Rosie felt as though she was crumbling. Every defensive fortress she'd built, every soldier of determination she'd trained, every bit of it was all for naught. For all it took was a few minutes alone with him for her to fall to pieces, to forget how and why she left and beg for his forgiveness. To take her back, to love her as freely as he had a year ago.

He wouldn't.

She turned slightly from him during the silence that lasped, as though that action might hide how she seemed to be curling further into herself by the second. "I'm sorry too." Rosie whispered. There were an infinite amount of things for her to apologize for and none of which she could ever voice.

Behind him, the opening notes of the quadrille were beginning. Rosie had never felt both so intensely grateful and disappointed all at once, though neither showed in her expression as she quietly added, "I think you owe someone a dance."

---