“I should go,” she said quietly. “Enjoy the ball. Enjoy the rest of your stay. It doesn’t matter what you say, you’ll do what you’re expected to.”
“Brianna–”
But she was already walking away. Not causing a scene, just leaving, shoulders tight, steps fast, the fabric of her dress brushing past startled guests as she pushed through the crowd.
I took a step after her, instinct, impulse, desperation.
And someone’s hand landed on my sleeve. Ivy, “Give her a minute–”
I shook her off. “I can’t.”
I followed her out the side doors and into the cold.
The night hit instantly, sharp wind, swirling snow, fairy lights glowing across the square. The Christmas tree towered in the centre, wrapped in ribbons and twinkling lights.
And there she was.
Standing at the base of it. Arms wrapped around herself; she’d left her shawl with her head down. Snow was already catching in her hair, just like sparkling stars.
I approached slowly, breath clouding the air. “Brianna.”
She didn’t turn.
“We can’t just let this spoil our evening,” I said gently.
“And you can’t come in here with promises you might not keep.” Her voice wavered, but her spine stayed straight. “How am I supposed to trust any of this?”
I moved closer, but not close enough to crowd her.
“You don’t know me,” she whispered. “And I don’t know you. Not really. And yet–” She broke off, shaking her head. “All I can see when I look at you is the man who might take everything from me.”
The words sliced through me cleanly.
“I’m not a big shot from London,” I said, voice low. “I’m not some villain your town needs to fight. I’m just a man who got lucky in life… and unlucky enough to find himself caught between duty and–”
I stopped. The word almost escaped.
She scoffed bitterly. “Lucky. Right. Meanwhile I’ve had to work for every inch of my life. Every scrap. Every breath.”
“And I respect that,” I said. “More than you realise.”
She looked at me then, with her eyes bright, cheeks flushed from the cold and the sting of her own doubts. And something in her expression cracked. Just enough for me to move closer. Because beneath the anger, beneath the fear, beneath the armour, there was longing. A pull she didn’t want and couldn’t hide.
The wind swirled between us and the Christmas lights glowed. Snowflakes drifted like falling embers. And in the space of a heartbeat, everything in her face shifted.
Her anger, my frustration. The night, the snow falling, all of it melted into something warmer, deeper, far more dangerous.
She whispered, barely audible,
“Oliver… what are we doing here?”
The question wasn’t simple; it trembled out of her. Snow drifted between us, catching in the glow of the tree lights. Her breath came in small, uneven clouds. I took one step closer, slow, careful, giving her every chance to step back.
She didn’t.
“Something we should have already done,” I murmured, my voice low in the cold air. “Something I’ve been trying not to want.”
Her lips parted just slightly. A soft exhale and a flicker of uncertainty and something warmer behind her eyes.