Chapter 39
Elena
Grace and Sarah apparently thought it would be a spectacular idea to commandeer the entire west wing of Highcourt Hall for my baby shower.
It’s not that I dislike it. It’s not that I don’t want it. It just means my mom is at my home, staring at me over six months pregnant, judging me — and that is more than enough to set me on edge.
They’ve filled it with plants and baby pink and cream decor. Custom place cards line tables with printed menus, an enormous sage green cake taking up the center of the room, and beside it, a lone helium balloon floating sadly because apparently Liam was dead set on picking at least one thing out.
There’s something almost dreamlike about it — stepping into a room like this and knowing it’s all for you.
Or rather, for her. It feels like the wedding all over again, but with positives instead of nothing but anxiety.
I let my hand drift to my belly, still fighting that internal cringe at the roundness before remembering exactly who I’m growing — even if it feels like she’s already trying to break free.
I’ve no idea how I’m going to get through another three months of this.
Grace appears beside me with a glass of sparkling apple juice, nudging it into my hand. “You’re glowing,” she grins.
“I’m sweating,” I deadpan, wiping beneath my eyes and the ridge of my nose.
She shrugs. “Same thing.”
For all her usual poise and precision, Grace has a side that’s entirely chaotic older sister energy — probably the same shit Sarah deals with from me.
It’s the kind where she gets things done without waiting for permission, and won’t let anyone wallow when there’s a party going on.
And today, she’s in full force. I don’t hate it.
The guest list is fairly small and intimate, the kind of people Harry trusts and the ones on my side that I don’t feel exhausted by, apart from my mom.
Sarah’s perched by the back doors with a mocktail in hand, sipping it every time Mom opens her mouth.
Mom’s been here less than thirty minutes and has already commented on the weight gain — “It’s all in your face, dear.
” — and how she still doesn’t understand why we’re having a baby shower in the first place when we can afford to buy the things that people are giving to us, as if she isn’t sitting on stacks of Dad’s money herself.
I’m halfway through a bite of lavender shortbread when I hear her again.
“She’s always been so dramatic,” Mom says to one of the wives from the board at Highcourt Hotels.
Macy Everdeen. She’s one of the few board members I’ve actually enjoyed speaking to since joining the brand.
“She used to have these birthday parties for her dolls and would have entire meltdowns when none of her classmates came. So sensitive. One of her teachers called me once because she wouldn’t stop crying on her first day of middle school, saying she missed her sister too much.
Worked herself up so bad she passed out like a Victorian heroine at eleven years old. ”
My breath leaves my lungs.
“Don’t think she’d survive without someone to look after her.”
Grace shoots her a glare before I’ve even opened my mouth. “Seriously?”
Mom turns, her brows furrowing. “What?”
“You know she’s working for Highcourt Hotels now, right?
” Grace says, her grin turning lethal. “She does pretty much everything on her own. She’s running the entire Swiss grand opening and already planning two conventions in the following months.
She’s had every single division wrapped around her finger for the last month, and no one had to look after her while she did it. ”
I blink, caught off guard by Grace’s comments, and Sarah smiles like a madman behind Mom. But Mom just scoffs and rolls her eyes, excuses herself to the restroom, and abandons the situation like the coward she always has been.
“Thank you,” I say to Grace.
She shrugs. “What else are sisters-in-law for?”
The rest of the afternoon passes in a haze of tiny sandwiches and mocktails and women rubbing my stomach like it’ll bring them luck.
I take breaks, sit near the fireplace, and Sarah rotates people away from me like a bouncer when I start looking overwhelmed.
There’s a strangeness that hangs over everything, one that stems directly from everyone being there to celebrate me, and I don’t know how to feel about it.
But halfway through opening gifts and feeling like I want to jump off a cliff from all of the attention, the door opens at the other end of the hall.
I blink rapidly to make sure I’m not seeing things.
Harry. In a black turtleneck with his sleeves pushed up his forearms, pressed slacks, and boots. His eyes lock on mine like no one else is in the room — which is absolutely a problem, because there are only women in the room, and men were not invited.
I open my mouth. “I—”
“Harry,” Grace hisses, pushing to her feet.
“No, no, it’s fine,” I say, rising as he makes his way across the room. There are rules to this, apparently, and a tradition that goes along with it — but he doesn’t care. And maybe I don’t either.
He walks straight up to me like it’s the most natural thing in the world, cups my cheek, and kisses me in front of everyone.
My cheeks heat far too quickly.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I murmur against his mouth.
“I know,” he grins. “But I got you a gift and I wanted to give it to you myself.”
“Oh, god. You’re not here to be nice, you’re here to make me emotional in front of everyone.”
He laughs, then kisses my cheek, mumbles a quick, “Maybe,” into my ear. He presses a small white envelope into my hand before taking a step back, but not far enough for me to feel the weight of the eyes around me — it’s still mostly him in my vision.
I open it slowly, pulling the slip of paper out.
It’s a deed. A preservation agreement. I read it once, then again, and again, until the words start to blur and my cheeks feel cold from tear tracks..
My knees buckle just enough to make me startle. His arm bands around my waist faster than I can react. “Hey, hey, let’s stay standing, darling.”
“Harry,” I croak.
It’s the eighty acres. The land Sarah and I used to hike as teenagers, the land I mentioned in passing months ago, had said that Sarah told me it had been sold off to be turned into developments.
But now it’s his. No, mine — it’s entirely in my name.
“I had Matthew work with the buyers,” he says softly.
“Pushed through a private deal. It’s protected now.
Forever. No developments, no shopping centers.
It’ll be added to the Highcourt land, the preservation, if you want it to be. ”
I cover my mouth to keep from outwardly sobbing.
“And I might be having a cabin built on it,” he adds, leaning back just enough to grin down at me. “Just one. Off the main trail. For us, to take her whenever we want. I know she’ll have a ton of wilderness here, but it’ll be nice to change the scenery once in a while somewhere smaller.”
I stare up at him, stunned, my hands trembling. “You… you did this.”
“I did.”
I launch myself into his arms, wrapping mine around his neck, half laughing and half sobbing into his shoulder. He holds me tight, one arm low on my back, the other around my side like he’s trying to protect the bump. “Thank you,” I rasp.
“No need to thank me,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against the side of my head. “You never need to thank me, Elena.”