Chapter 74 #2
“True, but as you can imagine, telling the truth has been difficult and something I’ve had to navigate carefully. One slip and I was warned that my life and the lives of others could be in danger.”
“Hey, it’s over now. From what I saw last night on the news, they have the guy.”
She sighs. “Maybe, but who knows after he lawyers up. I’ve been told he’s going to be denied bail, as he’s deemed a flight risk due to his immense wealth and connections.
According to the powers that be, they have enough evidence, as well as an accomplice who has agreed to testify against him, but until he’s locked up and behind bars…
part of me wants to celebrate… finally justice for Dad, but a part of me won’t believe it until he is locked up and they’ve thrown away the key.
I’ve been told to trust in the justice system, but we all know it’s not that simple. ”
She drops her gaze, her shoulders slumping.
I tilt her chin with my finger, waiting until she looks at me.
“You’re talking about the sex tape.”
She flinches as if I’ve slapped her.
“Brooke…sorry, Harper.”
She sucks in a shuddering breath. “You don’t know me,” she says, and I can sense her pulling away. “You know sensible Brooke, not rebellious Harper.”
“Are you sure about that?”
She shakes her head, another tear escaping. This is not the woman who has stood toe to toe with me over the past few months and turned my life upside down. I move my head until she meets my gaze again.
“Are you trying to tell me you’re not the woman I have come to know and love?” I ask.
She lets out a sob, and I cradle her face in both my hands as she bites her lip.
“Please don’t,” she whimpers. “You love Brooke,” she says, her face crumbling, as if saying those words causes her physical pain.
I move, dropping to my knees in front of her.
“Are you telling me you aren’t Brooke? That you haven’t worked for me for the past nine months, slept next to me for four of those?”
A wrinkle forms between her brows.
“I’m Harper, not Brooke. Brooke was a figment of someone’s imagination, a made-up persona,” she says, her eyes radiating loss.
I incline my head and smile.
“Can I tell you what I think?” I say, smoothing her hair back from her face, and tucking it behind her ear.
“I think Brooke is Harper Frazer without the chains of her position. Everyone has two personas, and some have even more. Brooke is you, and you are Brooke. Harper is also you. She’s been raised to follow the rules and behave in a certain way. ”
Harper lets out a bleak, sharp laugh.
“I’m not sure about the rule following. There’s a reason my sister calls me Rebel.”
“I know. I’ve seen the photographs.” I chuckle, running the back of a finger down her cheek. “The makeup and hair were quite a statement.”
She groans and buries her head in her hands.
I lift her chin, adding pressure until her gaze returns to mine.
“Tell me Brooke isn’t Harper, and if that’s what you want, I’ll leave,” I say, the words turning my stomach as I speak them aloud.
“But you don’t know Harper? You don’t know the real me.”
I sit back. “Can I ask you a question?”
She nods, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
“If I went out there and spoke to your brothers, Kat, your mum and told them about Brooke… the Brooke I got to know and love. The woman who everyone in the office admires and respects, who loves Night at the Museum and old musicals, drinks far more coffee than is good for her—”
“That’s a family trait, and I’m not the only one who does,” she says, raising an eyebrow.
“Point taken. We are a bad combination. But what I’m asking is, would they recognise her?”
“I—”
I take her hand and give it a squeeze, interlocking our fingers.
“Let me ask you this. The Alex Bianchi you saw in Italy, at Christmas surrounded by family and friends, the man you have spent time with, would you agree he is a very different man from Alessandro Bianchi, the CEO of St Clair, the man you worked with every day?”
She moves my hand to her lips and places a kiss against my palm, making my throat thicken.
“What I’m saying is, I’m the same person. I just have a different persona depending on the role I’m in.”
“But I was Brooke, not Harper. My CV was a lie. Everything about me was a lie.”
I laugh.
“I did question how someone so ordinary could be so extraordinary, but academic success and practical achievements can be different. Elise is a prime example of that. I was also not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, not after Callie left.”
“But that’s it. I was a straight-A student. Another lie.”
I shake my head.
“It’s a piece of paper. What I suspect is that the woman I’ve come to love is the Harper I knew in Italy and at Christmas. The woman I came home to every night, who makes me laugh… makes me feel more than any woman ever has.”
She closes her eyes.
“Which version of me do you love, Harper? Alex, the son, brother, friend, lover. Or, Alessandro Bianchi, the CEO?”
“I love all of you,” she says, her eyes staring at me. “So much it physically hurts.”
I drag her off the couch and into my lap. She comes willingly, wrapping herself around me.
“There is so much we need to learn about one another,” she says.
She closes her eyes, and I kiss away the tear that is tracking its way down her cheek.
“I admit I have yet to get to know everything about Harper, but I have a sneaky suspicion I’m going to love her as much as I love Brooke.”
Harper leans forward, her mouth meeting mine, her hands snaking around my neck.
My body relaxes, loving the feel of her back in my arms.
How I’ve missed her.
I groan. “I wish I could teleport us somewhere,” I say.
She pulls back and grins up at me.
“Me too. I can’t believe you’re here. Who’s running St Clair? Oh my God, what about the stolen designs? Alex, you can’t be here.”
“I can, and I am. St Clair can live without me for a couple of days.”
She pulls back sharply, raising an eyebrow.
“Excuse me, who are you and what have you done with the real Alessandro Bianchi?”
“The real Alessandro Bianchi fell in love with his bossy PA and realised some things in life are more important. The company will survive without me. Besides, Mother is holding down the fort while I’m here with you.
As for the design thief, Elise unmasked them using a trap with your designs. Designs that are—”
“Sophia knows about us?”
Harper opens and closes her mouth.
I chuckle. “Out of everything I just said, my mother is the only thing you picked up on?”
“The thief was caught. How? When?”
I tap her nose, and she smiles. “See how much you miss in only a few days. The thief was caught thanks to Elise’s little trap.”
“Who was it?”
I inhale, exhaling loudly. “Nolan.”
“Nolan? Poor Elise. He was her friend,” she says. “I’ll call her.”
I smile, earning myself a confused look.
“That’s definitely something Brooke would do.”
Harper sighs and snuggles into my chest the way she’s always done. Having her in my arms again is like coming home.
“I’ve missed this,” she says.
“Your family look pleased you’re home,” I say, thinking about how her brothers jumped to her defence.
I know I would be no different if it were Gabbi. I wonder how they feel after their sister launched herself at me. It was clear we were more than boss and PA.
She looks up at me.
“They are. For all the anguish I’ve caused them over the years, I think they actually missed me,” Harper says, mirth in her voice. She wraps her arms around my waist, her eyes locking on mine. “Did Elijah growl and Caleb glare before I arrived?”
I shrug, and she barks out a laugh.
“Don’t worry, they’re kittens really.”
I manoeuvre us back onto the couch.
“I know about your past. I read those articles… do you know what I thought?”
She shakes her head.
“I thought this is bullshit. You survived losing your father, had to deal with the press and public sticking their noses into your private grief.”
She lets out a sob, which she tries to swallow, so I cup her face.
“I’ve seen the pictures of you at the funeral. Their invasion of your privacy. I can’t even begin to imagine what it was like to be seventeen and trying to handle that kind of grief and scrutiny.”
Her eyes begin to water, and my throat tightens in response.
“But that’s the thing. I didn’t handle it. After he died, I couldn’t take the constant comments, sympathetic looks. I went off the rails… partied all the time… never allowed myself to stop long enough to remember…”
“I think you’re being hard on yourself. Some would have gone a lot further than you did. What I saw was a young woman deflecting attention from her grief. Tell me I’m wrong?”
I use my thumb to catch the tear making its way down her cheek.
“He was coming to get me, after telling me not to go…” she whispers.