"Oh, no," Louise said, horrified. "Absolutely not."

Ophelia sighed. She was standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom, dressed in a rather fetching brown cowl-neck dress. In her opinion, anyway. Louise looked like she thought the dress deserved to be strung up in Piccadilly Circus, covered in birdseed, and devoured by pigeons.

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Louise echoed, frowning. "It's brown."

"I like brown."

"You also liked flower crowns," Louise pointed out. "And those shoes that nurses wear. A lapse in judgement that I refuse to forgive you for."

She was hanging off Ophelia's bed, her dark hair brushing the floor. A glass of white wine was clutched in her right hand, and her phone in the left. Ophelia frowned, wriggling out of the dress and then pulling on a robe.

"Fine," she sighed. "What would you suggest, then?"

The question was particularly imperative, considering that the UCL charity ball started in less than an hour — and while Digby texted her to say that he was all for Ophelia going naked, she wasn't as sold on the idea. Louise tapped her chin.

"Not brown."

"Very helpful, Lou."

"I know!" Louise brightened. "Let's call the girls."

She punched a series of buttons. A moment later, Ella's face appeared, flushed and breathless. Her blonde curls were pulled up in a knot, and she appeared to be wearing some sort of black earmuffs. No, wait — headphones.

"Can this wait, Lou? I'm just at the studio."

"It's an emergency."

"Oh, god." Ella paled. "Is everyone okay? Did someone die?"

"It's worse." Louise's face was grim. "Ophelia's trying to wear a brown dress." She flopped on to her stomach. "In public, Ella!"

"Oh no," Sophia moaned. "Tell me you're joking."

Ophelia sighed as her cousin's face popped up on the screen. Sophia was dressed in a crisp white button-down, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders. She scratched her cheek, leaving a smudge of mud under her left eye. Ophelia grinned.

"Rolling around in the hay again?"

"Oh, shut it, Fi."

"Maybe brown really is in season."

Sophia glared. "If you make one more joke about me becoming a farm girl, Ophelia, I swear to god—"

"Okay." Louise clapped her hands. "Focus, ladies." She hopped up from the bed, rifling through Ophelia's dresses. "What color are we thinking?"

Ella adjusted her headphones. "What's it for?"

"A charity ball."

"Hang on." Sophia's eyes narrowed. "You're not going to this ball with Andrew Hazelton-Scott, are you?"

Ophelia took up Louise's vacated spot. "Do you really need to say his full name each time? It's not like I know any other Andrews."

"Just answer the question."

"No." Ophelia pursed her lips. "I'm not. I'm going with Digby — my boyfriend. Remember him?" She took a sip of Louise's wine, and then immediately spat it out, coughing. "Crumbs, Lou. What is this?"

"Hmm?" Louise half-twisted around. "Oh, that." She waved her off. "I added some rum to my chardonnay."

"Some rum?"

"It was an experiment."

"To what?" Ophelia scowled at the wine glass. "Ruin happiness?"

"Hang on." Ella peered closer to her camera. "What about that one?" She waved her hand, as if she could reach through the computer and pluck the dress out of the closet herself. "Get the green one, Lou."

"Oh, no." Ophelia paled. "Not that one."

"Why not?"

"Just trust me."

"Okay." Ella squinted through the screen. "What's that golden one?"

Ophelia sat up straighter; she had almost forgotten about that dress. Golden flowers spilling into a deep V, a ribbon at the waist, pale yellow silk spilling to the floor — she had worn it to James and Millie's wedding, almost three years ago.

Louise pulled it out, and Ella wolf-whistled.

"That's the one."

"No way," Sophia said, sounding horrified. "Not around Andrew."

Ophelia sighed. "You don't need to worry, Soph. Trust me." She crossed to her dresser, clipping on Digby's diamond bracelet; the rubies winked bloodshot eyes in the fading light. "If there's one thing I'm certain of, it's that Andrew isn't interested."

Ophelia wasn't sure what to expect from a charity ball.

But it certainly wasn't this.

She blinked, taking in the madness. An old warehouse had been converted into a glittering maze of waterways and bridges; real wooden gondolas bobbed in the rivers, toppling under the weight of drunken university students. Masked dancers on stilts twisted above the crowd, blowing fire into the air. The room smelled floral. Fragrant.

And that was just inside.

Ophelia had spotted at least three rides on the grassy field outside: a carousel, a zipper, and bumper cars. Or "dodgems," according to Digby. She sighed. Ridiculous Brits and their ridiculous words.

She stopped at the bar — a riot of glittering lights and small red umbrellas, presumably mimicking a Venice sidewalk café — and ordered two glasses of Prosecco.

On the patio, Digby was speaking animatedly with a group of cigar-wielding young men. She watched as he tipped his head back, roaring with laughter. Digby really was beautiful, she thought sadly. Tonight, he looked like Henry Tilney in his black suit: quick and intelligent, but lively. Never stoic or serious.

But that was exactly the problem.

It was the kind of all-consuming beauty that couldn't last; a glittering, fleeting beauty that existed only in the dark. And when the lights came on, it disappeared, like stars washed away by the morning.

She swallowed.

Things weren't going to last between them. Ophelia knew that, but then again, so did he; she was leaving for Canada in two months. And she couldn't picture Digby adapting to a life without polo, weekend breaks to Scotland, or endless champagne.

"Two Proseccos?"

She glanced up, startled. An irritated bartender shoved the glasses of fizzy liquid towards her, and she took them automatically.

"Thank-you."

Ophelia hesitated, hovering there awkwardly. The last thing she wanted to do was to go stand next to Digby; she found events like this exhausting. They drained her, and it was worse when she had to make small talk with strangers. Besides, she hated clinging to Digby; it always made her feel small and inadequate.

She spotted Henry in a gondola, and her heart soared.

Thank god.

A friendly face.

Ophelia was already heading in his direction when the crowd shifted, revealing his companions, and she froze.

Andrew was sitting on the bridge, his long legs dangling over the water. Eleanora — resplendent in a cornflower blue dress — was smiling, shaking her head as Henry rocked the boat from side-to-side. They all looked content. Happy.

Ophelia turned around.

She pushed blindly towards the fairground, her heels sinking in to the grass. Stupid grass. Stupid mud. She wished Digby had thought to tell her to wear wedges, like Andrew had at polo, and she felt another stab of frustration.

Why couldn't she just love Digby? He was perfect. More than perfect.

What the hell was wrong with her?

She stopped outside the bumper cars, gasping for breath. The flashing red and white lights stretched out people's faces in odd ways, like a house of mirrors. Someone shrieked. The spinning carousel made her feel sick.

"Ophelia!"

She turned. Digby was striding towards her, a smile on his face. "There you are!" He kissed her cheek. "Have I told you how gorgeous you look?"

She smiled faintly. "Twice."

"Well, you do."

"Thanks."

He nodded to the second Prosecco. "Is that for me?"

"No," she said. "I just liked the symmetry."

Her sarcasm lacked its usual gumption, though, and Digby's smile faded. "Is everything alright, darling?"

Ophelia swallowed. Oh, god, he didn't deserve this; Digby had been nothing but kind towards her, and now she was ruining his night by storming off for no reason. To her horror, she could feel tears pricking at her eyes.

"No."

"You're a bad liar." Digby took both glasses of Prosecco, setting them down on a nearby picnic table. "You know what?"

"What?"

"I have an idea."

Gently, Digby tugged her towards the bumper cars. Ophelia looked up at him questioningly as he paid the ticket attendant, and then dragged her toward a green car with a spider web on it. She stared at him.

"Seriously?"

He smirked. "Shut-up and get in the car, Dickens."

She grinned. Digby carefully lifted the skirts of her dress, arranging it safely inside the vehicle. Then he started towards a red car with flames on it.

"Hey!" Ophelia frowned. "Where are you going?"

Digby winked. "Well, you didn't think I was about to get in your car, did you?"

"What's wrong with my car?"

"You're driving, for one."

Ophelia gasped. "Excuse me? I'm a great driver."

"Oh, please," Digby said, shouting to be heard as the music started up. "You can't even drive on the proper side of the road in Canada."

"We literally drive on the right side."

He rolled his eyes. "Details, details."

Ophelia felt her car jerk to life. She slammed down on the gas pedal, careening towards Digby, but he was too quick; he shot out of the way, and she collided with the edge of the ring. She twisted around, scowling.

"What is this? Formula 1?"

He winked. "I try."

She squealed as Digby crashed into her car, sending her skidding across the floor. She cranked the steering wheel, but her efforts were fruitless; she collided with a startled-looking boy, who immediately flipped her off.

Ophelia couldn't help it; she burst out laughing.

"You idiot!" she called to Digby. "You'll pay for that."

Ophelia stomped on the gas pedal, charging towards him. They continued like this — attack and retreat, attack and retreat — until the music wound down. Ophelia was in stitches; her ribs ached from laughing. Digby pulled up next to her, his dark hair windswept and his cheeks flushed.

"Well?"

"You were right," she said, grinning. "I didn't hate that."

"Except when I hit you."

"Except for then."

"Do you think I won?"

Ophelia pretended to consider this, lifting her yellow skirts as she clambered out of the car. "I would say so, yes."

"Then I deserve a prize."

"Okay." She grinned. "And what's that?"

Digby cleared his throat. He looked oddly nervous, she realized with some surprise. More nervous than he had been about giving her the bracelet, anyways.

"Well," he said. "Why don't you move in with me?"

A/N: Hello lovely readers!

Another day, another dramatic ending — I swear that I'm getting meaner ;) In a complete sidenote, I've loved coming up with all of these punny chapter titles, and this one is my favourite! Does anyone else have a fave so far?

Affectionately,

J.K.