Chapter 13

Kurt's heart thudded heavily in his chest as he raced through the hotel lobby and headed for the stairs. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop on Blaine, but he had been inexplicably drawn to that courtyard as if he were pulled along an invisible wire. Listening to your lover propose marriage to another was a particularly cruel kind of torture, one he wished he hadn't been privy to. What he had heard was nothing out of the ordinary, but it hurt nonetheless.

Running faster than he thought himself capable, Kurt's feet carried him back to the room he shared with his father. He needed to get as far away from that moment as he could, and right now, the fourth floor of this gigantic hotel was all he had.

Without really realizing it, he had stopped in front of the painting that reminded him of his mother, suddenly struck with a longing to tell her how his heart was breaking. He stroked the gilded frame of the painting, the grooves in the carved wood a cheap substitute for the comfort of his mother's long, silky hair.

He used to sit in her lap while she sang to him, and he would twirl its reddish-brown strands between his fingers. Kurt lived for those quiet moments, just before his mother would put him to bed, when her long hair was released from its usual upswept pin curls and hung in sweet-smelling tendrils around his face, wrapping him in its sanctity.

Often his father would linger in the doorway to Kurt's room, watching the two of them in their nightly ritual, until he'd say, "Elizabeth, it's time for bed," and then his mother would kiss Kurt sweetly on the forehead and say, "Goodnight, my angel." He'd fall asleep contented and warm and oh so loved.

Why couldn't life be that simple again?

Kurt hung his head and bit back tears, hoping the ache in his chest would subside, but the chasm only grew wider as he stood there, clutching the frame of the painting and missing his mother so much he thought it might crack his chest wide open.

When he could no longer take the pain of his own memories, he took off running again, taking the last flight of stairs two at a time as he tried to escape himself. His feet thudded loudly in the hallway, matching the racing of his heart and pounding in his head.

"Kurt?" his father said, as he burst through the door and ran past him. "Are you alright, son?"

Unable to reply, Kurt shook his head and ran for the sanctuary of his room. Tears were burning hot on his face, but he didn't care. He ached to be able to go back in time, to when he was a small child and he could collapse into his mother's arms when he felt despair. His mother would have had the right words, and if not, her soothing presence would have comforted him all the same. As he flung his body unceremoniously on the bed, he heard a knock at the door.

"Leave me be," Kurt groaned. "I don't feel like talking." The door creaked open, and Kurt rolled over to glare at his father. "I said I don't want to talk."

"I heard you," Burt said. "But I'm not letting you off that easily." The bed sagged as he sat down beside Kurt. "Now why don't you tell me what has you so upset?"

"I don't think you'd understand," Kurt said.

"Try me."

Telling his father that he was heartbroken over Blaine's engagement seemed an insurmountable task. Burt Hummel might be a man who loved his son dearly, but Kurt couldn't see him approving of such a lifestyle, and the thought of what he might say or do if he found out terrified him in a way he'd never thought possible.

Unable to say what he wanted, Kurt opted for words that were adjacent to the truth. "How am I ever supposed to measure up to what people expect of me?"

Burt laughed, as if Kurt's words were simply ridiculous to him. "Since when are you so concerned with what people think?"

Kurt sighed heavily. "Weren't you the one who said I should be careful with Blaine because of what people might think?"

"Yes, but that didn't have to do as much with what people think as you both living up to your obligations."

Kurt considered his father's words for a moment, finally understanding what he was trying to tell him. "Have people been talking?" he asked, and when Burt's forehead creased in confusion, added, "About me... and Blaine, I mean?"

Burt's weight shifted on the bed. "No," he said simply. "Now why don't you tell me what's really troubling you?"

"Lately... I don't know if it's the people here, but I feel like ever since coming here we've been immersed in a world that isn't truly ours."

"Well, that's undeniable, but I thought you were enjoying yourself here," Burt said.

"I am," Kurt replied. "It's only that... well, seeing what others have that we don't, and knowing what I'd have to do to get it. It doesn't seem fair. "

"Well, I don't think I have to tell you that life's rarely fair."

The inequalities of life had never escaped Kurt's attention. He'd been acutely aware of how perception, status and money drove everything in the silly little world he had been exposed to, but it didn't change the fact that he wanted to be a part of it rather than a mere bystander. His mother had understood that.

"I had just hoped that things had started to turn around for us," Kurt said, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve, disregarding both the childish action and the damage it would cause to the fabric. "But I miss m=Mom as much as I ever did."

Kurt felt a warm weight on his knee, and looking down he saw his father's hand was resting there. The gesture broke something in Kurt, and he began to sob openly.

"I know your mother's death was hard on you," Burt said softly, "but I thought you were moving past it a bit."

"I am," Kurt choked out between sobs. "I'm just not sure I can live up to what she would want me to be."

Burt tugged his handkerchief out of his pocket and held it out to Kurt. "You remember what I said to Mr. Barrow when he questioned your career choice?"

"Yes," Kurt said.

"I meant it, Kurt. You are my son. Nothing will change that, and your mother would have said the exact same thing to you."

Everything in his father's expression seemed to confirm his sincerity, but Kurt still couldn't confess his indiscretions. He couldn't risk being wrong about this. Biting his lip to keep from blurting it all out, Kurt dabbed at his eyes with the handkerchief. "I couldn't have asked for a better father. Truly."

"I'll remind you of that the next time you're complaining about the way I dress."

"It's only that god-awful checked suit you wear to church," Kurt said. "It's easily ten years out of fashion."

"Your mother made me that suit," Burt said, his eyes glassy with the memory. "I don't care how out of fashion it is."

"I suppose we both have our ghosts to contend with," Kurt said, running his finger over the hem of the bed sheet.

"That reminds me," Burt said, pointing to a small envelope on Kurt's nightstand. "You have another letter from Rachel. It was delivered with the afternoon mail."

"I think I'll read it tomorrow," Kurt said. "I'm so very tired."

"It might make you feel better if you read it, and at the very least, writing a reply might take your mind off your troubles." His father patted him on the knee and rose to standing. "It's going to be alright, Kurt."

Kurt nodded slowly, still feeling a bit numb from it all. "I hope you're right."

Burt gave his son a half-hearted smile, and even Kurt could see the sadness there. It was his father's nature to fix his son's problems, and it likely troubled him that he couldn't help him with this dilemma.

"I'll see you at dinner," he said, and then he was gone, leaving Kurt alone with his thoughts.

He picked up Rachel's letter and held it to his nose, inhaling deeply and hoping the familiar jasmine scent of his best friend's perfume would be a comfort to him. Instead the scent assaulted his senses with the painful realization that he could break Rachel's heart if she found out the truth about him. Kurt clutched the envelope to his chest and let his tears flow again.

There were no easy decisions for him and no clear-cut path to the right answer. He would have to navigate these waters without a compass and hope he chose the right route for his heart and for Rachel's. He couldn't even begin to think about Blaine, though. That was a thought for another time.

Glancing down at the tiny envelope in his hands, Kurt couldn't help but hope it contained some answers, a way for him to heal his heartache and stop the rushing tide of pain his affair with Blaine was sure to cause. He opened it slowly before taking a deep breath and reading Rachel's precious words.

My Dearest Kurt,

I hope the doctor in Atlanta gave you good news. Mother and I have been positively sick with worry since you fell ill, but you assured me you are on the mend, so I must trust in your words. But please write soon; I cannot take the suspense and I am desperate to hear good news.

Mother says now that you're better we should look at setting a date for the wedding. Late spring would be lovely, but of course Aria Motta scheduled her wedding for May — she's still going around insisting everyone call her Sugar, can you imagine? — so it looks like we'll be stuck with summer. Although, a mid-summer affair would mean we'd likely be the only wedding and would get more gifts. I suppose that's a selfish reason, but I know you'll understand, my darling. You always know how to make the best out of any situation.

I will continue to write you until I hear from you, but please write soon. I miss you ever so much.

Yours in love and affection,
Rachel

Not finding the respite he had hoped for, Kurt balled up the letter and tossed it into the corner. Of course Rachel would want to have a definite wedding date, but Kurt wasn't prepared for the finality of it. With both he and Blaine making plans for their respective futures, everything seemed more urgent, and unfortunately, more real.

He would simply have to make the best of what he'd been given, and if Blaine could shield his heart for Quinn's sake, Kurt could certainly do the same for Rachel. Retrieving a sheet of paper and pencil from his drawing supplies, Kurt began his letter to Rachel.

Dear Rachel,

I'm sorry I didn't write sooner. I hope you'll forgive me for neglecting you. The doctor says I should make a full and speedy recovery, and I'm already feeling more like myself after my trip. Mr. Anderson was kind enough to cover my expenses for the duration, so I was able to do some sightseeing and also buy you a gift.

I think a mid-summer wedding sounds lovely; we will make the best of it. One thing being here has taught me is how frequently we must do things we don't really have the desire to – but I assure you Miss Motta will be green with envy when she sees the gown I will design for you. As soon as I return to New York, we'll set to work; no bride shall be lovelier.

Oh, I nearly forgot - I think Father may be courting a widow named Mrs. Hudson who is staying at the Ponce as well. With any luck, we may have two weddings to plan for.

Yours,
Kurt

Later at dinner, Kurt's eyes kept falling on the Fabrays' table where Blaine was seated. Quinn's parents were positively beaming at him — no doubt they had already been informed of the good news, and were delightedly planning their daughter's nuptials. Quinn looked even more poised than usual, as if she had relaxed into her role at Blaine's side and allowed herself to be anchored by his presence. Kurt felt his insides burn hot with jealousy, bright blue flames that licked at his heart and burned his soul with its intensity. Knowing that Blaine was truly his did nothing to comfort him. It was as if their trip to Atlanta had never occurred and they were back to that night of the wedding, and Kurt felt shoved aside.

He knew it wasn't true, but nothing could quench that fire, not even his father's knee nudging him below the table.

"Everything alright, Kurt?" he asked.

Startled from his momentary daze, Kurt shook his head and said, "I'm not feeling very well."

"Oh, goodness," Mrs. Barrow said. "It's not the fever again is it?"

"No," Kurt said. "I think I'm just tired from all the travel."

"You should have some tea," she added, flicking her wrist with a pointed finger to grab the waiter's attention.

"Mrs. Barrow, thank you, but I think I'll just head to my room," Kurt pleaded.

"Nonsense," she said, resting a gloved hand on his forearm. "The tea will make you feel better."

Kurt sighed and poked at his salad with the tines of his fork, resolutely trying not to look at the Fabrays' table, but it was to no avail. His eyes skittered upward only to be met with the brilliant hazel of Blaine's eyes from across the room. Kurt's fork fell to the plate with a clatter, and a tomato landed in his lap. As he fumbled to retrieve it, Mr. Barrow snorted, and two waiters appeared quickly to give him a new napkin and ask if he needed any assistance.

When he glanced up again, Blaine was no longer looking his way, but Kurt could see he was hiding a smirk behind his hand, even as he appeared to be listening to whatever Mr. Fabray was saying. The sight of Blaine's momentary lapse in composure lifted Kurt's spirits somewhat — a blessed moment of affection in an otherwise horrid evening. He watched Blaine from across the dining room for the remainder of the meal, completely disinterested in the roasted duck Mrs. Barrow raved about or the sweet cherry tart they had for dessert, until his father announced he was retiring to the smoking room for a cigar and brandy.

"I'll go with you," Kurt said, silently hoping Blaine would choose to do the same.

Burt had retired for the evening by the time Blaine made an appearance in the smoking room, his tie loosened and a cigarette clenched between his teeth. Kurt pretended not to notice him enter the room, but failing to notice Blaine's presence was like failing to notice an explosion of fireworks. Warmth radiated from him like brightly colored bursts of light that reached out and kissed Kurt's skin with its fire.

Still he kept his head lowered, and his gaze fixed on the newspaper in his hands, until he saw two perfectly shined shoes in his periphery, punctuated by a quiet, "Ahem."

Drawing his eyes slowly upward, Kurt was met with the most seductive of smiles, and he wondered if it was possible to fall more in love with each passing moment — every time he looked at Blaine, he felt more for the man than he had the moment before.

"I thought I might find you here," Blaine said.

"Where else would I be?" Kurt's words were clipped and sounded far angrier than he felt.

Blaine evidently chose to ignore it. "I don't know," he teased. "Perhaps in the courtyard eavesdropping on a marriage proposal."

"It was an accident!" Kurt hissed through clenched teeth.

"Easy there. I'm not upset; I just didn't expect to see you." Blaine glanced around the room. About a half dozen men were still chatting or playing cards. "Can we go for a walk?"

Kurt nodded and rose slowly, leaving his newspaper on the chair as he followed Blaine toward the hotel lobby.

They walked in silence for a while, Kurt searching for the words he wanted to say. He suspected Blaine was doing the same, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, head hanging as he scuffed his feet along the marble tiles.

"Rachel and I have settled on a mid-summer wedding," Kurt said finally. "I hope you and Quinn can make it."

Blaine's face is unreadable for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. "That's wonderful," he said.

"You're happy for me?" Kurt asked, the sick, jealous feeling returning to unsettle his stomach.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Blaine said with a shrug.

Kurt stopped abruptly. "You know I don't want to marry Rachel," he whispered. "Not really."

"Just as you know I don't want to marry Quinn," Blaine said pointedly. He gently gripped Kurt by both shoulders. "We've been over this. What's gotten into you?"

Kurt sighed. "I guess it just hit me a little harder than I expected... Seeing you two together like that." Kurt paused and took a steadying breath. "It should have been me."

Blaine's golden eyes seemed to soften, growing even brighter as Kurt watched, the electric lights of the lobby reflecting their luminous color and magnifying it tenfold.

"It should have been you," Blaine said. "And if it were allowed, it would have been. I hope you know that."

Kurt instinctively reached out to touch Blaine, connect with him in some way, but then he remembered where they were and his hand fluttered between them for a moment before settling at his side. Blaine's gaze followed the movement, and when his eyes made contact with Kurt's again, the longing was written plainly for Kurt to see.

They both knew their place, though: standing on the edge of a precipice, and they were dangerously close to losing their balance and careening down into oblivion. If they weren't careful, everything they had fought for and tried to conceal would be laid bare, and it would all be over.

"I don't suppose we could run away together," Kurt said, sighing and tipping his head back to stare at the domed ceiling of the rotunda.

"It wouldn't be right," Blaine said, "leaving Rachel and Quinn to the wolves like that. The gossip would ruin them."

"I know," Kurt said, hanging his head in defeat. "Doesn't mean I don't fantasize about it from time to time."

Blaine leaned in as closely as he could under the circumstances and whispered, "Want to know a secret?"

Kurt nodded slowly, trying not to let his eyes linger too long on Blaine's perfectly lush mouth, or the way his hair was curling at his temples where it was breaking free of the pomade. Everything about him was begging for Kurt's touch, a tortuous barrage of sentiment Kurt could barely stand as Blaine's whiskey-scented breath tickled his ear.

"I think about it all the time," Blaine said finally. "Running away with you — somewhere far away from all this." He looked up and gestured around them.

"Where?"

"Paris," Blaine said, the response coming so quickly, it left no doubt in Kurt's mind that he had given it ample thought.

"Why Paris?"

"I've heard things are different there. The people are more accepting." Blaine paused, and held Kurt's gaze for a moment. "And there's a dressmaker there who is quickly becoming the trend-setter for the entire globe."

"Charles Worth," Kurt whispered.

"You've heard of him."

He'd of course heard of the House of Worth. The dressmaker was indeed the rising star of French fashion and had even been called on to create looks for the famous actress Sarah Bernhardt. Kurt couldn't imagine a better way to develop his talents than to work with the most progressive dressmaker in the world. Worth had revolutionized women's fashion, removing unnecessary details and frills, while positively flattering the woman's shape. Kurt had worked on similar designs for years for Rachel and was eager to learn more.

"I can't even imagine such a life," Kurt said. "It all sounds so unbelievably perfect... it's hardly a realistic desire."

"You could do it if you wanted," Blaine said, his honeyed eyes wide in their sincerity. "I know you, Kurt. You'd set Paris aflame."

Staring into Blaine's gorgeous eyes and seeing the adoration there, Kurt fought every instinct he had to stop himself from taking Blaine in his arms and kissing him right where they stood. His eyes searched Blaine's face for answers, but he found the same troubled expression reflected back at him that he'd seen on his own face countless times as of late. They were both trapped in their own cages, desperately trying to break free, and settling for a few hours a day in each other's company, rather than the exquisite bliss of forever.

"But alas, I'm set to marry Rachel," he said, settling for a realistic point of view, rather than the more fantastical one. "She'd never leave her mother or her friends behind. And it's not as if I could afford to move my family across the ocean. I'd be living as a pauper until I could find suitable employment."

"I hate to hear you talk like that," Blaine said, his fingers twitching upward as if he wanted to grasp Kurt's hand in his own.

"It's the truth," Kurt said, feeling himself quite resigned to their fate. "You know it is. We have to stop living in a dream world and accept our existence for what it is. Either we meet our obligations or leave our families in disgrace, and I think we both know which option we shall choose."

"Doesn't mean we have to stop dreaming, Kurt."

Blaine's face was a stormy ocean of emotion and Kurt's heart ached for them both. Blaine was right: not dreaming seemed more depressingly final than conceding to the life they were committed to.

"I promised you I wouldn't," Kurt said. "And I won't." He paused, hoping Blaine would see the absolute determination he was feeling. "But only if you do the same. I refuse to watch you give up on everything else simply because you want to protect your family's reputation."

"Kurt..."

"I mean it, Blaine. You promise me right now or I tell your grandfather everything."

Blaine's stoic expression broke as he burst into unfettered laughter. "You wouldn't dare."

Kurt held his ground for a few moments before Blaine's glee became too infectious to avoid. He felt his lips spread into a wide grin as he said, "I can be very bold when I need to be, Blaine Anderson. Don't test me."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Blaine said, growing suddenly more serious. "I have no doubt you would do what you needed to in order to ensure my happiness."

"As you would mine."

"Forever and always," Blaine said. "I promise."

Dr. Anderson and his new bride hosted a reception in their home following their return from their honeymoon. It seemed as if the entire town, including the society guests from all of Flagler's hotels, were planning on being there. The Barrows had spoken of little else since it was announced, leaving Kurt with no doubt that he and his father had been intentionally left off the guest list.

All the same, Kurt found himself standing in the parlor of the palatial home on a mild Saturday evening, surrounded by garish floral arrangements and the most decadent display of food he'd ever seen. The table on which the delicacies were laid was practically groaning under the weight off all the food: fried oysters, salads, sandwiches, cakes and other confections. And the largest cut glass punch bowl Kurt had ever seen was filled to the brim with a delicious nectar that reminded Kurt of summers spent making daisy chains with Rachel in the park.

The flowers were equally ostentatious, with the bannister and entryway positively dripping in white hyacinth. The scent assaulted Kurt's senses the moment he had entered and followed him through every room on the first floor despite the clusters of roses decorating the parlors. He could scarcely move for all the servants bustling about offering the guests drinks and clearing dishes, but he had one distinct goal in mind: to find Blaine and make his presence known.

When he finally spotted him, regal in the glow of shaded lamps that shed their softened light over him like a halo, Kurt had no idea why he'd come. His feet suddenly leaden in his leather shoes, Kurt froze on the spot, unable to approach his lover for fear of puncturing the delicate bubble of the illusion they'd worked so hard to construct around them.

Sitting next to Blaine on the small velvet-covered settee was Quinn, her hands gloved, one holding a small cup of punch and the other resting gracefully in her lap, effectively hiding the diamond that Kurt now knew decorated her finger. His insides burned hot with jealousy once more, but he fought back the tide of emotion, clenching his hands into fists at his side as he forced himself to breathe.

Kurt watched as Quinn leaned over to whisper in Blaine's ear. Whatever she had said, Blaine responded with a soft smile and a nod of his head as he rose and took her empty cup with him. Kurt was about to follow him when he heard Dr. Anderson's voice booming from the hall as Blaine froze in the doorway.

"What is that boy doing here?"

Blaine's head whipped around, his gaze immediately landing on Kurt, a flicker of a smile forming on his lips before he turned to face his grandfather, shoulders back and head held high.

"He's my guest," Blaine said, his carriage not wavering in the slightest as his grandfather gripped him by the arm.

"We need to have this conversation in private," the old man hissed.

Kurt felt his knees begin to buckle, the air having been pushed from his lungs at the look of abject terror in Blaine's eyes as the two disappeared around a corner.

Glancing frantically around the room for a way out, Kurt's eyes landed on a shocked and pale-looking Quinn, her brow furrowed in confusion as she glanced from the doorway to Kurt and back again.

Without thinking, Kurt crossed the room to her and bowed in greeting. "Miss Fabray, wonderful to see you again."

"Mr. Hummel, what a pleasant surprise." Quinn smiled, but her distracted gaze still fell over Kurt's shoulder as she craned her neck in the direction Dr. Anderson had dragged Blaine. Looking defeated, she returned her gaze to Kurt. "It's a lovely party, isn't it?"

"No need for small talk, Miss Fabray. I think we're past that," Kurt replied with a smile. Gesturing to the seat Blaine had just vacated, he asked, "May I?"

Quinn nodded, a grateful smile on her face. Even though he had Quinn's permission, he sat a little farther from her than her fiancé had, but inclined his shoulders toward her so they could speak privately. "Best wishes on your engagement," he whispered.

Quinn's face broke into an exuberant smile. "Oh, thank you," she said, "especially for your help with the ring. It's lovely."

Kurt saw her fingering the bauble beneath her gloves as her gaze fluttered downward to it. She looked genuinely happy to be betrothed to Blaine, and Kurt felt his stomach churn. She did nothing to deserve his ire, and he did genuinely like her. It wasn't her fault she was caught in the middle of a doomed love affair, nor was it her doing that she had become a pawn. How could it be when it was part of a game she scarcely knew she was playing?

"It was my pleasure," Kurt said sincerely.

"Mr. Anderson tells me you are to be married this summer," Quinn said. "You must be thrilled that it's happening soon."

"Thrilled doesn't really express what I'm feeling," Kurt said. He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and stroked the cool metal of his cigarette case as if he could draw strength from its unyielding surface.

"I know exactly what you mean," Quinn replied. "I haven't been able to stop smiling since Blaine proposed."

"I can imagine," Kurt said, feeling a wistful pang of longing course through him. "Tell me, have you given any thought to your wedding gown?"

"Oh, only since I was a little girl," Quinn mused.

"You're going to make a beautiful bride," Kurt said. He could just see her in a gorgeous silk frock, adorned with flowers and just enough frills to draw attention to her curves, but not enough to overpower her petite frame. He could picture it plain as day and actually longed to design something for her – hints of pink and green scattered among the soft creamy off white of the dress. She'd look positively stunning.

"That's quite kind of you to say," she said, bowing her head in a perfect display of feminine submission that revealed her extensive grooming for society's every dictate of a woman's behavior. Perhaps she was more trapped than he or Blaine ever would be. His heart broke for her.

"I mean it," he said. "Although if you tell my Rachel that I said so, I'll deny it vehemently."

"Of course," Quinn said with a conspiratorial wink and bright smile.

"I see you two are getting along quite nicely." Blaine had approached from behind Kurt, and his voice startled him enough that Kurt jumped visibly.

"Mr. Hummel and I were just discussing our wedding preparations," she said. "It's nice to have someone to talk to besides Mother. I'm having a devil of a time keeping it to myself until the formal announcement."

"When will that be?" Kurt asked, directing the question at Blaine rather than Quinn.

"Grandfather wants me to announce it at the Alicia Hospital benefit — the night of the ball," Blaine said, shaking his head as he pulled out a cigarette to light it. "I don't see why we have to make it such a spectacle."

"Oh, darling," Quinn said, causing Kurt to flinch at the endearment. "Your grandfather is just overcome with joy at the news. Of course he'd want to show us off a bit." She turned to Kurt and smiled. "Blaine is so shy about the whole thing. I had to practically drag him to talk to my parents after he proposed."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. Blaine was the least shy person he knew, and he wondered what other misconceptions Quinn was operating under. Blaine's flustered reaction confirmed Kurt's suspicions that he was concealing a lot of himself from his fiancée, and something about that thought made him smile.

"Miss Fabray makes an excellent point," he said. "I'm sure your grandfather has only the best intentions."

"Kurt, might I speak with you in private?" Blaine asked abruptly. Without waiting for Kurt's answer, he turned to Quinn and continued, "Would you excuse us for a moment, Quinn? I need to discuss a business matter with Mr. Hummel."

"Of course," she said with a smile. "I can go chat with Violet while you boys tend to things."

Kurt couldn't be sure, but he could have sworn he saw a flicker of a smirk on Quinn's face. The thought was fleeting, however, because his curiosity over Blaine's behavior had him distracted.

"Is something wrong?" he asked in a low voice.

Blaine glanced frantically about as if he were worried he was being watched. If he hadn't looked so utterly worried, it might have been laughable, the panicked look on his face as he ushered Kurt through the butler's pantry to the kitchen and out the servants' entrance. When they were alone, he turned to face Kurt and something on his face made Kurt's stomach flutter in nervous anticipation.

"Something is wrong," Kurt said. "Blaine, what is it? If you don't tell me soon, I may actually faint."

Blaine looked at war with himself, his brow furrowed and his eyes watery. Kurt decided to throw caution to the wind and reached out to rest a comforting hand on Blaine's shoulder. When Blaine abruptly shrugged it off, Kurt's heart broke in two.

"My grandfather threatened to rewrite the terms of my trust," Blaine spat. "If I continue to have any kind of relationship with you, I get nothing. Quinn will have nothing."

Kurt couldn't help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. "Surely he didn't mean—"

"Kurt, this is serious. He meant every word. I'm to have no more contact with you or the money I was set to inherit upon my marriage will be divided amongst my cousins."

"What about Quinn's dowry?"

"I'm fairly certain my grandfather has already discussed that with Russell Fabray." He began to pace back and forth almost violently, his shoes turning up billowy clouds of sand in his wake.

Kurt's brain couldn't begin to process any of it. He could only focus on the gentle breeze as it brushed his cheek and the sound of the party drifting out of the open windows of Markland. The cheery voices and gentle lilt of the music mocked his despair. He felt sick.

"Does this mean I won't see you again?" Kurt asked, swallowing heavily to fight back the extra saliva that now flooded his mouth. Struggling to maintain his footing, he dared a glance at Blaine's face and found the same stricken look he knew made up his own expression. "Is this it?"

"I don't want it to be," Blaine said, choking out the words as if each one were heavier than the last.

"Neither do I." Kurt felt a solitary tear roll down his own cheek, but he refused to acknowledge it. "What shall we do?"

"I haven't a clue," Blaine said, "but this isn't the end. I promise you."

Kurt wanted to believe him, but his heart ached nonetheless.