Chapter 16 – Harper
SIXTEEN
HARPER
The day after we arrive home from our honeymoon, Leo announces our marriage to the public and tells us we’ll have to do a few press rounds. The morning of the television interviews, I walk downstairs in an emerald green shift dress I designed and a pair of black over-the-knee boots, and Wes just stares at me.
He looks handsome as ever in a gray sweater and jeans that scream hot casual and yet still says rock star somehow, something I think only he could pull off.
Things have been good between us in the week since I moved in with him, though there’s been a definitive tension between us. We’ve both been busy, Wes going to Riggs’s often for recording or practice and me having girls’ night to fill in Ava and Jules and being on deadline for a few pageant gowns.
But each night, he’s home by dinner and we eat together, talking a bit and continuing to learn about one another. I’ve learned that Wes was Billie Joe Armstrong from Green Day for Halloween three years in a row, something he says should have been a sign , that his favorite food is tacos, and he loves the color green. It’s strange getting to know the little details about someone after you move in with them, but it’s been nice and easy all the same.
And even though we’ve been sleeping together every night in Wes’s bed, we haven’t done anything more, not even the most basic of kisses.
But the way he stares at me now without speaking, without moving, has panic filling me.
“What?” I ask. “Is this too much? I know it’s a little short, but I?—”
He cuts me off with a smile. “Did you make it?” he asks, stepping forward to me, and I nod. “Then it’s perfect.”
His hand reaches out, fingers grazing the chain of the necklace I continue to put on every morning despite barely leaving the house. It just feels…right to wear. His fingers tuck under the higher neckline of my dress, trailing along the chain and tugging it out from where it settled under my dress and letting it lay on the fabric. He fiddles with the charm, his fingers grazing along the skin of my neck once more before he steps back.
I’m dazed for a moment, and he smiles wide like he knows.
“Do we have time to stop somewhere for coffee on the way to the studio?” I ask when I come back to myself.
“Of course, but if you want, we can make something here. I’ve got this giant-ass espresso machine I barely know how to work, but I can Google it.”
I shake my head and laugh. “No, I know how to work it. I could make you something if you want. I just don’t have my creamer, and it’s the only way I like it at home.”
Wes’s brows furrow in confusion. “Just tell Laurel to get it. Whatever you need. I told you that when you moved it.”
I bite my lip, not wanting to get her in trouble, but I can’t lie, not with him looking at me in that way that sees through every fib I tell.
“I, uh, I did. I added it to the list, but she didn’t get it.”
“You did?” he asks.
“I don’t think Laurel likes me.”
He shakes his head, disagreeing with me. “She likes you just fine. That’s just how she is. She’s the same with Stella, a little standoffish. It’s not personal, she prefers male friendships to female.”
“Red flag,” I say under my breath, reaching for my bag.
“What?” he asks with a laugh, and I sigh, turning to him to explain.
“It’s a red flag. Any woman who says they prefer the company of men to women? I don’t trust them.”
He lets out a small chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling at me.
“Do you like my company?” I roll my eyes.
“Yes, of course. But my girls will always be my number one. Women…we can read people differently than men can. If a woman doesn’t like the company of other women, I assume it's because she’s afraid of them reading her in a way she doesn’t like, which makes me wonder what she’s hiding.”
He shrugs on his jacket, moving for the front door and opening it for me.
“I guess that makes sense,” he says as I walk out in front of him, before he locks the door behind us. “But Laurel isn’t like that. You two will get used to each other, it just takes a bit.”
I shrug my shoulders, not really wanting to explain to him that his assistant wants in his pants and hates me because, in her eyes, I got there first, and because of that, we will never be used to each other.
“Maybe,” I say with a smile as I slide into the seat. His eyes take me in, a small smile on his lips like he finds me endlessly entertaining before he grabs the seatbelt, leans forward, buckling me in.
“Gotta keep my little wife safe,” he says, then presses his lips to my forehead before slamming the door and jogging around the car. I’m dazed by the small movement as he starts the car and pulls out of the drive, taking me to my favorite coffee shop.
“Were you always an Atlas Oaks fan?” the female interviewer at the first studio asks me, making my stomach turn.
I bite my lip and give her a tight smile.“Honest answer?” I ask awkwardly. Wes laughs out loud, but I continue. “Not really. I’m kind of an I’ll listen to everything kind of person, but we had mutual friends, so that’s really how my interest was piqued.” I bite my lip once more, and look at Wes, who is still smiling and decide to drop a bit more truth.
“Truth will make you likable,” Leo told us when he called us this morning. He’s in California with Willa, so he couldn’t be here to coach us today, but he made sure to call us and give us—okay, me—a pep talk. “The public can sniff out a lie from a mile away, so only do it when you have to.”
So I tell the truth. “I actually started listening to their music a lot more after I met Wes,” I explain, leaving out that I used to not listen to the band just because Jeremy was a fan. God, how many signs could there have been that things between us were never going to work? “We were at a bar celebrating my friend’s pageant win?—”
“Ava Wilde, right?” the interviewer asks. It still sounds so crazy to me for people to call Ava by Jaime’s last name, but still, my smile widens, and I nod.
“Yeah. And Ava saw the band in a VIP section. She went to school with Stella and wanted to say hi.”
“Was it love at first sight?” she asks with starry eyes, and I shake my head, smiling, opening my mouth to speak, to explain we were friends before dating as planned, but Wes beats me to it.
“For me, definitely. At the time, Harper was taken. But we saw each other a lot because of mutual friends, so I kept on falling for her from afar.”
The woman lets out an awww, but my mind can’t focus on anything but the way Wes is looking at me, heart eyes and everything.
Who knew he was such a great actor?
“So, as soon as she was single, I swooped in. I saw my chance, and I took it.” He winks at me, and I can’t help but smile and shake my head. “Got her to go on a few dates with me, dated for a bit, and then we decided it was stupid to waste time,” he says.
“That’s quite literally the sweetest story ever,” the interviewer says. “So you were patiently waiting for her to be ready for you?”
Wes meets my eyes, his hand reaching out to grab mine, and suddenly, it’s like this isn’t an interview but a private moment just for the two of us.
“No one has ever tested my patience the way Harper has, and I mean that in the best way possible. They say good things come to those who wait, and I’d wait forever if it meant I’d get her at the end of it all.”
My heart skyrockets at his words, at the hidden meaning in them and the way he looks at me, and I’m pretty sure the interviewer lets out another loud aww, but I’m lost to reality.
“Your necklace is beautiful,” the interviewer says. “Can we assume it’s a W for Wes?”
My hand moves to the heart necklace, and I smile gently, looking at my husband. “It is. Wes gave it to me on our wedding day.”
“It’s kind of a tradition Riggins and Stella started,” Wes says with a smile, eyes on the necklace.
“Oh?” the interviewer asks, leaning in like she’s excited to get some new piece of information no one else has yet.
“Well, when Riggins and Stella got married, they got each other's initials tattooed in a heart on their wrist. Their hearts on the other’s sleeve, so to speak.”
I remember reading about Stella and Riggins’ tattoos in an article after they were reunited, and I’ve seen it in person now more times than I can count. My pulse goes erratic as he turns to me and smiles, something in his eyes like he knows he’s about to send me spiraling, and he can’t wait.
His fingers move out to the necklace, grabbing the heart with the letter W on it and tugging a bit so I move closer to him, my eyes locked on his.
“My wife doesn’t have any tattoos, so I got her this necklace,” he says, and my pulse pounds.
Last night, I asked him about all of the tattoos I could see with one shirt sleeve pushed up, but I didn’t bother to ask about the other arm since it was blank on our honeymoon.
But what if…
“And you?” the interviewer asks, nearly chomping at the juicy story before her. “Do you have Harper’s heart on your sleeve?”
I let out an involuntary choked laugh, starting to shake my head, but he doesn’t stop looking into my eyes when he nods.
“Of course,” he says, his hand moving to the arm of his sweater, the one with no tattoo sleeve, and shows the interviewer—and me—a small cursive H in a heart on the inside of his wrist.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, unable to guard my expression as my heart pounds even faster.
That’s permanent. A tattoo. On his skin forever.
“I take it that was a bit of a surprise to you?” the interviewer asks, and I let out another coughed laugh.
“Uh, yeah. You can say that.” I shake my head to try and remind myself to keep it together before clearing my throat. “I know he got a new tattoo, of course. I saw the tape, but I didn’t know…”
“I was waiting for a grand reveal,” Wes says, then he grabs onto that necklace once more, using it to pull me to him and bring his lips to mine. “Happy wedding, little wife,” he whispers against my lips, slightly open with awe and shock, before he leans in gently, pressing his there. It’s a soft, quick kiss before he pulls back, then repeats the same move on my forehead.
Finally, he sits back, looking at the interviewer, who has a hint of dumbstruck awe expression on her face.
“Wow. Well. That was…you two really are the real thing,” she says with a chuckle. “And I think that’s a great place to stop, as we’re running out of time.” She turns to the camera and starts spewing facts on where to find Atlas Oaks and me online before handing it off to the news anchor. She turns to us, her entire composure different than when the camera was on, an easy smile taking over her face.
“Wow, you two really are something. When they brought this story to me, I was sure it was some kind of press relationship. We get a lot of those, you know. But you two. God.” She looks from me to Wes. “You’re one lucky girl.”
“No,” Wes says with a shake of his head, standing and offering his hand to me, tugging me up and pulling me into his side. “I’m the lucky one.”
There is barely any time between our first interview and the second one as we move across town. I spend the short drive while Wes is on the phone with Leo, trying to organize my thoughts so I don’t freak out on him. It’s not until we’re alone in the greenroom at the next studio, changing, that I find words to say, sort of.
Sort of, because it just kind of blurts out when he catches me staring at his bare chest as he changes sweaters.
“When did you get that?” I ask, my eye moving toward his wrist.
“Get what?” he asks, a cocky smile on his lips I kind of want to smack off. Thankfully, he tugs on a new sweater, this one burgundy, hiding his wildly distracting chest so I can think.
“You know what I mean, Wes, don’t play stupid. It’s not cute on you.” I expect him to banter with me, but instead, he answers honestly.
“After we got back. I was going to do it before, but you aren’t supposed to go in pools after.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “But…but,” I start, then finally speak coherently. “But that’s permanent, Wes.”
His head tips a bit as he smiles at me. “Yeah, and?”
“And...and…and this isn’t!” I say, my hands moving in the air with the panic that I feel.
“You’re already under my skin, Harper Holden. Might as well put you there myself.” I can feel my eyes going wider, and Wes laughs at that before adding, “This might not be permanent, Harper, but I don’t plan on having another wife after you. Why not commemorate it?”
I open my mouth over and over like a fish out of water, trying to decide what to say and how to respond, but there's a knock on the door.
“Two minutes!” the production assistant yells.
Wes steps closer, tugging me against him, my chest meeting his as we stand toe to toe. “Believe I care about you yet?” he asks low.
“A tattoo doesn’t prove you care about someone, Wes. It just proves you’re impulsive,” I whisper, though I’m not sure if I even believe myself.
“Got it. Not yet,” he says, his smile widening before he steps back. “Go. You’ve got two minutes to finish changing.”
The second interview is mostly the same as the first, but this time, there is a male and female interviewer. It’s a well-known gossip show starring Marty Man and Kelsey Smith, where the two leads bicker and argue often, something viewers love. But being on this side of things, with Marty taking the lead, I am much more uncomfortable than in our first interview.
Especially since it seems he is already not fond of me.
“It really is something,” he starts after we get through the niceties. “You know, many were confused by the announcement of your nuptials.”
My stomach churns at the twinkle in his eyes. It’s much different than the way the first interviewer spoke to us, more like he’s preparing for some gotcha moment.
Still, Wes smiles at me, my hand in his, his thumb brushing over my skin like a calming metronome as I try and keep my serene look on my lips.
“How long have you been together?”
“Four months,” I say quickly. It’s the planned answer to line up with the timeline for our relationship Jeremy and Clarissa have made. According to them, Jeremy and I broke up months ago, hence why he and Clarissa are already so close. “We kept things quiet for a bit since we had mutual friends and wanted to make sure it wasn’t something that would blow up in our faces. But then we decided to just go for it.”
“You mentioned on social media last year that you were planning to announce a fashion line but haven’t spoken of it since. What happened there?” Marty asks with a smug smile, and my body stills because I did not anticipate them asking about me and my life.
We’d been given a list of questions to expect, all pre-approved by Leo, as I’ve been told is the norm. Nothing about my business was on that list or something I anticipated. Still, there’s no going back, so I keep it simple.
“I just wasn’t inspired, you know?” I say tightly. “There’s been a lot going on, and I just…” I hesitate, smiling at Wes. “I decided I wanted more time to perfect things and to devote my energy to my current clients.”
“There’s some speculation your business is struggling,” he says, a sneaky smile spreading on his lips that I do not like. “You spent some time dating the head of marketing at Astor Fashion, and he recently told the press he was often giving you tips on how to change your designs to improve them. Do you have any commentary on that?”
My blood goes cold, both from the question and the all-consuming rage flowing through me at the idea that this is the bullshit Jeremy is spreading. This is the shit he is brewing up in his campaign against me.
All of this and for what ? Daring to live my life after him? Not letting my business and my name crumble to the ground just because his little bitch of a new girlfriend decided she doesn’t like me?
The interviewer stares at me with some kind of gotcha face, his co-host looking at him with a hint of confusion and irritation, like she didn’t see this coming either, before he continues on.
“He then went on this morning to say you were doing all of this as some publicity stunt to save your drowning business. Let me read the statement he gave after your first interview this morning.” His attention goes to some teleprompter behind me as he begins reading.
“Ms. Abbott is clearly continuing in her quest of gold-digging, looking for the next best thing after detonating her relationship with me. I wish Mr. Holden all the best and hope he has a really good prenup in place—and cameras on his lawn in case Ms. Holden decides to vandalize his home when he ends things.”
Marty looks absolutely jovial as he reads this statement, and I want to hit him. I get it, really, I do. His job is to get some kind of juicy sound bite he can twist and manipulate to get views and money, but right now, I hate him.
I give a tight, uncomfortable smile, trying to figure out how to dismantle this without making things worse, but it turns out, I don’t have to.
“We’re done here,” Wes says, standing before I can even think of something to say.
“What?” Marty asks, shock on his face as Wes puts his hand out to me.
“I said, we’re done here,” Wes repeats in a deep voice that moves through me like fire, warming all of the cold spots my panic created. From my peripheral, I see a few cameras, both studio and cell phone, raised and pointed in our direction, but all I can do is focus on Wes’s hand in mine, his angry face pointed at the D-list celebrity before us.
“I still have a few questions, Wes. We—” Marty tries, but Wes shakes his head as I grab his hand. Wes grips mine tight before he pulls me up and into his arms, wrapping one around me as if to protect me from whatever threat might come.
“And you lost the privilege to speak to my wife and me the second you started to spew that bullshit. I won’t sit by and have anyone speak to her like that, to question her motives so blatantly, much less in front of me. I love this woman more than life itself, and it might be untraditional, but when has Atlas Oaks ever been traditional? You’ve had what, four divorces, Marty? Maybe you work on your own issues instead of creating them for others.”
And then we’re moving, Wes walking us off stage as he rips off his mic and throws it on the ground. We’re almost off the stage, those cameras still following our every move like this is some Jerry Springer episode and they’re going to follow us backstage.
Wes stops us before we’re fully off the sound stage, pulling me in close. His skin brushes against mine as he moves into the back of my dress to remove my own mic. It follows his to the ground with a clatter before he’s tugging me once more toward the greenroom I changed in when we got here.