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“No,” Hermione sighed, looking back out to the night sky. She had never even told Antony about being left at the altar; how could she have expected him to tell her about his own sour betrothal? “He does not trust easily then.”
“Not in the slightest,” Rose said, shaking her head. “I think Antony truly needs to hear that someone is here for him at the end of the day. They’re not here for his title or for the money; they are only here for him.”
“I love him, Your Grace,” Hermione confessed the words aloud. They were the first time she had said them.
“I can tell,” Rose said softly. “Might I advise that you tell him this? Before he spends another long day away from this house.”
“I think persuading him to listen to me will be the difficult part,” Hermione said, feeling the fear spike within her chest.
“Try,” Rose said with a kind smile. “You’ll always regret it if you do not.”
Hermione knew she was right. Together, the two of them sat in the window seat for some time, looking out to the night sky. A few minutes later, they saw one shooting star. It was brief and could be missed with the blink of an eye. Hermione supposed that was all she needed, the brief moment, the one chance, to tell Antony that she loved him.
Will he believe me?
