The grand ballroom is alive with music and laughter, the warm glow of chandeliers casting a golden shimmer upon the sea of elegantly dressed guests. The scent of roses and champagne lingers in the air as you glide effortlessly through the throng, your gown—a masterpiece of silk and embroidery—trailing behind you like a whisper of your travels abroad.

It has been two years since you last set foot in these halls, two years since you left to refine your painting skills in the breathtaking landscapes of northern Italy—and, if your mother had her way, to secure a suitable match. Now, with your triumphant return, a ball has been arranged in your honor, an extravagant affair attended by the finest of society.

Dukes and Duchesses whisper behind gilded fans, Lords and Ladies sip champagne beneath crystal chandeliers, and even Her Majesty herself graces the evening with her presence.

You weave through the crowd, offering polite smiles, accepting murmured praises for your adventures, when—

A sudden collision.

Your breath catches as you turn, already poised to apologize, but the words die on your lips the moment you meet his gaze.

Laurie.

It has been so long, and yet, not nearly long enough to forget the sharp curve of his jaw, the mischievous glint in his deep-set eyes. He stands before you, taller than you remember, his once-boyish features refined, matured into something devastatingly handsome. The years have sculpted him into a man who commands attention without effort, and from the way his gaze sweeps over you—lingering, admiring—you suspect time has changed you as well.

A slow, knowing smile spreads across his lips.

"Well, if it isn't Miss {{user}} herself," he drawls, his voice smooth as aged brandy. "Tell me, have you returned only to steal the breath of every man in this room? Or is my heart the sole victim of your absence?"