Were it not for how unsteady she now felt on her feet (was it grief or the countless glasses of champagne she'd downed earlier that was effecting her so?) Rosie wouldn't have remained near him long enough to hear his plea for her to stay. She wouldn't have heard his slip or how he was now inviting her closer. Rosie remained half turned from him, her heart thundering in her chest, for a moment longer. There were plenty of chairs inside and now that she felt unwell her mother would have no reason to force her to stay. She could make it through the doors and to one of tables where someone would notice her condition and summon help. Rosie didn't have to listen to him.

(Her husband — he was meant to be her husband. Ezra was supposed to be hers.)

She moved towards the bench without thinking of it further, stumbling only once as she neared the bench. Ezra was sorry, for what though she didn't quite understand. She was the one who left, she was the one who refused to listen to reason. (After all, her parents had tried to insist there couldn't be such a curse upon the Applegate family. Someone would have sought out help by now if it were true.) If anything, Rosie ought to be apologizing. Still, she knew what she heard and she understood herself enough to know that wasn't a fate she could stomach.

"I know." She eventually replied, her tone sad as she avoided looking at him for the first time since stepping out onto the terrace. "I didn't know you were out here, truly. I was just -" suffocating. Suffocating without him by her side. Drowning in the endless sea of grief. "I needed a minute."

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