Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
Gigi
One of Harry’s arms is draped round my waist, the other tucked under the pillow beneath my head.
He’s the first thing I feel, warm, solid, and pressed against my back.
His hand shifts lazily against my stomach, and my body lights up like it did last night – before the weight of what I’d done crashed into me.
Before Jamie’s name came storming through the fog.
My stomach drops.
Jamie.
Shit.
I sit up fast, my heart already racing. The sudden movement stirs Harry. He shifts behind me, a low groan in his throat as he buries his face in the pillow. I throw the covers back and move slowly, lifting his arm from my waist, careful not to wake him.
I glance over my shoulder. He’s still half-asleep, his hair a mess, lashes dark against his cheekbones, the sheet barely clinging to his hips. He looks soft in a way no one else gets to see, making something sharpen in my chest.
Because today, of all days, Jamie is expecting something from me.
Because today is wedding dress fitting day.
I choke on a bitter laugh. What a sadistic, perfectly twisted life I’ve built.
My tank top is crumpled near the chair, and my phone is buzzing beside the engagement ring with a reminder I hope I’m imagining.
10:00 a.m. – Boutique Appointment, Paris
There are no missed calls, no texts, and strangely, that panics me further. It’s as though Jamie suspected I’d mess up and he doesn’t want to be the one to remind me.
I dress quickly, pulling my hair into a rough knot.
Before I leave, I glance back. Harry’s lying on his stomach now, one arm thrown across the empty space I left behind.
I bundle the clothes into my arms and slip out of the room as quietly as I can.
The lights in the hallway make me wince as I traipse down to Poppy’s room and knock twice.
She opens the door half-awake, in plaid pyjamas – a strange sight, since she’s always so put together. It looks like she’s had a rough night too.
“I need you,” I say. “Now.”
“Woke up in his bed, or just now leaving it?”
“He woke up in mine.” I shake my head. Not the point. “I need you to come with me.”
She tiredly rubs her eyes. “Where?”
“To a bridal shop.”
Poppy gawks at me. “You’re serious.”
I nod madly, then she curses under her breath, suddenly wide awake. “Tell Jamie you’re hungover.”
“He knows I’m not.” I shift on my feet and say softly, “I need you to come with me.”
“Of course I’m coming.” She pauses, flashing her gaze to the closed door. “And Harry?”
A door creaks open behind us.
I wince, bracing myself, before finding the confidence to turn round.
Harry’s standing in the doorway of my room, one arm braced against the frame, sleep still clinging to him. His hair’s tousled from the pillow, and he’s wearing nothing but his boxers, but his eyes are sharper than they should be for someone who just woke up.
“You’re not serious,” he says to me, then to Poppy. “She’s not seriously going to try on a wedding dress this morning.”
“She doesn’t have a choice,” Poppy mutters.
“Sure, she does.” Harry laughs once. “We all make choices. Like sneaking out of someone’s bed before they wake up. Classic choice. And this isn’t the first time.”
I flinch. “Harry—”
“It’s fine, I get it. Last night was a detour.”
“It’s not about that.”
“Then let me guess.” His voice hardens just enough to make my stomach twist. “Jamie wants photos, something white and virginal for the files.”
“Stop,” I whisper.
“Why?” he says, sharp now. “You’re not denying it.”
I look at him and my heart cracks, because behind the sarcasm and everything between us, there’s something wounded. He’s trying to make it look easy. Like he doesn’t care. Like I didn’t shatter something.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I say, barely a whisper.
Harry tilts his head, forcing a smile. “Yet you’re marrying him anyway.”
The silence that follows is brutal. And the clock is ticking.
I ache to glance at my phone for the time, but I can’t deal with witnessing Harry’s heart break further. Not again. Though it seems too late now, with the way his grip on his jaw turns white, inflicting pain as if to remind himself this is real life.
His voice is distant. “You shouldn’t go there alone.”
Poppy shifts beside me. She’ll go with me, but with the fucked-up way life loves to treat us, he’s right. We’re still not in the all-clear after touching down in Paris, and we could face anything when we step out of this hotel.
I stare at him. “You don’t have to do this.”
He looks at me like I’ve said something ridiculous. “I do,” he says softly, “because even after all this, I still don’t want you to get hurt.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. His expression deepens. Not angry. Not surprised. Just different. Like he knows exactly what’s happening – and he’s already building the wall to keep it from cutting too deep.
Poppy glances between us and for once says nothing.
Harry nods then turns to Poppy. “Ten minutes. Be ready.”
He walks past me, towards his room, without looking back. The bang of the door echoes down the hallway. I take a minute to lean against the wall, hand pressed to my chest.
Poppy turns to me. “He’s not okay.”
“I know.”
“And you?”
“I haven’t been okay since the day I left him.”
Voice soft, she says, “You love him.”
I close my eyes, exhaling an unsteady breath. “That’s meant to be the easy part.”
It takes forty minutes to arrive at the bridal boutique and less than fifteen minutes to leave.
We would have been done in five, but after I send photo evidence of the dress to Jamie as instructed – choosing the first one on the rack just to be done with the nightmare sooner and gushing about the fabric so the lie looks believable – he asks that I try on a couple more. He’s sold by the third.
The gown is now sitting in protective wrapping at the back of the store, ready to fly home with us to London tomorrow, where Poppy, Harry, and I will go back to our usual routines, living completely separate lives, as though this trip were a fever dream.
But I’ll be living for him.
The traffic in Paris is heaving, but the backstreets are thankfully less busy. Harry has to guide us through winding roads to find our driver, though as a tourist, each one looks the same. I swear I’ve seen the same man across the street three times already, at least a mile back.
Harry’s eyes mostly slide past me as we walk, as if I’m a stranger on the edge of his memory. But every now and then, I catch him watching when he thinks I’m not paying attention – brief glances that make my lungs lock.
We walk through the streets of Paris as if we don’t know each other. As if our bodies don’t remember what happened in the early hours of this morning.
I want to tell him I’m sorry. I want to scream it at him. I want to fall to my knees and say, “I have no choice.”
Something feels off, and perhaps if I confessed everything, the feeling would ease. But whatever I’m experiencing feels darker, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I’ve been so focused on watching Harry’s back I’ve barely been watching my own.
“Something feels wrong,” I say.
Harry says nothing and continues to walk. His hands are in his pockets, shoulders hunched beneath his jacket.
But I can’t shake the feeling we’re not alone.
“Did you see that guy?” Poppy murmurs near my shoulder. “The one with the cap. He’s passed us twice now.”
I shift my eyes to the reflection in a boutique window. He’s there – tall, expressionless, walking slow and deliberate like he’s taking a stroll, never quite losing pace with us.
My heart misses a beat. It’s not the same guy I thought we passed three times.
“I see him,” I whisper back. “Are we being followed?”
Harry doesn’t respond, but he glances over his shoulder. He notices too.
“He’s still behind us.” Poppy leans in subtly. “This is the fourth time I’ve seen him since we left the bridal shop.”
If this is one of Richard’s men, he’d have already reported back that Harry is accompanying me and Poppy. He could die because of my mistake.
Panicked, I turn to Poppy. She stares back in silence, equally concerned.
Harry glances over his shoulder again before turning back round. His jaw clenches so tight I can see the muscle ticking beneath his skin.
“Down here,” he orders.
He takes a sharp right, down a long, narrow alleyway with an exit at the end. His strides are determined, but they falter at the unwelcome presence at the far end. The man I saw earlier stands perfectly still, waiting.
We whip back round towards where we entered. We’re boxed in.
The figures start closing in, slow at first, eager in their pursuit.
“What do we do?” Poppy hisses.
Harry’s eyes dart to either end of the alley before he turns to me fully. “If I say run,” he breathes, “you run. No hesitation.”
I nod.
“That goes for you too,” he tells Poppy.
She gives him the finger.
Then we hear it. Footsteps. Fast. Closing in.
I flex my hand, knowing I’ll be relying on Poppy and Harry to do the damage. I’m pathetic in this scenario, and not as strong as I used to be. But I’ll fight back.
A figure bursts from the alley behind us, baton raised.
Poppy spins, intercepting the man in one fluid motion. Her fist connects with his throat before the baton falls. She strikes again with a vicious punch across the jaw, then with a knee to the ribs.
Another rush of footsteps comes from the side.
Harry ducks the punch. He slides his arm behind the man’s neck, locks, and twists in one fluid motion. The crack echoes, and the man drops like a puppet.
“Go!” Harry shouts. “Now!”
I hesitate. “But—”
Poppy grabs my hand, yanking me towards a narrow passage between the looming buildings. She skids to a stop as another man rushes from behind with a baton raised at her.
I grab her arm and twist us sideways, barely avoiding the blow.
Harry turns just in time, grabbing the attacker’s wrist mid-swing.
He bends it back until it snaps, and the man’s piercing scream follows.
Harry spins the baton, landing a savage blow to his ribs, then another to his jaw. The man crumbles.
We’re panting now. Trapped in the small alley with nowhere to go.
“They’re tightening the gap,” Harry says under his breath. “Keep moving, and if we have to, we split.”
“No,” I say before I can stop myself. “We stay together.”
He looks at me then – really looks – and for a moment, I see a war behind his eyes. Fury, confusion, betrayal, but beneath it all, the same protection I’ve always known.
He opens his mouth to respond—
A blur of movement as someone lunges, their fist slicing through the air towards my hair. Harry moves fast, twisting and diving his elbow into the attacker’s gut, slamming him face-first into the brick wall.
A scream pierces the air.
I whip my head towards Poppy.
She’s throwing punches, but her arms are quickly restrained by two men. She doesn’t stop, thrashing her legs wildly and twisting in their hold. But they have her tight, pulling her to the end of the alley, where a blacked-out van sits with its doors open.
They’re going to kidnap us.
I yell, “Poppy!”
A tight grip tugs at my scalp, tripping me. A second man grabs me by the arm, yanking me back, one hand already reaching for my mouth.
I twist, jabbing my elbow into his ribs, but he’s stronger, hiking me up. I’ve lost use of my legs, my strength pathetic. I scream into his palm, watching Harry helplessly as they drag me towards where Poppy has disappeared.
“Run!” I shout, muffled.
He lands a punch across someone’s jaw, and they fall to their knees. Harry’s head whips towards me, and I watch the fury engulf his features.
I thrash against the men’s grip, a palm pressing down hard on my temple, forcing me through the open van doors.
My leg slips free, and I kick out, my boots impaling and denting the exterior.
They grapple with my legs, and I turn my head over my shoulder to find Harry’s purposeful strides closing in quickly.
“Gi—”
The barrel of a gun groans as it’s cocked beside my temple. Harry freezes, his face falling instantly. Slowly, he raises his hands, palms up.
“Please.” His voice is tortured. “Don’t hurt her.”
He meets my eye for only a second, and I see it: the pain, the panic. There’s a slight shake to his hands as he watches me.
The man holding me nods stiffly. Another rounds the car, pulling Harry’s arms behind his back and locking them tight.
“You’d better get comfortable,” he says, shoving me in through the open doors. “It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”