Never Been Worse (Evergreen Park #3)

Chapter 12 – Harper

TWELVE

HARPER

“One bed,” I say as we walk into the honeymoon suite of the exclusive hotel we’re staying at. It’s one of those fancy all-inclusive resorts I could only daydream about staying in on my own, and despite myself, I’m looking forward to the next few days in luxury.

Except there’s only one damned bed. God, Ava would fucking love this, like a scene out of one of the books she reads.

“Our marital bed,” Wes says deadpan, and my eyes go wide as I whip my head in his direction, panicking. I know we’re married and all, but it’s not that kind of married. I didn’t think I’d be sharing a bed with a near stranger, much less anything…more.

“I’m joking, I’m joking, Harp. I’m staying on the couch, you’re getting the bed. We just needed to book this and make it look real, just in case there are any leaks,” he says with a small laugh.

His response should be reassuring, yet somehow, I hate the idea of him sleeping on the couch more than the idea of sleeping in the same bed with him.

But do you really hate the idea of that, Harper? that pesky voice in my head asks.

“No, no,” I say. “That’s not necessary. You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

He shakes his head ardently. “Harper, I’m not making you share a bed. I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“Then we’ll make it work fairly. We can switch on and off. You take it tonight. Tomorrow, I get the couch.”

“No,” he says bluntly.

“Excuse me?”

“No. I’m not letting you sleep on the couch,” he says like it’s not up for discussion, putting his duffel bag onto a table and unzipping it.

“Wes, don’t be ridiculous?—”

“I have manners, Harper. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“I can’t in good conscience let you do that,” I say, turning to him with my arms folded across my chest. “I’m fine sleeping on the couch. We can take turns, it’s fair.” He stops what he’s doing, looking at me with tired eyes. We both took short naps on the plane ride, but considering it’s officially tomorrow in the Bahamas and yesterday was possibly the world's longest day, we’re both exhausted.

“My father would kill me if he found out I was making a woman sleep on the couch, fake wife or not.”

“Do your parents know? About this being…?” I ask because we never actually talked about who would know the truth. I didn’t tell my parents, but the truth is, they weren’t going to ask questions, so it was easier that way.

He shakes his head. “No, I just told them it was a whim.”

“They didn’t question it?” I ask, wondering if his relationship with his parents is similar to mine. He shakes his head.

“Hell no. My parents married after knowing each other for a month. They don’t have a single foot to stand on between the two of them.”

“A month!” I say with a laugh. “Was it a shotgun wedding?”

He shakes his head with a wide smile. “No, my parents are hopeless romantics. They say it was love at first sight.”

“And they’re still in love?” I ask, somewhat disbelieving. He nods fervently.

“Incredibly.”

“Is that what you’re waiting for?” I ask, my stomach churning with a hint of guilt and something else I can’t—or maybe don’t want to—pinpoint. “To find your one true love and settle down?” He stares at me for long moments, which starts to make me feel uncomfortable. “You know, when you get the chance?”

Finally, he nods. “Yeah. When I get the chance.” Another heavy beat passes before he claps his hands. “All right, enough talking about my parents on our honeymoon. Do you want to go down to the pool? I think Leo has tipped some people off to come take shots while we’re down there, and I could use a nap by the water.”

My eyes go wide at the thought, the reminder of the purpose of this “honeymoon,” but I straighten my shoulders and nod.

No matter how uncomfortable it makes me, I have to remember why I’m here. It’s not to flirt with a hot rockstar, that’s for sure.

“Yeah, give me five,” I say as confidently as I can before stepping back, moving to my bag to find whatever swimsuit Ava packed me.

“Are you almost ready to go down?” Wes asks from outside the bathroom twenty minutes later.

I slathered sunscreen all over, tied my copper hair up into a high ponytail, and slicked on some basic makeup in an effort to not look like a disaster for the paparazzi. Now I’m standing in front of a mirror, fiddling with the thin strings of my bridal white bikini, knowing damn well Ava picked the tiniest thing she could find.

I don’t have any issues with my body, something that is a bit of an abnormality in the fashion industry, but I love it. She’s got curves and dips I love and does just about everything I ask of her with minimal complaints. I’ve never been self-conscious about how I look or anything like that, which is why, on any other day, this tiny bikini wouldn’t bother me at all.

But now Wes is about to see my body. Wes, who has probably spent time with some of the most gorgeous women in the world. Wes, who is now my husband . Wes, who is going to act blissfully in love with me while I wear this tiny bikini.

You picked this out, didn’t you, Ava?

I send the text into our group chat along with a photo of myself in the bikini, and Ava replies almost instantly.

Ava

Jesus, Harp, give us a warning when you send the NSFW content!

It’s a bikini.

That I think you picked out.

Ava

But on you, it’s almost indecent. I was going for hot new bride/possibly seduce your new rockstar husband.

And honestly, I’d like a huge round of applause because fuck, did I nail it.

She sends me a gif of someone patting herself on the back, and I roll my eyes.

Did you have to pick the tiniest one possible?

Ava

Yes.

You’re hot. Your husband is hot. Once you get your head out of your ass, you can be hot together. So yeah, it’s a requirement.

I don’t even know how to reply to that, something I get a pass on when Jules replies before I have to.

Jules

You look gorgeous, Harper!

How was the flight there?

Leave it to Jules to bring things down to sanity.

Good, we’re going down to the pool now. I’m just wishing I had a one-piece. Or a scuba suit.

Jules

If you’ve got it, flaunt it, babe, and you most definitely have it. Have some fun!

Ava

LET yourself have some fun.

I won’t lie about how that last text hits a little too close to my recent reality because they know better than anyone, it’s not that I don’t have endless opportunities to enjoy myself; it’s that I’m always too worried about consequences and image and how people will take things to let myself have fun.

But where has that gotten you? That pesky fucking voice whispers again.

I’m putting on a cover-up.

I reach for the still pretty skimpy cover-up, glad that even though it dips to display my ample cleavage, it covers my ass for the most part. I look at myself in the mirror and sigh at the coverage, ready to head out. Or at least, as ready as I’m going to be.

Ava

You’re a party pooper.

Jules

Don’t worry, it’s hot. She’ll have to take it off.

I roll my eyes at my friends, slipping my phone into my bag and taking a deep breath before I step out into the hotel.

“Are you going to wear that all day?” Wes asks an hour later, tipping his chin to the cover-up I’m still wearing. If I’m being honest, I’m absolutely sweating in this, the sun as strong as can be, but it could also just be Wes’s presence. Wes, who did not hesitate for a second to take off his baggy tank when we got to the pool. Wes, who I’ve been using extraordinary strength not to stare at ever since.

But other than that, it’s been relatively fine.

We found a spot with an umbrella, laying out our towels and setting my bag to the side before I grabbed some book Ava’s been begging me to read and getting lost. Wes put on a pair of headphones, his hands making twitching movements every so often, confusingly switching from what I think is air guitar to drums on occasion. Not that I’ve been watching, of course.

“I feel like everyone is watching us,” I say quietly, looking around the pool. Occasionally, I’ll catch someone lifting a phone in our direction or see someone who is clearly a paparazzi dressed as a lounger take a photo with a professional camera.

“Then at least look comfortable,” he says, sitting up and turning toward me before grabbing my wrist and tugging.

I follow his lead, putting my back to who I’m sure is a photographer, and lowering my voice. “What?”

“Harper, baby, you’re sweating,” he says with a gentle smile. “It’s obvious to everyone around.”

Harper, baby . The words wrap around me, making me shiver and feel safe all the same.

“Really?”

“Yes. Take it off. Take it off, and we’ll take a dip, then you can take your nap and put a towel over your face so you can ignore them.” It...it makes sense. “One photo op and they’ll kind of disappear.”

“Really?” I ask again, feeling like a parrot.

He nods, and I sigh because the towel material of my cover-up is actually making me feel like I might sweat out every ounce of fluid in my body. Slowly and nervously, I cross my arms to my waist, pulling the fabric until it's up and over my head, putting the clothing into my bag.

Wes gives me a wide smile, his eyes never faltering from mine, which, oddly, feels comforting, before his hand reaches out, twining his fingers with mine. He stands, and I follow, his fingers squeezing around mine as we move to the sloping entrance of the pool. We move through the water slowly until we’re against the side of the pool, the water up to Wes’s waist and my ribs.

I can’t fight the urge to look around, feeling as if eyes are still on me. The feeling is confirmed when more than one camera is lifted to snap at us. From what I understand, this wouldn’t be happening under normal circumstances, but since Wes’s team are the ones who dropped the tip, we’re letting them get whatever shots they want.

That’s the whole point, after all.

“Ignore them,” he says low.

“What?”

“The paparazzi. The cameras. Just ignore them.”

I give him a deadpan glare.

“Uh, I’m in the tiniest bikini known to man, thanks to my best friend, and people are taking photos of me that will probably be in grocery store tabloids in a week. I can’t ignore them. This is all very...new to me.”

“It gets easier, but whenever you need me to, I’ll hide you,” he says, his face and his words earnest before he surprises me by showing me. His arm moves out, wrapping around my waist and tugging me into him, my front pressed to his bare chest, his warmth on my skin. His hand moves to brush through my hair like this is normal, and slowly, I let myself relax and ignore the rest of the world, if only for a moment.

“Next week, mark my words, there will be a ‘Who’s the New It Girl’ article published in Fans Weekly about you. I’ll make sure Leo lets the press know where to find your designs. People will be clamoring for whatever you’re willing to share with them,” Wes says a few minutes later, still in the same, shockingly comfortable position. “Whatever bullshit Jeremy is spinning will be forgotten. The press cycle works like that. But,” he says, so low, I almost feel it more than hear it. “Most of all, I’m excited for everyone to know you’re off the market.”

My breathing falters, and for a moment, I genuinely forget about the paparazzi and the cameras and the eyes for a moment.

“That blush of yours is so fucking pretty.” The words come out so quietly, as if they’re for my ears only. His hand moves, cupping my chin and jaw, a rough thumb grazing over my bottom lip as I stare at him wide-eyed. “And you’re so fucking mine.”

“Wes, we’re not—” I start, but he cuts me off quickly.

“Don’t say it,” he whispers. “Not here, not now.” His arm around my waist tightens, pulling me closer until his face is just inches from mine, and a rush of understanding comes over me.

The cameras.

He’s doing this to give them their pound of flesh so we can move on with the rest of our day in relative peace.

Still, I can’t help but feel giddy at this man, this utter rockstar, giving me this kind of attention. I smile before giving him a small nod. He returns it before pressing his lips to my forehead, and we spend just a few more minutes in the pool before moving back to our chairs, where, as suggested, I put a towel over my face.

But I don’t sleep, despite how much I need it.

No, all I can think about is how confusingly delicious it felt to be in Wes Holden’s arms and for him to call me his .

We head back from the pool at four, and Wes gives me plenty of alone time in the bedroom to get ready, which I’m wildly grateful for. Too much time with this man feels dangerous, like something I can’t afford to not keep my guard up with.

I’m also grateful that this honeymoon suite is huge, with a kitchen and living area set away from the bedroom, so I’m free to start overthinking again as I get ready for dinner together.

Dinner is more paparazzi photos, which Wes promises me isn’t actually usually this intrusive or obvious, but Leo wants to make sure they get good photos and lots of them to share with all of the tabloids.

By the time we make it up the stairs, I hide away in the bathroom to take my makeup off and put on my pajamas, preparing myself for what I have to do next.

The reality is, I cannot in good conscience let Wes, the man who is doing me what feels like the biggest favor known to man, sleep on a fucking couch at a luxury resort. It’s simple manners, nothing more.

With one last look in the mirror, I nod to myself, take a deep breath, and open the door, stepping into the main room. Wes is already sitting up on his couch bed, and I roll my eyes before walking over to him and grabbing his pillow.

“Harper—” he starts, but I shake my head, tossing the pillow back on the gigantic bed, and turn to him.

“I can’t in good conscience let you sleep on a couch, Wes.”

“I’m not sleeping in that bed with you,” he says, arms crossing on his chest.

I mimic the move and give him a glare. “Then sleep on it without me.”

“I’m not doing that either. I’m not letting my wife sleep on a couch .”

“And I’m not letting my husband sleep on a couch,” I counter, trying to show him what an idiot he’s being. “If you sleep on the couch, I’ll sleep on the floor. And I really, really don’t want to sleep on a hotel floor, no matter how nice of a hotel it is.”

He glares at me like I won’t do it, so once more, I roll my eyes, grab a pillow off the bed, and place it on the floor.

With a grumble, Wes bends down, grabbing the pillow and tossing it on the bed again. “You’re so stubborn,” he says, but I just roll my eyes again.

“Are you surprised?” I’m best friends with Ava fucking Wilde. He should have known what he was getting into with me. “Come on. Get in the bed, Wes,” I say with a sigh, because suddenly, the chaos of the weekend is getting to me, and I’m hit with the exhaustion of the day.

“No.”

“Jesus, are you always this stubborn?” I ask with a glare.

“With pretty people pleasers? Yes.”

I think about arguing about not being a people pleaser, but we all know that’s of no use.

“What about with your wife?” I wiggle my ring finger adorned with my huge, sparkly wedding and engagement ring, and he smiles.

“Also yes. Even if I should probably play it safe so I can get past her walls without scaring her off.”

“I don’t have walls up,” I say.

Wes lets out a deep laugh that makes me crack a smile, and he shakes his head. “Even you know that’s not true, Harper.” He steps closer, getting into my space, not close enough that we’re touching, but close enough that my body feels that pull to his that I absolutely need to ignore.

Kissing Wes is something else. All-consuming and amazing and breathtaking and brain scrambling, which is exactly why it absolutely cannot happen again.

If I want to make it out of this marriage in one piece, my dignity, my heart, and my reputation intact, I need to play this smart. I may have jumped into this on a whim, but I can’t continue that way.

That’s how I fucked up with Jeremy, focusing on my wants and could-bes instead of the clear-as-day evidence in front of me. And the evidence here is that this is a marriage of convenience that will end in a year.

Nothing more, nothing less.

I step back, sitting on the edge of the bed and sighing. “Wes, please. If you don’t sleep in the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor to prove a point, and we’ll both be miserable. I’ll put a pillow barrier between us, but I promise, I’m going to stay on my side. I can’t even touch another person while I’m sleeping, or I wake up,” I say.

He looks at me, confused. “Really?”

“Really. So you can sleep tight knowing that I won’t make it awkward or anything.”

He stares at me for long moments, assessing the truth in my statement before finally nodding. “Okay,” he says, then takes a step toward the bathroom. “But if you’re uncomfortable at all, tell me, and I’m on the couch. No hard feelings.”

“Deal,” I say, plugging my phone in and moving to the side of the massive bed I’ve deemed as mine due to its closer proximity to the bathroom.

By the time Wes gets back and turns out the one remaining light, I’m pretending I’m already fast asleep, not eager to chat in the dark while we’re lying in bed together.

But lo and behold, when I wake incredibly rested, the sound of waves crashing and the bright Caribbean sun leaking in through the blinds, I’m lying on Wes Holden’s bare chest, his arm wrapped around my waist.