His heart slammed so hard it nearly lodged in his throat.
Hilda felt the weight of a gaze and turned her head.
Their eyes met.
Hilda startled, quickly averting her gaze.
She'd long since steeled herself for the inevitable reunion with Jasper. She just hadn't expected it to come so soon.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him trying to move toward her.
Her chest tightened. She stepped back instinctively, and at that exact moment, her father appeared at her side and took her hand.
"Hildie." His eyes crinkled with barely contained joy. "Come on, sweetheart. Let me introduce you to a few of my old friends."
Hilda exhaled in relief and fell into step beside him.
Vivienne followed the direction of Jasper's stare, glancing left and right, utterly baffled by what could have made him look like his soul had left his body.
"Jasper! What's wrong with you? Get a grip!"
She clamped down on his wrist, refusing to let him leave her side.
Jasper was frantic. He pried her off and snapped under his breath, "Let go."
Vivienne stumbled, unprepared, her hip slamming into the corner of the table hard enough to drain the color from her face.
A champagne tower shattered on impact. Glass and liquid sprayed across the floor, and every head in the vicinity turned.
Jasper's gaze swept the crowd. Hilda was already gone.
"Jasper."
Vivienne's forearm was pressed into the broken glass, blood streaming down her skin. She reached for him and grasped nothing but air. The amused, pitying stares from the guests around her burned like needles in her back.
"Jasper!"
He didn't look back. He plunged into the crowd, chasing the direction where Hilda had disappeared.
After meeting her father's friends, Hilda made an excuse and slipped back to her room.
The noise from the grand hall drifted up in waves. She turned over the dazzling array of jewelry her father had laid out for her, and a hollow ache settled in her chest without warning.
The alley where she'd grown up was in an old village on the outskirts of the city. There had been no shortage of girls her age among the neighbors, but most of them had been married off young, their futures decided by their parents.
Only Hilda had made it through the doors of a high school, carried there on the pennies her grandmother scraped together, one recycled bottle and one flattened cardboard box at a time.