Ophelia was of the opinion that nothing could save this dinner.

Not even tagliatelle.

She pushed around the long, flat ribbons, slowly drowning them in a bed of mushroom, cream and sage. The bread — a hunk of sourdough fresh from the bakery — sat untouched on the edge of her plate. Only her red wine had been consumed. In fact, Digby had refilled the glass at least three times.

Across the table, Eleanora was droning on and on about some charity ball that UCL was hosting in two weeks' time.

"It's a complete nightmare," she said, shaking her head. "I'm on the organizing committee, naturally, and the logistics alone—"

"Pass the salt," Andrew muttered.

Ophelia complied.

"—are such that we really should have started in November. I mean, honestly; you have no idea what a bespoke Italian gondola costs these days. And don't get me started on the waterfall. It's criminal."

"What's the theme?" Digby asked, leaning over to steal pasta off of Ophelia's plate.

"A Night in Venice."

"You know," Andrew said, frowning as Digby twirled the glutinous ribbon, "you could just stand up and get more pasta from the stove, Fitz."

"I know." Digby kissed Ophelia's cheek. "But I like it better when the pasta belongs to a beautiful woman."

Ophelia couldn't help it; she blushed. Because firstly, she wasn't immune to a handsome man's compliments — so sue her. And because secondly, Andrew was watching them with dark, dangerous eyes that made her want to crawl under the table and stay there forever.

Eleanora delicately dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. "You'll come to the charity ball, won't you, Digby?"

Ophelia couldn't help but notice that she wasn't included in the question. Not that she wanted to be. But still. Rude. Digby leaned back, draping an arm across the back of Ophelia's wooden chair.

"Of course," he said. "I bought us tickets last week."

Ophelia whirled around. "You did?"

"That's alright, isn't it?"

"Yes." Ophelia swallowed. "That's... great."

It was not great. Ophelia could feel irritation pricking at her skin; who said that she wanted to go to some stupid ball hosted by Lady Macbeth reincarnated? Digby didn't know about the whole book-burning incident, but still — shouldn't he have at least asked her first?

And then there was the ball itself.

She was quickly realizing that Digby could be found at the heart of every crowd; if there was loud music, then he was there, kissing cheeks and cheekily kissing up. She had once admired that quality in him, but she was beginning to worry that it was all there was to him. That he was nothing when alone.

Digby would never take a morning walk with her, Ophelia thought wistfully, or bike to a beach, or wish on a bunch of dandelions—

She froze.

No. That was unfair.

Digby had plenty of good qualities, too, she reasoned; he read Kant and Dickens, and he was unfailingly generous when it came to loaning out guns, money or his holiday homes. He was never late to anything. And when Ophelia entered a party on his arm, she felt like the most desirable woman in the room.

He just wasn't Andrew.

But then again, Andrew had also taken her virginity and left her, Ophelia thought bitterly. So maybe it was a good thing that he wasn't.

Besides, Digby was a gentleman. He took her to nice restaurants and he hung up her coat. And if Ophelia occasionally wanted to stay in instead of going to a ball, or check out a hole-in-the-wall restaurant in Camden, then, well — she could just suck it up, couldn't she?

Yes, Ophelia reasoned firmly, Digby was perfect. He was exactly the sort of man that she had spent her life dreaming about.

Eleanora pursed her lips. "I do hope you haven't already bought a gown for the ball, Ophelia." She twirled around a forkful of pasta. "I can't imagine that you'll be the same size in a few weeks, with all that cake and pasta."

Digby made a spluttering noise. Fury swelled in Ophelia's chest, but she forced it down, turning to meet Andrew's gaze. She could defend herself, obviously, but she wanted to see if he would do it first; it was an almost morbid curiosity.

Andrew set down his knife. "I doubt she'll even get something new. Ophelia doesn't shop nearly as much as you do, darling."

"You're right," Eleanora said. "She can't afford it."

Andrew flushed. "That's not what I meant."

"Isn't it?"

Andrew met her gaze. His blue eyes were pleading, but Ophelia looked away, her hands shaking slightly as she took a swig of wine. Next to her, Digby let out a yawn and stretched his arms above his head. Then he scraped his chair back.

"Why don't you two go to bed?" Digby began to scoop up the plates. "Ophelia and I can clear up dinner."

Andrew frowned. "We can help."

"No, no." Digby waved him off. "You always do the clearing up." He began to pop the plates in the dishwasher. "Besides, I'd like a moment alone with Ophelia."

Her mouth went dry. "You would?"

"Oh, how sweet," Eleanora cooed. "Yes, of course." She rose from her chair, tugging at her boyfriend's sleeve. "Come along, then, Andrew."

Andrew's shoulders were stiff. Nevertheless, he allowed Eleanora to drag him through the doorway, casting one last glance back at them. Ophelia picked up the wine glasses, moving to the counter. She could feel her heartbeat picking up. What on earth did Digby want to say to her that the others couldn't hear?

Ophelia turned around. "Digby—"

She froze. Digby was kneeling down, an intent expression on his face.

"Oh, my god!" she half-shrieked. "What are you doing?"

"Relax, Dickens." Digby smirked. "I hid the present in the cupboard." He winked. "I guess I know you're not ready for a proposal then, eh?"

She swatted his shoulder, her heart racing. Digby rummaged around in the bottom cupboard, knocking aside shot glasses and a dust pan. Eventually, he emerged triumphantly, clutching a small black box.

"Open it."

Ophelia did so, and then gasped.

A gorgeous bracelet studded with red rubies lay against a black cushion. Ophelia lifted it gingerly, inspecting the glittering stones. Then she paused. Hold on. Glittering stones? Was it made of diamonds?

Oh, god.

It was, wasn't it?

She set the bracelet back in the box, suddenly terrified to drop it. Good god. How much did a bracelet like this even cost?

"I know I don't say it enough," Digby murmured, rising to his feet, "but you really do mean to the world to me, Ophelia. You're beautiful, and funny, and clever — far cleverer than I am — and I can't believe that you chose me." He took her hands. "I'm so damn happy that I went to the library that day."

She swallowed. "Digby..."

"You don't have to say anything." He slid the bracelet on to her wrist. "I just wanted to make sure that you knew."

"Thank you."

"And I love you."

Ophelia's stomach bottomed out. She felt suddenly dizzy, and she leaned back against the counter for support. Hang on. Had he just said...?

"No, I'm in love with you," Digby amended sheepishly. "I think I have been ever since Scotland. I just wasn't sure how to tell you."

Oh, god.

She couldn't have picked a more perfect moment. The fairytale Prince Charming, the fairytale bracelet, the fairytale confession... This was it. This was everything Ophelia had ever dreamed of, and now it was here. Happening.

So why did she feel like she might be sick?

"I..." Ophelia nibbled her lip. "You're so perfect, Digby, and I—"

He kissed her.

Ophelia blinked, startled, her hands flying back to brace herself. Digby had kissed her dozens of times before, of course — and they had done more, too — but this was different. This was bruising. He kissed her with a sort of savage desperation, crushing their bodies together until his belt loop dug into her stomach.

"Digby," she said breathlessly. "What are you—?"

Digby kissed her again. His hands swallowed her hips, anchoring her to him. Shivers ran down her spine. She felt hot and cold all at once. She was dimly aware of some rhythmic sound. Plates bumping in the dishwasher? But Digby was all-consuming, kissing her with a sort of determination that she had never seen from him.

"Oh. Christ."

Ophelia jerked back.

Andrew stood in the doorway. He was staring at Ophelia as if he had never seen her before. As if he had been about to bite into a crisp apple only to find that it was rotten to the core, filled with worms and browning flesh.

"Sorry." Andrew cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, I was just..." He raised his empty water glass. "Eleanora was thirsty."

Ophelia turned away, her face flaming. She had the sudden urge to raise her hand to hide her swollen lips.

"Andrew," Digby said calmly. "Didn't see you there, mate."

Ophelia glanced at him sharply. Footsteps — that had been the rhythmic noise. Had Digby hear them too?

Slowly, Digby stepped back, still keeping his hands on Ophelia's waist. Andrew stared down at the water glass in his hand, as if he had forgotten that it was still there.

"You know what?" he said. "I'll just leave you to it."

He shut the door behind him.

A/N: Hello lovely readers!

Yikes! Talk about terrible timing. What did everyone think of Digby in this chapter? Is he redeeming himself with the bracelet, or is something else afoot? (sidenote: can't believe I just said "afoot" lol I've clearly been watching too much Sherlock Holmes).

Can't wait to hear your thoughts!

Affectionately,

J.K.