Anthony was surprised by the frosty tone his cousin weathered, though in retrospect he ought to have expected it. He’d quite literally just interrupted the single most intimate moment any relationship might have and for what? To confess his own adoration for the blonde in his cousin’s arms? Shame, guilt and embarrassment colored the brunette’s face as he looked away pointedly. He’d deserved this. He ought to have seen it coming.

This is not what it looks like, the lady said. Anthony couldn’t bear to look up at her even as he heard shifting and an inquiry as to his well-being. Then what, darling, could it possibly be? he ached to ask. He didn’t. Instead, Anthony pushed the broken vase off himself and flinched as yet a fourth voice joined the exchange. Oh hell, there was no way this moment could get bloody worse.

Atticus Foxwood, for all his self-righteousness, had been right. And now he was here to bare witness to Anthony’s utter humiliation. An irritating flash of stubbornness streaked through the curly-haired brunette’s spine and he ignored his cousin’s hand for favor of standing on his own. He didn’t need to show any more weakness than this moment was already exposing. Damp, cold, and miserable, he finally looked back up at all of them. “I’m quite alright,” he responded at last, decorum forcing Anthony not to ignore the lady altogether. Still, he brushed her concern off with a shrug. “Apologies for having interrupted, it was not my intention to intrude.” Far from it in fact. He’d had so many ill conceived misconceptions. With a pained look he turned away from the lot. “Please, excuse me,” he muttered as he strode back out the way he’d come.

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