Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
“Yeah, that’s pretty strange,” Emma says. She’s heading home after another uneventful family lunch.
I’m curled up in Harrison’s bed, wrapped in the softest sheets I’ve ever felt. It’s well past midnight. Everything is quiet except for the faint noises from the kitchen, where he’s fixing some late-night snacks. The sweet smell of whatever he’s baking fills the house, warm and comforting.
We’ve been back for hours now. The second the door closed behind us, the pressure of the entire week melted away. Clothes scattered on the floor like we were racing time. He made sure I felt beautiful in that dress—then reminded me I’m even more so without it.
“I know, right?” I whisper, “I wouldn’t have known it was her if it weren’t for you. And the audacity to blow him a kiss like that? Did I miss the memo about being in a telenovela?”
“What a bitch.”
“Who’s a bitch?”
Harrison’s voice comes from the doorway. I glance up as he walks into the room, holding a plate of mouthwatering, homemade cookies. My eyes widen—abort conversation. I flick my gaze towards Emma.
“Oh, just an old college girl that’s back in town,” Emma lies smoothly. “She’s trying to steal my boyfriend.”
His eyebrows shoot up as he settles onto the bed beside me. He hands me the plate, clearly amused.
“You have a boyfriend?” He’s skeptical.
“Are you questioning it?” she says, full of feigned offense. “Anyways, I’ll let you two lovebirds go. Not that I have anything better to do than to stare at you, but you know—for your sanity.”
“To look at who? Me or him?” I smirk, intrigued by her random thought process.
“You’ll never know!” she shouts before hanging up abruptly.
Harrison shakes his head, a soft laugh escaping as he offers me a cookie. “She’s quite intense,” he says. “Does she really have a boyfriend? I feel like I’d know.”
I nod quickly, stuffing the whole thing into my mouth in hopes of avoiding any further questioning. I don’t think it plays in my favor because he pauses—watching me with narrow eyes. Then, before I can reach for another, he moves the plate just out of my grasp.
“Okay… what’s going on?” he says, his tone dipping into something serious.
I shake my head, chew, swallow—too fast—then cover my mouth as I cough. “Nothing.”
“I don’t think we were talking about her boyfriend,” he answers, amused but steady. “And judging by the way you just inhaled that cookie, I’d bet it has everything to do with you.”
Before I can get myself deeper into a lie, he grips my ankle and tugs me down the bed in one smooth motion, flattening me beneath him. He hovers over, arms braced on either side of my face, gaze locked on mine.
“Fine,” I say, one last attempt to dodge the subject. “She doesn’t have a boyfriend!”
“Really? Had no clue,” he mocks. His expression softens. “You can tell me anything.”
I hesitate. I’m so used to being told I’m imagining things that the instinct to play it down kicks in, and I find myself trying to come up with something that won’t be conflicting. But he’s looking at me with those eyes again, asking me to trust him.
“I saw her,” I blurt out.
His eyebrows lift slightly.
“No warning. Suddenly she was just... there.”
He sits up a little straighter. “You saw her—and whatever the hell that was she did. Shit, I’m sorry.” He winces, disgust flickering across his face. “I didn’t know she’d be there.”
“I didn’t think you did,” I admit. “But you didn’t say anything afterward, either. You just went back to your thing as if nothing had happened. It was—” I exhale sharply. “She was so disrespectful. It made me feel the same way you felt when Noah showed up.”
His face shifts as it dawns on him.
“I didn’t realize,” he says apologetically. “I thought it was better to ignore than to let it ruin your night.”
I shake my head. “It’s not like I don’t know what she looks like—you’ve met Emma. I have all the tea,” I mutter. “Maybe I’m being dramatic, but honestly, it felt like a red flag that you didn’t mention it. Like one of those movies where the guy has a rebound come in to make the other person—”
“Let me stop you right there.” He sits up fully now, tugging me with him. “Could I have handled it better? Definitely. But I don’t want you to think, not even for a second, that you were there for any reason other than me wanting you there. Especially not as a rebound.”
I try to speak, but I’m shushed. He hands me a cookie to make the task easier.
“Eat first, then argue,” he says, smirking. I roll my eyes but take a bite anyway.
“I went through a big mess with her,” he explains. “And as you saw firsthand today, she’s very… expressive. Wherever she goes, drama follows. I get how it might have looked like I had hidden intentions, but I swear to you, my only goal was to avoid her altogether.”
I chew thoughtfully, the tension easing. I believe him, and his words mean enough to calm my nervous system down. Still, something unsettles me. Doubt lingers, quiet but present.
“Unfortunately,” he continues, “avoiding her for the rest of my life might not be realistic. But I’m making a promise—if she’s involved in anything that affects me, you’ll hear it from me. First. Always.”
I study him for a couple of seconds, searching for any signs of hesitation. I find none.
“Fine,” I drag out, exhaling. “Can we go back to cookies and movies now?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he doubts. “I don’t want any insecurities to come from this. From her.”
“I trust you,” I tell him, leaning forward for a kiss. “Or at least I’m trying to.”
“Good.” He lays us back down, his whole weight on me. “Let’s see if I can add a few more layers of it tonight.”
My room is still dark and quiet—except for buzzing coming from my phone.
It’s earlier than usual. My alarm hasn’t gone off yet. I reach for my it to silence it and instead find a scroll-worthy stack of notifications—texts, missed calls, news alerts.
At some point last night, the news of my recent outing and with whom must have spread back home. The stream hasn’t stopped since. I’m surprised I slept through it all.
I open my mom’s message first. She’s attached a selfie of her and Dad walking along the beach.
MOM
When you said he was handsome, I wasn’t expecting this! Way to go, Jules. Call me soon.
I smile, fire off a quick reply, and make a mental note to call them later today.
Right after Mom’s, shockingly, I have a message from my brother, Dylan. Minimalist, as always.
Dylan
You’re on the news.
Followed by a link to an article titled:
Harrison’s new love interest? Find out about his mystery girl!
My finger hovers over it, scared to even know what they could be saying about me. What my family is reading about me.
I open my browser and google his name—mistake #1 of the day.
Photos from the premiere pop up instantly. And there we are, over and over again. Our red-carpet moment appears in every single thumbnail. I’m relieved that my name hasn’t been published. Yet.
Before I can decide whether to spiral, my alarm starts blaring.
I glance outside. The street is weirdly peaceful. The sky is the color of wet concrete, and the wind brings with it a slight drizzle. I shiver just thinking about stepping outside.
Harrison’s already deep into a morning full of meetings. I send him a quick text, wondering if he’s seen any of the articles.
I don’t hear from him until an hour after I’ve arrived at the office. By then, I’m too busy to step out for a call. We settle on dinner at my place.
“I don’t know, I just can’t seem to focus on anything lately,” I say. We’re all huddled in one of the round tables in the cafeteria with some takeout fish and chips.
Daniel tilts his head, looking entirely too amused.
“It probably has something to do with your newly founded celebrity status.”
“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” I ask, incredulous. “I’m wondering why nobody has told me yet that this is a terrible idea.”
“You do leave in a month,” says James, earning a sharp slap on the shoulder from Lucy.
I chuckle, but the stress in me takes another step forward, making itself known.
“That doesn’t matter,” Lucy insists. “He’s got a house there. They could go back together.”
My stomach knots. It sounds so easy when she says it like that. Ideally, sure. If we could figure out the logistics. If he could get a visa.
We’d move back to L.A. and keep falling. Only now we’d be in Hollywood—with cameras everywhere. No more anonymity. My life at home will change forever. I’ll always be known as the girl who dated Joshua Harrison. Nothing else.
“She’s right,” Claire chimes. I force out a smile. “He’d go there in a heartbeat for her. I can tell.”
“But forever though?” Henry says, and both Claire and Lucy immediately shoot him synchronized death stares.
I briefly consider checking if Henry’s skull is hollow. I wonder how such naive men have survived in this environment.
“What?” he says defensively. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m just saying—it’s a big move.”
“And suddenly, I’ve found all my lost motivation,” I say, needing a breather. I excuse myself from the table, reassuring the girls that I’m fine, and stroll back to my cubicle.
It might be the news headlines. Or maybe the looming deadline—one month left. But something in me feels off.
I’m starting to sense that we are sneaking up on dangerous territory. The closer we get to the flight back home, the harder it is to see any viable working options.
I’m holding on to the last little bit of wall protecting my heart, fearing the rest has come down too fast, and now I might be at a point of no return.
I know he’s there before I turn the corner.
He’s leaning against the door, hands in his pockets.
Wearing the kind of smile that makes your ribs ache a little.
My mind tells me to run, that we’re getting too close to feelings that have hurt us before.
But the minute I’m wrapped in his arms, everything dissipates.
I silence my thoughts and enjoy the peace that comes with him.
He kisses the top of my head, and I snuggle into him even more. He holds me for as long as I stand there, hiding in his embrace. His hand runs down my head gently, with no rush to go anywhere. I pull back enough to join our lips.
“Hard day at work?” he asks, his mind-reading abilities on point.
“I feel like everything just got a little bit harder after this weekend, don’t you think?” I admit, too mentally drained to keep my thoughts to myself. He smiles at me tenderly.
“Did you see the articles?” he asks.
I nod. I don’t want to think about them anymore today.
“Did you read any?”
“No,” I answer.
“Good,” he says. “Don’t. No one else’s opinion needs to live rent-free in your head.”
I nod once more and pull out my keys. He follows closely behind.
My phone pings as I drop it on the counter. I expect it to be another random message, but it’s an email from Chris with the subject ‘Spring Campaign Media.’ My eyes widen and my fingers tremble slightly as I read through it.
“No way…” I whisper.
“Everything okay?” Harrison asks, stepping in front of me.
“My photos…” I breathe. “They’ve been chosen for the spring lineup.”
“Julia! That’s amazing,” he exclaims, his hands coming up to my shoulders. “I didn’t know you take photographs at work.”
I shake my head. “I don’t. It was for fun.”
He takes my phone and sets it aside. “You have what it takes to turn fun into a dream come true. Congratulations, love.” He’s looking down at me, proud and happy. “I want to see all of them.”
He wraps me in a warm embrace and plants a kiss on the top of my head.
“Will you take my advice now and submit your pieces to a gallery?”
“I’ll think about it,” I tell him, breaking into a smile myself.
“I’ll be waiting,” he says, pulling back.
“I’d say things just got a lot better. Fuck the press, and fuck anyone who isn’t you and me.
I’m done hiding. I want to take you out.
I want to show the world you’re mine. They shouldn’t be worried that I’m taken—they should be worried that you are.
Julia Thomas, soon-to-be a professional photographer. ”
I stare at him. He’s dead serious. Not a trace of humor in his features.
“You’re funny,” I respond. I’m beaming so hard it hurts. Tears threaten to spill. This news—and him—is exactly what I needed today.
“I’m not trying to be,” he says softly. “Everyone else… they’re all missing out.”
My voice catches. “What happens in a month? I have to leave––”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” he interrupts, already moving to soothe me, his thumbs rubbing slow circles on my shoulders. “I’m working on it.”