“Rosalie.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Her name was Rosalie.” I crossed my arms and snapped, “And? Who is this Rosalie? Who was she to you?” He shook his head, loose strands of hair brushing against his eyes. “I cannot say anymore. Now is not the time. I just cannot…I am not ready for such heartache.” He buried his face in his palms. “Then when!” I hollered. “When will you tell me? I’m sick of you keeping this from me. One night you go and say, ‘Hey, Lily, didja know you were my wife a couple thousand years ago?’ and then leave me hanging like a wet towel! Now you’re doing the same exact bullshit. Coming up with excuses because that’s all you’re ever good at.” I pouted. He placed a palm to his face. “It is just…not the right time to tell you. I promise I will tell you when the time comes.” I waved my hands. “And when will that be, huh? It’s not like we have forever,” I joked. He smiled faintly. “I am sorry.” “Well, just tell me something!
