Oh God.
Faces flashed in her mind, and all of them were the people she had told about Julian wanting to be with her.
Stephen and Freddie. The caterers and the other suppliers. All of the mob dancers around them and the serving staff. The kitchen staff. The list went on and on, and oh God, soon, soon...
Sooner or later they would know that Julian had dumped an old hag like her for a younger woman, and while that was enough to make her feel sick—-
Julian finding out how stupid, oh God how fucking stupid she had been, was still the worst thing that could happen, and she would never be able to bear it.
Julian could never ever know...
Please God...
The moment Freddie saw Fleur's lip start to tremble, she could no longer stop herself from reaching out to hold her friend's hand. "I get it." She wished she could say so much more than that, but because it would only hurt Fleur more, Freddie could only squeeze the other woman's hand in a helpless attempt to give comfort. "I get it. And I promise you," she said fiercely, "no one will ever know."
Fleur turned to Stephen, and she didn't even have to say a word. The other man simply nodded, and with that, the only one left was...
Julian.
Her heart ached as she met his gaze one last time, and as he stared back at her, she just couldn't believe...
She couldn't believe he didn't sense how much pain she was in right now.
He had to know, but because he was now marrying another woman, he just didn't seem to care—-
Why?
Why?
Why?
Despair nearly swallowed her whole, and in her pain, Fleur didn't even realize what she was doing until it was too late—-
She had unconsciously tucked her hair behind her ears for the second time, and with the artists getting their cue, everyone around them jumped out of their chairs—-
Fleur was horrified.
A moment later, the first few notes of Bruno Mars' Marry You started to play, and a sob escaped Fleur.
It was the last damn straw, and Fleur scrambled up to her feet, her chair tumbling to the ground as she ran away.
What the hell?
Julian couldn't get Fleur's look of hurt out of his mind, but just as he shot to his feet, people started dancing towards...him?
His gaze swung furiously to his friends. "What the hell's going on?"
Freddie, with Fleur now gone, was no longer able to contain her rage. "Damn you, Julian! Damn you!" And because it just didn't feel enough to avenge her friend, she grabbed a glass of water and tossed the contents at Julian's face.
"What the fuck?"
Julian was about to go after both Freddie and Fleur when Stephen suddenly gripped his arm to hold him off.
"I need to ask you something."
The taut expression on his friend's face made Julian go still.
"Are you in love with Fleur?" Stephen demanded tautly. "I need you to answer me honestly—-"
"I am," Julian snarled. "Why else do you think I'm letting her go—-" He broke off when he saw the way Stephen had whitened, and he knew then...he knew, he just fucking knew...he had fucked up.
He had no idea how. No fucking idea what he had gotten wrong. He just fucking knew in his guts that he had fucked up, and he had his answer when the dancers around them suddenly held out placards that said one and the same thing—-
Will you marry me?
Chapter Twenty
Julian ran like hell.
Fear ate him alive with every step, and throughout it his mind was replaying every fucking way he had hurt Fleur without meaning to.
God. God. God.
He had made that fucking crack about her age when he knew she was sensitive about it.
He had made her think he wanted another woman over her because of her age.
How the hell had he been so fucking stupid?
A part of him was already inclined to give up, to just let her go because how could an idiot like him ever deserve someone perfect like her?
In the eight days they had been together, he had gotten cold feet more times a newborn babe cried for milk, but she had forgiven him time after time. Wasn't it too fucking much to expect her to forgive him again?
The thought of letting her go killed him, but because his heart was also fit to explode with love for her—-
If he truly loved Fleur, and Julian knew he did, would it be better if he were to let her find a man more deserving than him?
I love you, Fleur.
I love you.
I love you.
That was the only thing he was sure of at this point, and when he finally found her, crying and shivering outside the front doors of Foxtown while a noble-looking Philippe attempted to comfort her—-
Julian nearly lost his mind at the fucking irony of it all.
Since the hotel they had checked in at also doubled as a Regency-era theme park, the scene before Julian seemed straight like a fucking fairytale: there was Fleur, who looked as beautiful and distressed as a runaway princess should, and next to her was, of course, the damn Frenchman yet again, who even held the reins to a fucking carriage.