“I—” she started.
His hands were still cupping her face.
He could feel her trembling.
“I need to—”
No.
Don’t.
“I have to go to the powder room.”
And then she was pulling away, stepping back, putting distance between them like he’d burned her instead of offered her everything.
“Evianne—”
“I’m sorry, I just need a minute—”
She turned and fled back into the ballroom, moving fast, disappearing into the crowd before he could stop her.
Veil stood on the balcony with his hands still raised like he was holding something that had just evaporated, and tried to process what had happened.
He’d laid himself bare, made himself vulnerable in a way he hadn’t since his father died, and she’d looked at him with panic and run.
His hands lowered slowly.
Curled into fists.
Something hot and vicious rose in his chest, and he forced himself to breathe through it.
Think, Hampton.
There could be other explanations. She was scared. He’d known that going in. Maybe she just needed time.
Maybe—
Veil walked back into the ballroom and immediately knew something was wrong.
People were staring. Not at him directly, they were too well-bred for that, but there was a buzz running through the crowd, a current of whispered conversation that hadn’t been there before.
And they were looking at their phones.
“Veil.” Damian Fox’s tone instantly had him on edge. “I’m afraid we have a situation...concerning Evianne.”
Veil had somehow known that was coming, but hearing her name still had him stiffening.
“There were paparazzi under the balcony. They caught your conversation on video.”
The look on his friend’s face told him everything else, and all he needed to find out was just how bad was it.
Ah.
The moment he took his phone out, he saw that his inbox was already exploding with countless messages from his company’s PR and legal department.
A video of him and Evianne had already been shared thousands of times, and the comments were exactly what he’d expect from strangers who understood nothing:
Duke of Veilcourt REJECTED at own gala!
