So that was it, then — the decision made. He wasn't sure it was the right decision, wasn't sure how he would feel about it tomorrow, or even in an hour, but he couldn't take it back now. He still had his hand on her thigh, was still breathing into her neck. His head was swimming and his heart was pounding. He felt a little shaky as he hesitantly let go of her, dropping his hands and edging just the smallest amount back.

I'll let you have the room, he tried to say. They were both disheveled, but if she returned to the party in disarray it was more likely to be noticed. And it would have been the gentlemanly thing to do, giving her time and space to compose herself. For a moment it seemed he was having an out of body experience: he had decided to yield the room to her and he could see it all playing out, see the way he would edge around her in order to leave, the sigh he would heave when he ended up back in the party room. But then he was right back in the room, and he hadn't said that, and hadn't managed to take another step away from her at all.

He should have left and ceded the room to her, but —

"I loved you," he said plaintively. "We should have had this."

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