Chapter 39
Ava
I instantly catch a glimpse of a man so well put together that he instantly takes control of the room without even trying.
His tie is straight again, his hair smoothed back. I hate how easily I register every detail, the scowl that never quite fades, the small bouquet in his hands. Mostly marigolds.
But it’s his eyes that undo me. The blue is washed out and red-rimmed.
Pain lives in every line of him, and all I want is to erase it.
“I just needed a minute,” he says again.
He guides me into position, gentle but sure, then points to the flowers in his hand.
“I figured they could Photoshop in something big and ostentatious later.” His mouth tightens. “But it didn’t feel right. You shouldn’t be married without this.”
It’s all for show.
Still, my mouth curves up. At the thoughtfulness. At the fact that he picked every one of these from the back lot of a church. Some of them were probably yanked right out of the parking lot cracks.
My hand finds his, and I squeeze. “Thank you.”
“I’ve got you, Pix,” he murmurs.
I love that he said it. I’d love it even more if it didn’t sound so excruciating for him to say.
I think we’re about to begin when the priest clears his throat.
“The rings?”
The rings…
This is usually the point on set when Kali would be losing her ever-loving shit, shouting, “Miss Alvarez cannot work like this.”
Which is ridiculous. Of course, I can work like this.
Blankly, we all stare at each other.
“Rings aren’t really important for this, right?” I say, snapping my fingers. “We could improvise.” I brighten. “Find something that works.”
Unconvinced, the priest looks around as Chad searches his pockets. I’m so afraid of what he’ll pull out.
Then, the priest raises a finger. “I think I might have something…”
He moves quickly to the table where he’d been lighting candles, reaches underneath, and comes back with a small box.
Inside are dozens of rings. All identical.
Harrison lifts one and presses it between his fingers.
It bends.
“Are these silicone?” he asks.
The priest smiles. “Yes. They fit all different finger sizes. They’re for rehearsal ceremonies.”
“Perfect,” I say, grabbing one for myself.
“What’s written on the inside?” Harrison asks, squinting.
I read the words out loud. “I love you.”
It’s the exact moment Harrison’s eyes lift to meet mine.
Those piercing blue eyes… darkening.
My heart feels too full, stretched thin by feelings I shouldn’t be having for a man I barely know.
It’s the hazard of this line of work.
Opening yourself to raw emotion, letting it swell and fill you up like a water balloon until you’re close to bursting.
Feeling too many things for a man who has no idea you’re feeling anything at all.
The priest clears his throat. “Let us begin.” On cue, Chad steps back into position.
The lines. The marks. The familiar rhythm.
We move through the vows, and something about this feels so… real.
My emotions tangle tighter by the second, a hot mess I can’t control whenever I’m near the grumpy man staring at me.
The priest speaks, and I force my composure, repeating the words after him.
To have and to hold.
For better or for worse.
For richer or for poorer.
In sickness and in health.
To love and to cherish,
until death do us part.
The words land hard, pressing into my chest. By the time the rings are exchanged, my composure is hanging by a thread.
“You may now kiss the bride,” Priest man announces.
I catch the hesitation in Harrison’s stance. Maybe it’s the scrutiny, the way he’s on display like a fish in a tank.
Or maybe it’s because it’s me.
I nod, encouraging him. “It’s all right.”
He moves in slowly, like he’s giving me time to change my mind. Then, he goes in.
Big, warm hands slide along my neck, cradling my cheeks.
My breath catches as my eyes flutter shut, my body reacting on instinct.
I’ve been kissed countless times on camera. It’s muscle memory now. Marks and angles and timing. The act itself has gone numb.
But when his mouth brushes mine so achingly slow, I melt.
It isn’t rushed. Or performative.
He takes his time. Tastes, teases, lingers, draws me in like a breath.
My knees go weak.
God. The way this man kisses.
Not just with his mouth, but with his whole being.
And for one terrifying, incredible second, it feels like I’ve never been kissed before.
When it finally ends, he’s still close enough that I can taste him as he pulls back, and I’m dizzy.
It takes a full minute before my voice box remembers how to work.
I fix my hair and turn to the photographer, clinging to my job like a life raft.
“Was that good?” I ask. “Do you need another take?”
Dear God, please say yes.
“Oh, I’m good,” he insists, drawing out the word.
The priest smiles, satisfied, and pats Harrison on the shoulder. “I was worried about you for a second there, son,” he says, amused. “But you did well.”
“Yeah, he did,” Chad adds, elbowing him with a grin and a wink.
Harrison fidgets with his tie. “Thanks,” he says modestly.
And if I didn’t know better, I would swear the man of steel was blushing.
We thank everyone profusely and take another dozen photos and even selfies with Chad and the priest. It's sort of the normal etiquette.
And then Harrison and I take off.
We head outside the church, where Travis is already waiting with the car.
A flicker of disappointment rises at not walking back, but I bury it fast.
Harrison showed up for me today. He made sure I didn’t have to work with Pierce or let the creep touch me. At least not yet.
I don't think I could stand it right now.
I don't know what Harrison went through to be there for me today, but I'll be there for him when he's ready.
I take all of two steps when he asks, “If those paper-bag-thin shoes of yours can tolerate it, how do you feel about a walk?”
Is he a mind reader?
I slide my sunglasses down over my eyes, a smile tugging at my mouth.
“Only if we can stop for a pretzel. They’ve kind of become my favorite.”
He considers this. “As long as they have honey mustard.”
* * *
“Oh. My. Freaking. God.”
I’ve been on more sets than I can count, in more locations than most people put on a bucket list. Shanghai. Sydney. Ireland’s lush green hills. Beaches so pristine they barely seem real.
I’ve seen it all.
But sweet mercy, this. This, I have not seen. This is my number one.
Why the hell wasn't this on my bingo card?
“The Empire State Building?” I squeal.
By this point, I’m fully unhinged, bouncing on the balls of my feet, and not even a little embarrassed.
He adjusts my sunglasses. “You could try drawing less attention to yourself.”
“If I could control my behavior right now, I would,” I say, undeterred. I fling both hands up at the building. “But look at it.”
He looks up.
“This is where An Affair to Remember was filmed. Cary Grant. Deborah Kerr.” I gesture wildly at the building.
I swoon shamelessly.
He yawns for effect.
“And Sleepless in Seattle,” I add breathlessly. “With Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. When their hands just barely touch.”
He cranes his neck, eyes tracking straight up.
“That’s a lot of steel.”
I can practically hear the mental note being made. Many tons. Very strong. Tower good.
He grunts once.
I glare. “Do not make me thump you in the forehead for turning my beautiful romance moment into a caveman thing.”
He snorts. “Show me the back lot of The Fast and the Furious, and then I’ll lose my mind.”
I stop bouncing long enough to look at him. “How did you know I’d love this?”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s New York City. The tourist trap to end all tourist traps. Every Valentine’s Day, it lights up with a big, gushy heart that translates to, Ladies, drag your men here. Make them suffer.”
I gasp. “I will forgive you for that sentence if you take me to the top.” I pause, then groan. “Dammit. I should’ve brought a sleeping bag.”
“They close at night,” he says flatly. “Thank God.”
I start heading for the door. “Are we absolutely sure overnight stays aren’t allowed?” I ask. “Because that feels… negotiable.”
“Oh, Harrison.”
An attractive woman waves.
Who’s she?
She rushes over and throws her arms around him. “I got your message, and I am sooo glad you called.” She hugs him again. Longer this time.
I lean in, murmuring near his ear. “She’s sooo glad you called.”
“I got that,” he says, peeling her off him like a dryer sheet.
He takes one solid step back. Clear distance.
“Adriana gave a talk at Oliver’s school,” he says, gesturing between us. “About the Empire State Building. She handed out her card in case anyone ever needed a private tour.”
“Oh, I don’t give my card to just anyone,” she says, sweet and sticky.
He frowns. “You don’t?”
“Huh-uh,” she sings, walking her fingers up his arm. “I do something for you. You do something for me. Dinner. Saturday. My place.”
Dinner?
And what the hell can I say? A lead weight sinks in my gut. I won't even be here on Saturday.
He rubs the back of his neck and glances at me.
Oh, my God. He’s seriously considering this.
Right in front of me?
Before he can answer, I step in and offer my hand. “Viviana.”
She ignores it completely.
“So, what do you say, Harrison?” she asks, already confident.
He shrugs.
“Sure. Why not.”