Florian was in a daze, his breath caught in his throat as he looked at Alexandria.
She sat frozen, eyes wide and glistening. Her trembling fingers clutched at the fabric of her tea-soaked dress as if trying to stop the spread of the stain through sheer will. Her lips quivered, the corners threatening to fall. She was on the verge of tears—whether from the heat, the shock, or the overwhelming humiliation, Florian couldn't tell.
But he knew one thing.
He'd done this. Even if it was an accident.
'Gods above, how did it all go wrong so fast?'
Delilah had already rushed to Alexandria's side, dabbing at the front of her gown with a silk cloth that did absolutely nothing.
"A-Alexandria, I'm so sorry," Florian blurted, stepping forward with his hand half-raised in a desperate attempt to help—do something, fix something—but Delilah swiftly stepped between them, extending a hand like a barrier.
