The carriage stopped with a sound that, for some reason, sounded like the soft knock of fate upon my destiny.
The door opened.
And he—Duke Tristan—stepped out first.
I stared at his back.
That back.
A back that I was only supposed to see from a safe distance as a loyal reader of a tragic romance novel filled with too many rainy scenes and gazes full of hurt. But now? That back was real. Close. Too close. As close as the distance between me and the shame currently building its own kingdom inside my chest.
I let out a harsh breath.
No, not harsh. More like... dramatic. Like the final gust of wind before a leaf falls with profound meaning.
Inside my head, bad thoughts began to leap around like rabbits that had just downed three cups of coffee at once.
"What if my question about the dress sounded like an accusation?!"
"What if he thinks I'm an ungrateful woman interrogating the source of her clothes like a failed detective?!"
"What if—"
I looked down.
Instantly.
