Chapter 15
Harmony
Morning came too bright for the kind of night I’d had.
I spent the night in the loft above Elyna and Phoenix’s garage.
It was quiet and cozy. Sunlight spilled through the loft window, catching the steam from my half-finished mug of tea on the counter.
I hadn’t slept much, partly because it was a new bed and new surroundings.
Mostly it was because every time I closed my eyes, I felt him again, his hand on my waist, the taste of his lips.
The way my body turned hot from his touch.
I’d told myself it was a mistake; it couldn’t happen again.
But the truth was, I didn’t regret a second of it.
The Maple Valley property was quiet in that in-between hour before everything started moving.
From my window, I could see the orchard glinting gold in the early light, the aftermath of the wedding still scattered across the yard with folded chairs, empty glasses, petals on damp grass.
It all looked peaceful, untouched. Like last night hadn’t cracked something open inside me.
A knock at the door broke through my thoughts.
I half-hoped it was Eric, even though I knew better.
But when I opened it, the chill in my veins reminded me exactly why hope was dangerous.
A plain brown envelope lay on the step. No name. No return address. Inside, a single photo.
My throat went dry. It was taken from across the street of Petals and Pines, it was me laughing with Sandy. Scribbled across the bottom in red ink were four words that turned my blood to ice:
“Keep smiling, traitor girl.”
My hands trembled. I didn’t need to guess who had sent it. Olivier. Maybe Nico. Maybe both.
They were reminding me my father might be behind bars, but his reach still stretched far. I’d been threatened before with anonymous texts and veiled warnings, but no one had ever crossed a threshold like this.
The door creaked behind me. “Harmony?”
I turned sharply, heart pounding even though it was Elyna’s voice. She stood with her hair loose and face still soft with sleep. “You’re up early.”
“You mean, you’re up early, Mrs. Thorne. Aren’t you and Phoenix supposed to be doing married couple things?”
She laughed. “We have it covered. Don’t worry.” Her cheeks flushed.
I forced a smile. “Couldn’t sleep.”
She stepped closer, concern flickering. “Are you okay? You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” I lied, folding the photo into my palm before she could see. “Wedding hangover, I guess.”
Elyna laughed softly. “If anyone deserves a quiet day, it’s you. You made yesterday beautiful.”
“Thank you.” My voice barely carried.
Her gaze softened. “You know, we may not be related by blood but we’re family now. You don’t have to do everything alone.”
I nodded, the words catching somewhere deep in my chest. She hugged me quickly and disappeared down the stairs, calling something about joining everyone at the main house for a big breakfast brunch.
When the door shut behind her, I exhaled shakily and looked at the folded photo again.
Maybe Becket had been right. Maybe none of this was over. I needed to tell someone. But who?
Eric’s name came to mind, and I hated that it felt like instinct.
He’d said he didn’t want anyone else getting hurt, and part of me believed he meant it.
Another part knew, letting him in again was the fastest way to destroy us both.
Still, my fingers hovered over my phone before I even realized it.
Me: You awake?
The reply came almost instantly.
Eric: Mostly. You okay?
I typed, deleted, then finally sent:
Me: I think someone’s trying to remind me who my father is.
A minute later:
Eric: Where are you? I’m coming.
I looked around the loft; the flowers on the table, the half-eaten lemon tart from last night, the quiet that suddenly felt like a trap and whispered, “Maybe you should.”
I texted him back that I was staying at the loft above Phoenix and Elyna’s garage. Only ten minutes had passed when I heard a truck engine in the distance.
The knock came faster than I expected. I’d barely tucked the photo back into the envelope when the sound echoed through the loft. My heart kicked hard against my ribs, but when I pulled open the door, it wasn’t Olivier or Nico standing there.
It was Eric.
His hair was still damp, his jaw shadowed, eyes dark with something that wasn’t quite anger but close enough to sting. “You should’ve told me sooner,” he said, voice low.
I stepped back to let him in. “You drove here without asking what it was first?”
“I didn’t need to ask.” His gaze flicked to my hand, to where I still held the folded envelope. “Let me see it.”
For a moment, I hesitated. Part of me wanted to handle it alone and prove I was still the same strong girl who could survive on her own.
But the other part of me, the one who remembered how his hands felt on my skin last night, wanted to lean into the steadiness in his voice.
I handed it over. He opened the envelope and pulled out the photo.
His jaw flexed once, twice, before he spoke. “Where did you find this?”
“On the step when I woke up.”
His eyes met mine. “You think it’s Olivier?”
“Or Nico. Maybe both.” I forced a steady breath. “They’re reminding me I’m still the girl who turned against her father.”
He looked down again at the photo. “You’ve always been so strong, what you did with your dad took courage. You shouldn’t question yourself.”
The words hit something deep. I didn’t realize I’d started shaking until his thumb brushed the back of my hand.
“I can’t keep acting like they don’t exist, like my father isn’t disappointed, that Olivier isn’t angry,” I whispered. “I ran away but my problems chased me, even if they weren’t in plain sight. They’re out there, Eric. Watching me. Waiting for me to screw up.”
“They’re cowards,” he said quietly. “And they don’t get to decide how you live your life.”
“You don’t understand what they’re capable of,” I countered.
“I’ve spent half my life watching men like your father tear this town apart, families, businesses, everything good about this place, while my family is trying to hold on to what’s worth saving.”
Something inside me cracked. “You can’t protect me from all of it.”
“Maybe not,” he said, stepping closer, his voice a rough whisper. “But I can damn well try.”
The air between us thickened, heavy with everything we hadn’t said since last night. I wanted to tell him not to care, to stay away, but when he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, my resolve wavered. His fingers brushed my cheek, and the world went very still.
“This isn’t just about the photo,” I said quietly.
Eric’s gaze lifted, steady and unreadable. “I know.”
“Then what is it really about?” I asked, my voice softer than I meant. “Last night? Us?”
He exhaled slowly, the space between us shrinking with every word. “Maybe it’s about both,” he said finally. “Maybe I’m trying to figure out which one scares me more.”
My heart stuttered. “Scares you?”
His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes dark and raw. “It’s about you walking around this town like you don’t matter, when you do. You always have.”
I shook my head, barely breathing. “You don’t mean that.”
The words came out sharper than I intended, but the truth clawed its way out with them.
I was the daughter of the criminal. The outcast. No matter how hard I tried to fit in, I couldn’t, and coming back home was just a bitter reminder.
The whispers, the stares, the pity, they all said the same thing: Bellerose blood doesn’t change.
“I do, Harmony,” he said quietly, his voice breaking through my thoughts. “You just don’t see what I see.”
My chest tightened. “And what’s that?”
“Someone who’s spent her whole life trying to make up for something that was never her fault.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “Someone I’ve been trying not to see for years.”
The words pulled something fierce and unsteady from inside me, and all the anger, fear, and longing tangled together until I couldn’t tell one from the other. “You’re going to make this harder than it already is.”
His mouth curved, soft but certain. “Then let me make it worth it.”
The air thickened between us, heavy with everything we hadn’t said.
He stepped forward, and suddenly the distance between us disappeared.
His mouth brushed mine, tentative at first, then sure, like he’d spent years memorizing the shape of this moment.
I felt the rough scrape of his stubble, the warmth of his breath, the way his hand cupped the side of my neck, as though he could anchor me there.
The kiss deepened before I could stop it.
Heat surged through me, wild and familiar, the kind that started low in my stomach and spread everywhere at once.
The envelope slipped from my hand and hit the floor with a soft whisper.
His fingers found the small of my back, drawing me closer until the world blurred around us.
When we finally broke apart, my chest ached from holding my breath.
“This is a bad idea,” I said, my breaths coming fast. My heart beating erratically.
“Probably.” His forehead rested against mine. “Doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
I closed my eyes, trying to catch my balance. “You don’t get it. Every time I let someone close, they end up hurt. My father made sure of that.”
“I’m not scared of your father,” Eric stated, standing so close I felt his breath warm against my lips.
“You should be.”
He smiled faintly. “You forget who my dad is. I grew up in a house where justice was dinner conversation. You think Marcel Bellerose scares me?”
The tension broke with the smallest sound—half laugh, half sob. “You always think you can fix everything.”
“Not everything.” His voice softened. “Just the parts that matter.”
He brushed his thumb over my lower lip, a touch so gentle it almost hurt. “Harmony…”