“And what is that?” she asked.
Alexander did not answer. He simply looked at her.
Beneath his steady gaze, Diana felt as though the rest of the room had faded into something distant and indistinct, even though the music continued to swell around them, couples moving gracefully across the ballroom floor, voices rising and falling in conversation beneath the glow of candlelight.
Alexander’s eyes held hers, steady and unsettlingly sincere.
“You.” The word was spoken simply, without flourish or hesitation.
For a moment, Diana forgot how to breathe.
“I have forgotten many things,” he continued, his voice low and thoughtful, the words spoken without self-pity yet carrying the quiet weight of truth. “But I have spent these past days making new memories instead.” His gaze lingered on her as he said it, steady and unwavering, as though he wanted her to understand exactly what he meant. “I believe that is a fair exchange.”
Diana felt the words settle somewhere deep in her chest, and her stomach turned helplessly.
Because he said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, as though the loss of an entire life’s worth of memories could be balanced by something as fragile and new as the days they had just begun to share together.
“You make it sound very easy,” she murmured.
Alexander’s expression softened.
“It is easy.” For a moment, his eyes moved over her face with a gentleness that made her pulse quicken. “When the person beside you is worth remembering.”
The warmth that rushed through Diana’s chest was so sudden and overwhelming that she had to look away for a moment,her breath catching softly in her throat. She fixed her gaze on the far side of the ballroom, pretending sudden interest in the movement of dancers across the polished floor, but the effort did very little to steady the storm that had begun to gather beneath her ribs.
Because the truth was simple. No one had ever looked at her like that before. No one had ever spoken to her as though her presence alone might be enough to make the world feel whole again.
She was still trying to steady herself, still attempting to gather the scattered pieces of her composure, when two familiar voices approached behind them.
“Well,” said a warm female voice touched with amused admiration, “if it is not the most admired couple in the room.”
Diana turned quickly.
“Thalia,” she said with a delighted smile, inclining her head in greeting.
Thalia Warren, Duchess of Marrowhurst, approached with graceful ease, her husband Maxwell beside her. The couple carried themselves with confidence, obviously grown accustomed to society’s attention without ever appearing impressed by it.
“You look radiant this evening,” Thalia said warmly, reaching out to clasp her hands.
“And you,” Diana replied sincerely.
“Alexander!” The voice reached them a moment before its owner did, warm and unmistakably pleased.
Maxwell Warren approached, his tall frame moving easily through the clusters of guests gathered around the ballroom. A genuine grin spread across his face, making it immediately clear that this greeting was far more than polite courtesy.
“Well, if it is not the most elusive man in London,” Maxwell said as he reached them. “I was beginning to suspect you had abandoned us all entirely.”
Alexander’s expression shifted at once, something warmer appearing in his eyes as he extended his hand. “Warren.”
For the briefest moment, relief moved quietly through Diana’s chest.
She remembered the evening two nights earlier when she had spoken to him about the Warrens while they sat together in the drawing room after dinner. Alexander had listened, asking thoughtful questions while she described the Duke and Duchess of Marrowhurst, their estate, and their easy friendship with him before the accident.
Now, hearing him greet Maxwell so naturally, Diana realized he had remembered the conversation perfectly. The tension she had not even realized she carried eased slightly.
Maxwell clasped his hand firmly, the greeting carrying the easy familiarity of long friendship.
“You have been hiding yourself far too well these past months,” Maxwell continued, giving his arm a brief, friendly squeeze before releasing him. “We were starting to think Rosewood had decided to become a hermit.”
