Saturday May 6th, 1933

Wedding Day

The sun climbed higher, illuminating a perfect spring day.

It was my wedding day, after all. I couldn't have asked for better weather.

I literally couldn't have. Given my particular twist of fate, I couldn't go outside without turning into a mirrorball on a day like today.

Esme and Carlisle hadn't returned from their hunt. I realized, as I remained in the windowsill, that I'd been waiting for Edward to come upstairs. We had an agenda to cover. Ever the meticulous academic, he'd want to ensure all the details before the day commenced. Right?

Why hadn't he shown?

He couldn't have forgotten. He could hear my thoughts perfectly fine, and I wasn't thinking about anything else.

Fine. If it was up to the victim of the situation to take initiative in rendering consequences for the perpetrators, then so be it.

I stood from the sill, surprised by the lack of instinct to stretch. My muscles and joints weren't stiff and tight, as they should've been after sitting in one spot and not moving for an entire night. I wondered if I'd ever get used to that.

It was a rather privileged thing to complain about, I supposed, but it was unnatural. It was wrong. It shouldn't be.

I never thought I'd one day pine for a morning stretch, of all things.

The house was quiet, the silence disturbed only by the sound of Edward's pages turning downstairs. I didn't want to be a disruption, so I tiptoed over to my closet, making virtually no sound at all.

I opened the closet.

I'd forgotten about the dress inside.

I just opened the door and it was right there.

And damn, I should have tried it on the previous night.

It was even more stunning than I'd remembered – my human eyes hadn't been able to appreciate the immaculate stitching, the shine of the fabric, the glow of the ivory. I hadn't forgotten how gorgeous it had been; rather, I'd never truly known.

That was probably how Royce thought about me, once upon a time.

At least with his human eyes, he'd be able to appreciate the flawless, heavenly beauty of his assassin.

I ran a finger down the bodice and pinched the skirt between my fingers. It was cool to the touch, and felt somehow imbued with a power that I couldn't name. As if this dress were a magical creature in itself.

I knew without a doubt that it would fit.

But I would not be wearing white today.

Carefully, I picked up the hanger and moved the dress onto another hook hidden deeper within the closet. It was heavy, by human standards. I remembered how trying it on at Walters Bridal had exhausted and squeezed the breath out of me.

I'd come back for it soon.

Instead, I began to leaf through Esme's drab selection, ultimately selecting a black satin shirtdress. The Peter Pan collar gathered between my collarbones and gave way to buttons down the entire front. Its skirt was fitted at the waist, then flowed out before cutting off just above the ankle. Tea length, like my wedding dress.

I pulled it on and checked my reflection.

If looks could kill, I'd be Medusa. I could make even Esme's clothes look fashionable. I spun once, my bare feet rotating smoothly on the floor, and approved every last aspect of my appearance.

Except for the eyes.

They were scarlet today. The violets of my last life were nowhere to be found.

I smiled, just to see if I could summon the doe-eyed dame, but failed completely. The vixen who sinisterly grinned back at me showed too many white teeth, but showed not even the ghost of a smile in her eyes.

I imagined the panic Oliver would feel when he felt his brakes give out. Then I saw a spark of joy within the crimson void.

I felt no guilt for it as I descended the stairs.

—

Edward was in the living room. Reading, just as I'd expected. He didn't look up as I hit the ground floor.

Was I ever going to learn that he would never give me the time of day?

I paused at the foot of the stairs. Still, he said nothing.

So I opened the dialogue. Good morning, Edward.

No reply.

"Good morning, Edward."

"Good morning, Rosalie." He didn't look up.

I closed my eyes and breathed out through my nose. Fucking dick.

I strode to the chair across from his and folded myself neatly into it, tucking my feet beneath my thighs on the cushion. I'd counted up to seven hundred and twenty-three by the time I decided to give up on counting.

"Lovely day outside."

He nodded, head down.

"...Will that affect your plans for the day?"

No response.

…He couldn't have forgotten.

I sighed in faux-content and looked out the window in silence.

The sun wouldn't present too much of an obstacle… right? I'd still yet to witness the phenomenon they'd all warned me of. I didn't totally believe it. In any case, Edward hadn't brought it up as a worry.

Then again, he wasn't behaving like a man with places to be and things to do…

I vowed not to bring it up out loud. Even if it meant going through with it alone, somehow. Oliver would not live to see tomorrow either way.

And I didn't really need Edward to pull it off. He was mostly there to read the minds around us, making sure no one would catch a glimpse. And also to keep me from slaughtering the townspeople.

So he wouldn't back out on me. He would come. If not for me, then for the innocent human lives at stake.

Another hour passed. It was nearly midmorning, and Carlisle and Esme still hadn't returned from their hunt. Edward and I hadn't uttered a word to each other, as still and silent as statues. The only indication that time had passed at all came from the changing slants of the beams of sunlight, panning golden rectangles along the floor to the east.

The vigil was set to start promptly at two in the afternoon. That's what it had said on the wedding program, so of course it would apply to the service. It had also been written in the paper, so those unfortunate enough to not have been initially invited could attend.

So everyone in town could see just how devastated Royce King the Second was that his bride had chosen to abandon him. So anyone who meant anything would be there to witness whatever story they spun. So they'd have complete control over what people thought, how they felt.

Like my absence was nothing more than a mere scandal.

The flame in my throat was torching.

Maybe the town should suffer my wrath, too. Maybe it was what they deserved, for looking the other way while Royce and his rich friends stampeded their way through life without consequence. Not caring who they trampled and left bleeding behind them on their merry way.

Wouldn't that be nice? Those righteous sons of bitches, sneering down their noses at everyone, believing themselves to be untouchable. Thinking they were elite. Thinking they were better than everyone else.

Maybe the church and everyone in it should burn.

"You'd be in that church if it were Vera," Edward said casually from his chair.

I snapped my head around. "Say that again, skid rogue?"

"If Vera had gone missing just before her wedding day," he continued with icy calm, "you would be in attendance at the main event regarding her disappearance."

"So I'm a great friend. Such an astute observation, abercrombie."

"You're getting more clever with your nicknames."

"Thanks for the unsolicited assessment, pencil-neck. I don't care what you think."

"Good. You shouldn't."

I couldn't argue with him.

But I did want some answers. "Were you planning on making a point with your analysis, or were you just looking for an excuse to chat?"

"Don't burn the church down," he said simply.

As if I would ever. "Why not? Don't tell me you still think you have a shot at heaven."

"My idea of Hell is a lifetime spent with you," he retorted.

"Like I would ever give you the time of day in the first place."

"No, you'd be too busy baking pies and arranging place settings."

"How would you know? You couldn't afford to sit at the same table."

"Nor would I want to," he spat.

"Good, because you wouldn't be granted the luxury of having a choice in the matter."

"Nor would I want one."

"Good, then."

"If I am doomed to spend time with you today, Rosalie, I'd suggest that you shut up now."

My breath caught. Finally, he'd acknowledged our plans. Kind of.

It was good enough for me. We went back to silence, but I grew ever tense as the minutes ticked by.

A small clock on the coffee table read the time: eleven-oh-five. Would Carlisle and Esme be back with enough time to arrive at the vigil by two? It shouldn't take them too long to get dressed and out the door, but the church was probably…

I realized I had no earthly idea where this pathetic dwelling was located, thus no sense of the travel time. Just how far from Rochester was I?

I braced for Edward's mocking remarks, but wasn't met with anything. My eyes flitted over to him. He was unchanged.

I knew he could hear me thinking at him. I knew that he could hear me think about thinking about him, but he didn't do anything to acknowledge it.

I had to admire the dedication to stubbornness. I resolved to match it.

I couldn't think about the reality of our itinerary without getting worked up, so I passed the time by focusing very hard on watching dust fall.

How many people had already departed their homes and were on their way to the church?

It didn't matter. No one would be seeing me.

How many of them would come who otherwise wouldn't have been invited?

I wouldn't be getting close enough to tell, anyway.

How many of them would come, but only to gain social status or favor with the groom's family?

I would never know.

Would Vera and Frederick be there?

Of course they would be.

Would they bring Henry?

Oh, God… would Henry ever even know of me? I'd held him in my arms, I'd bathed and shushed and swaddled and changed and fed him. But he wouldn't remember any of that; he'd only know of what his parents told him.

And what would Vera and Fred deign worthy of telling him? Rosalie, an old friend of his mother, who was beautiful and graceful and rich and… Royce King's betrothed…

What kind of person were they grieving for today?

What would become of my memory?

I flared my nostrils and forced myself to take a deep breath. My reputation was indeed on the line. I would have to be absolutely perfect today if I wanted to take back control of the public's opinion.

I ground my teeth as I admitted to myself that I would need Edward's help to keep me in line. No matter how irritated he made me, no matter how condescendingly he spoke to me, no matter, no matter, no matter – within his company, I would act every bit the lady that I was trained to be. If I wanted to succeed, I had no other choice.

I dared to throw a glance in his direction, resigned to my humility.

His eyes were still on the pages of his book. But the corner of his mouth was drawn up. Just a tad.

The back door to the house swung open softly.

"We're home," Esme called.