Stolen – Bonus Entry (Rosalie’s POV)

December 7, 2010

These damn teenagers, they act as though they own our house!

There were two of them in the living room, sprawled out on our pristine white sofas, stinking up the room and shouting excitedly at the flat-screen. I clenched my hands at my side when I saw that those two fools had crunched bright orange artificial cheese into our formerly spotless carpet. Luckily for them, I had just completed my manicure, and it didn’t take me long to convince myself that ruining my nails wouldn’t be worth the momentary pleasure of smashing in their smug faces.

Instead, I growled under my breath and stepped carefully, and exaggeratedly, over the mess, rather than going the long way around the couch. Of course, this went right over their massive heads; neither one looked away from the TV, or, in fact, registered my presence at all.

Oh, so now I’m invisible? Great. As I walked by, Jacob jumped up, hollering gibberish at the TV as some silly band of men in tights pranced around a large lawn. “Out of my way, mongrel,” I snarled, delicately placing one fingernail on his collarbone and shoving. The dumb brat’s expression didn’t even change as he fell backward; he just kept staring open-mouthed at the screen. With a slight shudder, I wiped my fingernail off on the side of a chair as I continued out of the house.

I had a pretty good idea of where to find Renesmee. Alice had us all working on the Nutcracker show, and even when we weren’t in rehearsal, there was something to be done: props to be made, costumes fitted, a special platform built for Edward’s precious piano.

Nessie was thrilled with Alice’s plan to turn her into a prima ballerina. Well, if I was psychic, I’d have some pretty good ideas, too. But some of us actually have to put some thought and effort into planning pleasant surprises for people – not that there are so many people I spend time trying to please, but still. It’s easy to be smug about your fantastic plan or perfect gift when you had a psychic vision of what someone wanted, or just picked it right out of their brain like Edward does. It never ceases to amaze me that people consider him to be so thoughtful. No, he’s not thoughtful; he’s stealing your thoughts.

Well. He has gotten me some fairly nice gifts over the years. It’s better than trusting that someone will be able to come up with a decent gift for you, anyway; I can’t count the number of strange birthday presents, Christmas items and wedding gifts I’ve received over the years. Some people just have no taste – I mean, an avocado green toaster? Even if I ate toast, foul-smelling stuff that it is to me now, why on earth would I wish for a nasty baby-dung-green colored toaster?

At any rate, Edward and Alice are secure in their positions as the special children. Even Bella is considered to be gifted now. What’s wrong with the world? All I ever get complimented on is my beauty, and in a family full of inhumanly beautiful men and women, that’s not a huge comfort.

As if I really care, anyway. Let them have their parlor tricks, if it makes them feel they’re more interesting because of them. I just rely on, I don’t know, my personality and my brain for that, but whatever.

Finally, several moments later, I entered the clearing, formerly known as our baseball clearing. I have a feeling that some of these changes may not be temporary, but I’ll defy Alice if she tries to keep my Emmett from his baseball games!

Edward looked up with that familiar condescending expression on his face as he eavesdropped on my thoughts. Instantly, I reverted to my old trick; I switched to thoughts of my own beauty to get him out of my head. And really, today I was in top form. I was wearing a perfectly fitted ivory wool crepe sheath dress, its side slit raised to nearly the top of my slim thigh by the unusual length of my legs, with white patent leather pumps that had white studs embedded in the clear PVC vamps. On a mere human, the outfit would appear contrived, as though she were trying too hard. On me, it looked effortless and natural, as though fashion designers worshiped me as their muse (and don’t think Alice hasn’t considered that before – the family wouldn’t allow her to move us to Italy, let alone market me as a supermodel/ It girl). In truth, I looked, if I may say so myself, like an angel descending to earth to mingle with the mortals.

Edward, for some reason, was still listening in on my private reflections, a fact I became aware of when he rolled his eyes in disgust and muttered not-so-quietly, “Give it a rest, Rosalie.”

I yawned pointedly with one hand raised to my mouth, using it as a convenient excuse to display my perfectly manicured nails. I knew that the subtle shimmer of the polish, against the white wool of my dress and the diamond sparkles of my skin, would be stunning, even to weak human eyes.

“What’s up, Rose?” Alice asked distractedly, a slightly harried look on her normally confident face. She seemed to be supervising Carlisle, Emmett, Edward and Jasper’s efforts while simultaneously creating a mouse costume and humming along to the music from Act II.

“I want Emmett,” I replied bluntly, earning myself yet another eye-roll from Edward. “One day, your eyes are going to roll right out of your head,” I warned him, silently adding to myself, and I might just help them on their way.

“Well, you’re in a spectacularly bad mood today, aren’t you,” he sniped, like a fussy schoolgirl. I allowed my upper lip to curl as a sign of my annoyance, but otherwise ignored him. I had found Renesmee, and what on earth was she doing?

“Should Nessie really be helping them build things?” I growled, anxiety, love, and fear coming out as irritation as I marched over to the boys and deftly removed Nessie from their midst. She looked up at me with her brow furrowed, and placed a hand on my face to show me that she had been having fun, but I shook my head.

“We were being careful,” Emmett said defensively, watching me as I brushed sawdust from Renesmee’s glossy hair. I straightened up and shot him a withering look.

“Famous last words,” I huffed, turning away from the construction site. Assessing Alice’s workload, I frowned. Did I want to stay and help her with the boring, tedious work? Or bring Nessie back to the house, and risk having her stolen away from me by that filthy mutt, or by Bella – her mother?

This is the type of thing that does make me envious, slightly envious, of Alice and Edward’s skills. How useful it would have been to look into the future and see that I should stay away from Royce King, or convince my family to move to Russia instead of Forks, or …

Actually, no. All of these things, these horrid and irritating things, that have happened in my lifetime have brought me two things well worth the agony: Emmett, and Renesmee. If there is one thing I both begrudge Bella and fervently thank her for (silently, of course), Renesmee is it. Though I may not be her actual mother, I see her as the daughter of my heart.

Better to stay here, then. If we returned to the house, somebody else would be sure to take her away.

“I thought you were looking for Emmett,” Edward remarked slyly. Once again, I was forced to ignore his spiteful commentary.

“Let’s help Alice,” I suggested to Nessie, and felt myself glow with pleasure when she nodded and smiled up at me with pure love and trust in her eyes.

Of course, it couldn’t last long. The boys actually wanted to watch the same silly aerobics on television, and so everyone ended up back at the house again, with Renesmee in her mother’s arms.

Annoyed beyond my limits, I snatched Alice’s little book when she wasn’t looking and stole away to my room to vent my frustration. I’ll rip this out before she comes looking for it, but if I can’t talk to Emmett about how completely and utterly fed up I am with the constant tug-of-war over Renesmee, then I will at least write it down.

Rosalie Hale


This entry was written by Erin MacMahon. She was the former writer of Alice's Diary before Rachel took over. Although Erin is no longer a writer at we wish her nothing but the best and are so very happy to have met such a true talent!
©Erin MacMahon

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