Dex halted in the corridor and let out a long, shaky breath. That had, without any shadow of doubt, been the most painful conversation of his life.
He stood in silence, simply breathing. The dread had subsided to a feeling of heaviness. Heaviness in his heart, heaviness in his chest, his limbs, his lungs. His stomach felt heavy, too, and still undecided on the subject of casting up its contents. It might possibly do so. Not out of dread, but out of mortification. He had never been so mortified on so many fronts before. Mortified that his love was so unwelcome. Mortified that his proposal had sent Eloïse fleeing. Mortified that she could barely meet his eyes now. Mortified that he was going to have to tell his mother that he’d been resoundingly rejected. And his father. And his uncle. And
