Chapter 33 #2
It overwhelmed me. It threatened to break through the walls I put up to keep my emotions in check.
It threatened to engulf me. I was pissed off at myself.
And so, when the time had come to kiss her, I decided to settle for a brush of our lips.
Even though I wanted to kiss her deeply.
To claim her as mine in front of our friends and families.
I deprived myself. I deprived her. I hurt her again.
And fuck, I hate myself for that.
We’re at a table in a private dining room in another Michelin-star restaurant owned by a good friend. It’s at the top of The Shard, the tallest building in London.
Next to me, Harper shifts in her seat. Of course, she's unnerved.
I had the perfect opportunity to feel her lips part against mine, for our tongues to entwine. To have her curves pressed against me. All the while hearing that soft sigh of hers and drawing her scent deeply into my lungs. Instead, I gave her a tepid peck on the lips.
The Ice Commander couldn’t take the heat.
When the serving staff top up her glass of champagne, she tosses it back without waiting for the wedding toasts. Yep, she’s definitely unsettled by the morning’s events.
Her glass is once again refilled. When she reaches for it, I swap it out for my glass.
She take a sip. Winces. "What’s that?"
"Nonalcoholic sparkling wine." I hand her champagne glass to the staff and ask for another of the non-alcoholic ones for me.
"Ugh, really?" She scowls.
"We have to get back to The Edge for dinner prep."
She frowns.
Yes, I’m putting the restaurant first, even on our wedding day.
She shouldn’t be surprised by it.
Truth is, I wish I didn’t have to. For the first time since I decided to become a chef, I’m resentful of the work needed to stay on top of the game and keep maintaining Michelin stars. I’d rather enjoy my wedding day with my wife and family.
And is this how the change creeps in? And if so, why doesn’t it feel too bad?
"We also have to tell the staff we’re married."
Her frown deepens.
Not something I’m looking forward to either. But it’s best done immediately. Before word reaches them.
I take in her tense face and soften my features. "I’m sorry we couldn’t take the day off but—"
"But it’s a sham wedding. In fact, this wasn't necessary. We could have been at the restaurant by now." She glances away.
I know her well enough to realize her snapping is her way of dealing with her emotions. I wish I could be that open too.
When she swallows, I sense she’s feeling emotional.
My chest tightens.
I already feel terrible that I upset her with that sorry excuse for a kiss. I can’t bear seeing her this distressed.
I take her hand in mine and lower my head so I can look into her eyes. "Hey, you okay?"
Her face is pale. She’s literally vibrating with emotion. Her eyes are dazed. I snap into the mode I use with my team when one of them is hyperventilating in a difficult situation.
"Breathe with me." I draw in a breath.
She obeys. She mirrors my breathing. A few inhalations later, color filters into her features.
I kiss the back of her hand. "Good girl."
She shivers. And when her pupils dilate, I know I’m in trouble. The way she makes me feel—this mix of protectiveness and possessiveness, and some other emotion I don’t dare name. It’s new. It’s heady. It’s something I can’t control. And damn, but it doesn’t feel wrong either.
"I know all of this feels new and overwhelming, but it’ll get easier."
"Will it?" She firms her lips.
I choose my words carefully. "I can’t promise that everything will be easy, but I’ll do my best to ensure that I deliver on my commitments to you. It will be worth it."
She looks into my eyes. And something must convince her, for she nods slowly. Her breathing returns to normal.
I hand her a glass of water. She takes a few sips and places it back on the table. "Thanks."
"You’re welcome." I run my knuckles down her cheek. Because I need that connection.
She blinks.
There’s surprise on her face.
"People are watching. I want word to get back to Margot that we’re truly married." I explain my gesture both to her… And to myself.
"They were watching at the ceremony too," she mumbles.
Before I can formulate a response, the sound of someone clinking a glass cuts through the space.
"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, as the self-appointed best man, I have a toast for this occasion,” Tristan declares.
Fuck. Not looking forward to this.
“I can’t wait to repay the favor." I narrow my gaze on my uncle.
Tristan chuckles. "I don’t plan on getting married anytime soon. You’re going to have a long wait."
"Don’t challenge the fates," Phe calls out from next to Ember.
"I live to prove everyone wrong. But today is not about me. It’s about James and Harper." Tristan holds up his champagne glass.
When Harper edges her fingers toward Phe’s glass, I smirk. “Don’t even think about it.”
She glowers at me.
I raise my flute to her.
So does everyone around the table.
Tristan toasts us. "To Harper and James. May your marriage last longer than James’ good mood during dinner service."
Laughter ripples around the table.
Gideon follows my uncle’s lead. "May your vibe be like James' kitchen: perfectly controlled on the surface, absolute chaos underneath, and somehow, it all works out in the end.
And may you Harper"—he nods at my wife—"have the patience of a saint, because God knows you'll need it being married to the Ice Commander. "
There are more laughs.
Then Beckett rises and raises his flute in our direction. "May your love be as enduring as James' obsession with perfect knife cuts, and James"—he turns to me, with a wicked look on his face—"may Harper forgive you when you treat your relationship like a Michelin inspection."
Harper snorts. Fuck, she’s cute.
Gotta admit, that was funny. Even with the shred of truth running through it.
Phe’s next, raising her glass. "James, may you finally admit what I’ve known since that night you first met. Harper Richie has owned your heart from the moment you met her. And Harper"—she turns to her, tears shining in her eyes—"may you never let him forget he's the luckiest man alive."
That I am.
Then it’s Briar’s turn. "I've known Harper her entire life. She's stubborn, competitive, and has never backed down from a challenge in her life." Briar looks at me. "So naturally, she married the one man in London more stubborn than she is."
Laughter ripples through the room.
"To Harper and James—may you spend the rest of your lives trying to out-stubborn each other. And may you both lose gracefully."
More laughs around the table.
“Oh, and James? If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”
Message received. And I’d never hurt her. I’d die for her. As I think the words, I know they’re true. And for some reason, that doesn’t alarm me either.
Harper blows Briar a kiss. I notice that Beckett is watching her closely.
I rise to my feet, glass in hand. Speeches are not my forte. But given the occasion, and the outpouring of love from our family, it feels only right that I say something.
“I’ll keep this short.”
Silence descends. I look at Harper.
"To my wife. For her courage. And her steadiness. And for walking into this with clarity.”
I lock my gaze with hers, hoping she’ll understand what I’m trying to communicate. “And to marriage…working best when both people show up.”
I can’t do this without her. It had to be her. Real or not.
Her eyes widen. Yeah, she gets me.
I lift my glass.
"Cheers."
That’s when my phone buzzes.
Henrik calling.
Uh-oh, that’s not a good sign.
Around us, our family raises their glasses.
I look at my phone and hesitate. If I answer that, this brunch is over. I know that. And in the past, I wouldn’t have hesitated. But right now, just for today, I want to be with my wife and my family, spending time not having to worry about service.
“It’s probably, nothing.” She touches my arm.
Her touch is reassuring. I don’t shake it off.
"It's Henrik. He wouldn't call unless—"
"Unless he needs your approval for something." She tosses her head. "Which is basically everything. The man can't decide which wine to pair with the fish course without consulting you first."
I half smile. Some of the tension in me lightens. This woman knows how to bring down my stress. "That's not—"
"It's exactly true, and you know it." She takes a sip of her non-alcoholic drink without wincing. "Henrik looks at you like a baby duckling looks at its mother. Wide-eyed. Utterly dependent. Slightly panicked if you're out of sight for more than ten minutes."
"Harper—"
"I'm serious. He probably wants to know if he should order more truffle oil or whether the new linen delivery is the right shade of white." She tosses the rest of her drink back. "It's probably nothing."
The phone stops ringing. Then starts again.
Harper and I look at each other.
Henrik is competent. He's been running The Edge's front of house for three years. He knows the operation inside and out.
He wouldn't call during our wedding reception unless it’s an emergency.
The call goes to voicemail. Two seconds later, it starts ringing again.
Henrik. Again.
“I should answer it." I flatten my lips.
"I’d do the same thing, if it were my restaurant. You know I would.” She half smiles.
She’s letting me off the hook. No, she means it. She understands how it is to run a restaurant that sucks you of your life force sometimes. I look at her with relief and gratitude. And admiration. This woman… What would I do without her?
Her eyes shine. Her lips part. She likes my approval. No, she loves it. She craves it. Something tingles in the recesses of my mind. She craves it. Would do anything to win my praise.
My belly tightens. Heat tugs at my chest.
Parking this realization in a place where I can examine it later, I lift the phone to my ear. "Henrik, what's wrong?"