Chapter Twenty Three
Addy throws her head back and cackles, the kind of laugh that fills a whole room and makes it impossible not to join her.
She’s just potted a third snooker ball in a row, and she’s not being quiet about it.
Rhys rolls his eyes, snatches the cue from her, and lines up for a powerful strike that sends the remaining balls scattering.
None quite make it into the side pockets, but he isn’t focused anyway.
Between shots, he drifts back to Harper, visibly drawing comfort from her soft touches.
From the armchair I’m settled in, I drink from the beer bottle in my hand.
Before Fiona left for the evening, all of the staff retreating to their on-site accommodation, she stopped by to let me know there’s beer in the refrigerator for us.
I reckon it was a ploy to keep us out of Phillip’s cellar, but Rhys isn’t inclined to care.
He’s throwing back shots of vintage cognac.
Watching on with rapt interest, Harper’s hand slides up Rhys’ arm to squeeze his bicep, then settles between his shoulder blades. It doesn’t take a genius to notice the shift between them, but unlike Addy, I’m not going to comment on it.
“You might start winning if you can leave Harper alone for five seconds,” Addy wiggles her brows at me over the table, spinning the cue between her fingers.
Rhys grunts something under his breath, but Harper just smiles.
My chest tightens at the sight, not with jealousy, but with a strange ache that comes from watching something fragile take shape in front of me.
I’d never have believed Rhys could be tamed if I weren’t here to witness it, and that opens all realms of possibilities for the future.
If he’s not the asshole I’m always fighting against, I can focus on being what Harper needs.
Or rather, what I bring to this trio that Harper can’t find elsewhere. What he can’t give her.
Thanks to Addy’s skill for the game, the last few balls disappear in quick succession. She celebrates by using her cue as an air guitar, complete with a soundtrack she makes up on the spot. It’s only when a yawn fights its way through that she stops and drops the cue onto the table.
“Okay, I’m officially beat. I haven’t slept in a real bed since yesterday morning, and the buses I rode here had too many crying babies to count. Rhys, be a dear and show me where I’ll be staying.”
Rhys huffs, draining the last of his cognac and setting the glass down with a little more force than necessary.
He looks torn between pretending he didn’t hear her and equally wanting to be rid of her so he can get back to Harper.
After a beat, the thought of ditching her in a guest room for the night wins out.
“Fine,” he mutters. “Follow me.” Addy grins like she’s just won something, trotting after him as he heads for the door.
Just before she disappears into the hallway, Addy turns back and quickly flashes her hands at Harper, fingers flying in words that I can’t catch.
Harper does though, her lips pressing together as she fails to hold back a laugh.
“Do I even want to know?” I ask, placing my beer down on a table beside my armchair. Harper’s green eyes sparkle with mischief as she makes her way over and lowers into my lap.
“Probably not. Just Addy being mischievous.” Harper’s arms curl around my neck, her fingers slipping into my hair, and I reckon I could give Addy’s message a logical guess. Something like, attend to Clayton whilst I keep Rhys occupied. I’ll have to remember to thank her later.
For now, my attention is on the way Harper curls into me like a perfect fit, her head fitting into the crook of my neck, her hair brushing my jaw.
I breathe her in without thinking, grounding myself in something that feels real in a house that seems built to swallow people whole.
My arms band around her, wrapping us in a cocoon of warmth that’s solely ours.
In the space around the snooker table, which has an overhead light intended to only illuminate the green felt, the lounge is dim.
Shadows stretch across carpet and velvet, the furniture arranged like a showroom instead of a living space.
I rest my chin lightly against the crown of her head, my arm tightening around her as if to say, you are safe, and I am not going anywhere.
There is something in the way she exhales that tells me she’s holding onto something, and I give her the time to turn the words over in her mind.
“Rhys told me he loves me,” she finally whispers, the words pressed into my chest rather than thrown into the air.
I consider this for a moment, the information settling between my ribs with a strange sense of relief.
Sure, I figured I’d be first to say it out loud, but being in the manor has no doubt spurred Rhys to face the truths he’s been trying to outrun.
“Well,” I murmur, tipping my head back just enough to look down at her face.
“He finally found his balls then.” Harper snorts despite herself, the tension easing a fraction as her fingers curl into my shirt.
I know what’s swirling in the depth of her green eyes, the weight of uncertainty swirling overhead.
However, that familiar ache that has nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with inevitability.
“So…where does that leave us?” Harper asks, her gaze searching mine.
Her grip on my T-shirt tightens further, and it all starts to make sense.
She’s expecting me to run, to set her aside and leave.
Had this been even a month ago, she would have been right.
I couldn’t see a way forward with Rhys being…
well, Rhys. But everything is different now, I’m different.
“Exactly where we should be,” I answer without hesitation, my thumb tracing a slow, absent circle against her hip. “If my feelings for you aren’t clear already, I’m doing something very wrong.”
“They are clear,” Harper is quick to reassure me, and the knot in my chest loosens in response.
Then her expression shifts, the softness giving way to worry as her brows knit together.
“That being said, I am worried about Rhys. He’s tiptoeing into new territory, and it’s leaving him even more exposed than usual.
When he’s raw like that, he doesn’t shy away from being vulnerable. He lashes out in spite of it.”
I nod because I have been thinking the same thing.
Watching Rhys’ moods sway between tenderness and barely restrained fury is one thing.
Being on the receiving end is another situation entirely.
Now he’s said the big L word, he’s likely to be even more on edge.
Love seems to scare him more than any threat ever could.
“I’ve been considering the same thing,” I admit quietly. “His father will return in a few days, and Rhys is barely holding himself together as it is.”
“Being here is difficult for him,” Harper adds, her voice dropping as if the walls themselves might be listening. Sighing, I wrap Harper further into my embrace. We sit in each other’s comfort, letting our thoughts settle. There’s so much to say, so much we’ve avoided discussing in front of Rhys.
“I get it,” I finally reply. “I really do. But the fact remains that we can’t stay here indefinitely. We have nowhere to go and no idea what’s being plotted behind the scenes. We need some leverage.” Harper shifts, tilting her head back to look at the high ceiling.
“If only every room in this damn manor wasn’t locked,” she twists her lips and shrugs in defeat.
However, something within me clicks into place, a spark flickering to life in my psyche.
With it comes a trickle of rebellion, the notion that I can turn the tide bolstering me to act.
We’ve sat around waiting for the next attack for far too long.
“Come on,” I say, already standing and planting her onto her feet.
“I have an idea.” Steering her towards the door, I glance down the hallway where Rhys and Addy disappeared, listening for footsteps, voices, or any sign that our borrowed time is dwindling.
My gaze slides back to Harper, to the trust written plainly on her face, and any doubt I had cures itself.
Giving her a few instructions, I creep away on silent feet to gather the resources I need, then meet her five minutes later as stated.
The door at the end of a quieter wing awaits, tucked away from prying eyes.
The hallway surrounding us is lined with oil paintings and dark wood paneling, the atmosphere heavier than anywhere else in the manor.
I’ve only been here once before, and even so, an air of malevolence seeps out from beneath the wood.
My heart pounds a little harder, not from fear but from the thrill of doing something we absolutely should not be doing.
It’s been a long time since I’ve tapped into this particular skill set.
Pulling two objects out of my pocket, I pause to attach Harper’s mic clip to my collar.
It’ll be easier to communicate with her from a distance that way.
Holding a slim letter opener in my other hand, I crouch in front of the door, my shoulders tense as I slide the metal carefully into the lock.
Harper lowers behind me, her hand braced against my back, her breath warm against my shoulder.
She’s curious in a way that is wholly distracting whilst I’m trying to listen out for the quiet click and scrape of internal pins giving way.
Whether Harper hears it through the mic or not, the sound of the deadbolt vibrates through the letter opener, and we exchange a look.
We’re really doing this. The lock turns, the door easing open to reveal Phillip Waversea’s office with a soft, traitorous creak.
“Wait out here in case Rhys appears,” I instruct as I stand. Harper makes a noise in the back of her throat, already squirrelling her way into the room.