His face was blank, but the Queen's response was disconcerting. Marisol wasn't the only one with shit, the only one who'd been kicked when she was down, but he didn't particularly like that he'd just done the kicking, intentionally or not. Less than two full days at the cirque, and he was playing the bully on the playground. The lines around Vaughn's eyes deepened momentarily. He could hear his ex's voice in his head, breaking down the how and why of the psychological impetus for his repetitive inability to just play nice.
"She probably won't," he agreed. That didn't mean he wouldn't try later in the week, just for kicks.
A second look from Rose told him his instinct to back up and excuse himself from the party was a wise one. The good doctor had things under control. The Queen seemed to like her, at least. Vaughn lifted a hand at his side to gesture that he wasn't provoking the situation. "Enjoy your evening ..." He stalled and made a contemplative noise," the three of you." He wasn't sure if that was right, but it was the best he could muster. A mental reel of Macaulay Culkin getting stung to death in that movie he'd seen too many times as a kid kept playing in his head. He took another two steps backwards before turning and resuming his mission for food, leaving the two women to their more productive conversation.