Loved.
Past tense.
The single syllable landed like a saber thrust, stealing his breath. He’d suspected it back then—guessed at it in the way she’d looked at him, touched him—but he’d never been certain. And now, to hear it relegated to the past…
The devastation rang in his bones like a death knell.
But she was not finished…
“Two years have passed.” The hurt bled through every syllable, raw and unguarded. “For six long and lonely months, I hoped. I prayed. I bargained with God and then I convinced myself that you would come back to me. I yearned to see you. I wanted you, Dash. I dreamt of you. And every time I saw a man with your build or your hair color, or heard a French accent, I was certain it was you. But it was not. It was never you, Dash. In addition to being disappointed the morning you left, I was to be disappointed another thousand times afterward.
“It took almost a year for me to accept that you had… truly abandoned me, intentionally. If you had wanted to be with me, you would have stayed. At the very least, you would have given me some sort of explanation.” She closed her eyes.
And then… “You would have told me goodbye.”
She was right to hate him. But he couldn’t… He could not accept that.
“I am so damn sorry, Ambrosia. I didn’t have a choice. I?—”
“You married.” Her eyes flew back open. “Was that the obligation you needed to fulfill in such a hurry? Was it even your birthday or was that a lie as well?”
“It was my birthday. There was a deadline.” His voice dropped when he felt a few curious gazes land on them. “I didn’t know if I would ever be free, and I didn’t want you waiting for me forever. I left that morning knowing you would hate me. If I had waited until you were awake, saying goodbye would have been… impossible. In the end… it was easier.”
If he’d seen her eyes that morning, heard her voice asking him to stay, he couldn’t have done it.
And yet, he’d known he had to.
Her eyes narrowed, sharp enough to cut. “Easiest isn’t always best.”
“Ambrosia, darling.”
Grimm appeared behind her like the devil waltzing into a church—lace spilling over his wrists, his elaborately embroidered turquoise waistcoat only half-buttoned in that careless, calculated way of his. One hand settled possessively on her waist and the other slipped lazily into his pocket as he turned to face Dash, that usual air of smugness about him.
Dash’s jaw tightened. A younger version of himself might have decked Grimm right there for being so bold as to put his hands on her, long-held acquaintance or no, but here and now he refrained.
Ambrosia would hate it if he made a scene.
“I see you’ve decided to wash off your dirt and join civilization again,” Grimm said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Ambrosia tilted her head, her voice deceptively light. “Shocking, isn’t it? His Grace so loves to pretend…”
Dash let the silence stretch. Then he inclined his head. “Touché. But you know, princesse… beneath my mask, there was nothing to fear.” He shifted his gaze, just barely, toward Grimm. “That’s not always the case.”
For the briefest moment, Ambrosia’s poise faltered—the tiniest pause in her breath, a flicker in those green eyes—but it was gone as quickly as it came.
Her lips curved into a deliberate smile. “I’ll have to wait and see then, won’t I?” She tilted her head toward Grimm, her gaze lingering on him as though she were enjoying this game.
Jealousy flared, sharp and hot, but Dash buried it beneath an easy smile.
If she meant to rattle him, she’d have to try harder.
His old friend chuckled—not in open amusement, but in that self-satisfied way of a man who thought he was winning. Grimm’s thumb moved against the velvet of Ambrosia’s gown at her waist, a silent acknowledgment that he, too, was more than willing to play this game.
Ambrosia let her fingers trail along Grimm’s arm. “Shall we see who’s at the pianoforte, my lord?”
Grimm gave Dash a lazy salute before leading her away, his limp hardly noticeable.
She didn’t look back.
