Oh he’d known he put his foot in it the moment that the words were out of his mouth. And wasn’t he just telling her how smart and pretty and various other qualities that any red blooded wizard would want? Of course she wasn’t going to believe his story about olive juice! And what did that even mean anyway? He’d plucked it right out of the air as if it had been a low hanging fruit, it hadn’t made sense to him but he just kept talking anyway, hoping that the particularly shattered look on her face would go away and they could get back to where he had been kissing along her collarbones. Only, Brice had to acknowledge that wasn’t all he wanted to do with her. Oh, sure. There was the part of him (a rather insistent part of him) that wanted to do that some more…plus other things. But there was the larger part of him, or rather the whole of his being that was so disastrously in love with the witch that he couldn’t think straight. Obviously. There had been an unspoken rule to just keep that all to himself. After all, they were betrothed to others and one of those others was her sister. It was horrible all the way down the line, and no matter how he sliced that particular pie, someone was getting the small horrible piece of it.

“You said you love me. You… love me?”

He wanted to open his mouth and say her name, tell her ‘Of bloody course’ he loved her. Because well, he always had now hadn’t he? But he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to shake the image of her features out of his mind long enough to do that. Brice knew that the next words out of his mouth were going to be wrong, all wrong. It’s what kept them inside, when he opened his mouth repeatedly, like a guppy on land to try and think of a way to make things better.

And then she cried.

That was probably the most painful part, watching her eyes fill up with tears was much more horrifying than his embarrassment over having spoken out of turn. At first there was a helpless feeling that came over him. The one that said he ruined everything, and would continue to do so if he did anything. So that froze him in his spot as she turned away when she couldn’t suppress her little cries anymore. Brice knew Dahlia, as well as he knew anything else. Knowledge told him that she would want to be alone; she didn’t like to appear weak. She’d want a moment to gather herself together, talk herself into a way to make things right. She would come up with a plan or make herself content with ignoring what a huge problem he created. He’d not been lying when he said she was a clever witch. But instinct wouldn’t let him do that. What instinct made him do was walk those few steps toward her and run his hand over her hair that he’d just gotten done burying his fingers in.

“Dahl?” The question wasn’t really one that he expected her to answer, his wide palm shifting from her long hair to her shoulder.

“Dahlia? You are going to get splinters in your face.” There, he wanted to try and get her attention, and lacking that, he could at least try to shift her shoulders so that she wasn’t facing the tree. He’d obviously done her some damage, and it was up to him to straighten it out. So Brice attempted to turn her toward his chest instead, so he would wrap his arms around her and rest his cheek on the top of her head. And though he’d made a joke, he only smiled halfheartedly and tried to bend to look at her face to see if she’d even cracked at all.

“You’re right though, I didn’t say olive juice.” Now that he’d said those two words so much they were starting to lose all meaning anyway. But at least when he got done denying it, he could try and give her a hug.

“It’s alright, Dahl.” Brice thought maybe if he rubbed her back she might calm down. “You don’t need to be upset. I-I just said it…” yes, it. “That’s all, but I’ve felt it for a really long time.” Then he had to pause to think on just how long he’d been in love with one Dahlia Ruth Bishop. “Since we were four years old at least.” And that did make him smile, something soft and genuine and he didn’t want to be staring out into nothing and have her crying, so he tried to get her to look up at him so he could rub his thumbs across her wet cheeks and try to make her feel better with a kiss on her forehead.

“Dahlia, don’t cry. It’s okay.” The next kiss was a little more toward her temple. “It’s alright, I loved you then and I love you now and probably will until I draw my very last breath.” He had no idea where the words were coming from, but they were soft and they didn’t stutter on his tongue when he spoke them against the shell of her ear.

“I want you to be happy, Dahl. Whatever it is that makes you happy, I’ll give it to you. I promise. Even if you want me to go get you olive juice.” Brice tried to smile for her, though his next words were agony before they even rolled off his tongue. “Don’t feel bad if you don’t feel the same. I-I know that it’s hard to…force something that isn’t there.”