bone-white hands up. "I doubt I have the coordination necessary to handle a needle and thread. Given the circumstances."

"Regrettably, Rosalie, I'm not well versed in ladies' activities."

"Of course you aren't," I conceded. I didn't need to trouble him with useless knowledge of womanly things. "But needlepoint isn't much unlike surgery, don't you think?"

His expression shifted. "I hadn't considered the parallel."

"I don't want a career," I clarified before he could think I was delusional. "But I find myself missing needlepoint and the like quite often. I was wondering… if there might be anything I could practice on? To better understand how to handle my strength, that is."

Carlisle considered that for a few moments. Then, an idea seemed to come to him.

"Possibly. But I want you to keep an open mind."

My interest was genuinely piqued, but a nervous butterfly took off within my stomach. "I can try."

His face indicated that I wouldn't like what was coming. "Is there a world in which you're willing to get a little greasy?"

"Greasy?" I repeated. I hadn't expected that adjective.

His handsome grin nearly blinded me. "Come along."

Dumbfounded, I floated after him as he strode out of his study… and out the front door.

/

Eeeeek sorry I forgot to update yesterday! What do we think the hobby Carlisle will introduce Rosalie to will be...? See y'all next Monday with the answer :) M