Nevan
I found them in the love garden, and I saw Rosamund first.
She was sitting on a stone bench beneath a row of yew trees, her face blotchy and swollen, her eyes red -rimmed, her hands pressed flat against the stone as though she needed its solidity to keep herself from falling apart.
The ivory gown she'd worn with such careful poise an hour ago was creased at the waist. A strand of hair had come loose and was clinging to her damp cheek.
Something in my chest clenched so hard I had to stop walking.
She looked broken, nothing like the sharp, combative Rosamund who argued with me about everything. This was the girl underneath all of that. The one from Hadley Cross who had grown up without protection, without softness and without anyone who made her feel safe.
She was sitting on a bench in a stranger's garden, alone, and the only thing I wanted to do was cross the remaining distance, sit beside her, and pull her into my arms until the world stopped hurting her.
