Chapter 20
Harry
The hair at the base of my neck is still damp as I step out of the bathroom of my home gym, a towel slung over my shoulder and my pajama bottoms sitting low on my hips.
Nothing but birdsong trickles in through the open windows behind me, and for once, I’m grateful for a single second of silence before my meeting in half an hour — no texts blowing up my phone about the Switzerland project, no distant sounds of someone moving about in the house, no television playing news I can’t be bothered to listen to.
I’d barely slept last night. I’d kept seeing her face in that private dining room, kept wondering how she’d reacted when I’d gone home without saying a thing, when I’d arranged for a driver to bring her and Grace and Liam back here separately from me.
I hadn’t been able to keep my head when George went nuclear.
I should have expected it. Telling him about any of it—the baby, the inheritance—somewhere public had been reckless, but I’d just hoped it would keep him somewhat in line.
But what’s gnawing at me more than George’s outburst and the mention of Geraldine is how I spoke to Elena. I’d seen the surprise, the hurt, flash in her eyes like a match strike. She didn’t—doesn’t—deserve that.
So the first thing I did when I woke up was make a call.
A voice, light and exceptionally familiar, laughs excitedly in the garden as I pull open the glass door. Another answers, higher-pitched, softer, and my chest tightens.
She came.
I round the corner on the flagstone path, stopping just far enough not to insert myself as Sarah, fully dressed in a bohemian-esque white set, throws her arms around Elena’s neck, wrenching her in for a hug tight enough to make her wheeze.
Elena chastises her jokingly, saying something about squeezing the barely-cooked baby out of her too soon and not giving her time to put on anything other than pajamas, and I bite my cheek to keep from laughing.
It shouldn’t feel this good to see her this happy.
But it does.
Elena’s gaze flicks in my direction, widening slightly as she spots me standing off to the side. Sarah follows it, her cheeks turning pink the moment she realizes I’m hovering in just my pajama bottoms and a towel covering half my chest. She waves, though, and I return the gesture.
Elena’s head tilts, and she murmurs something to her sister before stepping away, toward me, the expression on her face almost… curious?
Halfway, I notice the hint of glossiness to her eyes. “You did this?”
I tilt my head back and forth. “I might’ve made a call.”
She’s across the pathway before I can brace myself.
I knew she’d be happy to see Sarah. I knew it would at least bring her spirits up after what happened last night. But not a single part of me is expecting it when she throws her arms around my neck, standing on the absolute tips of her toes, and hugs me.
Genuinely.
Adorably.
I don’t even manage to get a word in or my arms around her in kind before she pulls back just enough to pull me down to her instead.
Static. Static is what plays in my ears as her lips meet mine.
It’s not intense. It’s not desperate or fiery or needy. It’s not even long.
But it’s sweet. It’s soft, full of something unspoken, something grateful, and it rattles me far more than anything George said last night.
My hand finds the back of her waist, holding her there for a second, just giving myself enough time to catch up with this and breathe in the scent of her hair, enough time to feel the quick and quiet thump of her heartbeat against my chest.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, her face just barely flushed.
My fingers twitch against her hip as I lean forward just enough to press my lips against her cheek. “Of course,” I murmur, nudging her temple once with my nose before letting go. “Go spend time with your sister.”
She grins as she steps away, a smile that comes across as genuinely happy, and my heart nearly lurches at the sight, my jaw tensing just enough to keep my face in check.
Sarah asks her something I can’t quite hear the moment Elena’s back within earshot, and Elena laughs, inviting her into the cottage, saying something about how they can definitely do that after she has a shower — and god, the way she looks like that, grinning ear to ear and giddy in her pajamas…
Fuck.
It’s not what it does to my body. It’s not the way I can picture her pleasure-drunk in my arms, it’s not the want in my hands to drag down her sides and dig into her skin, it’s not how I can already taste her on my tongue.
It’s not the flirtation or the banter or the body that haunts every goddamn thought.
It’s everything else.
It’s the falling.
It’s her.
It’s the way she still thanks me for things. The way she kisses me like she means it, even when I don’t deserve it. The way she talks about the baby as if it's a miracle—not a scandal.
I shut the sliding door behind me, staring at the ground as the feeling settles over me, wide-eyed and more than a little mortified.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Did I want to touch her? Yes. Did that want follow me every waking second until I did it, and only grow since? Yes.
But I wasn’t expecting to want her like that. I wasn’t expecting to fall for her.
Shit.
I exhale sharply and force myself to move. I’ve got a meeting in ten with Chiara, the manager for the Milan location, and although the timing isn’t great with everything going on, I need to keep some kind of grip on my work.
————
“Heard about the Switzerland problem,” Chiara says, the cold tone in her accented voice lightening for the first time in the last forty-five minutes of restructuring discussions.
“You mean the solved Switzerland problem,” I correct. I lean back in my office chair, hoisting my feet up onto the desk, and shift my computer to the left so she still has a decent view of me through the camera.
Chiara tucks her hair behind her ear, the blunt black bob rustling as she chuckles. “Yes,” she says. “Your new wife seems to have quite the brain.”
I shoot a quick, cautionary glare at the screen. “Are you surprised by that?”
She shakes her head. “No, no, I just thought it was impressive. Nathan said she was quick on her feet. Her portfolio’s quite impressive, you know — I had a look at the White Distillery’s event page this morning.”
I flick my pen between my fingers and rest my chin on my knuckles, watching the screen with narrowed eyes. “She’s smart. And she’s got a good eye.”
“You should use her, then.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“We’ll need a grand opening for the Switzerland location, no?” she says, her bright red lips parting in a grin. “We’re lacking when it comes to event management. She could bring the right touch.”
I bite at my lower lip, mulling it over.
Ralph White didn’t particularly seem to care whether I took Elena out of White Distillery, so it wouldn’t necessarily harm the relationship there, but it would depend entirely on what Elena wanted to do.
I could make the space easily, could give her a job high up, could give her control.
“Let me think about it,” I answer.
“Do.”
I hang up without another word, shut my laptop, and stare out at the oaks and maples lining the property through the wide window opposite.
It’s a good idea.
Elena’s instincts are sharp, and she’s got charm. I’ve seen firsthand how she flits about at events when they’re not centered around her. And Chiara’s right, we’ll need someone to handle the grand opening and to get the ball rolling on weddings and corporate events once it’s open.
But my eyes snag on the very edge of the manor. The west wing.
George’s car is parked outside of it. I’d been clear when I messaged him last night, saying he could stay in the west wing for a few weeks if he kept out of the rest of the house and stayed away from me and Elena.
But I didn’t fully expect him to do it. In a house this large, it isn’t exactly difficult keeping space, but if I’m cutting him off, he’ll need more than a few weeks, I imagine.
And if he’s getting himself in order, more.
But George has never wanted to be here. Not unless there was a board meeting or a check to collect. He’d always chosen to stay at either the penthouse or any of the hundreds of Highcourt Hotels around the world. He still could.
So why the hell is he lingering here? Because of the baby? Because of her?
I huff a breath through my nose and drop the pen onto my desk, pinching the bridge of my nose as a headache gnaws at me.
I won’t tell Elena about the possibility, at least for now. Not when I’ve got a son to wrangle, not while she’s pregnant and having to deal with him so close and so volatile. It can wait at least until I get him off the property.
I just have to figure out how the hell to do that.