His expression cut through all her anxious thoughts and left her feeling nothing but overwhelming grief for all that was lost. As her husband, no one would have questioned if they stepped onto the terrace for a private conversation. Ezra wouldn't be staring at her with a look of confusion (and what she perceived to be) contempt. Instead, they'd likely be whispering the same sweet nothings she still longed to hear. The same sweet nothings they were exchanging when it all fell apart.

Rosie wasn't sober enough to know how to navigate this conversation without further making a fool of herself. Her mother had drilled her countless times over the past year of how she was to act if she came across any of the Applegates in public (kind but not overly friendly, as though they were some distant former acquaintance). However, now that it was happening — and with Ezra no less, the very same man her mother had warned her against having a conversation with — she couldn't fathom being anything other than what they were. She couldn't understand how she was meant to be anything other than enchanted by him.

Even despite his betrayal still causing a gaping wound inside her chest.

"No, I know." She replied just as quickly. "You're not, of course." Ezra would be right to, he had claimed this terrace first after all. "I just needed some air."

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