Chapter 46 #2
Today feels no different from the hundred other ways we’ve already celebrated.
Gowns, beverages, violins, an accumulation of people whose names I don’t know.
Though this time, my left hand is heavier.
That’s the thing with weddings and rich people – you have the pre-wedding dinners, the post brunches, the bollocks.
But I played into the story. Walked down the aisle and gave up everything. Now I’m here in the wreckage I created. Harry saw a girl in white standing at the top of the cathedral steps, smiling at a man she doesn’t love.
God, I felt him there. Before I even saw him, I felt him. Like a pull behind my ribs—
I blink back to the present. A photographer shouts directions.
“Tilt your head, hold his hand, kiss her cheek.” I obey, puppet-like, my head spinning with each flash.
I force a laugh when Jamie says something in my ear.
He ushers away the cameramen, his hand leaving the small of my back. He’s mid-stride towards the bar when—
No warning. No breath on the back of my neck. Only fingers closing round my wrist.
A breath catches halfway up my throat as I’m spun round.
Harry’s eyes crash into mine.
His chest is rising fast, his eyes raking over me – the dress, the ring, this life – like it’s all one giant betrayal.
Then, all at once, reality crashes into me. He’s here. Wearing the same clothes I saw him in a matter of hours ago, the leather jacket and dark jeans. That reckless lone strand of hair dangling in the centre of his forehead.
Harry is here. Alive. In the same room as—
Oh … fuck.
I look round wildly. Richard is near the bar, speaking with a politician. Jamie is on the opposite side of the room, laughing with his father’s lawyer, oblivious for now. But not for long. Not if Harry stays.
“You need to leave,” I tell him sternly.
Eyes dark with disbelief, his attention flicks down to the wedding ring then back up to my face. “Don’t think I won’t shut you up and kiss you in front of everyone in this room.”
My head whips back towards him.
“And especially in front of your husband.”
Utter fear courses through me. I shake my head.
“You don’t think I would?”
“I never said—”
“Ask. Ask me to kiss you.”
I don’t, because I know Harry will have no issue following through on his threat.
I dart my focus across the room to anyone who might be witnessing this interaction. If they see … this marriage, Harry’s protection – it’ll all be for nothing.
The party goes on round us, oblivious. Laughter. Applause. The clink of silverware on porcelain.
Harry’s voice sounds distant. “You actually did it.”
He towers over me, staring at me with such intensity it’s like he’s waiting for me to crack. Like if he looks at me hard enough, the truth will show itself. His hands tighten for a moment, then he points a shaky finger in my face.
“You’re marrying him while we were …” His face contorts. “You’re … you’re …”
“A whore?” I rasp, my voice turning soft. “It’s okay, Harry. You can say it.”
His face pales as if that was the last thing he was thinking.
Behind me, I hear a laugh. Jamie’s. My spine stiffens. Harry needs to leave now.
“You have to go.” I step closer, trying to use my body to block him from view. “If they see you. Harry, if Jamie or Richard see—”
“Let them.”
My throat tightens, and I whisper fiercely, “No.”
I notice Jamie’s gaze cutting through the crowd. I take a step back, but Harry follows as if to say, “You don’t get to run from this.” I feel Jamie’s gaze again, his chin tilting up to look over shoulders, feet shifting to peer round obstacles.
No. No. No.
With maddening precision, before Jamie’s eyes can find him, Harry pulls us sideways into a cluster of guests. Violins echo round our private bubble in the middle of the room.
I place my hand on his chest – a gentle push. My heart is about to tumble out of my throat.
“A week,” I whisper. “That’s all I’m asking for.”
His brow rises. “Then you’ll tell me what you’re hiding?”
“If that’s what it takes for you to leave.” I hesitate. “Then yes.”
He searches my face. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
His green eyes narrow into slits, and a tense moment passes between us. Slowly – torturously slowly – his mouth twitches, a hint of a weak smile.
“I miss the time when the girl desperate to find out the truth about her brother was the one begging me for answers.”
Oh, Harry.
I want to hold him and say, “Me too.”
“One week,” he says. “One week, and you’ll come back to me. You’ll tell me everything.”
Quietly, almost trembling, I say, “When this is all over, I’ll tell you everything.”
If I didn’t know Harry any better, I’d swear he’s about to fuck the plan and throw me over his shoulder in my wedding dress, then drag me out of here. But with whatever remaining trust he still has left for me, he pulls himself together.
Voice tight, he says, “Don’t lie to me again.”
“I won’t.”
His hand grazes mine at my side, just barely. My fingers flex, and I reach out to hold onto him. He steps back, oblivious, before I have the chance. I feel the loss of him as he backs away, blending into the crowd, his eyes turning to me a final time before he disappears.
An exhausted breath tumbles from my lungs. And I wonder, as I press my hand to my stomach as if I can hold myself together from the inside out, how much more of this either of us can survive.