Rose awoke to a knock on her door. "Who is it?" She called out groggily.

The man cleared his throat on the other side. "It's Owen, my lady. The master has sent me to fetch you. He wishes to have breakfast with you this morning." 

Rose groaned and pushed herself out of bed and walked over to the door. She pulled it open just a crack to save Owen the displeasure of seeing her messy hair and smudged mascara since she had forgotten to wash her face the night before.

"How you are able to be awake and functioning after last night is beyond me," Rose groaned once more.

Owen stood before her in a blue button-up shirt that had been neatly pressed, and a pair of black trousers. His black hair was slicked back, and his golden eyes showed no signs of tiredness. "It is part of my job, my lady."

"Can you not with the "my lady" crap? And drop the polite speech, it creeps me out." She was in a complaining mood and felt comfortable enough with Owen after last night to have him be her victim. 

He gave her a crooked smile. "As you wish, princess," he mocked, "but I don't suppose you'll be attending breakfast in your PJs" 

Rose looked down at her plaid PJ bottoms and baggy Rolling Stones t-shirt. "I wouldn't want to scare away my husband now would I," she stated, sarcastically.

Owen took a step back. "Why don't I bring you some coffee and a pain reliever while you get ready? I'll let our dear boy Eddie know that you'll be down shortly."

Rose nodded to him and Owen disappeared down the stairs. She groggily walked to the attached bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. She looked worse than she thought. She couldn't tell if the darkness under her eyes was due to poor sleep from anxiously tossing and turning, or the smudged mascara. Her hair looked like a bird's nest, and she had to cut the hair ties that held her braids together. She took an extra long shower due to a mix of dreading breakfast with her new husband, and also to wash off the tiredness from a hangover and sleeping in an unfamiliar place. 

After her shower, she stared at her reflection again before carefully applying makeup. While she wasn't keen on the idea of pleasing Edward, she also felt that things would go better with him if she played the part of his wife well. Rose was determined to make this marriage work. If she could make him feel secure, then she could have what she wanted. And what she wanted in that moment, was a room that brought her comfort. 

With freshly applied warpaint and armor in the form of a sundress, Rose set out for war. The first battle- breakfast. Before taking her first steps into the dining room, she paused for a breath and fixed her face to look sweet.

"Edward, dear. I hope you slept well last night," she said in a gentle voice. 

Edward was sitting at the long oak dining room table. He was leaning back into his chair, tapping his fingers against the wood. A mug of caramel-colored coffee sat in front of him and he was staring intently at the New York Times. Rose peered over his shoulder to see what he was reading, hoping it was something she could strike up a conversation about to get to know her husband. She was not, however, expecting him to be staring so seriously at the Sunday Funnies. 

“Why so serious?” Rose asked sweetly.

“I just don’t get it,” Edward said, scratching his chin, “How is singing in the shower with soap in your mouth considered a soap opera? Singing has nothing to do with daytime television.”

Rose looked over the comic he was staring so intently at. “Well,” she tried, “It’s a play on words, you see. Soap as in the washing substance, but also as in the type of show.”

Edward looked even more confused. “But those are entirely different things! How could they even be compared?” Rose opened her mouth to attempt to explain the joke better when Owen arrived and handed her two pain relievers and a mug of coffee. 

“It’s better not to try,” Owen said quietly to her, “He doesn’t really understand jokes. Trust me, I’ve tried. Watch.” Louder, he said, “Edward, how does the moon cut her hair?”

Edward folded the newspaper and set it on the table in front of him. “I’m not quite sure that the moon has hair, dear Owen. Are you feeling okay?”

“No, no. It’s a joke. Play along,” Owen replied.

“Okay, then. How does the moon cut its hair?”

“Eclipse it!” Owen exclaimed. 

By the look on Edward’s face, he did not look like he got it. He furrowed his brow and stroked his chin again. “Old friend,” he said slowly, “I’m not positive that you are feeling well. That joke makes no sense. Firstly, the moon does not have hair to cut. At least, I don’t think it does. Maybe I should ask Daddy to buy me a space shuttle so I can see for myself. Secondly, what does an eclipse have to do with hair? I may be no astrologer, but I’m sure an eclipse has more to do with the phase of the moon, rather than the moon’s beauty standards.”

Owen gave Rose a pointed look, but Rose tried to help Edward out. “Dear,” she said, “Yes, an eclipse has to do with the moon. But the punchline is that “eclipse it” sounds awfully like “she clips it”.”

“Then why not just say “she clips it”?” Edward argued. 

“Because then it would be a piss-poor joke,” Owen replied back.

“It already is,” Edward said decisively, ending the conversation before it could go on further. He cleared his throat and turned his attention to Rose. “Darling, we really should get to know each other better. After all, we will be spending the rest of our days together!”

Rose gagged and Edward gave her a curious look. “Oh, dear. I’m suffering from a hangover, you see.” She could see Owen holding back a laugh from her peripheral vision. Ignoring him, she took a seat adjacent to Edward. “I agree, we really should get to know each other better. It’s important that there are no surprises in our day-to-day. Like, I’m a student at Syracuse University, studying sociology and-”

“Yes, yes. Very nice, dear. I think you’ll find me very fascinating. As you know, I am heir to the Rosenberg Hospitals. Daddy is training me rather nicely to take over the business, so I spent most of my days in the office shadowing him. But let’s be honest, I’m so talented that it won’t be long before he trusts me with more responsibilities. Daddy said that marriage is a good way to learn about responsibilities, especially with us creating an heir of our own.”

Rose chose the wrong time to take a sip from her coffee. She spewed hot coffee across the white tablecloth at the mention of an heir. “Shit!” She exclaimed. Of course, on her first day of living with her husband, she already destroys something pretty and white. “I’m so sorry.” 

Edward only waved her off. “Think nothing of it. I’ll just have Daddy buy us a new one. After all, I’m sure our son will ruin things plenty.”

“What?” Rose asked in dismay. Clearing her throat, she quickly expanded, “I mean, darling, we’ve been married for less than 24 hours and you’re already thinking of children? Shouldn’t we enjoy our honeymoon first? And do you sound so certain that we’ll have a boy?”

“Well, of course we’ll be having a boy. Running such a large business like the Rosenberg Hospitals is not a job for a girl, after all. There’s just no other option,” he said, still sounding confident.

Rose held her tongue for a multitude of reasons. The first one being, she didn’t see it beneficial to argue with Edward about the fact that there was indeed another option. The sex of their child was a 50-50 shot in either direction. The second reason was the misogynist comment about a woman being unable to run a large business. And then, of course, there was the matter of reproducing in general. 

“Where will you be taking the lady on your honeymoon, anyway?” Owen chimed in, clearly entertained by the situation. 

Edward looked surprised. “Why, we won’t be having a honeymoon. Daddy is in the middle of showing me important work.” Turning to Rose, he sighed and added, “Forgive me, my dear. I don’t expect you to understand anything about hard work. Oh, how I wish I could just stand around and look pretty like you.” He glanced down at his Rolex and furrowed his brows. “That time already,” he muttered to himself and stood up. “Well, I must be on my way now. Daddy needs me. Owen, make sure this tablecloth gets situated. And Rose, dear, I will see you tonight. Think only of me while I’m away.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek and went on his way.

Once Edward had left, Owen let loose his laughter. “He’s not quite what you were expecting, is he, Princess?” Sitting in Edward’s empty chair, he leaned towards Rose and placed his hand on top of her. “I was going to say be careful not to tear the tablecloth, but you already stained it so I don’t think it matters now.”

It was at that moment that Rose realized that she had balled the fabric in her fist hard enough to cause her knuckles to go white. After releasing her grasp, she attempted to smooth the wrinkles but the damage had been done. Sighing, she said, “You couldn’t have warned me last night?”

“Come on, I know this marriage was arranged, but you should have met the guy at least once?” He chuckled. “Besides, even if I did warn you, I never could have properly prepared you for Eddie. He is a very… unique person.”

“Unique sure is a word that you could use. I would have chosen asshole, ignorant, piece-of-shit, undoubtedly the worst person I have ever had the misfortune of meeting,” Rose grumbled. 

“Ah, young love. I love how newlyweds talk about each other. It brings a tear to my eye,” he joked while wiping away a fake tear. 

Rose was still stewing. She had never met such a vile person in her life. It didn’t even seem like they were living in the same century. But still, maybe this marriage would be easier to manage than she thought. It didn’t seem like Edward cared about who Rose was or what she did in her day, so maybe this would work out with minimal contact. She could just play the part of a trophy wife and live her life comfortably. This would be such a grand plan, except for the detail of Edward apparently wanting children. There were only so many things a woman could fake. Bringing a child into this world was not one of them.

While Rose was sitting there and picturing what the next 50 years of her life would be like assuming she didn’t take on the form of a black widow, Owen had stopped laughing. “But for real, though,” he said gently, “are you okay?”

That question alone brought all her feelings to the surface and before she knew it, she was sobbing. Not in the beautifully wistful way, but in the puffy-face-snot-dripping-ugly-crying kind of way. Owen didn’t say anything, not that he needed to. He only sat by her side and held her hand. 

Through her anger and sadness, she remembered that she didn’t ask Edward about the damn bedroom.