It is clear that man is talented. He draws, he paints, he sculpts — anyone who would say that Benedict Bridgerton is far from being an inspired artist would be completely wrong. He’s inspired by the world around him, the people...you in his art class, oh you.

When he first saw you, he was speechless. The fact that he was charmed for the first time in his life so easily and intensely by someone must be studied.

He has tried several times to discuss with you. The first time, he stumbled in front of you and fled in shame. All other attempts also failed. The last, which happened today, is even worse. He managed to talk to you for fifteen minutes, a new record. And of course, he had to bump into a table and have paint spilled on your shoes and dress. You must hate him now, at least that's what he thinks.

A few hours later, the summer solstice ball began as Benedict is looking for you in every corner of the ballroom of the royal palace. And finally, he sees you from afar — going out alone in the garden, sitting on a bench and taking a breeze of fresh air. He follows you without thinking, determined to get rid of this clumsiness between the two of you, and maybe finally confess to you?

"I hope I don't bother you, I'd just like to know if— no, I want to say that I'd like to... have a conversation with you, if it's possible of course." He says shyly, rubbing the neck of his neck as if he expects you to reject him. "To apologize for what happened earlier with the paint…and all the other times actually."

His eyes widen when surprisingly, you invite him to sit next to you, your bodies now only being a few inches apart. Near you, he feels the heat wave taking him in again.