He set his champagne glass down and crossed the ballroom. People stepped out of his way without conscious thought, the crowd parting around his focused intensity like water around a stone.
He was vaguely aware of his mother watching from near the fountain pen displays, her expression knowing. He didn’t care.
“Excuse me,” he said to the collector, not bothering with pleasantries. “I need to borrow Miss Evianne.”
The man blinked. “Oh, Your Grace. We were just discussing the Montblanc collection and—”
“Dance with me,” Veil said to Evianne.
Not a question.
Her eyes widened. For a moment he thought she’d refuse, thought she’d give him some polite excuse about needing to check on the displays or find his mother, but then her chin lifted slightly and she placed her hand in his.
He led her toward the dance floor, but at the last moment steered her past it, through the French doors, out onto the private balcony that overlooked Foxtown’s gardens.
“Veil, what—”
“I need to talk to you.” He closed the doors behind them. “Privately.”
The balcony was strung with lights, tiny white bulbs that turned the space into something that didn’t feel entirely real. The spring air was cool enough to raise goosebumps on her bare arms.
She wrapped them around herself, suddenly uncertain. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” He stepped closer. “Everything’s right.”
“Then why do you look like—”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to do something terrifying.”
He almost smiled. She read him better than anyone. Better than his mother, some days. Better than he read himself.
He braced his hands on the balcony railing on either side of her, caging her in gently, giving her space but making it clear she had his full attention.
“I need to ask you something,” he said.
Her pulse jumped visibly in her throat. “Okay.”
Veil had rehearsed this a dozen times in his head. Had planned the perfect words, the right approach, the ideal timing.
But now, looking at her, at the way the lights caught in her hair, at the way she was looking at him with equal parts nervousness and hope, all those careful plans evaporated.
He cupped her face in his hands, felt her sharp intake of breath, and said the only thing that mattered.
“Be my girlfriend, Evianne.”
Direct.
Simple.
No games, no seduction, no careful maneuvering.
For one perfect, crystalline moment, her face transformed. Joy lit her eyes. Pure, unfiltered, radiant. She opened her mouth, and Veil knew with absolute certainty she was about to say yes.
Then fear crashed over her features like a wave.
He watched her expression shift from joy to panic in the space of a heartbeat.
