Tangled In Time

Shiver

The moment I reached the doors, a voice stopped me. "Miss? Are you unwell?"

It was one of the waitstaff, a young man holding an empty tray. His face was etched with polite concern.

I paused, startled that someone had noticed me. My lips parted as I searched for an excuse. "Oh, just a little light-headed," I replied, pressing a hand to my temple for effect. "The room's a bit warm."

He nodded, the concern softening into understanding. "Would you like me to fetch you a drink?"

"No, no, I'll just step outside for some air," I assured him, already turning toward the exit. His hesitation lingered for a moment, but then he gave a curt nod and stepped aside.

Finally outside, the crisp evening air greeted me like a lifeline. The coolness kissed my cheeks, easing the heat that had built in my chest and behind my eyes. I pulled my shoes off and let my toes press into the damp grass, its cool texture grounding me as the distant hum of music trickled out from the ballroom. The faint scent of earth and fresh dew replaced the cloying mix of perfume and polished wood that had filled the air inside.

The tire swing by the large oak tree caught my eye, a solitary haven in the moonlight. Its rope was frayed and weathered, its tire worn smooth from decades of use. I made my way to it, the grass brushing against my ankles as I walked. My fingers brushed the coarse, knotted rope as I settled into the hollow of the tire. The swing creaked as I leaned back, the stars above blurring slightly as the tire twisted gently. The woodsy scent of the oak mixed with the faint, metallic tang of the old rubber, earthy and familiar. For the first time all evening, I could breathe.

The chill of the night air seeped into my skin, but it wasn't unpleasant. The soft whisper of a breeze carried the faint sound of crickets, their rhythmic chirping punctuating the stillness. The moonlight cast long shadows across the grass, its silvery glow making the world feel both vast and intimate. I rubbed at my chest absently, trying to ease the strange, heavy feeling that lingered. Why did I feel this way? I barely knew Blake. We'd only met this morning, for goodness' sake. And yet, the sight of him proposing to Charlotte—her rehearsed smile, the lack of warmth between them—had twisted something deep in my stomach. I told myself it was ridiculous, irrational. And yet the feeling persisted.

The crunch of gravel startled me. My breath hitched, and my hands gripped the tire rope tightly. Shadows flickered at the edge of the moonlight, and I braced myself, unsure who—or what—might appear.

"Here you are," Blake's voice called, sharp and edged with something like irritation. "I thought I told you to stay in my sight."

I opened my eyes to see him looming above the swing, hands on his hips, his silhouette cutting an imposing figure in the dim light. The sharp line of his tuxedo jacket contrasted with the relaxed set of his shoulders, as though even his posture reflected some inner conflict. I fumbled with the swing ropes, trying to lift myself into a sitting position.

"I wasn't aware I was on house arrest," I said, attempting levity to mask my discomfort.

His gaze softened slightly as he took in my flushed cheeks and bare feet. His tone shifted, quieter now. "You weren't feeling well. You shouldn't be wandering around alone."

I tried again to lift myself up, but the tire swing held me awkwardly. Blake stepped forward, holding out his arm without a word. Grateful, I used it for leverage to pull myself upright.

"Thanks," I said, brushing down my dress and smoothing my hair. "I just needed some air. Oh, and congratulations," I added quickly, forcing a smile.

Blake nodded, his eyes dropping to the ground as he nudged a pebble with his shoe. "Thanks," he said simply. His voice lacked the buoyancy of someone fresh from a proposal.

I studied him for a moment, noting the slight furrow in his brow, the way his jaw tightened as though holding back some unspoken thought. If he were truly happy, wouldn't he be glowing with the pride and excitement that came with such a grand gesture? Instead, his enthusiasm seemed muted, his responses rehearsed, much like Charlotte's performance earlier. It was as if they were actors, playing roles in a drama neither fully believed in.

"When I noticed you weren't at the table, I was worried," he admitted after a pause. "I may have to go and apologise to a few staff."

I let out a weak laugh, the sound catching in my throat. "You should probably get back inside."

"Are you ready to go back inside?" he asked, his voice neutral. My hesitation must have shown because he added, "I didn't think so. I'll go back in when you do."

"Blake, I'm fine, honestly. I may just go to bed," I said softly, unsure if I wanted to argue or simply leave the night behind.

He glanced back toward the house, his expression unreadable. "It was getting a bit stuffy in there anyway. I'll make it back in time for the important bits."

The swing creaked as I shifted my weight, pulling my knees up slightly. "The proposal was beautiful," I said, the words heavy on my tongue. "A real fairytale moment."

Blake chuckled softly, though the sound carried no joy. "A fairytale," he echoed, almost to himself. "Yes, I suppose it was."

The silence between us stretched, thick with unspoken thoughts. I wanted to ask why he didn't seem happy, but the question felt too intrusive. Instead, I said, "We should probably get back to the ball."

Blake stepped closer, holding out a hand to help me down from the swing. His touch was steady, grounding, and I felt a jolt of warmth where our hands met.

"Are you hungry?" he asked as I stood barefoot in the grass. "Let's see if there's anything left in the kitchen. You missed the appetizers."

I hesitated, glancing back at the house. "But—"

"No buts," he interrupted, his tone firm but kind. "It's still early, and as long as I dance with my grandmother, all is well."

A smile tugged at my lips despite myself. "I could do with something," I admitted.

"Come this way," he said, gesturing toward the side of the house instead of the main entrance. I picked up my shoes, carrying them in both hands, and followed him through the cool night. The grass tickled my toes, the faint scent of damp earth and foliage mingling with the night air. A distant owl hooted, adding to the serenity of the moment. The tension of the evening began to melt away as I trailed behind him, the stars above guiding our quiet retreat.