19. Harper #2
The room erupted in laughter.
My father rolled his eyes. "You realize she gets that from me."
"Absolutely not," Margot said immediately.
"Not a chance," Grant agreed.
Oliver raised his glass. "We all know Sophie was the brains of the operation."
My father's offended expression only made everyone laugh harder, and I took the moment to simply watch them.
Grant and my father bicker, while Margot attempts to referee, and Oliver makes things worse.
The familiar rhythm of people who had spent decades in each other's lives.
People who had celebrated weddings and births together, who had sat through funerals together, and knew exactly where every scar was and loved each other, anyway.
The ache that accompanied thoughts of my mother and Will never really disappeared.
But for the first time in years it wasn't the loudest thing in the room.
Maybe healing wasn't moving on, or hiding.
Maybe it was learning how to carry grief without letting it eclipse everything else.
I was still thinking about that when my father cleared his throat.
The room quieted almost immediately. His hand settled lightly between my shoulder blades.
"I know many of you have already heard pieces of this," he began. "But I thought it was time to make it official."
My father looked down at me briefly before returning his attention to the room.
"Harper will join Montgomery International and take a leadership role within the Foundation."
The reaction was immediate. Smiles and excitement.
My father squeezed my shoulder once. The gesture was slight, but it nearly undid me.
Because for years I had convinced myself I needed to prove I could stand on my own before returning here.
That accepting this role somehow meant failing.
Taking the easy path. But standing in this room, surrounded by people who loved me, I realized how foolish that was.
I hadn't been running toward independence.
I had been running from belonging.
A few minutes later I slipped away from the crowd and out onto the covered terrace overlooking the snow-covered grounds. The cold bit immediately. I wrapped my arms around myself and looked out across the property. The same view I'd grown up with.
The door opened behind me. I didn't need to turn around.
"That was exciting! Can I be a part of your debutante reveal?"
Oliver.
I smiled. "You followed me."
"I did."
I glanced over my shoulder. He looked unfairly handsome standing there. Dark hair, slightly messy. Hands shoved into his pockets. No attempt whatsoever to hide the fact that he'd come looking for me.
"Your mother sent you."
He barked out a laugh. "Absolutely."
I hummed and turned back to the view.
"She said you looked overwhelmed."
I considered denying it. Then decided I was too tired. "A little."
Oliver came up beside me and nodded. After a minute, he spoke. "Are you okay, Harper?"
Not what happened, or who hurt you. Just… Are you okay?
The simplicity of it was overwhelming, because I knew he genuinely cared about that answer.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The wind carried across the property, rattling the bare branches in the distance. Somewhere inside the house, laughter drifted through the glass doors.
"I heard you gave your notice."
I glanced at him; of course, he knew. There wasn't much that happened in our world that stayed quiet for long.
"I did."
"I was worried at first, but now with the announcement it makes sense. How do you feel about everything?"
I laughed softly. "That's a dangerous question."
His mouth twitched. "Why?"
"Because the answer changes every fifteen minutes."
That earned a full laugh. "I think that's probably normal."
I stared out across the snow-covered grounds. "Sometimes I feel relieved." Oliver nodded, and I continued, "Sometimes I feel like I'm making a terrible mistake." Another nod. "And sometimes..." I hesitated.
"Sometimes?"
I swallowed. "Sometimes I feel like I'm finally heading in the right direction."
Something softened in his expression. "Then that's probably your answer."
The certainty in his voice surprised me.
"You make everything sound simple."
He barked out a laugh. "Trust me, Montgomery. My life is a disaster."
I looked at him skeptically. "Your mother would disagree."
"My mother thinks I'm one good haircut away from becoming the President."
The laugh escaped before I could stop it.
"There she is."
I groaned immediately.
"Oh God."
"What?" he asked.
"You keep saying that."
His smile turned easy. "Because you keep disappearing, and I enjoy seeing you being you."
I looked away first. The silence stretched.
Finally, Oliver sighed. "You know, everyone has been worried about you."
I felt my shoulders tense. "That's not fair."
"Probably not."
I looked at him. He wasn't accusing me. Wasn't trying to make me feel guilty. Just telling the truth.
"My dad checks your social media like it's a government briefing, and has alerts set up on pretty much every web browser.."
I laughed.
"He didn't like the look of the blonde guy."
I covered my face immediately. "Oh, my God."
Oliver laughed. "His exact words were, 'Nobody should be that symmetrical.'"
I groaned.
"Then he said you looked like Barbie and Ken."
"Please stop."
"Then he asked me to find out if he was secretly a serial killer."
I stared at him, and Oliver shrugged, saying, "To be fair, Dad thinks most blonde men are serial killers."
A smile tugged at my lips. Then faded. Because underneath the joke was something else.
Oliver leaned against the railing. "You don't have to tell me anything."
My throat tightened immediately, because somehow that made me want to. The light from the house reflected across the snow. For a long moment, I watched them.
Then quietly I asked, "Have you ever wanted something so badly that it scared you?"
His expression didn't change. "Yes."
I looked down at my hands.
"I thought..." My voice cracked, so I stopped and tried again. "I thought maybe it was becoming something real."
The words felt pathetic once they were out in the open, but Oliver didn't react. So I kept going. "I knew what I was agreeing to." I laughed softly. A broken sound. "I wasn't naive."
"No." the answer came immediately. "You've never been naive."
I stared out across the property again.
"I just didn't realize how much it would hurt." The confession hung between us.
Oliver looked out across the snow-covered grounds.
"My mother always says that the things worth having are usually the things capable of hurting us the most."
I swallowed. "That sounds terrible."
He barked out a laugh. "Yeah. I never said she was good at pep talks."
Oliver was quiet for a long time. Then, finally, he said, "Whoever he is..."
I closed my eyes. A small smile pulled at my lips, because we both knew that Oliver was very aware of who Elliot was.
"Whoever he is," Oliver repeated softly, "he's an idiot, and definitely not invited to your coming-out party."
I laughed hard enough that tears burned behind my eyes.
The laughter faded slowly, leaving something quieter behind.
For too long it felt like I had been holding my breath, waiting for the right thing to happen.
Waiting for my life, my past, for it all to make sense and to fall into place.
Standing beside Oliver beneath the winter sky, I realized I wasn't waiting anymore.