28. Elliot
ELLIOT
When realization strikes, it's both incredible and scary how the past returns with an intensely clear and haunting quality. She is Harper fuckin Montgomery!
So many things that didn’t seem important now add up.
It makes me wonder how I hadn’t figured it out myself…
Because yes, Harper had hidden her true identity, but it was threaded through every word, every action and inaction, and now the memories of that time when we were at Blackridge and a boy everyone looked up to was lost. It makes sense.
If I can attribute who I am as a person, why I make the choices I make, the panic and fear that courses through me of not being enough to love, not being enough to choose.
I can see exactly who and what shaped Harper.
Her need to know and understand everyone and everything, her ability to see behind the carefully laid illusions of a person or their motives.
Her need to control the narrative… but also her sense of worth and why only a certain caliber of relationship will do.
And why she walked away after she thought I fucked Natalia…
That has all been sticking out in my mind since I saw Harper walk out with her father at her event.
But something else has been growing louder in my mind.
At first, I thought I didn’t have a chance, but then a whisper has been growing louder, saying…
she chose you. She showed up. She came back from New York, got directly into her car and came straight to me.
She chose to be seen publicly with me, to be aligned with me, knowing that even though she was hidden, she could have been easily revealed… And she still chose me.
Not even my parents had done that.
I actually made an appointment with a therapist who was a little too into ‘Mommy Issues’ and maybe even a little too into me.
She looked like she wanted to crawl into my lap, and somehow made me feel like I wanted to crawl out of my skin.
Which left me feeling lost, because how do I fix this?
Do I have mommy issues? Sure. Daddy issues?
Add that to the list. I have built my very persona around being someone who everyone is charmed by, but nobody loves.
Because if they don’t know the real me, if I don’t let them in, then if they leave, it can't hurt. And better yet, if I make sure every interaction is at my will, by my rules, if it isn't real, then it can't hurt… right?
But that is a hollow, sad existence.
I was fucking pissed with Rowan; he kept so much from me.
I want to believe that knowing her true identity wouldn't have changed anything, that I am not that far gone.
But that Rowan, who has known me since I was a scared and lonely twelve-year-old boy, kept parts of her hidden from me because he didn't trust what I would do with that information stings; it has me looking at myself through a different lens, and I don’t like what I am seeing.
A childish part of me wants to throw in the towel and say, how do I have the chance to live up to the ghost of her parents' relationship? But then I hear that whisper: she chose me. So how do I prove to her I choose her, not because of her name, but because of her heart?
The press didn't waste any time announcing the return of the Montgomery Heiress, the sole heir to the Montgomery name and fortune. So far it has been in her favour, but I know that won’t last long.
Because when someone is put on a pedestal, the people who want to see her fall, fail, or be proven wrong will become louder than the supporters.
Sitting at a table in a private club, with the bad aftertaste of my last meeting with the words one of Northwell’s board members left me with: “You need to figure out how to get her back on your arm, and control that empire.” I am feeling antsy; will that be what everyone assumes?
That I am chasing her for what I can get from her?
I was rubbing my chest when Theo approached me with a sour look on his face.
“What the fuck are you drinking soda water for? I asked the bartender to get me whatever you were drinking, and I laughed at him when he poured me a glass of bubbly water.”
I shrugged in response because sparkling water is gross. But I needed to curb my drinking, get a clear head, and having something in front of me I don’t have any interest in drinking seems to help.
Theo sat beside me, asking, “How did the meeting go?”
I raised an eyebrow at him, wondering how he knew what I was doing here and, once again, what the hell Theo did…
When I didn’t answer, Theo chuckled, saying, “I think I enjoy charming Elliot better than reflective, broody Elliot.”
I leaned back in my chair, looking out across the dark, expensively furnished room, at the deal being made, lies being told, and promises being broken.
Something Theo had said had been bothering me: “I don’t think it was Blackridge; I think it was the families who thought it was better to ship their kids off to an institution to raise them into the next heirs and rulers, rather than having parents who wanted to raise us themselves.
I think it has more to do with the society and expectations around the world we grew up in. ”
Theo says nothing, so I continue. I take a sip of the soda water and try to hide the wince, because that stuff is gross.
“Maybe it’s not even our parents' fault,” at that Theo snorts, and I add, “Well, except for Richard because he is toxic,” then I get back to my initial train of thought, “I think it's just compounded over the years, over the generations, this thought that each generation needs to outdo the last, while not making your parents look bad. Marry for wealth and position, and then everyone wonders why we are all so fucking miserable even though we have access to everything. Well, everything except for love, support, and healthy childhoods. And because we have access to so much, everyone wants to see us fail: the media… Christ, anyone with a phone becomes our judge. We live under this microscope, and so it feels like the only thing we can do is keep following this fucked-up path that was made for us.”
I almost feel out of breath at the end of my verbal diarrhea. Theo studies me for a few minutes before he raises his hand to the server and orders two drinks for us, saying, “Ya I am going to need something harder than sparkling water for this.”
When our drinks arrive, and Theo has taken a healthy sip of his, he turns his gaze back to me and asks, “So what do we do?”
I eyed my drink, but decided against it. With a shrug, I answer, “I feel like the simple answer is to do better than our parents, but that doesn’t even feel close enough to the right answer.”
“You've been talking to someone?” he asks, but it's more of a statement.
“I tried, but I think there should be laws against socialites becoming therapists.” Theo barks out a laugh that draws attention our way. He winks at an older gentleman who scowls at him, and I continue, saying, “I've been thinking… trying to decide…”
I trail off, and Theo fills in, “How to get Harper back?”
There's an almost soft curiosity to his tone; I shake my head, saying, “If I even deserve to try.”
Theo finishes his drink, stands and says, “You know we could figure out her favourite charities; you could support them, make you look good. Get back on her good side…”
I shake my head, interrupting his offer, “If Harper ever decides that I am worth having at her side, I want it to be honest and not because I faked my way there.”
Theo tilts his head, studying me curiously, then adds, “Okay, let me know if I can help.”
I gave him my best Elliot-charming grin. “You can forward me those articles Emily sent you.”
At that, Theo doesn’t laugh; something passes over his features I don’t understand, but he nods, knocks his knuckles on the tabletop and walks away.
An alert pings on my phone, letting me know yet another article has been posted about Harper. I don't know why I feel like I need to pay attention, like I need to be ready. But I do, so I stand, leaving my drink untouched and head home to my empty penthouse apartment.