by Olivia Luck
“Baby, what’s wrong?” I murmur. He doesn’t respond until he hears the sound of my purse falling next to him on the bed. I move so that I’m standing in front of him, then fall to my knees and gently stroke his propped up forearms. The normally calm, collected man’s eyes swim with worry.
“Tell me.”
“Claire skipped the rehab center. Her therapist called while you were out.” He pulls his hand free from my soothing caress, rubbing his eyes.
Oh no.
“And you can’t get ahold of her.” It’s not a question; I already know what he’ll say.
All of a sudden, I’m not on the floor anymore. Harris hauls me into his lap as though I weigh as much as a four-year-old. His arms wind around my waist, fusing our bodies together tightly. Worry radiates off him in waves. His tan skin is slightly paler and his shoulders are slumped.
Gently, I push his head onto my shoulder. I stroke the length of his taut back. “Just because she avoided therapy doesn’t mean that she’s hurt somewhere. Knowing Claire, I bet she flew off to a tropical island to recharge.” Deep down, I don’t believe what I’m saying. And I know Harris doesn’t either when he squeezes me harder and nuzzles deeper into my arms.
“We’ll find out where she is soon enough. I called an investigator to track her down. Again.”
“This has happened before?”
“Yes, a few years ago.” He inhales deeply, his breath tickling my neck. “Ran off with some guy for a tour of Europe’s best cocaine.” The steady stokes I’m drawing on his back freeze; my breathing stops. Of course I knew Claire did drugs, but I had no idea that she went to those extremes.
Did she run away with Amanda’s husband?
He untangles himself from my embrace, moving so we can make eye contact, and answers my unspoken question. “Amanda and Peter are together at home. It’s unclear how much my sister told Amanda about her role in Peter’s infidelity.”
In an effort to comfort Harris, I drop my forehead to his, whispering, “Whatever you need, I’ll do it. If we need to wake up in the middle of the night and fly to St. Barths to retrieve Claire from a shopping spree, I’ll be by your side.” His lips twitch upward.
“With you, my worries are so much less daunting,” Harris murmurs, brushing my lips with his. “You’re my strength.”
Swiftly, he turns, spreading me out on the bed before him.
“Aren’t we leaving soon?” I ask breathlessly.
“We have time.” He stretches out over top of me, capturing my lips in his, erasing whatever else we concerned ourselves with.
Despite Harris’ reassurance that we had enough time, now we’re running late. Harris’ earlier concerns reappear; when he’s not silently brooding, he’s snapping at me. Harris sulks on the opposite end of the car, hardly looking my way. I fight back the concern that he’s distancing himself from me. I won’t let us fall apart again.
“Did Luke let you know if my things made it to your place?” I try to divert his attention.
“I said your belongings would be moved by the time we get back to Chicago,” Harris says shortly, his gaze trained outside the car window, “so they will be.”
Sliding my hand across the empty expanse of leather, I cover his hand and fit my fingers between his.
Turning slightly, he looks at me. Something in my face must show how I’m responding to the bite. “Baby, I’m sorry.” He flips his hand over and presses our palms together. He cocks his head slightly and I wiggle across the seat, tucking myself into his side. “Stressed,” he mutters against my hair.
“Understandable.”
The rest of the ride is silent and then we’re loading on to the private airplane again. This time we sit in the large tan chairs, facing each other with a table between us. As soon we take off, I pull my laptop from my travel bag and begin reviewing blog posts. Harris reveals his tablet, attending to his own work. For a while, it’s silent, only the sounds of us tapping on our devices.
“Back to reality tomorrow,” he observes quietly.
“A better reality because we’ll be living together.”
My eyes lift to where he studiously observes me. “I wasn’t pulling away from you earlier, you know that right?”
“In the car?”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t my favorite way to be treated by you, but I understand the pressure and concern you’re feeling.”
“Relying on someone is new to me. Relying on the woman I’m madly in love with is even more unusual. I’m afraid it may take some time for my natural reaction to change from pushing you to away to pulling you closer.”
My lips quirk. “Both of us need to learn to lean on the other.” As I say the words, I know that I need Harris’ support on Jared’s threats. But in this moment, he’s treading in unknown waters for his sister. My problems are less urgent.
Long fingers wrap around the arches of my feet, releasing them from their sandals and then pulling them into this lap. He places my heels on his hard, denim-covered thighs.
“I love you.”
My heart rate increases, skin tingling from where he touches me. On some level, yes, it’s lust, but on deeper inspection, I’m invigorated with all-consuming love for this handsome, serious, considerate, enthralling man.
“Me too,” I whisper back.
The response pleases him. He nods once and releases my feet. We work quietly nearly the rest of the flight. When the pilot announces over the speaker system that we will land in twenty minutes, Harris drops his tablet on the seat next to him. He gestures for me to lift my computer and when I do, he folds the table between us in half, toward the window, and I place my device on top of it.
“Come,” he demands.
I save what I’m working on, and pull my legs back underneath me, so I can shuffle across the space and into his lap.
“Flying is way more entertaining with you. We’ll have to make this more frequent. I want you with me when I’m traveling as often as possible,” he announces.
I smile against his chest, where my cheek rests. “Let me check my calendar.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “You do that. And if you need help clearing it, I have a fantastic assistant, Luke, who knows how to rearrange meetings.”
When we land, deplaning takes less than ten minutes and we’re on our way. I send a flurry of text messages to my dad, Sarah, and Sean, letting them know that we arrived safely back in Chicago. Sarah immediately responds, letting me know that she’ll be in town in two weeks to scout wedding venues with her mother and Greg. Dad’s at work, but tells me that he’ll call me later this week. Sean’s hungry to hang out.
Sean: Welcome home and all that crap. Tomorrow night we’re going on a double date, so I can see with my very own eyes how Mr. Dark and Broody is treating my bestie.
Eddie: Won’t it be awkward for Luke and Harris?
Sean: They’ll both do it because they’re crazy about us. I already asked Luke and he says it’s all good as long as boss man agrees. That means ask him.
Eddie: I will.
Sean: ASAP! Don’t dawdle because it’s “not the right time.”
It’s funny how quickly Sean learns my avoidance techniques.
I’m smiling to myself at the thought when Harris asks, “What’s with the grin?”
“Sean suggested a double date tomorrow. Luke says it’s all right with him if you don’t mind.”
“Will it make you happy?”
“Very much,” I admit.
“Then we’ll go. But for the record, I don’t mind. Clearly all boundaries of boss and assistant were broken when I started sending him desperate texts for information about you,” Harris reminds me wryly.
When we get back to the apartment, everything looks the same as it did when we left. Gleaming wood floors and pristine countertops remind me that we’re still in the same residence. But there’s a noticeable difference lurking behind the closet doors and in the dresser cabinets—proof I live here now.
At long last finding a place where I fit.
“What are you doing out here?” Harris weaves our fingers together, pulling me in the direction of the bedroom. “There’s something I want to show you.” This time my feet respond, and I let him take over as we make our way to the table on “his” side of the bed.
What I see breaks me out of my stupor, and a surprised flush covers my cheeks. I discover a new décor element. Inside the silver frame is a picture of me playing piano the night my father was in attendance. The camera caught me making eye contact with someone in the audience, probably Dad. There’s a hint of a smile on my face, expression steady.
“Who took this?” I murmur as I pluck the frame off the table and study the picture. I feel Harris slide his arms around my waist from behind.
“Me.”
It’s a simple admission, and though it makes me happy, that he took a picture of me is not what steals my breath. No, it’s that the first personal touch to his home is a declaration of our relationship.
“Harris,” I whisper.
“We haven’t taken any pictures of us two yet, but we will.” He tightens his hold on me. I tilt my head back, succumbing to his embrace.
“I’m so glad you broke all those boundaries with Luke. I’m so glad you didn’t give up on us.”
“There was no challenge I wouldn’t best to get you back where you belong. With me.”
The next morning I wake to the whine of an alarm clock, but in the comforting cocoon of Harris’s embrace. Over the night I draped my body across his chest, burrowing my cheek into his pectorals and sliding a leg between his.
Carefully, he moves my body adjacent to his and flicks off the offending noise. Through the haze of sleep, I mumble good morning to him as he whispers the same against my lips.
“I’m going to get you a membership to my gym, so we can work out together,” he tells me.
“No.” I draw out the word in a moan, then turn away from him and snuggle deeper into the blankets. He chuckles and I feel the weight of the bed redistribute as he leaves the room and heads into the bathroom.
“Enchanting Edith, you wouldn’t have to wake up this early to exercise,” he tells me after I hear the telltale sounds of teeth brushing. He sounds oddly alert for—I crack one eye open—4:52 in the morning. My eyelids fall closed again.
“Too early to be enchanting,” I grumble.
A few moments later, Harris’ lips find my hair. “Text me when you’re really awake.”
“Yes.”
“I love you,” he says huskily.
With that proclamation, my eyes flicker open and I smile sleepily at him. “I love you back.”
“That’s my girl.” We kiss briefly and he hustles out of the room, leaving me to sleep for another few more precious hours.
Eddie: Good morning, hunky Harris.
Harris: Good morning, sleepy Edith.
Eddie: There’s no alliteration in that text.
Harris: No, but sleepy Edith is exquisite.
I grin giddily with his message. I sit at the breakfast bar, editing a blog post and sipping coffee. Now it’s a reasonable hour of 7:30, and I’m dressed and ready for the day.
Harris: What’s on tap?
Eddie: Blogging now, scheduling and planning content for the next two weeks. Meeting with my client this morning, the friend of Luke and Sean. Later, I may call Amanda.
Anxiously I bite my lip waiting for his response.
Harris: What are you going to tell her?
Eddie: Don’t plan on bringing up Claire. Will try get on better terms with her. Not expecting to win her business back, but hoping she’ll realize I wasn’t involved with Peter.
Harris: Whatever you decide to tell Amanda, I stand behind you. If you need me, call me and I’ll be there.
Eddie: Thank you for that. I love you.
Harris: I love you. Be home by 6:30, dinner at 7:30.
After I’ve gotten a hold of my blog schedule and emailed Beth, my top virtual client, I prepare for my meeting with Sean and Luke’s friends. This morning I’m only meeting with one half of the couple. He’s a teacher and isn’t working during the summer, and we’ll chat about my proposal to decorate their den and dining room. The job isn’t one of my biggest by any means, but it’s the only non-virtual client that I have left. The couple lives in the same neighborhood as Amanda. If she welcomes me, it won’t be hard to visit after I’ve had the meeting.
Two and half hours later, I exit my new client’s duplex, signed proposal in hand. Luckily they agreed to my terms, and by next week, we’ll have our second meeting to discuss vision with both members of the couple. One piece of good news for the day; now I’m hoping for another.
When I tug my cell phone out of my tote, I find my palms sticky with sweat.
You’ve done nothing wrong. There’s nothing to be nervous about.
Before my worries can stop me, I dial Amanda.
“Hello?” she says with a scratchy voice like she’s talked her throat raw.
This is the twenty-first century; she must have seen my name on the caller ID before she answered. Her accepting the call was my first win.
“Hi, Amanda.” My throat feels dry, too, so I roughly clear it. “How are you doing?”
How is she doing? What a great question to ask a woman whose husband of five years has been screwing around.
“All right. And you?” Her voice drops, softer now. Still she doesn’t hang up. I forge on.
“I’ve been doing well, thanks. Amanda, I’m in the neighborhood and if you wouldn’t mind, I’m hoping I could stop by and we could talk.”
There’s enough time for me to count to ten in her silence. Finally she says, “Yes.” Her voice even softer than before, almost a whisper. “When will you be here?”
“Less than ten minutes, if that works.”
“See you soon.”
“Soon,” I confirm.
I stand before Amanda’s door, my hand raised to knock. Before my knuckles hit the wood, the door swings open and there she stands. The woman before me is a cross between the polished Amanda of our first meeting, the carefree party girl at Luminous, and the distraught wife just discovering her husband’s affair. In tight skinny jeans and a plain, striped T-shirt, she looks more her age than ever before. Her honey-colored hair is pulled into a high ponytail, curly strands brushing the nape of her neck. To my pleasant surprise, she offers a weak smile when she catches me mid-knock.
“I was waiting by the door,” she admits in her sweet southern twang. “Please come in.”
My hand falls to my side and I offer my own shy smile. “Thank you,” I say gratefully after she closes the door behind me. Without comment, she pivots around and walks into the place of our first meeting—the contemporary and cozy living room. We take the same seats as before; I’m on the couch and she sits next to me on a brightly patterned accent chair. This time there’s a noticeable absence of pleasant feelings between us.
A full minute—I know because I count each second—goes by in silence. The room that used to feel comfortable now is claustrophobic. Innately I understand I should be the first to speak, especially because I called this meeting.
“Coffee?” Amanda asks as the same time that I blurt out, “Amanda, I’m…” When our words mesh together, we both stop short. Our eyes meet and, despite the thick tension, we share another hesitant grin.
“I would love some coffee, thank you.”
Amanda shifts around and calls out to her housekeeper, Paloma, requesting beverages for us both. The familiarity of
the gesture makes me relax a smidge.
“Beautiful day out,” Amanda mutters as Paloma enters the room, placing a tray on the coffee table separating us.
“Yes,” I agree.
Amanda and I both thank Paloma as she departs. I pour milk into my coffee to gain another free moment before tackling the topic at hand.
Where do I start?
“Amanda, I’m here because I need to apologize to you.”
She raises her eyebrows quizzically. “For what? I already know you weren’t the one having an affair with my husband. It was another one of Claire’s games.”
Another one?
I don’t realize that I’ve spoken out loud until Amanda laughs bitterly. “You probably know better than I do how easily she twists the truth.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” I grimace. “But, Claire aside, I wish that this was all some ugly nightmare and with one pinch we could wake up and realize it never happened.”
“Me too,” she says grimly. “I owe you an apology, Eddie.”
“Why?” I ask incredulously.
“This isn’t the first time Peter’s had an affair. When Claire told me you were sleeping with him I was fast to accept it because it was easier to be furious with you than myself or Peter.” She shrugs her slim shoulders, avoiding my eyes. “At the Franklin & Smith party I saw the way Harris looked at you, and I saw the way you looked at him. It was clear as a cloudless day you were smitten by him. I should have put it together that Claire would sabotage your relationship with Harris by using Peter’s affair.”
“Amanda,” I say softly. Her eyes flicker to mine and she smiles sadly. “We were both victims of Claire’s deception. The ramifications were tenfold worse for you. I cannot express how sorry I am for what happened and for the part that I unknowingly played.”
She gives me a wobbly smile.
“I kicked him out.”
Placing my cup carefully in its saucer, I lean my body across the table and cover her hand with mine.
“And I told Claire never to call me again once she confessed that she lied about you and Peter.”
