Across the table, Edwina kept her gaze on me, composed for everyone else, but the warning in it was meant for me. She was drawing a line in silence, telling me exactly where to stop, and some fucked-up part of me wanted to step over it just to see what she would do. A faint smile touched the corner of my mouth anyway.
“Which is why seeing her here in London was quite a surprise.”
The table went quiet in a way that had nothing to do with politeness. Whitmore shifted in his seat before speaking again. “Well,” he said cautiously, glancing at Edwina, “life takes people in different directions sometimes.”
“Yes,” I replied calmly, my gaze returning to her. “It certainly does.”
For a few seconds, no one seemed to know what to do with that. Conversation carried on around us, glasses clinked,laughter rose from other tables, and everyone else kept enjoying the evening as if there wasn’t a blade sitting between us, ready to cut through the linen.
I did not look away from Edwina. I was waiting for her reaction, watching for the crack beneath all that careful control, and when it came, it hit harder than I expected.
She was blushing. Actually blushing.
Color rose along her cheeks, and for one brief moment, the sight dragged me back to another version of her, the girl who used to lose herself whenever our conversations slipped too close to the forbidden. She had spent the entire week pretending I did not affect her, pretending my presence meant nothing, yet there she was, sitting across from me with heat in her face while everyone waited for her answer.
Fuck, I missed that reaction.
She cleared her throat before finally speaking.
“Well,” she said, her voice even despite the warmth still visible in her cheeks, “some personal… and family reasons came up at the time. That’s why I had to leave.”
Her explanation gave me nothing. It was careful and restrained for the table, safe in all the ways that kept everyone from asking too much, and so fucking empty that it only made me want to press harder. I held her gaze for a moment longer, searching for whatever she had buried behind those chosen words, but she gave me nothing else.
Instead, she reached for her champagne glass, took a small sip, and set it down with a finality that told me she was done being watched.
“Excuse me for a moment,” she said quietly.
Her chair shifted as she stood, and Giselle looked up at once. “Do you want me to come with you?”
Edwina shook her head, already gathering herself back into that untouchable version of calm she wore too damn well. “No, I’m fine. I’ll be right back.”
Daniel nodded as though her answer made sense, as though there was nothing beneath it worth questioning, and that alone made something ugly twist in my chest. Edwina walked away with her chin lifted and her steps controlled, yet I noticed the pace, the need to put distance between us before I could drag another truth out of her.
I watched her cross the room until the red of her dress disappeared into the hallway leading toward the restrooms. Then I stood.
Whitmore looked up at me. “Everything alright, Dean Stone?”
“Yes,” I replied.
I gave him nothing more. I adjusted the sleeve of my jacket and left the table before anyone could decide they had the right to ask me another question.
The hallway outside the reception area was quieter, with the music fading behind the closed doors. I leaned against the wall across from the restroom entrance and waited, because patience had never been a problem for me when I wanted something badly.
A few minutes later, the door opened, and Edwina stepped out with her attention on the compact mirror in her hand, checking her lipstick as she walked. She did not see me at first. Then her gaze lifted, found me, and her steps stopped at once. The color returned to her cheeks, and fuck, I noticed that too.
The music from the reception drifted down the hallway, distant and muted, making the space between us feel separate from the rest of the night. She stood there in that red dress, furious and flushed, trying so damn hard to look untouchable while every breath she took told me she was anything but calm.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Waiting.”
Her eyes narrowed. “For what?”
“For you.”
The answer landed between us, and for a moment she said nothing. Whatever composure she had managed to gather inside that restroom began to slip again, and I watched it happen with a hunger I had no business feeling in a public hallway.
“What the hell do you think you were doing at the table?” she snapped.