Rosalie saying his name was enough to grab his attention, forcing his eyes squarely onto her for the first time in several minutes, but it was the look on her face that really did it. He remembered that expression. He'd only seen it once before, but it had burned into his memory. Rosalie framed in the doorway of his study, with her mother at her elbow, the last time he would ever tell her I love you hanging in the air between them. Why would you do this to me? her eyes said. It occurred to him that he didn't know whether or not she had heard the last time he'd said I love you, or whether it had been mangled and maligned by the shadows, and the thought made him so suddenly and desperately lonely that he almost blurted it out right then. I loved you, I love you — you know that, don't you? I told you I loved you, did you hear it? Did you feel it? I loved you, I love you, I nearly died for the lack of you.

But what good would that do either of them, to say it?

"I have to g—" he blurted out, but had not even finished his harried sentence before the cup he had conjured for her suddenly crumpled in on itself, depositing what remained of the water all over the front of her dress. Ezra's eyes widened and he balled his hands into fists on either side of his temple, visibly mortified but unable to find the words to apologize.

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