“I merely dislike being misled,” she finished triumphantly. “If you were looking at another lady, I would prefer you simply say so.”
He stared at her, and he couldn’t help but be utterly amused by her reaction. “So, youwouldprefer I tell you whom I admire besides you?”
Her eyes snapped back to his, blazing with flustered indignation. “That is not what I…” Hazel tore her gaze from him, cheeks still flushed and dignity held together by what he suspected was sheer willpower. “You areutterlyimpossible,” she muttered.
Greyson felt the corner of his mouth lift. “Good. I like it.”
Her head snapped back toward him. “Youlikebeing impossible?”
“Very much,” he said. “Particularly when it vexes you.”
Hazel looked as though she longed to stomp on his foot in retaliation, but the orchestra, alas, demanded decorum. She inhaled sharply, visibly gathering herself.
“Well,” she said, in a tone too prim to be anything but defensive, “if you wish to keep your secrets, you may. I was merely inquiring because…” She hesitated, her lips pressing together.
He waited, curious to find out the reason she was willing to reveal on her own.
“… because I was worried,” she finished softly.
Greyson blinked. The breath left his chest in a tight, unexpected jolt.
“Worried?” he repeated.
She nodded, and she looked away, just over his shoulder, as if admitting such a thing directly to his face might strike her dead on the spot.
“Yes. You seemed… distracted. And if something were troubling you, well…” She swallowed. “It is our wedding day. And it seemed appropriate that… that we should talk. Sort things out, if needed.”
Greyson went still. Not outwardly, of course. Outwardly, his expression remained composed, but something inside him palpitated with unnerving force.
She was worried about him… not because she feared scandal or impropriety, not because it fit her sense of duty. She was worried forhim.
The realization hit him like a hand closing around his lungs.
He cleared his throat. “You… were concerned for my well-being.”
“Of course,” she said, frowning at him as though he were being deliberately obtuse. “You are my husband. If something troubles you, I would rather know. What else is the point of this partnership if not to carry difficulties together?”
He stared at her.
Hazel, sensing the weight of his silence, immediately backtracked. “Not that I assume youhavedifficulties,” she added quickly. “You are certainly capable of handling them alone. But if you did… I mean, if anything were amiss, I would prefer honesty over evasiveness. Even if you think it unimportant.”
Greyson swallowed. She had no idea, absolutely none at all, how deeply those simple words pierced him and how entirely unprepared he was for someone to offer him concern without expectation, without manipulation, without demand.
For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. He looked down at the earnest sincerity in her eyes, finding fierce care she offered so naturally it almost startled her when she herself recognized it. The instinct to protect others seemed woven into her very being.
Against every instinct honed over years of discipline, distance, and silence, Greyson heard himself speak words he had not intended.
“It is nothing of consequence,” he began, then hesitated. He should have stopped there. He should have redirected the conversation, teased her again, and built his wall back up.
But Hazel was still watching him with that soft, disarming attentiveness, and against his better judgment, the truth slipped free.
“I had… hoped,” he said quietly, “that my mother might be able to attend.”
Hazel’s breath caught, though she did not interrupt.
“She was not well enough for the ceremony,” he continued, the words feeling strangely heavy as they left him, “and I doubted she would attend a ball. But still, I…” He looked away for the smallest moment. “I hoped.”
The admission hung between them, fragile as glass. And the instant it escaped him, regret struck like a blow.
