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His gaze flicks over my face. “You look fine.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. “Great. That’s exactly what every woman hopes to hear while she’s crying.”
“It was either that or compliment your technique.”
“My technique?”
He gestures vaguely toward me. “Minimal damage to the dress. That’s a strong performance under difficult conditions.”
I shake my head, laughing despite myself. The sound fades too quickly, leaving me dangerously close to crying again. “Sorry. You really don’t need to stand here while I have a minor breakdown in a dressing room.”
Bane rests one shoulder against the doorframe. “You don’t look like you’re having a breakdown.”
“No?”
“You look exhausted.”
The smile disappears. Out of everything he could’ve said, that’s what finds its mark.
I stare at him.
He doesn’t rush to soften it or explain what he means. He doesn’t check his watch, glance toward the hallway, or search for an excuse to leave. He just stands there, waiting.
The longer he does, the harder it becomes to hold on to the polished version of myself everyone usually gets.
“Exhausted,” I repeat quietly.
Bane nods once. “Yeah.”
I let out a breath. “That sounds about right.”
I look down at the champagne glass still trapped in my hands. The bubbles gave up ages ago.
“Listen to me.” I huff out a laugh. “I’m hiding in a dressing room at a charity gala. People have actual problems.”
Bane folds his arms. “Is that how this works?”
“What?”
“We rank misery on a scoreboard?”
I glance up.
One eyebrow lifts. “Because if that’s the system, somebody should’ve handed out rules when I got here.”
Despite myself, I smile. “You’re surprisingly argumentative.”
“I work in security for Spencer Stone. It’s practically a job requirement.”
My fingers tighten around the stem of the glass. “I think I’m lonely.”
The admission slips out before I can dress it up into something easier to hear. As soon as it’s hanging between us, I wish I could take it back.
Bane doesn’t rush to reassure me. He doesn’t offer the usual platitudes or tell me how lucky I am.
Instead, he studies me with an expression that suggests this conversation started long before either of us walked into this room.
Then he gives a small nod. “He loves you.”
