Chapter 37
37
HARPER
ONE WEEK LATER
B illie’s office smells like flowers, cookies, and magazines.
Sunlight filters in through the massive windows behind her desk, catching on the glass-topped table we’ve turned into ground zero for wedding planning chaos. Swatches of fabric are laid out like battle plans. Mood boards lean against the wall. There’s an open bottle of champagne chilling in a brass ice bucket beside a tray of pastries we’ve barely touched but insisted on having delivered anyway.
Billie is lounging on the curved ivory couch in the corner. She’s barefoot, legs tucked under her, her oversize sweater half falling off one shoulder, like she styled it that way on purpose. Her tablet’s in one hand, champagne in the other, and she’s flipping through a digital lookbook like she’s vetting designers for Paris Fashion Week. A curated spread of bridal magazines is fanned out on the floor in front of her.
Across from her, Mia is perched in a leather chair, dressed in head to toe cream and sipping champagne like it’s a business expense, which, knowing her, it probably is. I’m so happy to see her smiling and well. Each time I look at her, I think about what Brody told me and how they found her. I still carry guilt, but I’m trying to heal from that. Therapy has helped a lot.
“As Bellamore’s chief marketing officer,” she says, holding up her tablet like a gavel, “I feel obligated to point out that a dual-wedding campaign could fuel an entire year’s worth of brand expansion with coordinated content drops. We can interweave narrative arcs and launch a limited-edition capsule line in celebration. I’ve already mocked up a hashtag: #callowaywedding.”
Billie sighs, setting down her glass. “You know Harper’s going to want barefoot vows under a tree somewhere.”
“Which will look incredible on drone footage,” Mia says without missing a beat. “And I assume yours will be in a castle, Ice Queen?”
“Chateau de Villette,” Billie confirms. “It’s going to be cinematic.”
I glance between the two of them, laughing into the rim of my glass. “Are either of you planning to let me make a single decision about my wedding?”
“Of course,” they say in unison, and I expect nothing less.
“I want to get married in the same place my brother did in Cozy Creek—it was gorgeous. On top of the mountain this fall.”
Mia leans forward, swiping through her notes. “This is perfect. A fall wedding. Oh my gourd!”
“Oh, stop,” I tell her.
“You’re a key part of Bellamore, Harp. Your wedding has brand equity. We can’t just leave it to chance. I mean, do you want a dress reveal that breaks the internet or not?”
It’s ridiculous. It’s excessive. It’s us. And it feels damn good.
Laughter escapes me as I glance at my best friend. Billie and I have built something bigger than a fashion house. Bigger than the brand. This feels like a celebration of surviving everything that tried to break us, and we did it in designer heels with a custom color palette.
“Harp wants something timeless,” Billie adds. “And a man who looks at her like she’s his whole world. Which she has. Other than that, she doesn’t care.”
That sobers me a little. Not in a bad way, just in the way simple truth always does. I glance down at my ring, replaying how Brody proposed to me and how his eyes sparkled only for me. The firepit is still in Tennessee, but the warmth of that night hasn’t faded. I can still feel it in my chest every time I breathe.
Billie tosses a swatch in my lap. It’s light-rose-gold satin, soft and expensive. “Thoughts for bridesmaid dresses?”
I run my fingers over the fabric. “If we’re being dressed like champagne, I’m in.”
Mia lifts her glass. “Cheers to that.”
Laughter spreads through the space like silk, and it feels so easy.
As I look around, I know the storm is over and our wounds are healing. Eventually, everything that happened will be a distant memory, a scar that’s forgotten. After it’s all said and done, we’re women who bled for what we built, and now we’re planning new beginnings.
Mia’s phone buzzes, and she excuses herself with a dramatic eye roll. She mumbles something about a campaign asset that can’t wait until Monday, even though it definitely could. Billie watches her leave with a smirk, then turns back to me with a little sigh, sinking deeper into the couch.
For a moment, neither of us says anything.
The room goes quiet in that rare, gentle way it only does between people who are best friends. We’ve never needed words either.
The sunlight slants lower across the table, catching the edge of my ring again. I twist it on my finger because I still can’t believe it’s real.
“She suits this place,” Billie finally says, nodding toward the door Mia just walked through. “You picked the perfect person for the job.”
I set my glass on the table that’s holding our swatches. “Mia’s terrifyingly competent. I used to think she’d burn out in six months. Nope, she’s as obsessed as us.”
Billie glances over at me. “She’s a great asset.”
I lean back in my chair. “Do you ever look around and wonder how the hell we got here?”
“All the time,” she says. “Especially after having two glasses of champagne before noon.”
I study the way she’s relaxed. It’s in her posture, in the softness around her eyes. She still looks like she could cut through a boardroom with nothing but her tone and stilettos, but today, she also looks like someone who let herself believe in something again.
“I almost gave up on all of this,” I admit, my voice lower now. “Not just love. Everything. The company. The idea that I could still be someone outside of the bad that happened.”
Billie’s expression shifts, and she’s not surprised, just intrigued.
“I did give up,” she admits. “A few times actually. But you … you never let me disappear. You never let me forget who I was.”
“I believed in you. I still do,” I say, remembering how hard she worked to save Bellamore after her ex tried to take everything away from us.
“You stood by me when I didn’t believe in myself, Harp.” She looks away, toward the window, like she’s trying to hold back her emotions. “You stayed by my side anyway.”
I nod, throat tight. “That’s what we do, right?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “It’s what we do. Love you, Harp. Thank you for being my very best friend. I will walk through the fire with you.”
I feel my emotions bubble. “It’s mutual.”
The silence that fills the room is the kind that lives in truth. In shared history. In all the versions of us that got buried along the way and all the new ones we’re still becoming.
She leans forward, her eyes on my ring now. “Brody’s good for you. He doesn’t try to take anything from you. He just shows up.”
A smile touches my lips. “That’s what Brody has always done best.”
She reaches over and squeezes my hand once, then leans back with a little sigh. “All right, enough emotional vulnerability. Let’s pick floral palettes before I start crying and have to fire someone for seeing it.”
* * *
By the time Billie launches into an argument over table arrangements—“Round tables are elegant, Harper, not basic”—I slip out of her office and into the hall, needing a snack. Or air. I could be a little drunk. Okay, I’m tipsy.
I slide onto the bench beside the showroom window and pull out my phone. A new text is waiting, time-stamped five minutes ago.
Brody
How’s the day drinking on the clock?
Brody
Should I send a rescue team or a pizza?
I smile before I can stop it.
Harper
Billie is currently rage-pinning silk ribbon colors. Pray for me.
Three dots appear immediately, then disappear, then appear again. I can almost see him pacing our penthouse, shirtless and barefoot, pretending he’s not waiting for me like I’m his plan.
Brody
Tell her I’ll forgive her for stealing you during your lunch break … if she sends me a cake.
Brody
Or you in nothing but frosting.
My cheeks flush as I bite back a laugh.
Harper
That could be arranged.
He replies with a photo—him on the couch, shirtless, legs stretched out, a glass of whiskey in one hand and that lazy smirk on his face that says he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
Brody
Remind me again why you’re planning a wedding right now? Seems like a lot of work when we could be naked.
I roll my eyes, thumbs moving fast.
Harper
Because I want flowers, vows, and a custom dress I get to cry in. And Billie will actually divorce me as a friend if we elope and don’t tell her. She still hasn’t forgiven Easton.
Brody
Yes, she has.
Harper
Doesn’t mean she’ll ever let him live it down.
Brody
That’s true. Hurry, future wifey. I miss you so damn much.
I tuck my phone to my chest for a second, letting the smile linger. This is what it feels like to be wanted without urgency and to be loved without conditions.
My phone buzzes one more time, and I glance down at it.
Brody
I love you.
And just like that, butterflies swarm inside me.
* * *
The party planning spiraled into a three-hour debate over china patterns, signature cocktails, and Billie’s refusal to wear anything floral for any pre-wedding events. She mentioned Easton is on high alert—Lexi’s due any day, and he’s packed their hospital bag with color-coded backups like it’s a military operation.
By the time I hug her goodbye and escape Bellamore, I’m tired, but not in a bad way. I’m happier than I’ve ever been.
It’s late when I finally make it home. The lights are low when I step inside.
Brody’s sprawled across the couch in a T-shirt, one arm slung over the back cushion, his expression relaxed and open in a way that still makes my chest tighten. The Golden Girls is on the TV, and he looks at me like he’s been waiting for this moment all day.
“Hey,” I say, kicking off my heels and moving toward him.
“Hey,” he says with a smoldering smirk. “I ordered Thai. It’s in the kitchen.”
God, I love him.
I walk straight into his arms, sinking into his lap, letting my forehead rest against his neck. He holds me without question, without words, his hands running through my hair. I lie on him like that for a long time, just breathing, recharging, and reconnecting.
Brody pulls back slightly and taps his phone, eyes scanning the screen. “There’s something you should see.”
He turns the phone so I can read it, and for a moment, my brain doesn’t register the words. I have to read it several times.
MICAH RHODES: SENTENCED TO LIFE IN FEDERAL PRISON WITH NO PAROLE. MULTIPLE COUNTS OF KIDNAPPING, MURDER, EXTORTION, AND WIRE FRAUD.
I stare at it for a long moment, and it doesn’t hit me like I thought it would. There’s no rush of vindication, no cathartic sob, just a slow breath. It’s anticlimactic, complete indifference.
“It’s really over,” I whisper.
Brody meets my eyes. “It was over the second you walked away from him.”
“You mean the moment you carried me out of his place?”
“Yes,” he agrees.
“The world knows the truth now,” I say, my throat tightening.
His lips brush my temple. “This is his legacy.”
I pull away from him. “Justice has been served. Thankfully.”
“You’re free, Harp. Billie is too.”
“Only because of you. I’m so thankful.” I fall against him again.
My fingers slide under the hem of his shirt to feel the warm, steady rhythm of his heartbeat because right now, Brody is all that matters. Not the past. Not the pain.
Just this. Just us. And the life we’re building together.