harriedandharassed

You've never ridden in a helicopter before. 

It's much louder than you anticipated and it smells of oil and old coffee. Frankie says if it was his own helicopter it would be spotless. But as this is a work one he borrowed for the day, beggars can't be choosers. 

You can't stop sneaking looks at him as he flies. There's so much that goes into flying - one hand rests on the controls while the other makes precise adjustments. And as he always was in his youth, he does everything with a calm focus.  He isn't showing off for you, he just knows exactly what he he's doing. Every motion is like second nature, and you muse that some people are just meant for certain things. 

Frankie was meant for flying. 

Your stomach is still a little jumpy from the start of the flight, your heart still pattering a bit quicker than normal, even though you trust Frankie with your life. It was still strange to see the world grow smaller and smaller beneath you, to hear the swop wop wop of the blades cutting through the sky. 

Your headset sits comfortably over your ears and you hear a crackle and then Frankie's raspy voice coming through. 

"You doing okay, Pip?" 

You look his way, nodding. You're doing okay; you just wish that Hilary was with you today. 

The entire idea of flying out here was Frankie's idea, a suggestion brought to you and Hilary the day before the official funeral. 

The three of you sat around the kitchen table sharing the brownies Frankie brought. They sat on plates, untouched in front of all of you. 

“I can’t wait until all of this is over,” Hilary sighed, taking a drag of her cigarette.

“Tell me about it,” you mumbled, your eyes red from crying all night.

Frankie’s shoulder touched yours, a silent reminder that he was there for you if you should need him.

“Well, we can take your mom's ashes to Blue Heron like she wanted when you’re ready,” Frankie told you both quietly, fingers absently playing with his fork. “No rush.”

“No we can’t,” Hilary frowned. “It’s condemned plus all that road deterioration means we’d never manage to get up there.”

Your heart sank as you thought of failing in the one thing your mother requested. You found yourself surprised that Frankie didn’t seem deterred.

"I know, Pip told me. But we can get there by helicopter. I talked to my boss and I can rent one for the day. You just tell me when.”

You burst into grateful tears as Hilary just sat there at the table, eyes wide in disbelief. 

It wasn’t until later that night when you and Hilary were alone that she gave you a solemn look.

"Will you do it? I just ... Can't. I don't like heights.”

Hillary had never had issues with heights. But did have issues with drawn out farewells. You knew it was too emotional for her. Too hard to do that final step and say goodbye and for once, you came to her aid. 

"Of course." 

So it's just Frankie and you touching down into Blue Heron with your mother's ashes in a metal urn held securely in your lap. 

Frankie sneaks a glance your way, can see the nerves in you and you knowi this was the truck he'd be reaching over to squeeze your knee, to quickly press a kiss to your cheek at a stop sign. However, behind this beast of a helicopter, his focus needs to remain on the task at hand. 

But that doesn't stop him from shooting you a soft smile before turning his attention back to the console. 

"There it is, baby." 

Through the curved windshield the abandoned camp appears below as a dark patch of collapsed docks and overgrown trails swallowed by green. Isolated and forgotten, many areas patchy from lack of growth. But there is a large section big enough for his chopper.

You glance Frankie's way, eyes meeting briefly before he's focused back on guiding you both down. As the helicopter descends, the lake's surface ripples outward beneath the downdraft. Tall grass begins to bend flat, leaves and pine needles spiraling into the air like mini tornados. 

Even as the winds nudge the helicopter on your descent, Frankie remains completely composed, dark eyes scanning the instruments and horizon with steady focus. The helicopter finally touches down with a soft bump on the earth below you hold your breath. The rotors gradually slow and the blades thundering chops stutter to a stop.  

You remove your headphones and all that's left is the quiet sound of the birdsong and a gentle lapping of the lake against a weathered and collapsed dock. 

You don't move right away, the weight of the urn heavy on your lap. You just stare out the windshield, looking at the still campground. You’re scared of this next step.

“No rush, Pip. We can go when you’re ready.”

You look over to see your boyfriend gazing at you with concern. Of course Frankie knows without you saying a word. 

"I'm ready." 

You climb out, Frankie's hands at your waist, boots sinking briefly into damp moss. It's hard to imagine this place once overrun by happy tourists. He takes the urn from you, carrying it in one arm, the other snaking around your middle.

"You got this, Pip," he tells you. His lips brush yours. "I'm here every step of the way." 

The two of you move through the trails, the green canopies of shivering treetops. The sun is warm on your shoulders but the breeze fragrant from the flowers that grow in wild directions. 

When you come to the lake you suddenly understand your mother's love for it. The sun makes the surface of the water glitter and you can imagine her here, her youthful face tipped to the sun, her shoulders bare.

The dock is rotted away, unable to be tred on. But the shoreline is pristine, welcoming as you move towards it. You wonder if your mother ever jumped off the deck in a cannon ball formation or a sleek dive. 

"I'm gonna give you some space," Frankie murmurs as you take the urn from him. "Unless you need me."

The afternoon light streams through the trees, catching the strong lines of his face and brim of his cap. You fall a little bit more in love with him in that moment.

Yes, you do need Frankie. You need him in your life, in your bed, in your thoughts. But for now, you want time with your mom. 

"I've got it." 

Turning from him you make your way to the water, eyes stuck on the beautiful serenity.  The lake is so beautiful, the day so perfect. The wind is soft it's a caress against your cheek. 

You stare down at the urn you hold and find it strange to think of how a person with all their huge experiences and big feelings can somehow fit into such a small totem. 

You remember the way your mother smiled when you got into college, how her hugs felt when you were sick. You remember the way she rubbed your back and told you she loved you. 

You unscrew the lid of the urn as you think of her. How she too was doing life for the first time. 

Thank you for bringing me into the world.

Thank you for always having open arms. 

Thank you for trying your best. 

"Goodbye, mom," you whisper, gingerly tipping the urn over. You watch as the ashes pour slowly from the lip, carried on the wind and out onto the lake. 

Thank you for being my mom. 

The ashes scatter into the water and wind, a swirl of memory and life and body committed to the earth and water. And there's something so poetic in that, to be returned to the world in this form. 

"I'll take care of Hilary," you promise her. "And she'll take care of me." 

You take a few minutes of quiet, head bowed, hands holding the empty urn at your waist. 

Finally, with tears dried you raise your head. You look over at the trees to where Frankie balances his shoulder against a tree, thick arms crossed, just watching you.  When he sees you look his way, his brows twitch up. You motion for him to join you and he does so quickly, arms outstretched to gather you against him when he approaches. 

"Thank you," you say, breathing in the warmth of the sun on his clothes. "For the flight and for being here and just.... Thank you, Frankie." 

The two of you walk hand in hand back to the helicopter, a strange feeling of bliss found in the quiet of this moment, a comedown. It's a good sensation, you observe.

 Like the end of one book and the start of another. 

“Are you insane?”

You sit with Hilary at the kitchen table with bleary eyes swollen from the tears you two can't seem to stop. Fragrant coffee steam wafts from chipped mugs, but both remain untouched.  

The dividing of your mother's assets was quick and adroit. She didn't have much, a few pieces of jewelry from her own grandparents (A necklace of which was given to Rosalita, despite her initial refusal), your mother's meager savings and a few odds and ends. 

The house however, is mortgage free. A true asset having been bought long before the increasing surge in real estate prices. The manila folder holding the deed to the house, and your ownership stake signed over to your sister. 

"Seriously, have you lost it? I can't accept an entire fucking house," Hilary says with a shake of her head, pushing the folder towards you across the kitchen table. 

"Why not?"

"Because it's not fair to you."

Your folded hands remain unchanged, your temperament serene. You knew the second the deed was in your hand that it would be passed to your sister. 

"It's not fair that you stayed home and took care of Mom for most of your life," you correct. 

Your voices are hushed in the early morning, faces painted amber from the gaps between windows curtains. A stripe of it cuts your sister's concerned expression in half. 

"I didn't do it for that. She was our mom."

"Of course you didn't," you say. "Hilary, for all you did, please take this with my gratitude and my love. No strings." 

She balks, mouth opening, brows pointing before something stops her. It makes her body relax back into the chair. "You don't want me to buy you out or something?" 

You both know she has no money to do that. But having lived here these months you realize the emotional and physical Burtons you placed upon your older sister, assuming she could hold the weight of it all. A house still doesn't seem enough for all she did. 

"No. I just want you to have it."

Her eyes sweep up along the corners of the kitchen, to the faded linoleum and the sink that never quite stopped dripping. It's nowhere near a perfect home, but there's safety in the familiarity for her. 

You can see it in Hilary's face, the sudden realization she will no longer be un-moored. The freedom in this ownership. 

"This whole house just for me?" She says, and when she looks at you for a moment, you see a flicker of the headstrong teenage girl she was. You're taken back to the times when that bravado would fall, like a mask slipping down. 

She gives you a raw, naked look of concern. A girl worried she's going to do the wrong thing because she has always done the wrong thing. 

"Yeah," you nod before reaching across the table. You squeeze her limp palm tightly before retracting. "And Justin, if that's what you want."

Justin is still sleeping in Hilary's old room, and at the mention of him your sister lets a smile twist one side of her mouth. 

"Yeah. I want that if he does." 

Ever since Justin flew in, the two of you have become fast friends. You love the way he looks at your sister, with this constant adoration that Hilary pretends to hate. Maybe she did hate it at one time, considering that kindness was a weakness. You think she sees this differently now.

You hope she does. 

Because in the quiet moments when they think they're being unobserved, you watch as your sister rests her head upon his shoulder, the way he brushes the hair from her eyes and kisses her slowly. 

And you know then that Justin will love your sister with all he has, that he will continue to doggedly pursue her until she understands that love can come quietly, that it can be constant. 

That it's never too late. 

At home the following evening you sit on Frankie's porch swing, the night dark and the stars twinkling. You feel a chill to your upper arm as Frankie presses a chilled glass of lemonade to it. 

You take it with thanks, shifting to get closer to him when he joins you on the porch swing. He puts an arm around you, pulling you close. Every day it seems the two of you want to melt more and more into one another. 

You feel that Frankie's eyes are trained on you and you look up to see he's got those big, brown, puppy dog eyes; the ones that give away every emotion he possesses the second he feels them. 

And right now they look anxious. 

"So, guess you'll be heading back to Seattle soon." 

It's a topic the two of you have been dancing around recently. Between the late nights talking, meeting Justin, the reminiscing of good times, your mom's passing, any thoughts of the future seem to have been put on hold. 

But now as you think of your mother's ashes dancing in the wind, you're affronted with one singular realization. 

Home is wherever Frankie is. 

"I dunno about that," you shrug, snuggling up closer to him. "I can work remote so I don't necessarily have to go back." 

His body is tensed and, you feel his heavy arm band tighter against your middle. 

"But you love Seattle," Frankie says, his chest rumbling as he speaks. "You keep reminding me how crappy our coffee is here. How gators outnumber the humans." 

You giggle softly, cheeks swollen, eyes squinting. "Well, it's true." 

He pulls you closer as he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. He's contemplative, you can feel it in how he holds you a little tighter. 

"But, it's not so bad here," you offer, reveling in the light night breeze against your skin. 

"Pip, you hate Florida," Frankie says as he pulls back, eyes casting your way. You stare up at him, eyes limpid. 

"But a lot of people I love are here," you say softly. "One in particular I have no intention of saying goodbye to."

This pleases him, cheeks pink and mouth hitching into a grin. Despite the shield of his hat, you don't miss the dimple in his cheek as he nods. 

"Then you shouldn't have to say goodbye." 

You nod at him before snuggling closer. You inhale the scent of his cologne and fresh sweat, of old spice and the wind. Of Frankie. 

No, you shouldn't have to say goodbye. 

And you won't. 

"About time!" Santi calls over the heads of the bar patrons. Some look your way as you, Hilary and Justin enter. 

Santi is already at the table with Benny and Will, a jug of beer and several glasses waiting for the three of you. Justin and Hilary slide into the booth, Santi giving a good-natured shake of his head. 

"What the hell took you so long? And where's Fish?"

You can't tell him the real reason. That it was because Frankie had his mouth between your legs all afternoon, coaxing pleasure from you for so long that the two of you lost track of time. 

"Had to run some errands and Frankie said he was giving Tom a ride," you shrug. "I'm just gonna grab a drink.”

You weave through the bodies of people until you get to the bar. The man working is distracted by several other patrons so you wait, glancing over at the table. 

Justin is fitting in already. His arm around Hilary as he clicks bottles with the group. He says something and the group laughs uproariously. You smile when you see the way Hilary gazes up at him, a pleased smile on her face. She's so gone for this guy, the sight warms you. 

"No way! Hey babe!"

Fuck. 

Christy is there at your side, drink in hand. She moves with a shuffle, her long legs slightly wobbly. You force a polite smile. 

"Hi Christy." 

She smiles widely when she comes to stand opposite of you. She smells like cigarettes covered by perfume. She's still gorgeous, but her makeup is smudged, hair dishevelled

"You've been back all this time and we still haven't had a catch up!"

“Yeah, been busy.”

She starts to talk about the drinks here, how they’re overpriced and how she misses going to the beach with a six-pack and having a great time.

How are you going to avoid this interaction in the future? You forgot that when you move back here you're moving back into a world of characters you don't particularly enjoy. Into a history you tried to forget.

"There you are." 

Your eyes go over your shoulder to see Frankie approaching with Tom who gives a wave your way before going to join the rest of the table. 

"Hey," you smile, feeling yourself melt when Frankie comes to stand next to you. 

He's wearing that cologne that you love his dark grey t-shirt straining over his shoulders and biceps. His hair curls under his hat and when he smiles that dimple on one side deepens. Basically sex on legs. 

"Hi Frankie," Christy offers with a slur, eyes raking over his body. "S'good to see you." 

"Hey Christy," Frankie says politely, but his gaze never leaves yours. 

Christy watches over her glass as his hand slips around your waist to draw you closer. 

"Sorry I'm late." 

"No problem." 

He gets a heated look on his face before his warm breath on your ear, raspy voice dipped so only you can hear. 

"You look so good right now," he says, hand sliding along the hips of your jeans. "Forget hanging out with the guys. I wanna take you back to bed and ma-" 

You smirk, mouth meeting his in a short peck to stop his dirty thoughts from finishing before you whisper back. 

"Waiting is half the fun, Morales." 

"Not for me it isn't," he growls gently, his beard rasping against your cheek. 

You give him a playful shove before he can start saying more things that turn your insides to jelly.

"I'll be patient," he promises.  

He gives you a wink, patting your ass gently before moving towards the booth where everyone is chatting and drinking. He's halfway there before he turns around, brows raised.

"Coke with a lime," you say before he can speak. "I know." 

He grins from under his cap, teeth a slab of white against the bronze of his skin. 

"Thanks, baby." 

You watch him move to join the group, smiling when they cheer his arrival. You remember that Christy is there when you hear her sharp little gasp. 

"Holy shit! No way! When did that happen?" 

Now you feel your cheeks warming. "The first time?" 

Christy's eyes are blown wide, a grin slicing her face in half. "First time?! Girl, tell me everything!" 

With any other topic you'd skillfully avoid answering. But Frankie is a topic you never tire of. 

"We were pretty quiet about it," you admit with a shy look at the floor. "Back before I left for college."

Christy gives a squeak of delight, fingers finding yours on the bar top. She squeezes gently, her hands warm. "No fucking way!" 

She surprises you, going from looking elated to sobering, her already flushed cheeks pinking further. The man behind the bar takes your order and when he leaves, Christy is looking at you with an anguished expression. 

“What’s wrong?”

"I just remembered how I used to throw myself at him." She surprises you by crooking her slender arms around your neck, pulling you tightly against her for a hug.  "I'm so sorry. You must've thought I was such a bitch!" 

For a minute you stay still, confused at the action before slowly banding your arms around her narrow middle. 

"We were teenagers, Christy," you say with a sincere shrug as she pulls back, eyes wet. 

She places an order for another beer, her empty glass slid onto the bar top. 

"I swear if I'd known I never would have been so... Aggressive. I just thought he was just shy you know?"

"He was," you say, taking your drink from the bartender with a nod. Christy is still staring at you when you turn back. 

"Francisco was one of the few guys that was nice to me," she admits. "And like, not just so he could get in my pants."

Your heart clenches at her vulnerability. 

"Unlike Travis," she adds with a grimace before wincing. "I'm sorry, I know he was your friend-"

"Barely," you say with a disgusted curl of your lip. "Do you ever talk to him?" 

Christy gives a humorless chuckle 

"I saw him on Tindr last week. He's bald and his entire bio is just Taylor Swift lyrics." 

"I thought he was married?"

"Divorce was finalized a while ago," she says before thanking the bartender for her beer. She turns her attention back to you. "According to my Facebook stalking." 

You give a sharp, unexpected laugh at this, flashing a look at Frankie and the rest of the group. You can't wait to tell him this piece of gossip later.   

"I think he cheated on his wife," Christy continues in a stage whisper. "I mean, I'm not shocked...Anyway, I should let you get back to your group," Christy says, observing your attention on the table. "It was nice seeing you."

You look at Christy with her smudged lipstick and glassy eyes. At the outfit far too tight and her hair disheveled.  It would be so easy to hate her. To blame her for everything that happened, but how can you? She was a teenage girl desperate for connection. And it seems she's a grown woman looking for the same. 

You smile warmly, motioning over to the table of your laughing friends. 

"Hey Christy, why don't you join us?" 

You look around at your childhood bedroom, a cardboard box in your arms. There isn't much you're taking with you. A box of mementos, pictures, movie stubs...a keychain with a shell attached to it. 

"Hey, Pip."

Santi strides into your bedroom, his smile muted. He misses your mom, even if it's harder for him to admit out loud. He was the son she never had. 

"How you holding up?" 

You shrug, exhausted and sad and emotional. You lower the box to your dresser, walking over to give your cousin a tight hug. 

"Thank you for everything you did for her," you say into his shoulder. "And for me."

The two of you remain like this for a moment, transported into your childhood bodies. The way he would comfort you when your mom was too drunk. The way you would welcome him into your room after his dad started to beat him regularly. 

"Sometimes I wish we could go back to when it was simple," Santi whispers in a thick voice. "Before we knew our parents weren't perfect. Back when summers were forever and the world was just waiting to be discovered." 

"I know." 

"But I'm happy now too," he amends. "I love my job and my friends and ... Plus now you and Frankie are finally together. Finally." 

You smile against the collar of his jacket, so wide your cheeks hurt. 

"Yeah." 

You squeeze one another before stepping back. For a change, your cousin doesn't look like the confident man you normally see. He looks big-eyed and anxious. 

"Frankie says you're staying in Florida?" 

"Yeah." 

He gives you a hard look, one you've seen before. A look that challenges your answer. It makes you feel nervous, exposed and unsure. The room seems warmer, smaller, tighter. 

"Well, Hilary is here," you say when he remains silent. 

"So?" 

"She's my sister, Santi, and we're getting along." 

He crosses his arms over his chest, a move of bravado. He's getting irritated. 

"She never wanted you to end up here, Pip. You know that."

"Things change," you say as your mind drifts to Frankie. "People change." 

But you think about that conversation with Hilary that night. 

I knew your future wasn't here in the same town we grew up in.

But then as if by magic, the image of your boyfriend's face comes to mind. And with it, a flood of adoration then nearly takes your breath away. 

"And Frankie is here, his house is here," you say, eyes bright. "And that's enough for me. More than enough, actually." 

"Yeah?" 

You nod, eyes limpid. "Yeah." 

He's quiet for a lingering moment, eyes tracing your face as if trying to read your mind before he finally gives a tight smile. 

"I better go. My flight's coming in early tomorrow." 

He kisses your forehead, murmuring that he wants to keep in touch better. Knowing Santi you don't think it'll happen, but it sounds very nice in theory. 

You enter the kitchen, passing Hilary and Justin chatting quietly over the table. They glance up, smiling your way. 

"Boxes are all packed," you announce, giving a dramatic wipe of your brow. “Just need to do the suitcase.”

You move to pour a glass of water, Hilary tracking your moves. 

"You didn't have to rush through that," Hilary insists, mouth thinned. "I hope you didn't feel pressured."

"What? Not at all. I'm just excited to be moving into Frankie's place." 

Hilary doesn't reply, but you think you see a bit of concern there before she turns back to Justin. 

"What're you guys up to?"

"Justin got his managerial job back at the bar," Hilary says proudly nudging him. "The place was falling apart without him."

Justin gives a shy laugh, face pink. He's impossibly humble, and he'd never admit that the place is a dump ever since he left.

"How do your parents feel about you moving back to the US?" 

"They don't love the political situation," Justin admits. 

"That's fair," Hilary says exchanging a knowing look with you. You clink glasses before Justin continues. 

"But they love Hilary and they know I love her so they're happy for us. We might go visit them next summer."  

"That's fantastic," you say, grinning. You take a seat at the table with them, looking at the notes and sketches they've been scribbling. 

"What's all this?"

"We're talking about some renovations we might be able to do this year," Hilary says carefully scanning your face. "Maybe starting in here. What do you think about that?" 

"I think that's awesome," you say before taking a sip of your water.

"Really?" 

"Yeah," you nod, motioning to the far wall. "If that isn't load-bearing, you could knock it out and have a totally open concept main space." 

Hilary still looks troubled. "You're sure about that?"

You turn her way, brows rising. "Why wouldn't I be?" 

"Because we both grew up here," she reasons, blinking quickly. "And because I don't want you to think that this isn't your home anymore-"

"Hilary," you say softly placing a hand over hers. "I don't want it to be my home anymore." 

She looks confused, as does Justin. You feel your heart clenching as you gaze around the kitchen and remember some of the past. The good times, the bad. 

"It hasn’t been my home for a long time," you finally explain to them. "It’s just a house I used to live in. You have memories here I never will. Good ones. You lived here so long; it's a part of you. That's why I want you to have it and that's why I want you to do anything you want to it." 

Her eyes are watery. "But-"

"I mean it, Hil. All I ask is that you make good memories in this place from now on." You stand and extend a hand. "Deal?" 

You see the way she rubs at her eye before she stands as well, shaking your hand briefly as she grins. 

"Deal."

You're packing your suitcase later that day when the bedroom door creaks open behind you. You don't even hear Frankie approach; you just smile when he embraces you from behind, gentle kiss planted behind your ear. 

"Hey baby." 

"You're early," you say as he releases you and takes a seat on the edge of your old bed. "I just have a few more things to pop into my suitcase and then we can go."

"Yeah, it's about that. I wanted to talk you before we head to mine." 

"Why?" You smirk. "Changed your mind about me moving in, Morales?" 

You stop folding a pair of jeans halfway when he doesn't reply. You look up and your stomach plummets when you see the strange look he's wearing. 

"Wait…Are you?"

"It's just, my place isn't very big," he says. 

"I don't need a lot of space." 

"Well, you'll need an office and everything for work."

No no no. 

Didn't you already talk about this? Wasn't Frankie the one so eager for you to move in as soon as you felt ready? What made him change his mind? 

He gives a soft exhale before patting the space on the mattress next to him. You move slowly, lowering yourself without looking away from him. 

"I remember you telling me your apartment in Seattle is pretty nice. Two bedrooms and an office, right?" 

You nod dumbly. "Yeah."

"You haven't put it on the market yet, have you?" 

You shake your head, not trusting your voice to remain even as the truth makes itself apparent. 

He wants you to move back to Seattle. He wants you gone.  

"I don't understand... We agreed on me moving in today." 

"I just don't think it's a good idea moving all your stuff into my place."

Your stomach bottoms out, limbs trembling. He's leaving you. Dumping you. Forgetting you. It's like being thrown back through time into the body of that hurt and confused girl at the party. 

"What made you change your mind?" You force your voice to stay steady.

Frankie looks at his hands. You feel your temper rising when he won't make eye contact. 

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," he says quietly, eyes narrowed on the ground. "Realized it wasn't the best plan." 

You feel your insides quivering as you take in the nervous smoothing of his hair under his baseball cap.

"I thought about it," Frankie says, breath shaky as his eyes finally sail to your face. "And I talked to Tom last week and he thinks he can get me a good price for my place." 

A beat. 

"Huh?"

"Apparently it's a seller's market, whatever that means," Frankie shrugs. "But I need to get it stage ready by next week. So we might have to leave your big stuff here for a bit so I can get the place looking presentable. You think Hilary would mind?" 

A beat passes as you try to make sense of what Frankie is saying. 

“But…Frankie why?”

"Because when I sell it I’ll have the money to start over somewhere else..." Frankie's cheeks flush as he gives you a crooked grin. "Like, with my girlfriend in Seattle." 

Confusion floods your body as he talks.

"... Seattle?"

"Yeah, they have a lot of opportunities for a pilot out there," he says as if he hasn't just dropped a huge bomb on you. "The helicopter academy, places like that. I already talked to them and they want me for an interview in two weeks."  

"You want to move to Seattle with me?" You say, needing it spelled out for you. "Like, to live. Permanently?"

"Unless we decide we want to move somewhere else," he shrugs. "Who knows where we'll be staying in five years. Maybe we'll pick up and fuck off to Italy." 

He chuckles warmly at this, his hand finding your knee and squeezing. 

You can only stare at him.

"Is Hilary making you do this?" 

"Huh?"

"She never wanted me to stay here in Florida," you say, voice rising. “Did she make you do this?”

Frankie almost looks amused. "Pip, you know I think your sister is great, but there's no chance I'd let her tell me what to do."

"So you just came up with this yourself? Uprooting your life to Seattle?" 

"Yeah." 

His eyes are gentle and soft at the edges and you realize you've read this entire situation wrong. 

And suddenly there's this great big adventure in front of you, this world that you never thought possible. A city you love a man you love. 

You think of walking hand in hand with him through Pike Place Market, stopping to look at produce, Frankie buying you flowers when you're not looking.  You think of fresh coffee sipped on your apartment balcony with Frankie behind you, one arm around your waist, chin propped over your shoulder, murmuring about how happy he is. You imagine the light patter of rain on the rooftop as you and Frankie make slow and tender love under the sheets, blanketed in the serene gray blue of an overcast sky. 

Bliss. 

But then this excitement gives way to guilt, something that you can't shake off when you look at him. Because for a minute there's that shy boy with oversized T-shirts, who lost his parents that you remember so well. 

You think of that house he grew up in, how the echoes of his past are in every nook and cranny. The bedroom where he took your virginity, the kitchen where he gave you your first kiss. 

It's asking too much of him. 

He draws closer to you on the mattress, urging you under his arm so you can burrow tightly against his side, but your mind is going everywhere. 

"If that's what you want," he rasps. "I don't want to pressure you." 

You jerk your chin up, eyes wide. 

"Of course I want you and that life, Frankie. But y-you can't give your house up for me," you stammer, guilt and excitement all building within your belly. "You can't- You grew up there. It's the only constant home you've ever known. You're saying you want to give that up? Plus the job you just got back?" 

His dimple deepens, a serene look crossing his face

"You're acting like I'll get nothing in return by doing it," Frankie murmurs. "Baby, I get a future with you. Who gives a shit about an old house?" 

Sometimes Frankie says the most amazing things, things that take your breath away, and this is no exception.

"And I can work anywhere with an airport," he assures you. "Might be nice to go work somewhere that doesn't have staff gossiping about my suspension." 

You're stunned into silence, any response, any refusal completely wiped from your mind. Frankie seems to know this, his dark eyes scanning yours.

"It's time, Pip," he says gently, warm hand squeezing yours. He lifts it to his mouth and you feel the soft plush of his lips kissing the center of your palm sweetly. "I'm done living in the past. I want a future with you full of the good memories we'll make together. A new start." 

"A new start," you echo. 

He shoots you a crooked grin, a bundle of nervous excitement. "So? What do you say?"  

Your heart squeezes with love for him. Love for the boy he was and love for the man he is now. Love for the future he's offering and the sacrifices he makes without question. 

Your glossy gaze is caught in Frankie's, smile mirroring his as you lean in for a kiss. And just as his lips are about to press against yours, your answer is given. 

"Yes." 

I am gonna miss these two HARD.

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After dinner—which was cut short after what happened—Harry remained out on the deck of his parents’ villa. He was seated at the edge of it, staring down at the clear blue water. His eyes were red, tears continuing to trickle down his cheeks as he thought about you and the fact that he hurt you. 

Not only emotionally, but physically too. 

He just couldn’t do anything right. 

Maybe you had a point. Maybe this trip was clouding both your sense of reality. Maybe you two weren’t meant for each other and this trip—being so close to him like this—just made you both feel things that you wouldn’t have felt otherwise. 

But he had to believe that wasn’t true. 

Because if it was, it wouldn’t have hurt this much. 

Harry heard the sliding door open. It was already late. 

He should be asleep now. 

He should be with you. 

Harry didn’t have to look over to know that it was his mother who sat down next to him. She had ended the dinner after he confessed, after he admitted that everything with you was fake… until it wasn’t. 

“You should get some sleep,” she said softly, quietly.

“I’m not tired,” he muttered.

“Harry, honey…”

Harry looked at her. He was completely wrecked. Tears pooled at his eyes. His eyes were bloodshot, voice raspy, and shoulders slumped forward. “I don’t want to go to sleep… because tomorrow is the last day and I don’t—I don’t want this to end.”

She sighed. “Why did you lie? About her? About your relationship?”

Harry laughed bitterly. 

He looked away from her and out into the dark sky. “Because you guys wouldn’t stop bothering me. After Lucy, it was just nonstop. I’d hear about it at work. Or during our lunches. Or whenever I’d come over… and I was just tired, ma,” he admitted. “I couldn’t breathe. You, dad, and Peter tried to fix me up almost every week—do you know how exhausting that is?”

“Honey—”

“And maybe I should’ve been honest,” Harry interrupted quietly. “But if I had been, would you guys have stopped?”

She sighed quietly and shook her head. “I’m sorry. We didn’t know.”

“That’s the thing, isn’t it? None of you do. My breakup with Lucy hurt,” Harry confessed. “Because I had envisioned a future with her… but I knew she wasn’t—we weren’t meant for each other in that way.” 

His mother’s eyes softened. She reached out and gently rubbed his back. 

“So, to get you guys to stop, I asked—” Harry sighed, then said your name quietly. “I asked her to pretend to be my girlfriend. I figured… why not? You guys know her. She and I are friends. It would be easy.”

His mother listened. She didn’t interrupt. She turned her body to face Harry, lower lip pulled between her teeth. She knew Harry had always been the serious and sensitive one out of him and Peter, but she had never seen him this heartbroken over a woman before. Sure, he had been hurt in the past, but never did it cause him to spiral like this. 

“But that’s the thing… It was too easy, ma,” he whispered. “It was like—it was like something I had been missing. Something I had been searching for in other women. It had always been her… so why did it take this trip for me to see that?” Harry finally turned to look at his mother. His brows cinched together, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“I don’t know, honey,” she finally said. “Life’s funny that way, you know? Maybe—Maybe you both weren’t ready for each other before.” 

Harry shook his head. 

Then, he continued. “Our relationship—it was always just sex. We never really did catch any feelings for each other. If she was seeing someone exclusively or if I was, we’d end it.”

“Maybe you should ask yourself why you both kept going back to each other, then.”

“What do you mean?” 

“How long was this physical relationship?” She asked.

“Years.”

“Right… and you had been with other women during these last few years.”

Harry nodded.

“And when you were single and she was single, would you both then continue that relationship?”

He nodded once more. “Yes.”

“Then, you’re asking the wrong question, honey,” she said, reaching up to cup his cheek gently. “You both kept going back to each other for a reason. Sure, you both can say that you didn’t want each other in that way, but your hearts—they yearn for each other.”

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. He was trying to hold back the tears, tried to keep it together, but he couldn’t. Because this pain in his chest wasn’t something he had ever felt before. It was like the walls were closing in on him and the only one who could save him was you. 

“You weren’t ready for her back then… and she wasn’t ready for you either.”

“And now? Now, we are?” Harry asked.

“I’d like to think so,” she answered. “If you love her, Harry, don’t give up.”

“She doesn’t want me,” he muttered. 

“You don’t believe that’s true, do you?”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” Harry answered. “It’s what she said.”

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed and moved her other hand to cup his cheek. She stared into his deep brown eyes, glistening with tears. “If you let her go… it’s going to be the biggest regret of your life.” 

He pressed his lips together. The corners of it trembled. “I don’t—I don’t know how to fix this…” 

“You don’t have to fix anything,” she said. “You just need to tell her how you feel.”

“I tried.”

“Clearly not hard enough,” his mother teased. “Harry, she’s a strong and stubborn woman. I believe you know her better than I do, but she needs to hear you say those words that you feel deep in your chest. That pain you feel right now? That won’t go away if you let her go.” 

“P—Peter said I would have to just move on. I tried—I tried to get her to listen earlier and it didn’t work.”

She sighed. “Well, you shouldn’t have listened to Peter. That was your first mistake,” she laughed quietly.

Harry let out a quiet chuckle. It was a much needed relief after the tightness in his chest. It went away briefly, but it came back full force. Like it was reminding him of the person he was losing. 

“You don’t move on from this type of love, honey.”

“How do you know?”

“This type of love only happens once,” she said. “You let her go… and you’ll be chasing that feeling for the rest of your life.” 

Harry pulled back and away from her grasp. He turned to look back at the water. It didn’t feel right—trying to get you to understand and change your mind when you already told him what you wanted. 

“Harry,” his mother said. “You’re not forcing her to stay,” she reassured. “But she at least needs to hear how you feel about her.”

He didn’t reply. Harry just kept his gaze back onto the water. 

“Thank you, ma,” he finally said. 

She sighed. “Get up.”

“What?”

“Get up,” she stood from the deck and extended her hand out for him. “I know she said for you to stay the night, but I think she’s gonna be glad to see you at your villa.”

“Mom,” he sighed. 

“Get up, Harry.” She repeated. “And don’t make me ask you again. I know you’re hurting, but you have a choice here, honey… And I’m not going to let you choose to sulk here when you have a woman who loves you just as much as you love her.” 

Harry looked up at her. He sighed and stood from the deck, taking her hand in his and standing up. He towered over—especially since getting leg lengthening surgery—but he still had such a soft spot for his mother. Whatever she said goes. 

“I love you,” she said, moving a hand to his chest. “But you need to be stubborn right back.”

“I can’t make her stay.”

“You’re not trying to make her stay.”

“Then, what am I trying to do?” Harry asked.

She sighed. “Harry, you’re going to be completely and wholeheartedly honest with her. You’re going to put everything on the table… You were ready to do it with Lucy.” 

“That was because it was the most logical choice.”

“Do you hear yourself?” His mother asked. “Love isn’t supposed to be a logical choice.”

He sighed. “I know that.” 

“Good. So, go back to your villa. Be there when she wakes up,” she said with a soft smile. His mother leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Tomorrow is the last day. It’s now or never, honey.”

Harry had gone back to the villa like his mother advised. When he stepped inside, it was eerily quiet. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, especially when everything just felt unresolved. He tried to keep in mind what his mother told him—there had to be a reason why you both kept going back to each other, and it wasn’t just the sex. It had become more than that, even before this trip. 

He found comfort in you. After his failed relationships, you were the first person he wanted to see. Not because he needed you physically, but because you grounded him in ways that no one else could. 

He told himself it was only because of the sex, that you were just someone he could use as convenience, but this trip opened his eyes to so many things that he hadn’t seen before. 

Because Harry did love you. 

He figured he always did. 

And maybe his mother was right. Maybe you both weren’t ready for each other then, but you both were now. He had to be sure of that.

Because he couldn’t let you go. 

At least not without telling you how he truly felt about you. 

So, Harry walked down the hallway quietly, just to check in on you. The door had remained opened, which he found surprising, given that you had wanted your space. 

But when he stepped inside, Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. 

You were curled on your side, back facing him, but he could see the shirt you were wearing. It was one of his own. He glanced at his luggage and a small smile pulled at his lips to see that it was open—you had gone through his luggage just so that you could have something of his to sleep with. 

It made him hopeful. 

Gave him a bit of confidence. 

Maybe you did love him too. 

He stepped further into the room and carefully grabbed one end of the blanket to cover you. Harry draped it gently over your midsection, biting his lower lip at the sight of you. He leaned down and gently kissed your forehead. 

“I love you, baby,” he whispered. “I’m going to make things right. I promise.” 

You moved just a bit, but otherwise remained asleep. Harry gazed at you for a few seconds longer before he stood upright and left the bedroom quietly. 

He was going to fix this. 

Harry wasn’t going to leave this trip without putting everything on the table. 

Because he wanted you. 

Now, and for the rest of his life. 

The following morning, you had woken up feeling a bit restless. You looked around the bedroom and sighed. Harry wasn’t here, which you knew already, but part of you hoped that he’d at least come back. You reached for your phone and looked at the time, biting your lower lip when you realized that today was the last day of this trip. 

Watching that video last night opened your eyes to things that you failed to see before. Harry loved you; he admitted it on the video, and maybe that was what he was trying to tell you along. 

You knew that you had to talk to him at some point today, but that you also still needed to play the part as his girlfriend. With everything that happened, especially last night, you weren’t sure how either of you could continue this charade. 

Determined to speak to Harry before the party, you stood from bed, pulled on your sleep pants and walked to the bathroom to brush your teeth. You were determined—you were going to go to his parents’ villa where you told him to stay last night and ask to talk with him. 

Harry had woken up early that morning before the sun even came up. He hadn’t slept much, but for the first time since everything that happened, he was feeling positive. Seeing you in his shirt last night in bed, the conversation with his mother, it felt like things were much more clear to him now. 

He didn’t have to hide the fact that everything about this relationship was fake to begin with because at some point during this trip, he stopped being pretending. It also felt like a relief that he didn’t have to hide anymore from his family. 

So, before you had woken up, Harry decided to leave the villa only to surprise you with some breakfast and flowers. He didn’t know what he would say or how he would say it, but Harry knew that he was going to tell you just how much he loved you. 

The walk to his parents’ villa didn’t take that long. You were nervous, each step you took bringing you that closer to the man that you had been in love with. It terrified you—the thought of being in love. It had always been difficult for you, which was something both you and Harry had in common. 

Knocking on the door, you fidgeted with your hands. You were expecting Harry to open the door, but felt a bit of relief when it was his mother instead. She looked at you and smiled warmly—it managed to calm down the nerves that settled in the pit of your stomach. 

“Morning,” she smiled. 

“Morning,” you replied. “Is—Is, uh, is he here?” 

His mother furrowed a brow in confusion. “No, I told him to go back to the villa last night. Is he not there?” 

You shook your head. “I didn’t see him…” you looked down at your feet and sighed. “Then again, I wasn’t really looking either. I just—I wanted to come straight here before I talked myself out of it.” 

She nodded and opened the door even further. “Come in, let’s talk, yeah?” 

“Are you sure? I know you have to get ready and—”

“A cup of coffee won’t delay the party,” she laughed quietly. “Besides, the party can wait. Come in.” 

You sighed and nodded, stepping across the threshold and into the villa. You felt severely underdressed compared to her—it was still quite early and she looked so put together. 

“I’m an early riser,” she said, leading you away from the front door and towards the kitchen. “His father, on the other hand, still asleep.” 

You laughed quietly and followed her quietly. “Harry’s also an early riser,” you pointed out. “At least from what I’ve noticed.” 

She nodded in agreement. “Yes, he says that he can get a lot done in the morning.” 

“Always so efficient,” you smiled. Sitting down on the stool, you watched her pour your a cup of coffee before setting it down in front of you. 

“How are you?” She finally asked. “Were you able to get some sleep?” 

You shook your head and looked down at your mug. “Not really, no. Last night was… intense. I’m sorry that happened.” 

She waved her hand in the air dismissively. “We all have our disagreements,” she reasoned. “There’s nothing you need to apologize for.” 

“He didn’t mean to push me either,” you added. “It was just—wrong timing.” 

“I know,” she said softly. “Because if it had been on purpose, I would’ve made a bigger scene, believe me.” 

You glanced at her and smiled. 

Then, you shifted your gaze back down to your mug after taking a careful sip. 

“Are you excited for your party?” 

She nodded with a smile. “I’m excited to celebrate with my husband and family, yes.” 

“Fifty years,” you said quietly. “That’s… that’s amazing.” Then, you thought back to the first day of this trip. The words Harry said when you went out to lunch with his family since arriving.  

“Imagine where you’ll be in fifty years, Harry,” you said.

“Hopefully with you,” he blurted out. 

“It’s nice to have someone go through life with,” she said softly. “We’ve had many ups and downs the last fifty years,” she continued. “But I can’t imagine my life without him. That’s a bit cheesy, no?” 

You shook your head and allowed a smile to curl your lips. “I think it’s beautiful. I think you’re lucky… you found someone to spend all those years with.” 

“You have too,” she said. “And I think you know it.” 

You bit your lower lip. “I think I love your son,” you whispered. “But I’m terrified. I don’t know what that looks like or how that changes.” 

“I think being scared is a good thing,” she replied. “It means your feelings are real.” 

You sighed. “I really messed up,” you whispered. “I broke him and I didn’t—I just—” You felt tears sting your eyes. “Last night, I was going through my camera roll and noticed a video he recorded. He said he loved me, said he always did.” 

His mother smiled. 

Then, you straightened up. 

Because to you, his mother still wasn’t aware that any of this was fake. “What I mean is that—we just haven’t said those words yet in our relationship.” 

She reached out for you and placed a hand over yours. “I know.” 

“What?” 

“I know “ she repeated. “Harry told me everything last night.” 

“He did?” 

“Said everything at first was pretend… until it wasn’t,” she said. “And I’m sorry that he dragged you in this, that you both felt the need to lie.” 

You shrugged. “I’d do anything for him,” you said. “He knows that… just like I know he’d do anything for me.” 

She smiled. “You know, I told him last night, that both your hearts yearn for each other. Why else do you think you both kept going back to each other?” 

You chewed at your lower lip anxiously. “He told you everything…” 

She laughed quietly and nodded. “Listen, I’m not here to judge. What my son does on his own time is his own business, and I’ll only step in if I absolutely need to.” 

“It really was just a physical relationship,” you said. 

“Honey,” she smiled, squeezing your hand. “It stopped being just a physical relationship when you said you’d do anything for him.” 

You sighed and looked up at her. “I’m sorry… that we lied. I didn’t expect that it would turn out like this,” you said honestly. 

She shook her head and moved to sit next to you. “You’re family now. I hope you know that.” 

You bit your lower lip. “Can I stay here just until I’m done with my coffee?” You asked. 

She smiled. “Of course.” 

“I’m just nervous,” you admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone.” 

“Good,” she said, reaching up to gently rub your back soothingly—reassuringly. “Hold onto that.” 

Harry was mumbling under his breath, practicing what he was going to tell you, when he stepped into the villa. He let out a nervous breath and walked into the kitchen, setting the tray of food down with the two cups of coffee. He looked around and furrowed a brow. You would’ve been awake by now. 

So, he called out your name. 

Quietly. 

Hesitantly. 

You didn’t answer. 

He walked down the hallway and into the bedroom. You weren’t there. You weren’t in the bathroom. Harry sighed and sat at the edge of the bed. He glanced at the nightstand and noticed your phone—it wasn’t like he could give you a call to ask where you were either.

The hope and confident he felt last night slowly diminished. 

He was ready. This morning, Harry was ready to tell you everything. 

He had it planned, all the way down to what he wanted to say, what he wanted to tell you. 

Thinking that you wanted your space, Harry stood from the bed and grabbed his suit that hung in the closet, gently placing it down onto the bed and grabbing other necessary items to get ready. 

He reached for his phone, sent a text to Peter, and then grabbed the small notepad that rested on the nightstand. Harry wrote a brief note for you—simple and straight to the point. 

I’m sorry about last night. You probably still need your space, so I’ll be getting ready at Peter’s villa. 

I’ll see you at the party, baby. 

Harry ripped the piece of paper from the notepad and set it on the nightstand, right near your phone. He sighed quietly and grabbed his things before leaving the bedroom and then the villa. He glanced at the breakfast he had gotten, suddenly not hungry, but decided to bring it over to Peter and Charlotte in case they hadn’t eaten yet. 

Peter opened the door to his villa when Harry knocked just a few minutes later. He sighed at his older brother and opened the door further, allowing Harry to step through the threshold. 

“Thank you,” Harry said. “You didn’t have to agree to letting me get ready here.” 

Peter shook his head. “I overstepped,” he replied. “I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry.” 

Harry nodded. “I’m sorry, too. I was just—just upset.” 

“I know. Come on, let’s put the food down and I’ll pour you a cup of coffee.” 

“And Charlotte?” Harry asked. 

“She doesn’t know,” Peter answered. “I didn’t tell her. It’s not—it’s not something that she needs to know.” 

“Thank you,” Harry sighed. He followed Peter further into the villa, carefully setting the food onto the kitchen counter before walking into the living area where he set down his suit and shoes. 

“You talk to mom or dad today?” Peter asked, walking into the living area with two mugs of coffee. 

“Not yet,” he answered, taking the mug from him and following his younger brother out onto the deck outside. “Talked to mom last night though.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Told her the truth.” 

“You did? How—how was that?” Peter asked. 

“Freeing,” Harry answered. 

Peter sighed. “I am sorry, you know. I just wanted you happy.” 

He nodded and glanced over at him. “I know.” 

“And getting into… whatever you have going on right now, I shouldn’t have made it bigger than it was.” 

“What’s done is done,” Harry said. “I don’t know if I would’ve had the courage to admit how I felt about her if you or Charlotte didn’t get involved.”

“So, you love her,” Peter smiled. 

“I do,” he nodded. “But I don’t know if me telling her how I feel will even change anything. It might just make her run further away from me.” 

Peter shrugged. “But at least you could say you tried, right? I think that’s better than just letting her go.” 

Harry looked down at his mug, biting his lower lip as his mind drifted to you. “What do I do… if she doesn’t want this? Doesn’t want me?” He asked quietly. 

“I don’t know,” Peter answered honestly. “I think we just have to hope that she does.” 

Harry sighed. “Last night, when I came back to the villa, she was—she was asleep in my shirt, Peter. Curled up, snuggled to the pillow, and I just—it was like I was looking at my future, you know? My heart just raced faster at the sight of her.”

Peter nodded. 

“I’ve always loved her,” he continued. “And I think it’ll break me if—if she doesn’t want this.” Harry glanced over at his brother, tears filling his eyes before he looked away. “I don’t know if I can take it, honestly.” 

“This trip—it showed you what was right in front of you all this time,” Peter said softly. “And maybe it did the same for her. I would have a hard time believing if she said she doesn’t feel the same way, Harry.” 

Harry nodded and then took another careful sip of his coffee. “When did you decide that Charlotte was it for you?” He asked honestly. 

Peter smiled. “I don’t think there was just one single moment,” he answered. “It was many small moments… then I started imagining my future and what that looked like. And I knew that I wanted it with her.” 

“I just—I don’t know why it took me this long,” Harry said.

“Maybe some part of you always knew,” Peter reasoned. 

“Yeah, maybe.” 

“Do you know when you’ll try and talk to her?” 

Harry shook his head. “I was going to talk to her this morning, but she wasn’t at our villa when I got back. So, I think maybe she just needs more space.” 

“Today’s the last day, Harry,” Peter said. “You don’t have to wait for the perfect moment.” 

“I know that,” he sighed. “I’ll—I’ll talk to her after the party.” 

“Good,” Peter said, reaching over and squeezing his brother’s shoulder reassuringly. “She loves you, Harry. Maybe she’s just thinking about her way of telling you.” 

“I hope so,” he whispered, looking up the sky and noticing the clouds coming in. “Guess we should get ready, huh?” 

Peter nodded with a smile. “If we’re late, you know we won’t hear the end of it.” 

By the time you made it back to the villa, you were expecting to find Harry there. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest when you got closer, but when you finally stepped inside, disappointment filled your chest. 

He wasn’t there. 

You walked to the bedroom to retrieve your phone when you noticed the note he left you on the nightstand. You sighed to yourself and glanced at the time. You knew you had to get ready, so talking to him would have to wait. 

Instead, you pulled up his contact name and sent him a text message. It was a short message. You didn’t want anything to get lost in translation. 

YOU: I’ll see you at the party, Harry. 

You watched the message go from delivered to read. Harry hadn’t replied, so you set your phone down back onto the nightstand to grab the olive green dress from the closet. You had bought this dress in this color specifically because you knew it was Harry’s favorite. 

Now that you were holding it up, it all made sense. 

It was always Harry. 

It had always been him. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror, biting your lower lip. The dress fit perfectly along your curves—an ankle length dress, sleek satin that hugged every inch of your figure. It was also a sleeveless cowl neckline with a ruched front bodice and another deep cowl back with a dainty strap across the shoulders. 

Your makeup was light—like it always was—but your hair was pulled up in a high bun with strands of curled hair falling in front of your face. 

You looked at your phone briefly. Harry hadn’t replied. You sighed and took a deep breath before leaving the villa and into the main ballroom where the party would be at. You looked up at the sky once you stepped outside—the clouds were coming in fast. 

Harry hadn’t been able to send a text back to you. After he had gotten ready, he and Peter had to go to the ballroom to make sure everything was set and ready for his parents. It also didn’t help that it looked like it was about to rain outside too. 

“Everything good?” Peter asked. 

Harry nodded. “Yeah,” he answered. “Got the DJ set up. Bar is open. Food along that table there. We’re good.” 

“And you? You good?” 

Harry shrugged. “Nervous,” he said. “But ready to see her too.” 

Peter smiled. “She texted you first. That’s a good sign.” 

“I haven’t been able to reply.” 

“That’s okay,” he said. “Better to say the things you want to say in person.” 

Harry nodded. He turned his head to the doors when people started coming in. He took a deep breath and felt Peter’s hand on his shoulder. 

“You got this, Harry. Let’s just get through the next few hours. Then… she’s all yours.” 

By the time you stepped foot into the ballroom, you could hear the loud chatter mix in with the music. Suddenly, you felt so out of place. Harry was supposed to be by your side, grounding you. Comforting you. Making you feel like this was where you belonged. 

You took a deep breath and stepped further into the ballroom. The nerves slowly disappeared when some of his family members greeted you like you had always been part of the family. You smiled, gave them a hug and kiss on the cheek, as you looked around the room. 

Searching for him. 

“She’s not here yet?” His mother asked, holding a glass of wine as she and his father stood next to Harry. 

“No,” he answered. “I should probably give her a call.” 

“Give her a few minutes,” she said. “Maybe she’s still getting ready.” 

Harry nodded. “Right, maybe.” He reached for his own drink and sipped on it quietly. He was only limiting himself to one glass, especially after what happened last night. It still horrified him that he had put his hands on you, even if it was unintentional. 

Then, the DJ transitioned into a song that caught his parents’ by surprise. They looked at each other with a large grin and set down their own drinks. 

“Will you excuse us, honey?” His mother asked. 

Harry nodded and looked over at his parents with a smile. “Yeah, go. Dance. Have fun.” 

His father reached up and gently patted Harry’s cheek. “She’ll be here, Harry.” 

“I know,” he whispered. “I know.” 

His parents moved onto the dance floor, as well as other couples in the family, while the song slowly played in the background. 

Times were tough, we made it through  We wasted the rough, so let’s savor the smooth  All the time I was hurting you Got to believe that I was hurting, too

Harry looked around the room, biting his lower lip as he tried to search for you. 

I was born to love  I was born to I was born to love  I was born to 

You watched some more people move to the dance floor when the song continued. You felt your heart beat out of your chest as you scanned the room. 

You're the only one I can talk to

The only one I can really read

I know you give because you want to

Don't you think it's time you learn to let yourself receive?

Harry turned his gaze towards the entrance and then he spotted an olive-green colored dress in the midst of mainly black and white. 

There you were. 

You were looking around the room, almost like you were looking for him too. 

I was born to love I was born to I was born to love I was born to

Then, you saw him. His eyes were already on you. 

You felt your breath catch in your throat. 

Harry met your gaze. 

Everyone around him disappeared. 

I was born to love you I was born to love you

You walked closer to him. You didn’t break the eye contact either. It felt like you were holding your breath, navigating through the crowd of people as the song continued to play. 

Harry straightened up. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. The dress, the color of it, the way it clung to your figure—you were breathtaking. 

Now that you finally stood in front of him near the bar, Harry cleared his throat nervously. 

“Hi,” you whispered. 

“You look great,” he said quietly. “I love the color.” 

You let a small smile line your lips. “Knew you would,” you replied. “It’s why I got it.” 

“Because of me?” 

You nodded. “I know it’s your favorite color… and it matches that ring you always wear,” you pointed out, nodding towards the emerald green ring that sat on his pinky. 

Harry looked down at his hand. He finally allowed himself to relax. “You notice that.” 

“Hard not to,” you teased. “You wear that thing everywhere.” 

Harry chuckled. “Do you want a drink?” 

You nodded and turned your body away from him to face the bar instead. Just as you were about to open you mouth to ask the bartender for a drink of your choice, Harry chimed in on your behalf. 

“A glass of moscato, please,” he said, not taking his eyes off of you. 

Slowly, you turned back to face him. 

The air between you thickened with tension. 

You both knew there were things that needed to be said, things that have been lingering for days now. 

“You look great too,” you complimented. “I always did enjoy seeing you in a tux like this.” 

Harry felt his cheeks warm. “Yeah?” 

You nodded and stepped closer to him. You heard him inhale sharply. Then, you reached up and straightened his bow tie. “You look handsome… you always do.” 

Harry bit his lower lip as his eyes softened down at you. “Baby,” he whispered. 

You looked up at him. 

“I know,” you said, moving your hands back down to your sides. 

He sighed. 

The bartender quietly interrupted to set your glass of moscato down on the counter. 

You turned to face him and offered a polite smile. “Thank you.” 

“Baby,” Harry repeated. 

You looked at him. “We’ll talk before this trip ends,” you promised. “There are things I want to say too.” 

Harry let out a relieved breath. “Okay,” he said quietly. He didn’t want to push it either, so despite the need to want to ask when you both would talk, he just nodded. 

“I’m going to say hi to your parents now that they’re done dancing,” you replied. 

“Oh, right, yeah,” Harry said. “We’re seated at that table together and if you’re hungry, I’ll get you a plate.” 

“That’d be great, thank you,” you smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek lightly. 

When you pulled away, Harry’s hand darted out to rest on your hip. His touch—like always—grounded you and you hadn’t realized how much you missed it, how much you missed him. 

“Will you dance with me later?” You asked. 

Harry nodded. “Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “Whatever you want, baby.” 

“Okay, good. I’ll remember that.” You smiled and then slowly stepped back and away from him. 

Harry watched you walk away from him, his eyes never leaving you. He sighed to himself, the flutter in his stomach becoming much more noticeable now. 

You walked to where his parents were, seeing the delighted expression on their faces when they saw you. His mother pulled you into a tight hug before his father did the same. You couldn’t help but feel Harry’s eyes still on you, so when you pulled away from them both, you turned to look over your shoulder. 

And sure enough, he was still looking at you. 

His mother smiled to herself. 

“You look amazing, honey,” she said, pulling your gaze away from him to look at her instead. 

“Me?” You scoffed playfully. “Look at you,” you smiled. You glanced at her husband. “Lucky man.” 

“Don’t I know it,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. 

She smiled and leaned against him. “Have you talked to him?” His mother asked. 

“About everything? No,” you answered. “But we did have a brief conversation earlier. Nothing serious.” 

She nodded. “He wasn’t back at the villa when you left ours earlier?” 

You shook your head. “He thought I still needed space, left me a note saying he was going to get ready at Peter’s, so… just a few minutes ago was the first time I saw him today.” 

Her eyes softened. So did her husband’s. 

“How are you feeling?” 

You shrugged. “I’m okay. Right now, I’m okay. I’m having fun, celebrating the both of you.” 

They smiled. 

“Well, make sure you leave enough time to talk with him,” she said. “If not now, then maybe when you two are back in New York.” 

Harry was holding two plates of food when he finally sat down at the table. You were still mingling with his other family members, greeting them politely, laughing genuinely. It made his heart beat even faster. You always fit in with his family—that should’ve been another sign that it had always been you from the beginning. 

When you managed to excuse yourself, you walked over to Harry and sat down next to him, your glass now empty but your stomach quietly growling at the sight of food before you. 

“Want me to get you another glass?” Harry asked. 

You shook your head. “I think I’m good for now,” you answered. “Don’t want to drink too much,” you said. 

Harry bit his lower lip and nodded. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I just got a bit of everything.” 

“This is great. I’m starving.” 

“Didn’t eat breakfast?” 

You shook your head. “Wasn’t all that hungry this morning.” 

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek. “Where—where were you this morning, by the way?” 

“I went to go see you,” you answered. 

“Me?” 

“I thought you were at your parents’ villa… considering what happened last night and what I said.” 

“Right,” Harry nodded with a sigh. He wanted to forget last night, wanted to forget that he ever put his hands on you. 

You could tell that Harry was still beating himself up for what happened, so you reached out and rested a hand over his. “It was an accident, Harry.” 

“Still. I should’ve been more careful.” Harry look down at your hand. He didn’t want to move, afraid that if he did, you’d pull away. 

“I don’t blame you… and I know you’d never hurt me like that.” 

Harry looked at you, eyes soft and broken. “I came back to the villa last night. Slept on the couch.” 

“I didn’t see you when I woke up…” 

“I—I left to get us some breakfast and coffee. When I came back, you weren’t there.” 

You sighed. 

Harry continued. 

“So, I thought you were out for a walk or something, that maybe you still needed your space.” 

“Which is why you got ready at Peter’s,” you finished for him. 

Harry nodded. “Yeah.” 

“We just kept missing each other this morning,” you said quietly. 

“Guess so.” 

“We still have time,” you reassured him. “I promise. We still have time.” 

Harry looked at you again. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, could see how he was so close to the brink of tears. 

You cupped his cheek, watched him lean against your touch. To anyone else aside from his parents and Peter would see this as normal, but there was so much more. So much pain and heartache that lingered between the both of you. 

As you were about to lean in to peck his lips, the music suddenly stopped and you heard both his parents’ voices come through the microphone. 

Harry stared at you. 

You did the same. 

They started talking, so you pulled away. 

Harry sighed and turned his attention to his parents now. 

“We just want to thank you all for coming this week and celebrating with us,” his father said first with a smile. “It’s been nice to spend time with family like this.” 

Harry’s mother smiled and leaned into him. 

You looked at Harry for a moment—he was beaming with pride.

“It’s been fifty years with this man,” his mother chimed in. “Fifty amazing years.” Tears filled her eyes. “We’ve been through… everything together. We built all of this… together.” 

His father pulled her closer and leaned over to kiss her temple. “I’m ready for fifty more,” he said into the microphone. 

His mother laughed quietly and reached up to wipe her tears. Then, she glanced at you and Harry and smiled. “When you find that special someone, hold onto them… that kind of love doesn’t come around very often.” 

You bit your lower lip and subconsciously reached for Harry’s hand, gripping it tightly as you kept your eyes locked with his mother’s. 

Harry looked down at your hand for a moment and squeezed it in return. 

“Love can be scary,” she continued. “But when you find the right person—your person—everything else just falls into place.” 

Harry turned to look at you now. He released your hand only to reach for the end of your chair, pulling it close to his. You gasped quietly, looking over at him and biting your lower lip. 

“Life works in mysterious ways,” his mother said, a small smile curling her lips. “Sometimes, the person we needed was right in front of us all along.” 

The microphones turned off and the music started playing again. 

Harry looked into your eyes and moved his hand from the chair to rest gently on your knee. 

“Would you like to dance with me?” He asked. 

“Yes,” you answered with a quiet breath. 

Harry stood up slowly and took your hand in his, gently leading you towards the dance floor once everyone started to join as well. He didn’t pay attention to anyone else around the both of you—all he could see was you. 

He pulled you to his chest, one hand keeping your own close to his chest and the other resting on your lower back. 

There goes my heart beating 'Cause you are the reason I'm losing my sleep Please come back now

You moved your free hand to his shoulder, eyes staring up at his. Everything that neither of you said lingered—you both didn’t need to say it out loud, at least not right now. 

I'd climb every mountain And swim every ocean Just to be with you And fix what I've broken Oh, 'cause I need you to see That you are the reason

Harry was the first one to speak. It was quiet, just enough for you to hear. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget this trip.” 

You bit your lower lip and nodded. “Me too, Harry.” 

“I—I don’t know what this means for us,” he continued. “But I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to go back to New York and go our separate ways,” Harry admitted. 

“Neither do I,” you said quietly. 

Harry felt his heart race even faster. 

He pulled you closer until you were flush against his chest. 

There goes my hands shaking And you are the reason My heart keeps bleeding I need you now

“It’s always been you,” Harry finally said. 

You felt tears trickle down your cheeks. You knew what he meant. 

“I watched the video.” 

His brows furrowed. “What?” 

“You took a video… on my camera.” 

His brows relaxed. 

His eyes softened. 

Harry’s lips parted. 

“When did you watch it?” 

“Last night,” you answered. 

And I'd climb every mountain And swim every ocean Just to be with you And fix what I've broken Oh, 'cause I need you to see That you are the reason

Harry released your hand only to wipe your tears away gently. 

You leaned into his touch. No one else mattered. He had always been the one you wanted. The one your soul and heart yearned for. 

I don't wanna fight no more I don't wanna hide no more I don't wanna cry no more Come back I need you to hold me (you are the reason) Be a little closer now Just a little closer now Come a little closer I need you to hold me tonight

“I meant every word,” he whispered. “And I’m sorry. For everything that’s happened… for it taking me this long to see it.” 

You moved your hand now to his the back of his neck, gently playing with the curl at his nape. It didn’t feel real. This didn’t feel real. 

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours. 

“How do we do this?” You whispered. 

“We do it together,” Harry answered. 

I'd climb every mountain And swim every ocean Just to be with you And fix what I've broken 'Cause I need you to see That you are the reason

Everything finally felt like it had fallen in place after that. You felt relief, felt free, now that it seemed like both you and Harry were on the same page. Still, you both hadn’t exactly said those words, but you both knew what it meant. 

What that dance meant. 

It was a step in the right direction. 

And after this party, once you were both alone, you’d tell him how you truly felt—how it had always been him too, and how much you loved him… like you never loved anyone else before. 

Harry had kissed your temple before excusing himself to share a dance with his mother. You smiled to yourself, watching them briefly with loving eyes before you turned your gaze to Charlotte and Peter who sat at your table. 

“We want to apologize,” Charlotte said. “We shouldn’t have ever gotten between the both of you.” 

You looked at her and then glanced at Peter. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “We both know it came from a place of love.” 

“Still,” Peter said. “We shouldn’t have meddled.” 

You nodded. “What’s done is done, right?” 

“Right.” 

Then, Charlotte smiled. “You both look… happier,” she pointed out. 

“I think we are,” you said, turning to glance at him. He was holding his mother close, laughing quietly with her and you felt like your entire world just stopped. “I think I always have been… happier with him.” 

Charlotte grinned. “You two are just so perfect for each other,” she said. 

Peter smiled. He noticed a shift in Harry’s demeanor throughout the party. He wasn’t as tense or nervous as that morning. Whatever you two talked about, Peter was hopeful that it was something good and enough for his older brother to be less stressed. 

“I hope we’ll be seeing more of you,” Peter said. “Outside of working our events.” 

“I hope so too,” you replied. 

The song shifted. 

Charlotte looked at Peter expectantly. 

He chuckled and then stood up, extending his hand out for her. 

“Excuse us,” he said. “I promised her a dance.” 

You nodded in understanding and smiled, watching them both walk away from the table. 

You had gone to the bathroom after your conversation with Charlotte and Peter. Anticipation simmered in the pit of your stomach when you thought back to the brief conversation you had with Harry. You both would still have to go back to the villa and the thought of being alone not only excited you, but brought relief too. 

Because you just wanted him all to yourself now. 

Wanted to tell him how much he meant to you. 

How much he always meant to you. 

The fear of putting yourself out there lingered, of course it did. You wanted so badly for this to work out because you wanted what his parents had—fifty years of being by the side of the person you love the most. 

And you knew you wanted that with Harry. 

So, you were determined to find him after you were done in the bathroom. You were going to ask him if it would be okay to leave—to go back to the villa and talk. Alone. 

After washing your hands, you looked at yourself in the mirror and took a deep breath. 

You opened the door to step outside and heard his voice immediately. 

A large smile lined your lips. 

Then, you heard her name. 

Your heart dropped. 

The smile disappeared. 

“Lucy, I can’t talk right now,” Harry sighed. 

Tears immediately stung your eyes. You stepped out and saw him. His back was turned until he moved to face in your direction. 

When he noticed you, his eyes widened. Then, he noticed the look in your eyes, the look on your face. Harry hung up the phone immediately. He knew how that looked, how it sounded like. 

So, he pocketed his phone and tried to take a step closer. 

“Baby, it’s not—”

“God, I’m fucking stupid,” you whispered, shaking your head. “I’m really fucking stupid.” 

“No,” he shook his head. “No no, just—”

“I’m… I’m tired, Harry,” you said, tears now trickling down your cheeks as you took a step back and away from you. “I should’ve—I should’ve listened to what my head was saying all this time.” 

“Let me explain—”

You shook your head and then turned on your heel immediately. You didn’t bother saying bye to his parents or the rest of his family. Instead, you stepped outside. The walls felt like they were closing in on you. The weight on your chest felt like it was crushing you. 

And of course, it was raining. The clouds that had come in that morning were now thick and dark grey in the sky, strong droplets of water coming down hard. You were soaked immediately after standing outside for a few minutes. 

You heard the door open behind you, followed by his voice. 

Harry looked at you and when you glanced over your shoulder at him, he felt a sinking feeling in his gut. You looked at him like you were utterly broken. 

He called your name. 

You shook your head and removed your heels. 

Then, you ran. 

Harry yelled out for you. 

Then, he followed—he was now completely soaked too. 

You were dripping wet by the time you made it back to the villa. Your dress clung to your body and your hair was a complete mess, so you pulled it from its bun as you dropped your heels at the doorway. Tears streaked down your cheeks as you felt your throat tightening. It felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

You left a trail of water as you walked down the hallway and into the bedroom. You grabbed your luggage and set it on the bed. You wouldn’t wait to leave until tomorrow. 

You would leave tonight. 

Separately from him. 

Harry stormed inside instantly. He was breathing heavily and he called for you again. He looked around the villa, immediately noticing the trail of water leading down the hallway into the bedroom. 

He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his wet curls, slicking it back and away from his face. 

The dread he felt in the pit of his stomach became more noticeable now. He had been feeling hopeful before you heard him on the phone and he knew how wrong it looked. 

“Baby,” he said breathlessly, standing in the doorway. 

Your back was turned, but he could see your shoulders trembling. 

You were crying. 

You heard his voice. Your hands shook. You didn’t turn around. 

Then, you heard him take a step closer. 

You took a deep breath. 

“What you heard—I was about to tell her that she no longer could call me,” Harry reasoned. “I’m sorry… so fucking sorry that I keep messing this up.” 

You didn’t say anything. 

Then: “I love you,” Harry finally said out loud. 

Believe it, I need you by my side Yes, I know you know, know you know, know I've been a sinner, baby I've seen it, I've seen you high and dry Yes, I know you don't, know you don't, know you don't need me to say it But if anything happens between us Does everything change? I know you feel it too, I can see it in your face So tell me now not to get too close 'Cause it always happens

You stopped moving, but you didn’t turn around. Tears continued to move down your cheeks. 

“I don’t want anyone else,” he continued. “It has always been you,” Harry repeated. “I love you and it fucking terrifies me.” 

One, two, three, four How much longer can this go Oh, babe? Don't break Every single breath you take Kills me softly, chills my body But, when we reach the limit We're really giving 'cause

He took a step closer. Harry could hear his heart thumping in his chest, the beat of it filling his ears. 

“I always loved you,” Harry said quietly. “I was searching for something that had always been right in front of me.” 

You inhaled sharply—shakily. You brought a hand up to your face to wipe your tears. You hadn’t turned around yet. 

“I’m done pretending. Every moment I spend with you—I yearn for it, fucking crave it. And it’s not only the sex. I think it stopped being about the sex a long time ago,” Harry confessed. 

Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah I wanna cherish you Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah I wanna cherish you

“You’re the first person I want to talk to when I get good news, or when I have a bad day, you’re the one I want to run to,” Harry felt his own tears move down his cheeks slowly. “Baby, please…” 

You turned around slowly, but you didn’t look up at him yet. 

Then, he reached out for you. Harry gently cupped your cheek. 

“Look at me,” he whispered. “Please.” 

Slowly, you gazed up at him. You still had tears pooling around your eyes. 

“I’m tired too,” he said softly. “I’m tired of making myself believe that I don’t want this. We blurred the lines long before this trip,” Harry sighed. 

Harry took a step closer. 

It's so clear we're right on the edge Both in, we're over our heads But I'm ready to take this fall You say, "Baby, I want it all" I want it all

“I want fifty years with you,” Harry admitted. “I want you on your good days, on your bad days. I want every moment in between.” His voice trembled, almost like saying this out loud was giving you permission to take his heart and break it. “You make me laugh like no one else can. You frustrate me like no one else has before either,” he whispered, lips curling upwards just slightly. 

“But I love you… everything about you. The way you always bite your lower lip when you’re in deep thought or when you’re working hard on editing your pictures.” Harry’s thumb moved to brush across your lower lip. “Or the way you hog all the blankets at night and then complain that it’s too hot when you wake up,” he chuckled quietly. 

You were breathing heavily now. You didn’t realize that you had finally let out a breath you had been holding in since he said those three words. 

Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah I wanna cherish you Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah I wanna cherish you

“You think about everyone else before you think about yourself,” he continued. “You have the kindest heart, the most comforting smile, and—and when I’m with you, nothing else matters in the world.” 

You nodded slowly. A silent response. Then, you moved closer until your hands moved to his chest, feeling the drenched weight of his suit jacket against your fingertips. 

Harry inhaled. 

“I love you too,” you finally confessed. “And it scares me too because—because I think I always have loved you, Harry.”

He couldn’t hold back his tears anymore. He moved his other hand to your hip and pulled you closer. 

“It’s always been you,” you repeated. “I thought—I thought running away would be better. Would make me believe that this wasn’t what I wanted… because why would you want someone like me?” 

He shook his head in protest.

But it was your turn to talk now. 

“Then, I started noticing the way I felt whenever I was around you. Started understanding what everyone was saying because you look at me like no other man ever has. You make me feel safe, protected... no one’s ever made me feel like that before.” 

Harry bit his lower lip. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest. 

And now we finally reach the limit, babe But you know you can trust, don't be afraid 'Cause all you need is just a little faith A little faith

“I want fifty years with you too,” you continued. “You stopped being someone I wanted to use to just pass the time with, and started becoming the person I wanted to spend every minute with instead.” 

Harry smiled. His hand on your cheek moved to the side of your neck, thumb running along your jawline as he tilted your head up to look up at him. 

“You were right in front of me all along,” you whispered, stepping closer to him now until your bodies were pressed against each other. 

Despite both your clothes being wet and cold against your bodies, it felt anything but that. Your bodies were hot—two hearts and souls yearning for each other and mere centimeters from one another. 

One, two, three, four How much longer can this go Oh, babe? Don't break Every single breath you take Kills me softly, chills my body

“I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you too,” you replied. 

Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah I wanna cherish you Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah I wanna cherish you

Then, Harry leaned in. 

He cradled your head and pressed his lips firmly against yours. 

You melted into him, gripping the lapel of his jacket as you stood on your toes to return the kiss. 

It felt different this time. 

It wasn’t a kiss out of convenience or a kiss out of habit. 

It meant so much more. 

It meant a new beginning. 

The kiss continued. It went from slow and tentative and eased into something familiar. Harry moved his hands to your hips now and your hands wrapped around his shoulders. Neither of you cared that you were both still soaking wet and dripping on the hardwood floor. 

It wasn’t until your hands started to push his jacket away and off his shoulders that you both pulled away to look at each other. 

You were both looking at each other more freely now—like you both no longer needed to hide how you felt about each other. 

He shrugged his jacket off, a quiet wet splat hitting the floor. Harry then reached for his bow tie to loosen it around his neck, watching you carefully when you turned around. You pulled the zipper down carefully, allowing your dress now to pool around your ankles before turning back around to face him. 

You both had countless sex with each other, but this time—this time it meant something entirely different. 

Harry let out a breath at the sight of you. You hadn’t worn a bra with your dress, so you were just clad in a seamless thong and your nipples had hardened at the cold air. 

His pants were becoming increasingly uncomfortable and the fact that it was drenched didn’t help either. He let his bow tie hang loose around his neck before he reached down to undo his belt, followed by lowering his zipper and unbuttoning his pants. 

Neither of you said anything. 

You both just stared at each other. 

Anticipation lingering between the both of you. 

Harry stepped out of his pants and boxers with ease, letting out a sigh of relief before he felt you begin unbuttoning his white dress shirt until you pushed it off and away from his body. 

He felt his hardened manhood brush against your body. He licked his lower lip and then watched you slide your thong down your legs. 

Now that you both were bare and completely naked before each other, Harry reached for your luggage and shoved it to the floor. 

“Hey,” you protested playfully. 

“We’ll stay another week,” he reasoned. 

Your eyes widened. “What?”

Harry nodded. “We both can afford another week,” he answered. “Besides,” he said quietly, lifting you onto the mattress carefully before he settled himself between your legs. “I want to spend some more alone time with you here… is that okay?” 

“Yes,” you answered, legs wrapping loosely around his waist as your hands moved from his damp chest and up to his cheeks. Slowly, you pulled him down on top of you as you felt the tip of his length brush against your inner thigh. “I don’t think I’m ready to leave yet either.” 

“Good,” Harry smiled, leaning in to press his lips once more against yours. 

You smiled into the kiss, warmth spreading between your legs. His lips moved with yours more aggressively now—fueled by the sudden urge to be inside of you, the woman that he loves. 

You moaned against his lips, feeling his hand move lower. Harry grasped himself, running the head of manhood across the length of your sex now, gathering your slickness along his tip. He’d brush over your clit teasingly, feeling your body react immediately. He pulled away from the kiss to gaze down at you, moving his free hand to prop himself up. 

You kept your eyes locked with his. You could feel the throbbing between your legs, whimpering impatiently at the feel of his hardened length running along you teasingly. 

As much as Harry wanted to look down between your legs, he just couldn’t look away from you. He leaned down and rested his forehead against yours, slowly sliding his tip inside of you before pulling out. 

“Harry,” you whimpered. 

“Yeah, baby?” He asked innocently, sliding back into you before he pulled again. Harry continued that movement a few more times, applying more pressure to your clit with the head of his length once he pulled out. 

“Need you, please,” you pleaded. 

Harry smiled. 

Then, he slowly slid further into you. Harry groaned loudly at the feel of your warmth surrounding him immediately. He forced himself to slowly ease himself inside of you, despite just wanting to slam further into you. 

Your hands abruptly moved to his shoulders, gripping it tightly as your legs remained locked at his lower back. You always felt so full of him—his girth filling you. Without the added protection of the condom, you felt every inch and ridge of him slide along your tight walls. 

There was no way either of you would be able to go back to using condoms and you knew it wasn’t safe to not use them, but maybe that was a different conversation for a different day. 

Right now, you’d cherish the way he felt inside of you. 

As Harry filled you to the hilt, he released his hold from himself and instead kept himself propped up with both hands on the mattress now. He didn’t move for a few seconds, wanting to just feel your warmth and wetness around him.  

“Always so wet for me,” he whispered. “Aren’t you?” 

You nodded, arms wrapping around him to pull him down flush against you instead. “And only for you,” you moaned quietly, feeling his hips pull back just a couple of inches before pushing back into you. “Fuck,” you muttered. 

Harry smiled and pecked your lips lightly, slowly beginning to pick up his pace. He kept his eyes locked with yours and his body pressed against your front. Sex had never felt like this and he just kept hearing your words echo in the back of his mind, timing it with his thrusts. 

I love you. 

I love you. 

I love you. 

You couldn’t hold his gaze any longer, so you shut your eyes and let out a loud moan. Harry kissed your cheek before burying himself to the side of your neck, panting heavily into it as his hips repeatedly slammed against yours. 

The sounds of skin slapping against one another echoed throughout the villa, followed by the sounds of just how wet you were too. He could feel a rush of wetness against his lower abdomen as he continued to thrust forward into you. 

He moaned your name into your neck, teeth and tongue brushing along your pulse point. His hands moved to your ass, gripping onto it as if it could give him more leverage to thrust into you. 

You held onto him, arms tightening around his shoulders as you felt the pressure in your stomach build. Your moans mixed in with his and it felt like neither of you were holding back now. 

Your lips were near his ear, panting heavily as you felt every ridge and inch of him slide into you. You whispered, breathlessly, as you felt your orgasm loom closer and closer. “I love you… I fucking love you.”

Harry delivered a hard thrust as a response, pulling back just enough to look down at you. “Say it again,” he pleaded, feeling the pit of his stomach tighten as well. “Tell me again.” 

“I love you!” You moaned aloud, legs tightening around his waist as you felt your walls tremble around him. Your body shook slightly as the dam finally broke. 

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, feeling your walls tighten even further around him. He sat upright, moved his hands to your hips, and delivered quick and sharp thrusts. He was close, so fucking close. 

“Baby, fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Come inside,” you interrupted, lips parting as you felt him move in and out of you. “Come inside me, Harry.” 

He gasped loudly. Harry’s grip around your hips tightened. He looked down at you and nodded, watching your breasts bounce with each thrust he delivered. 

“I love you, baby,” he said quickly. “Iloveyouiloveyou,” Harry blurted out in a rush, his hips slowing down but his thrusts becoming more pointed as he felt himself get closer and closer to the edge. He delivered a couple of more thrusts until he slammed into you, his come painting your walls and filling you up. 

His own body shook and even as he pulled his hips back, Harry couldn’t help but slide back in further. Knowing that you’d be full of his come only excited him further because he slid out of you only to gather some of his come on the head of his member to push back into you. 

You gasped. 

Harry smirked. 

He stayed inside of you, despite his manhood softening. 

You tightened your legs around him, kept him close too. 

“So, another week?” You asked, panting quietly. 

Harry nodded. “Another week.” 

“What do you have planned?” 

“Everything we didn’t get to do. I plan to do it right this time,” he answered, finally pulling out of you with a quiet whimper. 

“And when we get home? Back to New York?” 

Harry smiled, reached up to cup your cheek gently and kissed your forehead. “When we get back to New York, we’re not going back to what we were. No… everything’s going to change.” 

“I think I like the sound of that,” you smiled, leaning into his touch. 

“I love you, baby,” Harry said once more. 

You felt your stomach flip. Your smile grew. “I love you too, Harry.” 

He was right. The lines were blurred long before this trip and it took this long for you both to realize that the person you both had been searching for was right in front of you both all along. 

The scent coming from the cartel gets stronger and stronger every day. Javier can feel it. You haven’t told him where your family has moved yet and he doesn’t think you will. Honestly, he doesn’t blame you because it’s for your safety as well; but he also doesn’t know where to find you and that worries him more.

It’s been radio silence from you since your uncle was killed and he’s getting antsy. Work keeps him occupied during the day, but at night when he’s alone in his apartment and the chaos settles, anxiety gets the best of him. He can’t sit still, sending you messages from his pager constantly, only to get no response.

He shouldn’t think about the worst case scenario, but knowing your father, who knows what he could’ve done to you by now.

Raids have become routine at this point, hitting every lab location you gave him and the ones Search Bloc found. The ambassador had the bright idea of setting up a tip hotline to gain more information as well. Sometimes they get lucky, but most of the time, people call in just to fuck with them. Specifically kids that have been given a handgun by your father.

Since the death of Jerónimo’s brother, he’s retaliated by paying more people in the city… and setting off bombs. He can’t get close to anyone of authority, so he hurts innocent citizens instead. 

It makes Javier sick to his stomach.

He keeps a cool facade at work but his thoughts are constantly whirring; causing him to act out of emotion rather than rationality. And tonight, he’s had enough.

The tip they got was useless yet again, leading them to a big empty house on a hill in Cartagena. Javier can feel his anger and frustration beginning to burn in his gut, the wild goose chase getting old and relentless. His gun weighs as heavy as his heart in his hands, searching the house high and low. The only thing they find is a maid with a bullet in her head.

“Logró escapar (He got away),” Carrillo states, referring to Sebastián Botero.

Botero is another drug lord in Colombia. He works out of Cartagena but does a lot of business with your father in Medellín. They’ve been “partners” for the longest time. He isn’t as loud and violent as Jerónimo, making him less of a threat to the government. 

To Javier, they’re all the same.

Steve believes that someone in Sombras de la Cruz is trying to rat him out and get him caught. Truthfully, Javier wouldn’t put it behind them. It would get them out of the spotlight for a little so they can slip away yet again. But apparently Sebastián is smarter than them, seeming to have escaped capture by a hair.

Javier stares at the maid’s lifeless body, his mind briefly picturing it as you instead. The thought shakes him, spreading goosebumps across his skin. It could easily be you if neither of you are careful enough. He might be unsure of where you are but he doesn’t believe that you’re dead.

At least that’s what he keeps telling himself.

“Colonel!” 

Javier’s eyes snap up at the sound of Trujillo’s voice, momentarily taking his focus off of the lifeless body.

“Llamaron de un retén (They called from the road block),” he announces to Carrillo. “Al parecer, detuvieron el coche de un senador. (Apparently, they stopped a senator’s car.)”

“¿Tiene identificación? (Does he have identification?)” Carrillo asks, wondering why this is being brought up in the first place.

When Trujillo says yes, he asks what the problem is. 

“Tiene una ametralladora en el maletero. (He has a machine gun in the trunk.)”

The tone shifts immediately. It’s not abnormal for a politician to carry a weapon, but a machine gun? That is unusual. It’s usually just a handgun, not an automatic weapon.

Javier watches the two men go, eyes landing on the maid once again. He can’t understand the pit in his stomach at the sight, turning around before his emotions get the best of him. Over the balcony’s railing, he can see the man they stopped in front of the house. He’s clad in a dark suit, looking the part of a senator.

Involuntarily, his mind flashes with you again: your voice, your soft hair, your curves, your touch. Being down here in South America, Javier’s learned to turn off his feelings the best he can… until you came along. There’s an invisible string keeping him attached to you and it’s making him avoid using his usual coping mechanisms.

It may not have been said yet, but now that your feelings are out in the open, he’ll be loyal to you. It’s killing him inside to not have that physical release with the shit month he’s had, but he also understands the life you’re stuck living and the need to be alone sometimes.

To say he misses you is an understatement. And to Javier, that is absolutely terrifying. The last time he gave his heart to somebody, it was chewed up and spat at his feet. He doesn’t talk about Lorraine much. Honestly, there’s not a lot to say.

He thought it was love. She wanted to trap him in a marriage by faking her pregnancy. The night before their wedding is when he found out. He hasn’t seen her since.

Of course, you’re nothing like her and he’s grateful for that. But he’d be lying to himself if he ignored his worries of tainting your heart. The life he lives isn’t something he wants to drag you into and possibly put you in life-threatening danger. You’ve already been put in that position one too many times in your life.

He meets everyone outside, being informed that the man’s identification checks out. 

“No conozco a ese tal Botero del que hablas (I don’t know this Botero person that you’re talking about),” he claims, not convincing either Javier or Carrillo.

Horacio’s voice is calm as he asks his next question, though Javier can see right through the facade. “¿Por qué tienes un arma en el maletero? (Why do you have a gun in the trunk?)”

The man chuckles briefly, stunned and perplexed by the inquiry. “¿De verdad estás preguntando por qué un político lleva un arma en este país? (Are you seriously asking why a politician carries a weapon in this country?)” he pauses for a moment, looking back and forth between the two of them, “Es de mi guardaespaldas– (It’s my bodyguard’s–)”

“¿Dónde está tu guardaespaldas? (Where’s your bodyguard?)” Javier cuts him off promptly, feeling his nerves begin to get the best of him. 

His patience is wearing thinner as the situation goes on, everything that has (or hasn’t) been happening lately weighing down on him in full tonight. “Estas solo en el carro verdad? (You’re alone in the car, right?)”

The man steps closer. He has at least two inches on Javier, trying to seem intimidating by looking down at him. Javier doesn’t flinch under his gaze, his jaw set so tight his teeth ache.

“Escúchenme (Listen to me),” he starts, pointing at Javier.

Right there, he nearly snaps his finger like a carrot when he looks down at it. But he holds back for now.

“Te vas a arrepentir si no me dejas ir ahora mismo (You’re going to regret it if you don’t let me go right now.)”

Javier nods slightly, humming in acknowledgement and not scared of the empty threat in the slightest. The man looks him up and down before Carrillo hands him his ID back.

“Danos un momento. (Give us a moment.)”

He shoos the two of them away, giving them space to talk. Javier keeps him in his peripheral vision, biting the inside of his cheek. “No le creo. (I don’t believe him.)”

“Yo tampoco (Neither do I),” Carrillo states, noticing Javier’s fingers twitching. It’s a tick he’s recognized within his time of knowing him, only coming out when he’s anxious or fighting the urge to pull his gun. Horacio assumes the latter option.

“No puedo correr el riesgo si realmente es quien dice ser. (I can’t take the risk if he actually is who he says he is.)”

Javier shakes his head, “No, you can’t.”

Instead of listening, he pulls his gun out of his waistband, cocking the chamber and firing a shot at the man’s thigh. He doubles over, screaming out in pain as he falls to the ground. Javier’s footsteps are heavy, the built up rage and frustration boiling over.

He wraps his hand around the back of his neck, squatting and pulling him up. He speaks through clenched teeth, his voice seething with anger. “El próximo… lo meto en la cabeza! (The next one… goes in your head!)”

The guy’s “intimidating” persona drops immediately, stuttering and scrambling to give him what he wants. “¡Está bien, está bien! (All right, all right!)”

“¡Habla, malparido! (Talk, bastard!)” Javier spits in his face, shaking him by the neck like a dog.

“¡Hablaré, hablaré! (I’ll talk, I’ll talk!)”

Right now, Javier doesn’t care about the possible repercussions from shooting somebody. Because now, the fool’s admitted to lying about who he is.

The mid-December breeze passes through, rustling the trees. It’s the coldest day this year and it’s also the day of Andrés’ funeral.

None of your family have spoken to you since his death, making you feel more alone than you already felt in your own home. The whispers about you have gotten louder, they don’t hide their disgusted expressions anymore, and one of your younger cousins even went as far as to spit at your feet.

You don’t necessarily blame them, but since then, you’ve realized that his death was not your fault. You didn’t rat him out to Javier or the cops. You didn’t reveal the location of that lab because you didn’t know about it until that day.

They can believe what they want to believe. Soon enough, you’ll be rid of them for good.

Jerónimo stands next to you in the front, his head hanging low as the officiant rambles on about a man he didn’t even know. The dewy grass makes your heels unbearable to be in, poking at your feet and making you feel gross. A big pair of sunglasses sits on the bridge of your nose, hiding half of your face.

A single tear slips – but it’s not from the service, it’s from your Tío Luca and Tía Luciana whispering about you right behind you. You turn your head slightly to the left, making it obvious to them that you can hear them. Immediately, they shut up, focusing on the speech instead.

This is how it’s been since your uncle was buried six feet under.

You’re a stranger in your own home; being shut out by absolutely everybody and not trusted with anything. Sure, you put yourself in this situation but it doesn’t make it any less painful.

You lay in bed at night, trapped inside your mind: thinking of Javier, missing the love from your father that was supposed to be unconditional. The more you think about it, the more you realize that you’ve had to beg him to love you your entire life. Now it means nothing to you.

The trauma you went through with Andrés still lingers, waking you up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. You know Jerónimo can hear you hyperventilating at night. But does he check up on you? No.

That’s all you want. It’s all you’ve ever wanted – to be seen by your father instead of looked at like a liability.

The pager Javier gave you has been buzzing nonstop, and today, you finally build up the courage to go see him. You sit quietly in the back of the SUV as Francisco drives, wearing a black sweat set. Comfortable and expensive.

Every now and then, you can feel his eyes on you in the rearview mirror, checking up on you without saying anything. Also making sure that no one is following the two of you. Your dad isn’t too worried about where you’ve been going anymore since you’ve only left the house on occasion and you’re always with Frankie.

He’s the only one who hasn’t shut you out, and you think it’s about time that he meets the man you’ve risked your life for.

The gravel of the driveway crunches under the tires as he pulls up, putting the car in park and assessing the surrounding area. “¿Estás segura de que esto es? (Are you sure this is it?)”

You’re not. And you’re sure he’s only asking because it doesn’t look like a government-funded house.

“Es una casa franca (It’s a safehouse),” you explain, “No se supone que deba parecer costoso. (It’s not supposed to be expensive looking.)”

“Right,” he murmurs.

You move forward, slipping between the front seats to sit in the passenger’s seat. “Don’t you watch any crime shows?”

Frankie shakes his head, glancing at you sideways. “No, ma’am.”

“That is sad,” you tease lightly, your lips curving slightly for the first time in a while.

He doesn’t respond, senses on high alert. “There’s no one here.”

It’s only then that you take in your surroundings, not seeing Javier’s Jeep anywhere. You hum faintly, pulling out the pager he gave you from your pocket.

“Did you let him know you were coming?” Frankie asks, eyeing the rearview mirror as dirt picks up in the distance.

“I did,” you murmur, checking the last messages that were sent and received. 

The screen stares back at you, the only thing Javier sent you being the letter ‘K’. “Maybe he doesn’t want to see me–”

“Is that him?” he cuts you off, nodding at the car pulling up behind the SUV.

Without being subtle at all, you turn half of your body around to look out the back window, trying to make out the driver. The tinted windows are a blessing and a curse, but you’d recognize Javier anywhere.

The relief you should’ve felt when you saw him last finally washes over you, your hands moving faster than your mind to open the car door. Frankie yells after you, easily moving quicker than you and blocking your way just in case it isn’t Javier.

He turns around when the car’s brakes screech to a stop, protecting you with his body, his hand hovering over his gun. You know better than to say anything when he gets like this, considering the many failed attempts you’ve had before when it came to getting him to move. For now, you keep your place, standing behind him like a little girl.

You tilt your head to see past his brawny frame, watching Javier and Steve get out of the car. Javier’s aviators sit perfectly on his aquiline nose, his lips pursed underneath his mustache. When he sees you, the corner of his mouth twitches, extending out his hand to shake Francisco’s.

Introductions have you yawning before you launch yourself into Javier’s arms, not budging when he almost loses his footing. He wraps an arm around your waist, cradling the back of your head tenderly. 

“I missed you, too, cariño,” he whispers, intended for your ears only.

You run the tip of your nose along his neck, inhaling his scent after what’s felt like forever. Eventually, you pull back, looking up at him. Your reflection in his sunglasses stares back at you, subconsciously fixing your hair.

“They know,” you murmur, watching him nod slowly.

He removes his glasses, hooking them in the front of his button down. “I figured that when I didn’t hear from you.”

The crease between his brows deepens, brown eyes roaming across your face like he’s memorizing your features for the last time. You know his mind is running a million miles a minute, trying to figure out a way to get you out of this.

You cup his cheeks, feeling the rough stubble beneath your palms. “No intentes ser un héroe (Don’t try to be a hero),” you murmur softly.

Your love for Javier hasn’t been the thing ruining you.

It was hope.

It’s not what you want – you want to be with Javier. But it’s not worth it if he tries to sacrifice himself for you and both of you end up dead. The two of you were never going to end up together and it was foolish of you to believe so.

You wish things were simpler, you do. But it was never meant to work out. He had one mission coming here to Colombia: to get Jerónimo and move on. That was before you came along and made things ten times more difficult. 

“What?” he whispers, his hands tightening on your waist, keeping you from moving. “What are you talking about?”

Silence washes over the two of you, your eyes discreetly falling on Steve and your bodyguard. Javier understands easily, taking you by the hand and dragging you inside the house. The feeling of your hand in his feels perfect: gun-calloused but always so soft with you.

His boots are heavy on the hardwood floor, leading you towards the back of the house. He pushes you inside the bedroom, closing the door behind himself. It takes him a minute to turn around and face you, eyes red-rimmed and exhausted.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Mimi?”

You have to make it hurt. Make him hate you so he doesn’t get himself killed over you.

“My dad wants you dead, Javier,” you admit, already feeling your tears prick your eyes. “I cannot be the reason that you die.”

He shakes his head, averting your gaze and putting his hands on his hips. “You should’ve thought of that before you made me fall for you.”

You’re taken aback by that, “I didn’t make you do anything.”

“All those things you told me,” he starts, taking a slow step closer to you but stopping when you take one back. “Your dreams, the life you’d rather live–”

“Yeah, and you were lying to me the entire time,” you bite back, starting an argument that neither of you want to have right now. “You have all the information you could ever need about my father. Why do you still need me?”

“You know why,” his voice rises, patience finally snapping. “I know what I did wrong, you don’t have to keep throwing it back in my face!”

“How can I not when our whole relationship is built on a lie?” you match his tone.

“I’ve already apologized for that shit,” he spits, “I’m not doing it again just because you’re afraid of how this will end.”

A scoff leaves you at his words, running your hands through your hair. “You said it yourself, it’s too dangerous for us to be together. I didn’t want to believe it but now I have to.”

“Why?” he asks, clenching his jaw twice. 

“They’re blaming me for my uncle’s death–”

“That wasn’t your fault,” he cuts you off, telling you what you’ve already concluded.

You take a quiet deep breath, “It doesn’t matter. To them, I’m a rat that got her own flesh and blood killed. It’s only a matter of time before they…”

“Before they what?” he asks when you trail off, though he knows exactly what you mean.

It means that you’ll be killed by your family. “An eye for an eye,” is what they call it. In this world, it’s normal for people like them to ‘take care’ of the threats that come their way. Unfortunately, you’re now viewed as one and Javier refuses to let anything happen to you. Regardless of if he can lose his life in the process.

You’re too precious for this world. You’re too precious to him.

You clasp your hands together, holding them in front of your mouth. “We can’t be together, Javier.”

“You don’t think I know that?” he queries, taking a cautious step forward. It’s more obvious than it should be to him that your resolve is crumbling the longer you stand in front of him. “I’ve been fighting with myself for months. I know I’m no good for you, I know this can end badly. But I can’t stay away from you.”

The tear finally falls and Javier wraps his arms around you, pulling you in close. He rests his forehead against yours, breath mingling with yours.

You can deny it all you want, but you know he means more than he should to you. A shuddering exhale escapes through your lips, your hands gripping his biceps. “We should’ve never gotten involved with each other,” you whisper, closing your eyes. “That would make this a whole lot easier.”

He doesn’t answer, pressing his lips to your temple instead and letting you fall apart in the safety of his arms.

For the third time this week, you’re out on the balcony smoking. The city twinkles, mocking you and your lack of freedom. Seeing Javier was nice but you couldn’t stay long.

The sliding door behind you opens slowly, not even needing to turn around to know who it is. This will be the first time he’s even acknowledged you since that night, and you almost consider walking right past him and into the house.

Almost.

Jerónimo plants his forearms on the railing, leaning against it and watching a shooting star in the sky. “Sé que no he sido un padre perfecto (I know I haven’t been a perfect father),” he starts, clearing his throat, “Tu madre se sentiría decepcionada por cómo te he tratado toda la vida. (Your mother would be disappointed at how I’ve treated you your whole life.)”

You shake your head slowly, taking a drag of your cancer stick until your lungs burn. “Dejaste que todos creyeran que su muerte fue culpa mía (You let everyone believe that his death was my fault),” you meet his gaze head on, keeping your cool, “Andrés was an idiot that got himself caught, but all of you have been too airheaded to realize that. I didn’t even know about the lab.”

He doesn’t entertain that with a response, looking out at the view. “Hice todo lo que pude (I did my best),” he claims, “Lo hice. Lo intenté. (I did. I tried.)”

You stay quiet, unsure of where he could possibly be going with this. To you, he’s lying through his teeth. He never tried to be a father to you. He threw money at you and expected you to obey his every command like a well trained puppy. The one time that you don’t, he drops you like you’ve never meant anything to him at all.

Jerónimo sighs, almost dramatically, before he continues. “Puedes salir por tu cuenta, tal como quieres. (You can go out on your own like you want to.)”

That gets your attention but you don’t look at him, realizing that he’s trying to get a reaction out of you to see if you’ll admit to playing both sides.

“¿Crees que el mundo es tan terrible conmigo en él? (You think the world is so terrible with me in it?)” he asks, taunting you, shifting closer to you. “Wait until you see what it is like without me.”

He almost walks away to leave it at that but you open your mouth to say something. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

When he doesn’t say anything, you stand up straight, deciding to speak about everything that’s been bothering you. “You’ve trapped me here. You were never a fucking father to me and it baffles me that you even think that you gave any effort at all.”

“I did–”

“I’m not done,” you cut him off, stubbing out your cigarette. “I have always been a disappointment to you. It doesn’t matter what I do.”

“You didn’t want me in the first place and it’s been obvious my entire life,” your voice wavers, making you take a deep breath to keep your emotions from spilling over. You refuse to cry in front of him because he doesn’t deserve your tears. He’s not worth the emotional toll to cry over.

“I have had to beg you to love me constantly, and for a long time, I thought that was okay. I took whatever you gave me because I thought that was your way of showing that you care. But I’ve been wrong. Again and again, you’ve proved me wrong.”

The lack of emotion on his face makes you want to slap him, but you keep your calm. “A parent’s love is supposed to be unconditional. I shouldn’t have to beg to even get you to look at me. I didn’t want all the expensive things your blood money could buy, I wanted my father to see me and appreciate me and love me.”

You shrug, shaking your head. “You never did any of that because you never saw me as yours.”

“¿Y crees que esos estadounidenses pueden? (And you think those Americans can?)” he opens his big mouth again, making your anger boil over.

You scoff, shaking your head. “God, you really can’t see the issue here, can you?”

“What I can see is that you’re willing to destroy everything that I’ve built for you over an American,” disappointment drips from his words, trying to make you feel bad. “I am building an empire for you.”

You shrug faintly, pressing your lips into a thin line. “It’s not for me. It’s always been about your legacy.”

Jerónimo clenches his jaw, towering over your frame. “Eres una mocosa malcriada y desagradecida (You are an ungrateful, spoiled little brat),” he spits, voice seething with fury. “Y quiero que te vayas de esta casa. (And I want you out of this house.)”

You don’t flinch under his gaze, looking up at him with a defiant glint in your eyes. “No.”

“No?” he raises his brows, a disbelieving chuckle leaving him. “Puede que tu madre haya aguantado tus pendejadas hasta que murió, pero yo no lo haré. (Your mother may have put up with your bullshit until she died, but I’m not.)” 

He steps closer, leaning down to be eye level with you. His lips twitch underneath his thick mustache, “You are no longer my daughter, and I will not protect you.”

“All because you believe them and not the person you had a hand in reproducing?” your voice is low, tired of the circles all of you keep running around. “You can believe what you want but I’m not going anywhere.”

Not until he’s dead.

part 7 - series masterlist - main masterlist

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Tagging some people who might wanna play again!

@kirsteng42

@din-cognito

@tateypots

@jessthebaker

@sawymredfox

@bergamote-catsandbooks

@katw474

@paradiselady19

@theanothersherlockian

@rebel-held

@grogusmum

@oonajaeadira

@just-ashlee

@time-for-my-weekly-spanking

@aurorawritestoescape

@imaswellkid

@simpingforjoel

@sunnytuliptime

@missredherring

@clawdee

@burntheedges

@lady-bess

You haven’t realised how hungry a taste of something can make a person. All morning, you’ve watched Joel move around the house like you always do and yet, you see him now in a completely different way. You see the sweat beading on his brow, the parting of his lips, the sounds coming from his throat and every single image undoes you every time. You have to step out of the room to fan your face or wipe your brow because it cannot be proper for a woman – married or otherwise – to be in such a constant state of arousal.

You can feel it between your thighs – the wetness that makes you press them together and breathe out heavily through your nose to try and calm yourself. And Joel seems oblivious to the effect he’s having on you, his hand resting briefly at your back as he passes you in the kitchen, or his boot nudging yours under the table, or his gaze slipping down from your eyes to your mouth and back again like he’s memorising the route.

By mid-afternoon, you can’t take it any longer.

Sarah goes down for a nap, worn out by the long bright morning and the heat of the noon dinner, and she sleeps slow and deep behind the closed door of her room down the hall with the curtains drawn and the little oscillating breath of her sleep the only sound in there.

Tomás and the other hands are taking shelter from the fierce heat, the world around the house quiet and still.

But you’re not still. There’s no way you can be, not sat astride your husband in the bedroom chair, all items of clothing long since lost to the floorboards, the heavy length of him deep inside you, your hips rising and falling slowly against his, your head tossed back, breasts thrust towards his waiting mouth.

“Yes…” you gasp, “yes, yes, yes…”

His lips close over one stiff peak and suckle greedily, the warmth of his mouth against your soft flesh only adding to the heat surging through your entire body.

“Yes Joel…yes…”

He pulls back, breath ragged, hands sliding upwards from your hips across the span of your back, holding you steady, encouraging you as your rise and fall grows more urgent.

“You look beautiful darlin’,” he murmurs. “You like that? Tell me you like it.”

“I like it…Joel…it’s…”

“Can’t get enough, can you?” A warm chuckle escapes his throat. “Well, I ain’t complainin’ darlin’. I got the best seat in the house right here – literally – and goddamn if I don’t love watchin’ you like this.”

A small high helpless sound tears out of your throat as you move harder against him.

“Lord Christ…” he says softly and you open your sweat filled eyes to see him looking at the place where you meet. Following his gaze, you watch transfixed as your body takes him. “See that?” he looks up at you. “See how good you take me, darlin’, how good we fit together?”

You don’t have words. You can only moan as he slowly licks the pad of one thumb across his tongue then presses it gently, but firmly, against your clitoris, making your entire body jerk.

“That’s it darlin’,” you hear him murmur as you close your eyes again. “Lemme make you feel good. You just keep doin’ what you’re doin’ – just like that.”

“Joel…” You grip onto his shoulders, bowing your head forwards to rest against his. “Joel, it’s…it’s….”

“I know, just you keep goin’. Do what feels good, darlin’.”

“You feel good,” you breathe. “You feel good…oh God…” You throw your head back again as his thumb circles your clitoris faster. “I never knew…never knew…”

“Well, you know now.”

"I can’t…can’t think of anything…there’s nothing else, Joel. There’s nothing in the world but you inside me. I can’t…oh…"

Before you realise what’s happening, you feel him rise with you still wrapped around him, the hot hard length of him still buried deep inside, and your legs wind tight around the curve of his hips, your arms going around his neck.

He turns and carries you three steps to the wall, your back hitting it gently, causing you to gasp. His hands slide slowly down to the curve of your backside, gripping, lifting and pinning you with his chest against yours as he drives in.

He fucks you slow and hard and deep – there are no other words to describe it – and, once more, you can’t think.

There is nothing but the hot hard length of him driving slow and deep and full into you and the high helpless desperate sounds tearing slow out of your throat that you don’t bother to keep quiet at all.

"Harder, Joel…please, harder…"

You don’t even know where such a request has come from. All you know is that you need more.

The slow rocking of hips breaks into something harder and faster as beads of sweat roll down his throat. The heavy salt smell of you both hangs thick as your heels catch at the curve of his backside and draw him harder against you with every stroke. Your nails score against his back and he groans into your mouth as his pace quickens.

You feel the heat building in your body, unshakable and unstoppable. “Joel, I’m…”

You don’t have time to form any other words as release crashes over you, and you wail against his throat as your body clenches around him. Seconds later – mere seconds – you feel it build again and you moan helplessly, grateful that he’s bearing your weight, for you know you couldn’t bear it yourself.

His hips begin to lose their careful rhythm at last, the hammering coming slow and rough and desperate now, his control fraying, and you understand through the fog of your own pleasure that he’s close.

"I have to…” he gasps. “I…”

He begins to draw back, his hands at the curve of your backside loosening to lower you, the hot hard length of him beginning to slip from within you, and a sound of displeasure tears out of your throat.

"No!"

He stills. “Darlin’…”

"Please Joel…please don’t pull out, please. I want to feel you. I need to feel you. Stay inside me. Finish inside me, please.”

You expect an argument. You expect words of fear and trepidation and the ghost of Tess. You expect the careful man who initially lost his head and then rediscovered it when you reminded him of the consequences of a man finishing inside his wife.

But you don’t get the argument, or the words. Instead, he simply groans your name, grips your backside harder and drives you back down onto him, sheathing himself to the hilt again and causing you to cry out.

“Like this?" he growls softly, hips snapping against yours.

"Yes… "

"You want me to finish inside you darlin’?"

"Yes, please,” you moan, gripping him tighter. “Please Joel…”

"You want me to fill you up, darlin’? You want me to put it deep inside you? You want it so deep it takes?"

For a brief moment, your brain can’t compute what he’s just said, but your body and mouth react as though it’s the only language they understand. "Yes…yes…!"

“The thought of it,” he gasps as he drives harder. “The thought of you round with my child, the thought of you carryin’…"

He trails off to groan loudly.

"You want my baby?”

“Yes…” you gasp helplessly.

“I’m gonna fill you up, darlin’. I’m gonna put it so deep inside you…"

"Yes Joel, please…fill me…I’m close again…"

There’s no time for you to feel scandalised by your own words, because the third release is coming hard.

"That's it, darlin’,” he pants, reaching between you once more and circling you firmly. “Finish for me. Finish around me and let me fill you up. Lemme put it deep inside you.”

You groan as you clench around him, milking him slow and hard and desperate the way he’s begged and a low broken, wrecked sound tears from his throat as he falters and stills deep, driving one last full stroke to the hilt and holding there.

“I'm…I'm fillin’ you…"

He gasps as he spills hot and wet deep inside you and your legs wind tight around the curve of his hips and hold him through every pulse.

"That's it, darlin’," he breathes against your throat. "That's it. So deep. So deep inside you.”

He holds you against him, tilting you so the hot warmth of him pools inside you, his beard scraping against your throat, breath slowing with every shuddering pulse.

“Maybe’s I…I shouldn’t have said it like that,” he says finally.

“Said what?” you ask, your heart still thundering in your chest.

“Bout fillin’ you.” He lets out a soft laugh, almost embarrassed. “Ain’t the most lovin’ words in the world. Guess there’s a hundred better ways to say it.”

You nuzzle his neck with your nose and smile against his skin. “I don’t mind. I liked it.”

Gently, he pulls back and looks at you, brows drawn together. “You liked it?” You nod. “You liked it when I talked ‘bout fillin’ you up?”

“Yes.”

A smile breaks across his face, and he gently slides himself from inside you, both of you hissing at the sensation, before cupping your face with his hands and looking at you squarely.

“Are you tellin’ me, Mrs Miller, that you like…dirty talk?”

You feel a flush creep up your neck. “I don’t know. Is…is that sort of thing considered…dirty talk?”

“S’pose it is, in a way.”

“Then I suppose, in a way, the answer is yes.”

He laughs and shakes his head, eyes wandering over your face as though he’s marvelling at every bit of you. “I bet a year ago you never imagined yourself ever standin’ naked in front of a man who’s been givin’ you dirty talk ‘bout fillin’ you with his child.”

You smile softly, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “A year ago, I never thought I’d be this happy. I suppose the dirty talk is simply an added bonus.”

He watches you carefully for a moment, then nods. “Well, I’m gonna keep makin’ you happy, darlin’ – dirty talk and all.”

****

The evening’s cooled by the time Maria comes to the house bearing an apple pie and something that smells suspiciously like roasted chicken.

The white heat of the long afternoon has broken into the long slow gold of the early evening, and a soft breeze has thankfully come up at last from the south. Sarah wakes from her nap rosy and rumpled and starving, and Joel takes her out to Tess’s garden to water the flowers before supper. You want to give them that time together, so you stood at the kitchen table in a fresh print dress with your hair pinned up neat, shelling the last of the early peas into a bowl.

Maria lets herself in through the open kitchen door.

"Evening, Señora."

"Come in,” you greet her warmly. “There's coffee on, or buttermilk if you'd rather – it's still cool from the well."

"Buttermilk would be lovely, thank you."

She places her wares down and pours herself a glass of the cool buttermilk from the crock, then leans against the sideboard, and watches you work for a long moment without speaking.

You feel it, but you keep your eyes on the peas, as a warm flush begins to climb your throat.

"What is it, Maria?"

"Nothing."

She sips at the buttermilk, her eyes not moving from your face.

"Maria."

"It is nothing,” she insists, the corner of her mouth pulling. "Only…you look well.”

The flush climbs slow higher, but you keep your eyes on the peas and split another pod into the bowl.

"It's the breeze," you reply. "It's a mercy after the heat of the day."

"Mm. You look happy. Happier than I have seen you in a long time, even with the legal problems facing Don Joel."

The words come out quiet and plain and you still with a pea pod half-split in your fingers above the bowl, the flush blooming now across your entire face.

You don't trust your voice for a long moment, so you split the last of the pea pods, gather the empty hulls into your apron, and carry the bowl to the sink. Only then do you turn and look at her.

"I am happy, Maria," you reply. “As you say, there are still challenges ahead. But with Doc Cooper and the town council on Joel’s side and Mr Oliver in our corner, I’m feeling hopeful about all this business with the Reverend and…”

You break off at the look at her face and know, with certainty, that those things are not what she’s referring to.

"I'm glad of it," she says.

"We…Joel and I…we’ve talked a lot since he came home, about a great many things and…well, things are different now. Better.”

“Mm,” she says again, putting her glass down slowly. “He is touching you.”

“I…” you feel the flush deepen, your gaze drawn away from hers and down to the folds of your apron. “I…yes.”

“I am glad of it. It was a great concern to you when we spoke before and I told you – give him time. I have seen how Don Joel has used that time. Tomás and I have both seen how he looks at you and how he speaks of you. We have both seen the change.”

You look up and meet her gaze, watching as she nods slowly. She knows the look of a woman who has finally, after a long, starved period, been thoroughly and gladly loved.

“Yes,” you say softly. “There has been a change for the better and I’m…I’m glad of it.”

Stepping towards you, Maria rests her hands gently on your upper arms and squeezes. “You do not have to worry. His love for you is as great as it was for her – I can tell. And the fact that you have made space for her, makes all the difference.”

She glances outside to where, from the far window, you can see Joel and Sarah kneeling in front of the larkspur.

"I'll leave you to your supper. That little girl will eat the legs off the table when she gets in.”

"Maria…thank you. For your counsel and for being kind to me.”

"You would have managed without it,” she nods. “You're stronger than you know. You came here to marry a grieving man with a motherless child and a wall of grief around him a mile high, and you stayed, and you waited him out, and you won him. But you're welcome, all the same. Get some food in that man tonight and…whatever you’re doing, keep on doing it. It suits you."

She steps back out into the golden evening and crosses the yard, raising her hand to Joel and Sarah as she goes. Minutes later, Sarah comes tumbling into the house chattering brightly, her braids bouncing. Joel comes in behind her with the lazy crooked smile easy on his face, his shirtsleeves rolled and his eyes finding yours at once. The look that passes between you in the evening light is the look of two people who share a great many things now that no one else in the world knows.

Well, except perhaps Maria.

The flush blooms across your face again and you turn back to the peas to hide it, busying yourself with ensuring that the table is properly set and that everyone has what they need. When you set Joel’s plate in front of him, he thanks you, his hand coming up from behind and resting on your backside through your dress, only succeeding in making the flush worse.

Sarah’s chatter continues through the meal, leaving you dizzy at how quickly and ably she can leap from one topic to another with no apparent connection. You’ve almost finished eating when she puts her fork down and nods solemnly.

"I think I’d like a baby sister."

The kitchen goes quiet. You don’t dare look at Joel, instead keeping your eyes on your plate. The whole evening somehow holds its breath around the kitchen table, and across from you Joel goes very still with his fork halfway to his mouth.

"Or a brother. I don't mind which.”

She looks up, gaze shifting between the two of you.

"So, I think we should get one. A baby. I could help.”

She returns to her meat, seemingly satisfied, as though she’s settled the whole matter with her words,

Across the table, Joel sets his fork down against his plate and you make yourself look up at him. His eyes are already on you, his smile quiet and warm, the look passing between you across the table holding a great many things.

Sarah scrapes the last of her gravy off her plate.

"Can we?" she asks, not looking up. "Can we get a baby?"

"Babies aren't quite something you get just like that, my love,” you say quietly. “They come…they come when the time is right, and when a Ma and Pa are ready for them. They can't be hurried."

Sarah considers this.

"When will the time be right?"

You don’t look at Joel because you can feel the flush blooming again across your face and hear his words from when he was buried deep inside you in your ear.

"I don't rightly know. Someday, maybe, if we're lucky and God’s willing.”

"I'll pray for it," Sarah announces slow, with a child’s easy, total confidence. "I'll pray real hard and I know God’ll listen."

She slides down off her chair and carries her plate to the sink.

"May I be excused?”

“Of course, babygirl,” Joel says, his voice coming out rough and thick. “Put your boots on if you’re goin’ back outside.”

She tears off to find her boots, chattering to herself about babies, the screen door banging behind her as she leaves, and you and Joel finally look at one another again.

For a moment neither of you speak, then he laughs, soft and gentle and reaches across the table for your hand.

“Did you say anythin’ to her ‘bout babies?”

“No, of course not,” you reply. “I wouldn’t. Did you?”

"No, but she’s clearly been thinkin’ on it. Our almost six-year-old daughter, plannin’ our family for us.” He shakes his head. "Out of the mouths of babes."

"Out of the mouths of babes," you agree, squeezing his hand.

"Someday," he says quietly.

"Someday," you nod, holding his gaze, watching as his eyes shift from yours to your mouth and back again. “Joel Miller…”

“What?” he grins. “Can’t a man look at his wife and admire her of an evenin’?”

“I feel as though you may be admiring me with nefarious purpose.”

“Well, if you call thinkin’ bout bendin’ you over this table and losin’ myself inside you again nefarious then I’m guilty as charged, darlin’. Of that, if not of anythin’ else.”

You can’t help but laugh, and out across the yard, in the gold of the evening, Sarah kneels in front of her mother’s garden, telling her all about the baby sister or brother she’s going to pray for. And the breeze carries it in through the open kitchen windows, Joel's fingers tightening warm around yours across the table, and neither of you let go.

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰❤️➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

Max laughed softly against your skin, breath warm where his lips brushed your jaw. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Trying to traumatize the new neighbors already?”

You tried to retort something smart, but his next thrust ruined the attempt entirely. The only thing you managed was a broken moan that he swallowed immediately with a grin against your mouth. His own composure looked dangerously close to snapping too, dark eyes blown wide and fixed on you like he still couldn’t fully believe this was real.

The apartment around you still looked half-lived in. Open moving boxes lined one wall of the spacious New Orleans loft while stacks of records and books covered most available surfaces.

A warm lamp glowed in the corner beside the old record player Max had insisted on bringing across state lines himself, and somewhere beneath the sound of your breathing and the creak of furniture, Deftones played low and hazy through the room.

You had fully intended to spend the evening unpacking.

That plan had lasted maybe twenty minutes.

You had been kneeling on the rug sorting through records when Max walked into the living room and caught sight of you cross-legged on the floor in one of his oversized shirts, muttering to yourself while organizing vinyl sleeves into messy piles.

He had watched you for all of five seconds before abandoning any pretense of self-control. One moment you had been holding a Bowie record, the next he was behind you, kissing the back of your neck while pushing the shirt up your body.

That had become a pattern lately.

Ever since leaving New York behind and starting over down south, you had slipped into each other with terrifying ease.

The decision to leave the city had hurt more than you expected, but staying there had eventually begun to feel impossible. Too many ghosts lived in Brooklyn now. Too many memories stained every corner of it.

Before leaving, you had made sure enough evidence against Torres found its way into the right hands. Anonymous tips, hidden reports, overlooked details suddenly resurfacing. It would never bring Samantha, Keira, Lara or Abigail back, but at least their cases would find closure. At least their killer would no longer vanish into unsolved files.

For you and Max, though, closure meant distance.

So you had traded New York winters for humid Louisiana nights, moved into a sprawling apartment above a quiet side street in the French Quarter, and attempted to figure out what eternity together was supposed to look like.

Apparently it looked a lot like this.

Max finally pulled you away from the wall only to carry you a few steps across the room and set you onto the dining table. The wood was cold beneath your back as you laughed breathlessly and shoved aside two open boxes of cookies that had somehow become dinner decoration over the past week - Oreos and Thin Mints sitting absurdly beside unpacked cutlery and half-burned candles.

“Real romantic setup we got going here,” you muttered between breaths.

“I’m a man of sophistication,” Max shot back immediately, gripping your thighs to pull you closer to the edge of the table before thrusting into you again without warning.

Your head tipped back at the sensation. Your legs lifted instinctively around his hips while his hands held you open for him. The music playing nearby no longer covered the sounds you made together. Not that either of you seemed particularly interested in being quiet anymore.

From somewhere near the kitchen came an offended meow.

Oreo leapt off the counter with visible irritation, tail flicking sharply as he abandoned the room altogether.

Max laughed weakly at the sight only for you to lean up and catch his lower lip between your teeth the second he looked back at you. The bite drew another sound from him and your grin widened immediately.

“You hungry, my love?” he teased knowingly.

You rolled your eyes despite the way your body instantly reacted to the question. Feeding had become easier with time, though not necessarily simpler emotionally. Max had guided you through it carefully, showing you how to choose predators over innocents, how to control yourself, how to survive without losing whatever humanity still remained in you. You had adapted frighteningly fast compared to his own turning decades earlier.

You had told him, that it was because you had him at your side.

He came close to believing you.

Now his hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding the sensitive spot that made you jerk beneath him immediately. He circled it slowly while his other hand came up to cover your mouth, muffling the sharp sound that escaped you as pleasure crashed through you again.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your ear. “You’re doing so good for me.”

The praise alone nearly destroyed you.

You clung tighter to him as the climax hit hard and sudden, your entire body tightening around him while the table creaked beneath you. Max groaned at the feeling, grip on your hips turning bruising as he chased his own release seconds later, burying his face briefly against your throat while his movements finally lost rhythm completely.

You rested limply against his chest, laughing softly as you both tried to recover some semblance of composure. “Think the neighbors officially hate us.”

“They’ll get used to it,” Max said easily, helping you off the table when your shaky legs nearly failed you.

“I didn’t,” you muttered.

His grin turned unbearably smug at that. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You shoved weakly at his chest while pulling his abandoned shirt back over your head. Max only laughed and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind the second you finished dressing, pressing a kiss to the top of your shoulder.

“Come on,” you said eventually, leaning back into him. “Let’s go outside for a bit. I wanna see the Christmas lights before this city turns into tourist hell.”

“We should probably find you dinner first,” Max remarked while digging through an abandoned pile of clothes near the couch in search of something marginally presentable. The record player crackled softly as the song ended and he finally crossed the room to switch it off, pausing only to scratch Oreo behind the ears where the cat had claimed the armchair with dramatic exhaustion after being repeatedly subjected to your lack of restraint.

You snorted quietly while opening the wide drawer beside the front door, revealing an almost absurd amount of sunglasses lined up. It had been one of the very first things you unpacked after moving in, mostly because Max had declared them “survival essentials,” though you suspected vanity played an equally important role.

“Well,” you mused, running your fingers over the neatly arranged frames, “good thing New Orleans seems to have an endless supply of creeps wandering around after midnight.” You glanced back over your shoulder toward him. “Dior or Versace?”

Max tucked his shirt into the wide pants he had found and wandered over, sliding up behind you until his chest rested warm against your back. His arms folded loosely around your waist while he peered into the drawer over your shoulder like the choice required serious contemplation.

“You choose, sweetheart,” he murmured easily. “I trust your impeccable taste.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling as you picked out a dramatic pair of black Miu Miu sunglasses for yourself before selecting his favorite Chanel frames. You turned toward him and carefully slid them onto his face, adjusting them with exaggerated precision while studying him critically.

“You know,” you said thoughtfully, “the first time I saw you wearing these, I genuinely thought you were the most pretentious asshole I’d ever met.”

Max gasped softly in mock offense. “And here I thought we had chemistry from the start.”

“Oh, we absolutely had chemistry,” you corrected while slipping into your coat. “The explosive kind.”

His grin widened instantly. “Turns out I’m just a simple style over substance guy.”

“Whatever helps you sleep during the day, 90s boy.”

He laughed under his breath and opened the apartment door for you with a dramatic flourish. Together you stepped out into the dim hallway and descended toward the street below, where cool December air curled around you the second you emerged outside. Compared to New York winters it was almost gentle, the night carrying traces of rain, old stone and distant music drifting through the French Quarter.

Max slipped an arm around your shoulders automatically, drawing you into his side as you started down the glowing street. You leaned against him without thinking, breathing in his familiar scent. It always flooded your system like an overpowering drug.

“How long exactly are you planning to call me that?” he asked, amusement threading through his voice as he pressed a kiss into your hairline.

You tilted your head up just enough to grin at him beneath the oversized sunglasses. “At least another century.”

Your laughter blended quietly into the hum of the city as the New Orleans night swallowed you both wholly, the endless promise of eternity ahead of you.

Taglist:

This fic will forever have a special place in my heart. It was a joyride to create and I am gonna miss Ashley's and Max's banter immensely. I have to thank all of you readers, commenters and supporters. I always hoped the twists and turns in the story would keep you on edge, all while the romance did not cut short.

So honestly thanks to all of you! I hope we will read each other somewhere else again 🤍🤍🤍

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@foreignbrunette

The following morning, you woke up with Harry spooning you from behind. You couldn’t remember the last time you slept that well or how comfortable it had been. His arm was draped over your midsection, his breaths shallow and hot against the shell of your ear. Luckily, you both were wearing some clothing—him in only his boxers and you with one of his shirts. 

You told yourself that it was because of the alcohol and the location for why you felt so comfortable and rested. 

And not because of the man holding you so close to him like he was afraid to let you go. 

Slowly, you climbed out of bed, careful not to wake him. He moved instead to lie on his abdomen, both arms now coming to rest under the pillow. He was snoring quietly now and it was the first time that you managed to get a good look at him like this. 

How peaceful he looked. 

How the weight of his responsibilities weren’t on his shoulders. 

How fucking handsome he was too. 

You shook your head before your thoughts trailed off and reached for your sleep shorts to slip on. You gave him one last glance before stepping out of the bedroom and shutting the door behind you quietly. 

Walking to the kitchen area, you noticed the card from the villa and dialed the number. You were taken aback at how quickly they answered, asking what you and Harry wanted for breakfast. You looked at the menu and bit your lower lip, ordering a side of scrambled eggs, bacon, an assortment of pastries, and coffee—black for him and a latte for you. 

They excitedly said that they’d be there shortly before you hung up. You looked at the card, eyes widening at what it said. You and Harry had your own butler for the entire stay, anything you wanted, they would be there to give it. 

You sighed. You knew how rich Harry and his family was, but never quite like this. 

You grabbed your camera from the counter and wrote on a notepad in case Harry woke up while you were gone. It was a simple message: Ordered breakfast. Out for a short walk. Be back soon. 

You contemplated on signing off with “Love,” and your name, but decided against it. You glanced down the hallway and noticed the bedroom door still shut before walking out of the villa. 

Harry awoke about ten minutes after you left. He looked around the empty room and furrowed a brow, sitting up and pulling on a t-shirt and breathable sweatpants. He opened the door and called out for you only to be welcomed with silence. It wasn’t until he walked to the kitchen that he saw your note. 

Harry was just about to leave the villa when he heard a knock on the door. He knew it was the breakfast you ordered, so he opened the door and smiled politely at the younger man who held a tray of food. 

“Good morning, Mr. Castillo,” he said with a smile, walking further into the villa to set the food and drinks down onto the kitchen counter. Harry followed eagerly, his stomach rumbling from the smell of food wafting through. He glanced at the counter for a moment, biting his lower lip as he remembered last night’s events. A small smile curled his lips at the thought before he excused himself to get some cash to give a tip. 

“Thank you,” Harry said, sliding a couple of hundred dollar bills into the younger man’s hand. “Smells delicious.” 

The younger man smiled his thanks and then turned on his heel to leave the villa. 

Once alone again, Harry reached for his black coffee and smiled to himself. You knew what he liked and he certainly knew what you liked too because at the sight of your latte, he knew that it’d likely be way too sweet for his liking. 

After a few minutes, Harry reached for his phone and decided to give you a call. He was hungry and he didn’t know how long he could wait. 

“Hey,” you said over the phone. “I’m heading back now.” 

“You ordered breakfast.” 

“And coffee,” you added. “Is it there now?” 

“Yeah, just got here.” 

“Good. Don’t eat without me!”

Harry chuckled. “You know I wouldn’t. It’s why I called. Just wanted to check in to see how long you’d be.” 

“Few minutes,” you answered. “Just went for a walk and took some pictures.” 

“Take any good ones?” 

“I did,” you said. “I’ll show you them when I get back. I’ll see you soon.” 

“See you in a bit,” he replied, hanging up the phone. Just as he was about to set the phone back on the counter, his matchmaker from Adore called. 

Harry glanced at the front door and bit his lower lip, stepping out onto the deck and sliding the glass doors shut as he answered. 

“Hello?” 

“Harry, hi,” she replied cheerily. “I know you’re on vacation, but figured I’d give you a call to let you know some good news.” 

“Right.” 

“You have more than one match,” she said. “And I think having plenty of options gives you more flexibility to choose who you might want to spend more of your time with.” 

“So, date around?” 

“Not around,” she corrected. “Just the list of women I have for you.”

Harry nodded. He glanced over his shoulder and saw you walk into the villa. Your camera was in your hand and you were still wearing his shirt, something that he was sure he’d never get tired of seeing. You spotted him and waved with a grin. 

He forced a smile, waved back, and then turned away from you. It felt like he was cheating on you with what he was doing and the conversation he was having, but Harry needed to think realistically. 

Because after this week, his relationship with you would go back to normal. 

“Okay,” he finally answered. “How many women?”

“Five. I think all could be a great fit, truthfully, but I just wanted to give you a call to let you know that you have options.” 

“Great.” 

“Do you want to stop at five?” 

Harry cleared his throat. “For now, yes.” 

“Wonderful,” she said. “I think it’s a great starting point and each woman has what you’re looking for.” 

Harry sighed. He thought back to Lucy and what she told him about loving being easy. He started wondering what that looked like and what that meant because with you, everything was easy. 

“Does—Does Lucy know about this?” He asked hesitantly. 

The matchmaker replied without hesitation. “Yes.” 

He sighed. “Right, makes sense considering she’s running that company now.” 

“Is that a problem, Mr. Castillo?” 

“No, no,” he answered. “Just making an observation.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” he said quickly. “Please don’t reach out for the remainder of this week, okay? I’ll give you a call once I’m back in New York.” Harry didn’t give her the chance to respond before he hung up the phone. He stepped back into the villa and noticed you reach for your latte, sipping from the mug carefully as you leaned against the counter of the kitchen. 

You were the first one to speak when he pocketed his phone—away from your eyes. 

“Work things?” You asked. 

“Something like that,” he mumbled. “You take any good shots?” 

“I think so,” you smiled, reaching for two plates from the cupboard and setting it on the counter. “We should go for a walk together after breakfast,” you suggested.

“A walk?” 

“Yeah, before all the festivities happen.” 

“First, you want me to swim. Now, you want me to walk,” he chuckled. 

You nodded, grabbing a croissant and some eggs to put on your plate. “You act like it’s the hardest thing in the world.” 

“Well, no,” he sighed. “I just—we don’t have to pretend like we’re together if no one is around.” 

Harry hated himself the minute it left his lips.

Because you looked at him like you had been hurt, like maybe swimming and taking a walk was crossing that boundary that neither of you agreed to. 

“You know what? Yeah, you’re right. I’m gonna eat breakfast outside. You do… whatever you want to do.” 

“Wait,” he said, gently reaching for your hand as you began walking away. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“No, it’s fine,” you said, forcing a smile. “But just so you know, we’re not only fuck buddies, Harry. Two friends can go swimming together… they can go for a walk together.” 

“I know,” he whispered. “I’m just… I’m in my head.” 

“Then, you take some time to figure your shit out,” you said, pulling your hand away and beginning to walk out onto the deck. 

Harry watched you for a moment and sighed, jaw clenching as he turned his back to you. He didn’t know why he was acting like this, why he couldn’t just enjoy the moment and the entire week. He had no concerns now about how the both of you would come across to his family—yesterday showed they were convinced… too convinced about your fake relationship with him. 

And yet, he still wanted everything to go perfectly. 

After about thirty minutes, you walked back inside and set the plate and your mug in the sink. You noticed that Harry’s plate was now empty too. He was sitting on the couch with his phone in hand and you could tell he didn’t want to break the silence first. You caught him looking over at you before turning his gaze away from you quickly. 

You sighed and shook your head. You wouldn’t admit it, but you had a soft spot for him. Always did. 

So, you walked over to the couch and sat next to him. He glanced at you briefly before turning his phone off and setting it on the coffee table. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

“You should be.” 

Harry looked at you now. Noticed the small smile on your lips and he felt himself relax. 

He hated the way it made him feel when you walked away, trying to make the hurt he caused. 

“Right,” he muttered. 

“What’s going on? I thought yesterday was a solid day. We convinced them.” 

“That can change,” he whispered. “They could catch on.” 

“We can come up with excuses if they do,” you reasoned. “Couples are allowed to have disagreements and arguments, Harry.” 

“I know that.” 

“I don’t think you do. No relationship is going to be perfect.” 

“But I can try…” Harry mumbled. 

“Good luck with that,” you sighed. “Listen, we have five days left. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was pushing this into something it shouldn’t be.” 

“You weren’t.” 

“I think you’re lying.” 

He sighed. 

“I just want to have some fun,” you said. “And I wanted to have fun with you.” 

Harry’s brows lifted just slightly. He bit his lower lip and nodded. Hesitantly, he reached out to take your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles lightly. 

“Okay,” he replied. “We can have fun.” 

“I know what this is,” you continued. “I know that after this trip, we go back to normal. I’m not expecting anything, okay? We established rules. We both know that we’re not going to work out even if we did give this a try.” 

He nodded.

“I’m just a really good friend who’s helping you out,” you finished. “And someone to have sex with too.” 

Harry chuckled, but he was still holding onto the last thing you said. It started lingering in his mind: 

We both know that we’re not going to work out even if we did give this a try. 

It shouldn’t have affected him the way it did, but he also couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes softened at those words and how it looked like you were contemplating on it too. 

“Okay,” he finally said. “I’ll… try.” 

You nodded and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I’m going to get ready then. Are we okay?” 

Harry looked up at you as you stood from the couch. He nodded once more and reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips as he pressed a soft and light kiss on the back of it. “We’re okay,” he said. 

He played with your fingers for a moment before letting go. “Don’t take too long.” 

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the warmth you felt in the pit of your stomach. “I’ll take however long I want.” 

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, guess that’s fair. You’ll do whatever you want… no matter what I say.” 

You grinned. “You know me so well.” 

Then, you turned on your heel and walked down the hallway into the bedroom. You needed some distance because feelings that you hadn’t ever felt before started surfacing.

It took you about half an hour to finish getting ready. Harry had told you last night that today’s events would mainly be on the water since his parents rented a yacht for the remainder of the day. 

You were dressed in a sleeveless, tan crocheted maxi cover up dress over a black two piece bikini. The dress clung to your curves with a high slit on the right leg. As you walked out of the bathroom, you bumped into Harry whose hands immediately moved to rest on your hips. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath. Harry’s eyes took you in, licking his lower lip as he kept his hands on you firmly. “I buy this one?” 

“Yeah,” you smiled. “You like it?” 

He nodded. “Trying not to say anything inappropriate.” 

“We’re past that, don’t you think?” 

“Right.” He said quietly, pulling away from you briefly only to give your bodies space. Harry grabbed your hand and twirled you in front of him, biting his lip at the sight of you. “Beautiful.” 

Your cheeks flushed with warmth as you stared up at him, noticing the longing gaze in his eyes as he stared at every inch of you. You leaned in and kissed his cheek lightly, using your free hand to gently pat his chest. 

“I’m gonna be outside for a bit, okay?” You said quietly. 

Harry nodded, but still kept you close, still kept a tight hold on your hand. “Okay.” 

Your head tilted. “Need help getting ready?” You teased. 

Harry’s gaze darkened. “You wouldn’t be helping if I needed to get ready.” 

“No?” 

He shook his head. “I’d rather you help me out with something else.” 

You grinned. “You’re dirty… and already thinking like that this early in the morning?” 

“I wouldn’t consider it early…” 

You leaned in again. This time, you brushed your lips with his and lingered for a few more seconds. “You didn’t want to take a walk with me, so… I don’t think I can you help you out with what you need me to do.” 

His eyes narrowed and he turned you around, bringing you flush back against him. You felt his hardness at your lower half instantly, the sweatpants a very thin material that made you feel the outline of him very easily. 

“Tease,” he muttered. 

“Hey, you put yourself in this position,” you argued, though you pushed back against him. “Blame yourself.” 

His large hand came up to cover a breast, massaging it slowly into his palm as his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. “I’m thinking that you’re already wet for me,” he whispered. 

“N—No,” you stammered, eyes fluttering. “Not even close.” 

He chuckled and then pulled away, watching you turn back around to face him. “Liar,” he said. 

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t lie.” 

He laughed again. 

A smile formed on your lips. 

“Just get ready,” you said, gently pushing him away as you began walking out of the room. 

Harry took your hand again. You looked back over at him. 

“You really do look beautiful,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “I won’t take long.” 

You nodded and watched him enter the bathroom, the door quietly shutting behind him. You let out a shaky sigh. Playing pretend was starting to blur the lines of what was real and what wasn’t… and you couldn’t help the feeling in your chest at the way he looked at you, or the way he complimented you so easily. 

Harry stepped out of the room and spotted you sitting on the deck outside with a journal on your lap. He smiled to himself. You looked beautiful like this and he couldn’t remember a time where you seemed so carefree and happy like now. He wondered if it was because of the trip or if it was because of him. 

As his mind began drifting though, he shook his head and began walking towards you. Harry needed to stop the lingering thoughts because this was going to end in just five days. 

Even if maybe, he didn’t want it to. 

He was dressed in an olive green tank top underneath another white shirt, unbuttoned this time. Harry stepped out onto the deck with you, causing you to look up at him with a broad smile. 

“You look cute,” you said. 

“You think so?” He asked, playfully twirling in front of you.

You let out a quiet a laugh and nodded, shutting your journal and extending a hand up for him to help you up. Harry took your hand eagerly, gently helping you to your feet. 

“Is now a bad time to ask if you get seasick?” Harry asked. 

“I think so,” you answered. “But I think I’ll be okay.” 

“I’ll be right there,” he said. “In case you want to hold my hand or something.” 

You felt your cheeks warm instantly. “Will you hold me if I ask?” You teased. 

Harry nodded, pulling you closer to him until you collided against his chest. “I’ll do anything you ask,” he whispered. “Anything you want.” 

“Careful,” you whispered. “That might come back to bite you.” 

Harry’s eyes glimmered with excitement. “I’m counting on it.” 

You bit your lower lip to prevent the large smile from lining your lips. You weren’t used to him being so charming like this. Sure, you knew he had a way with words, but never had you been on the receiving end of it. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

He chuckled. “More family today,” he said, leading you back inside the villa. 

“Okay,” you nodded. “Anything or anyone I should be wary of?” 

“No,” Harry answered. “I just wanted to give you the heads up, that’s all.” 

“So, I gotta pack on the affection, huh?” 

Harry smiled. “Maybe not too much where it doesn’t seem real.” 

“Oh, trust me, Harry,” you smiled. “I can make it seem real even if it’s too much.” 

He watched you for a moment, walking around the villa like you already knew where everything was. He cleared his throat, already beginning to imagine what it’d be like having you at his penthouse more regularly. Would you walk around his place like you owned it? Wearing nothing but his shirt? 

Then, he started imagining what it’d be like coming home to you. Waking up with you. Going to bed with you. Cooking dinner with you. 

“Are you listening?” You said, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

“Sorry, what?” He asked, shaking his head. “Sorry. I spaced out.” 

You laughed quietly. “Are you nervous again, Harry?” 

He shook his head once more. “No.”

“Then, where’s your head at?” 

He shrugged. Harry couldn’t admit what he was thinking about because that would mean crossing a line you both agreed to never cross. 

“Nowhere.” 

“You’re lying.” 

“Could never lie to you,” he forced a smile. “Now, let’s go.” 

You narrowed your eyes and shook your head, taking his hand in yours and lacing your fingers with his. “You just lied.” 

He laughed quietly and looked down at your hand, squeezing it gently in his own. “I just spaced out. That’s all. It’s not serious.” 

“Okay,” you said. “If you’re telling me the truth, come here and give me a kiss then.” 

Harry cleared his throat and leaned in to kiss your cheek. “There. Happy?” 

“That’s not a kiss.” 

His eyes glanced down at your lips for a moment. “If I kiss you, will you shut up?” He teased. 

You bit back a smile and nodded, blinking up at him innocently. “Yeah, baby.” 

Harry swallowed nervously. He didn’t think that you’d have this much of an effect on him. You calling him baby, you asking for a kiss and looking at him like the way you are now shouldn’t have an effect on him if there were no real feelings involved. 

Right? 

He rolled his eyes and leaned in to press his lips firmly against your own. Harry pulled his hand from yours to place both of his own on your hips. Your hands moved to link at the nape of his neck, eagerly moving your lips with his. 

“Mm,” he mumbled, feeling you smile against his lips before you pulled away. 

“We have to get into character,” you reasoned. 

“Character, huh?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, leaning up to peck his lips a few more times. 

“Okay then, baby,” Harry said, moving a hand around to rest on your ass. “Let’s get into character then.” 

You both were standing in the doorway, staring into each other’s eyes. The air felt charged again. Something unsaid lingering once more. 

“You calling me baby is… it’s nice.” You whispered. 

“Yeah? You like it?” Harry asked, bringing his other hand to your face, gently tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. 

“Good,” he said, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Because I like it when you call me that too.” 

You shouldn’t have been surprised at the size of the yacht that his parents rented for the day. You already noticed and heard plenty of chatter and laughter as Harry led you onto it. He kept his hand on your lower back as he smiled and nodded at familiar faces. 

“Do you think we can swim?” You asked, looking over at him. 

“Swim?” 

“Yeah.” 

“We don’t… we’re on a yacht, baby.” 

“Yeah… we’re on the water. Are we just going to drink and mingle all day?” 

“That’s the plan.” 

“I mean, that’s fun, but…” 

Harry smiled. “Okay, we can swim.” 

Your eyes lit up. “You’ll join me?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “Because if I don’t, no one will.” 

“Really?” 

Harry nodded. 

“Well, let’s show your family how to have some fun.” You smiled, leaning up to gently press a kiss to his cheek. “For now, let’s get some drinks.” 

Harry smiled, following you to the bar. He couldn’t help but notice his extended family’s gaze on you. It wasn’t like this with Lucy. He watched the men’s lingering gaze on your body and noticed the way the women nodded at him with an approving smile. 

“Two glasses of wine, please,” he heard you say, his attention turning to the bartender who eyed you with a smirk. 

“Coming right up.” 

Harry wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you close to his side. His eyes narrowed at the bartender who paid no attention to him whatsoever. After he poured two glasses of wine like you asked, he set it on the counter. 

“Nice dress,” he said with a grin. 

“Oh, thank you,” you smiled, taking the two glasses. “Here you go, baby,” you added, turning to face Harry. You knew what the bartender was doing and knew that Harry had a reaction to it by the way he kept you close. So, you leaned in and pecked his lips. “You don’t have to worry,” you whispered. 

Harry nodded and looked down at you. “I know.” 

The bartender cleared his throat and turned away from the both of you. 

“Uh huh, sure,” you smiled. “Come on. Let’s go find your parents.” 

Harry followed you closely. He sipped from his glass and watched you walk with so much confidence like you always did. It wasn’t until that moment he realized you seemed to always catch his attention, even before this. 

It only took a few minutes before the both of you found his parents mingling with other members of the family. They were obviously at the top deck of the yacht, leaning against the railing. His mother had her own glass of wine in hand while his father had his normal glass of scotch.

“Harry, honey,” his mother smiled, excusing herself from the people she was talking to. Harry led you over to them and watched how his mother pulled you into a hug first, kissing your cheek before she did the same to him. 

“Hi, ma,” Harry kissed her cheek and turned to his father. “Hey, dad.” 

“Nice, isn’t it?” His dad smiled. “Your mother wanted the biggest yacht.” 

His mother rolled her eyes. “He’s lying. He wanted the biggest yacht.” 

You laughed quietly and leaned against Harry, feeling his arm tighten around you absently. 

“Well, it’s beautiful,” you smiled. 

“She was actually wondering if we could stop the yacht sometime later,” Harry said. 

“For what?” His father asked. 

“To swim.” 

“Swim?” His mother asked. 

You smiled and looked at Harry. “Yeah.” 

His parents looked at each other for a moment, then they glanced up at Harry. He shrugged as a response. “She wants to swim,” he chuckled. 

“Will you be swimming too?” His mother asked, grinning. 

“Or will you let her swim alone? Afraid to get your hair wet?” Peter teased, approaching the four of you with a quiet chuckle. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not afraid to get my hair wet.” 

“So, that’s a yes, then? You’re gonna swim too?” 

Harry looked down at you and nodded. “Yes, I’ll be swimming too.” 

You grinned and wrapped an arm around him, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “My hero,” you teased. 

His parents laughed quietly. Peter looked down at you with an amused smile. 

“You’re bringing my brother out of his comfort zone,” he pointed out. “I like it.” 

“You all act like I don’t have any fun,” Harry said. 

“You don’t,” his parents and Peter said simultaneously. 

You smiled and leaned up to kiss his cheek, gently rubbing his back. “It’s okay, baby. We’ll show you how to have some fun.” 

“I have fun,” Harry muttered. 

“Okay,” you said. 

“Sure you do,” Peter added. 

“Where’s Charlotte? Shouldn’t you be with your wife?” He said, rolling his eyes.

“She’s just in the bathroom,” Peter chuckled. 

“Right.” 

“Anyway, yes, we’ll stop the yacht for you to swim,” his mother smiled. 

“Will you join us too?” You asked. 

Harry’s eyes widened. “Oh, baby, I don’t think—”

“You know what? Yes,” his father said with a smile. 

“We’ll join you,” his mother added. 

About an hour and a half later, you and Harry were in one of the luxury bedrooms on the yacht. You wanted to lie down for a moment, feeling just a bit seasick with the added alcohol too. His parents had told the both of you to go to one of the rooms downstairs, away from the crowd and noise. 

“You okay?” Harry asked, sitting at the edge of the bed as you remained on your back. 

“Yeah,” you answered. “Just wanted to catch my breath.”  

“Too much?” 

You shook your head. “I’ve just never been on a boat before.” 

He chuckled and gently slipped your sandals off your feet. He took one of your feet in his grasp and began massaging it gently, watching your eyes flutter shut. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have had like four glasses of wine that quickly,” he commented. 

“I figured alcohol would help—mmm, that feels good,” you mumbled, feeling his thumbs dig into the bottom of your foot. 

“Should I tell my parents no on the swimming?” 

“No!” You said, sitting up abruptly. “No, I still want to go swimming. Just need a little break, that’s all.” 

“What can I do?” 

“What you’re doing is great,” you mumbled, laying back on the bed as you felt him move his hands from your feet up your legs, bringing the ends of your dress with it.

“Yeah?” He asked, biting his lower lip as he watched you reach for the end of your dress to pull it over your body. You were now clad in a simple black two piece bikini. 

“Harry?” 

“Yeah, baby?” He asked, one hand moving up your leg to your thigh and back down. 

“You’re touching me.” 

“Want me to stop?” 

You shook your head, propping yourself on your forearms to look down at him. “You’re not touching me where I want you to touch me.” 

Harry’s gaze darkened with lust. “Where do you want me to touch you, baby?” 

“Come here.” 

He nodded and kicked off his own sandals, climbing onto the bed and crawling over you. You spread your legs to give him space to settle between them and he propped one hand on the mattress. 

“Where do you want me to touch you?” He asked again. 

You stared up at him and reached down to grab his wrist, guiding his hand between your legs. 

“Right here?” He asked. 

You nodded. “I think I’ve… been wet since we left our villa.” 

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. “Yeah?” 

“Touch me, please.” 

“God, you’re pretty when you’re begging, baby.” Harry smiled, pulling the bottom of your bikini to the side to expose your glistening heat. He ran a finger along the length of you, keeping his eyes locked with yours. “Fuck.” 

“Told you.” 

Harry slid his middle finger inside of you, feeling your warmth and wetness immediately. He watched your eyes flutter closed, a quiet whimper escaping your lips. 

“Wish I brought a condom,” he said quietly, brushing his lips along your cheek. Harry began pumping his finger in and out of you, propping himself on his forearm as he brushed your hair away from your face with his free hand. 

“W—Why?” 

He lowered himself until he nipped at your ear, whispering quietly, “So I can fuck you.”

Then, Harry slid in another finger. You were so wet, welcoming his digits with ease. He moved his lips from your ear to the side of your neck. 

“Harry,” you moaned loudly, moving your hands to his tank top and gently bunching the fabric with your grip. 

“You’re so fucking wet, baby,” he whispered, pulling back to look down at you. “Fucking soaked.” He pulled his fingers out abruptly to look at his digits, glistening with your arousal as he brought it to his lips. He groaned at your taste before sliding his fingers back inside of you. He began pumping his fingers rapidly now. 

“Oh fuck, baby,” you moaned, toes curling as your back arched. 

Harry knew you were close now, could see it in the way your face scrunched up and how your body began trembling. He thrusted his fingers to the knuckle, curling both of them inside of you as his thumb rubbed circles into your clit. 

“Fuck… me!” You moaned and Harry used his free hand to cover your mouth, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. 

“Damn, look at you…” he grinned, continuing to curl his fingers inside of you as you rode through your climax. You were breathing heavily now and finally opened your eyes to look at him, slightly dazed, as you watched him bring his fingers back to his lips. “Mmmm. Let’s hope no one heard you.” 

You grabbed his wrist and gently tugged his hand from your mouth, wrapping your lips around one of his fingers. You swirled your tongue around his digit before pulling it from your mouth. 

“Feel better?” He asked. 

You nodded. “A bit.” 

“A bit?” Harry chuckled. 

“Wish you fucked me,” you grinned. 

He cleared his throat. “Don’t tempt me.” 

“Mm, having sex with a condom is a rule of ours,” you said. 

“I know it is.” 

“But we can break rules from time to time, right?” You asked. 

Harry’s brows shot up. “What?” 

“What?” 

“You’ll let me fuck you without a condom?” 

“As long as you pull out.” 

He let out a shaky breath. “Baby… you can’t—you can’t say something like that.” 

“No?” 

He shook his head. “Because I just know that it’ll feel good without it. How would I be able to go back once I know what you feel like… raw?” 

You licked your lower lip and gently pushed him onto his back. You straddled his waist and reached down to undo the button of his shorts before sliding the zipper down. You wasted no time in pulling his hardened length out, slowly stroking the base of him. 

“Baby,” he whispered, letting out a strained groan. 

“Let me sit on it,” you said, leaning down to lightly peck his lips. “Will you let me?” 

“Fuck,” he moaned, feeling your thumb brush over his glistening tip. “Baby, are you sure?” 

“I trust you,” you whispered, lifting your hips. “Do you trust me?” 

“More than you’ll ever know,” Harry admitted. 

You smiled and slowly slid down onto him, gasping loudly at the feel of his girth stretching you. You could feel every inch of him now, every vein and the warmth of his manhood slide along your walls. 

Harry moved both hands to your hips, gripping them tightly. Your walls sucked him in, tight and wet and warm around his base as you continued to slide down along him. He kept his eyes focused on yours, pursing his lips to peck your own. 

“God, you feel fucking amazing,” he whispered, moving his hands from your waist to your ass, slowly beginning to guide you along his length. 

“I feel all of you,” you mumbled, eyes falling shut as you rested your forehead against his. “Every fucking inch.” 

Harry knew he wasn’t going to last long, especially not with the way he felt your walls slide along his length. It felt so much better without having to use a condom but now he wasn’t sure how he was going to spend the rest of the day on this yacht when all he wanted to do now was just spend it at the villa with you.

Between your legs. 

Familiarizing himself with your sex without a barrier. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, holding you just a few inches above him as he pressed his feet on the mattress and began thrusting up into you. Harry’s eyes shut tightly now, fingertips digging into your ass. 

You buried your face against his neck, biting down on the fabric of his shirt to muffle your moans. 

Harry slowly rolled you onto your back, pounding into you. He began chasing his own release, and after a few more thrusts, Harry pulled out abruptly and came hard on your abdomen. His body shuddered as he opened his eyes to look down at you. Your midsection was glistening with his come now. 

“Yeah…” you said through pants. “I think it’s going to be hard going back to condoms now too.” 

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned down to peck your lips. “You’re crazy.” 

“About you, maybe,” you grinned. 

Harry smiled. He wasn’t sure what that meant—if it meant anything—but he couldn’t help the way it made him feel. 

“Let me clean you up,” he said, climbing off the bed and walking into the connected bathroom. He wiped himself first before tucking himself back inside his shorts. Harry walked back into the room and gently cleaned his come off your abdomen, biting his lower lip. 

“Thank you,” you said, moving a hand to his hair and running your fingers through his curls. 

He looked over at you. “Gonna want to do that again,” he admitted. 

“Me too,” you smiled. 

“Tonight?” Harry asked. 

“You know we will.” 

“Good.” Once you were clean, he watched you sit up to pull your dress back on. “Feeling ready to go back out there?” 

“I’m relaxed now,” you smiled, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “And ready to swim.” 

Harry laughed loudly. He watched you jump off the yacht and into the water yelling “cannon ball!” He shrugged off his tank top and his shirt before joining you immediately, swimming over to you. For once, he didn’t mind his parents’ parties because you managed to distract him, managed to make it fun. He wrapped his arms around your waist and leaned in to peck your lips, feeling your hands push his hair away from your face. 

“Did I look cool?” You asked. 

Harry laughed. “I don’t know if cool would be something I’d describe you as.” 

You gasped playfully. “Then, what would you describe me as?”  

He smiled. “Gorgeous.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Flirt.” 

Then, Peter and Charlotte jumped off the yacht too, both holding hands as they jumped into the water. 

“Woo!” Peter chuckled, swimming to the surface with Charlotte in tow. “Water feels amazing.” 

You smiled and looked up to see both Harry’s dad and mom standing at the edge of the yacht. 

“Ma! Be careful and—” Harry exclaimed before being cut off when she jumped into the water with his dad right behind her. 

He smiled to himself. Harry had gotten so used to working so much, so used to seeing his parents in business mode, that this side of them had given him a glimpse of his childhood. 

And it was all because of you. 

“Hey,” he said. 

“Hm?” 

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, kissing your cheek. “For this. For making this memorable.”

You smiled. “Well, we’ve got five more days left of this.” 

He nodded and pulled you closer. His mind started drifting again. 

What if this didn’t have to end? 

It’s nights like these that he sometimes wished he smoked. He’ll pour himself a drink once the client wakes up and leaves, but he doesn’t want her to catch it on his breath.

Bourbon. Bath. Bed. Maybe something short and calm on streaming. There’s a new cowboy film just dropped by that Spanish director looks good. 

Leaning on the kitchen counter and staring out across the silent living room, he contemplates the novel you left on the coffee table. Wonders if you’re missing it.

It occurs to him that he could call you. He can do that now. He doesn’t need a reason anymore, but even if the reason is a rough day…actually, maybe that’s even more reason to call you. In fact, he really should ask you–

His phone vibrates on the countertop and he frowns. It’s your pattern and his heart races a little, not only because it’s you, but thinking he’s been lost in thought too long, that he’s missed the three-hour mark. But a flip of the phone shows him he’s got 20 minutes to go. 

Odd. It’s not like you to interrupt a session.

“Hey, muñeca, everything okay?” he mumbles, stepping barefoot out onto the front porch in nothing but his sweatpants.

Your voice sounds far away, “Oh shit,” before a riffling sound and then a clearer, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit dial. I didn’t know I did. I was going to call and then I saw the time…I know you’re in the middle of a session, oh loverboy I’m so sorry–”

Just the sound of your voice is an instant balm. “It’s okay, it’s okay, she’s sleeping. I was actually just thinking about calling you.”

“Oh, really?” There’s something there behind your fluster, hiding among the smile in your voice, something that he might not have noticed if you hadn’t said you meant to call.

“Something you wanted to call me about?”

There’s a sound in the background. An announcement. You’re in public. “Um, no, not really. I just had a lonely moment, that’s all.”

“Well that’s an ego boost. You wanna come spend the night?”

There’s a pause. Shocked, judging by your voice. “Really? On an appointment night?”

He scratches his head and focuses on his feet as he aimlessly paces the porch. “Sure. I mean, if like a quarter after ten isn’t too late for you to drive just to go to bed.”

“With the weather shifting and how warm you run? It’s never too late to say yes to a heated bed.”

He smiles. “Glad I can be of service.” There's silence from you and he cringes. “Shit. Not you– not– Was that a bad choice of word?”

“No. It’s just–”

“Hey. I want you here tonight. I wanna talk to you.” Another silence. He supposes that sounds ominous. It shouldn’t. “You know, here. Not…on a phone.” He’s still not good at this. 

“That sounds nice…. You, uh, need anything? I’m at the grocery store.”

“No. Just you.” It feels good to say. Right. It’s what’s needed to break what feels like an odd tension into a few comfortable, mutually smiling moments. “So. The grocery store. And you’re feeling lonely. At a grocery store.”

Your laughter--hushed but musical--is kept close to the phone. “Well I am standing in produce and they just got in some preeeeeetty nice looking eggplants.”

“Wow.”

Another laugh, less hushed, throatier. “Okay, I’m sorry! I’ll let you get back to your work. I assume you’ve got a sleeping beauty to wake up.”

Pulling the phone away from his face for a timecheck, he winces. “Yeah. I’ll see you in 20?”

“I’d say I can’t wait, but you know that I will.”

Wow. “I know and I…”Something sweet twists inside. “I know.”

After you hang up he stands a minute more on the porch in the dark. The leaves are almost all off the trees now, the crickets are gone. His feet are freezing and the skin on his torso is goosebumping; doing its best–and failing–to lift his fine hairs to shield him from the autumn chill. But it’s far from unpleasant and he finds that he’s awake for the sensation in a way he hasn’t been in a while.

He’s alive again in a way he hasn’t been in a while.

The last couple of months have been…nothing short of amazing.

He should tell you that. He should say it.

But he’s got to get to that point where…he accepts it. 

Not the relationship…the fact that there’s always a possibility it’s too good to be true, that he could lose it. He could lose you.

You’re handling everything so well, but for how long? How long until you make him choose?

Oh fuck, please don’t make me choose, preciosa, please.

The phone buzzes in his hand. Timer; no need to look, just thumbs the button to silence. On another night, he’d allow himself more time, let the client sleep while he mused. But he’s got a job to do. 

And someone special arriving soon.

So he packs these thoughts away and goes quietly inside to prepare.

________

He’s just poured the detergent in the washing machine when he hears the door open. “Hey, I’m just cleaning up, gimme a second.”

Out in the entry, your shoes clatter on the floor and then your keys jingle on the kitchen counter and before he knows it you’re on him, topless and crowding him against the washing machine, kissing him like he’s just come back from war. It’s jarring but pleasant and full of hungry sighs…until there’s a ping in his calf muscle.

“Ooh, hey, Pres, hey hey, hang on.” Taking your face in his hands he calms, he whispers, he soothes you in order to soothe himself, but you catch on instantly, concern splashing over you.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

A kiss to the tip of your nose, to your smart little nose. “No, no, I’m a little sore; just had a difficult session–a difficult day, actually. And I haven’t showered yet. So don’t get yourself too worked up here. You don’t want me like this.”

He expects you to recoil from this, to find the sex with someone else still lingering on his skin. You don’t.

You simply run your hands over his sides, lean in to kiss his chin. “Of course I do. I want you like whatever you are.”

You’re backlit from the kitchen and there’s something like a soft halo around you, bringing a glow to the roll of your cheeks, the swipe of your lip. Tracing these with a finger and finding himself reflected in your eyes, he trusts you, accepts this, tries to see himself like you do. How are you so effortless?

There’s nothing but surrender when you rake your fingers through his beard and push yourself up onto tiptoe to press a warm kiss to his forehead. “But if you really feel that way, beautiful, let me run you a bath.” 

Everytime he opens his eyes and you’re there, it's like a small miracle.

“Come on,” you smile, taking his hand and guiding him to the stairs, “let me take care of you and you can tell me about your day.”

You’re perfect. He’s so grateful he picked up the phone tonight when he did.

________

“Mmmmm, that’s good.” The sigh comes up from his bottom wells, like a contented creature crawling out of hidden caverns within. The back of his head rests in your palm, warm water spilling over his scalp. Your hands whisper and calm and soothe. He spends so much time using his touch to bring relaxation to others that he’d all but forgotten that it could go the other way. And your touch–

“So there was some heavy lifting tonight, huh?” Your finger lightly wipes away an errant rivulet from the corner of his eye. “Ness, right?”

The ghost of irritation looms. “Mmm. She has a pretty severe tailbone injury. Didn’t tell me about it before she showed up. Lot of full-body lifting on the table just to get her in the right positions for stretch.”

“I see. You’ll feel it tomorrow. And sore tailbone means no actual sex tonight.”

“Oh no, we had some fun. She’s got weeks of recovery ahead of her and she needed some practice re-routing some natural orgasm responses to different muscle groups when she ejaculates.”

“Ejaculates? She…? Ohhh.” A loving hand begins to wander lightly over his chest. “I assumed. My bad.”

“Sorry. Should have been more clear. But yeah.”

“No need to apologize. I don’t know why I hadn’t just assumed that you…took all forms of payment.”

He peeks an eye open to catch your reaction as you reach over the side of the tub toward him and finds your warm, curious smile. “Not to disparage the vaginal anatomy, but sometimes it’s nice to have my dick handled by someone who has a lifetime experience with their own.”

“Noted. Fair.”

Closing his eyes and sinking into the warm bath of your care a lifetime goes by with your hands running over his skin.

“You’re very accommodating.”

A kiss lands on his temple. “Wait until you realize I’m terribly selfish and am in it for the rewards points.” When his smile fades, your hands slow. “That was a joke.”

“I know.” Sensing a shift in tone coming when he turns to you, you instinctively pull back, but he catches your hand in his, pulling it in to place a wet kiss to your knuckles. “Would you mind if I don’t want to have sex tonight?”

“Of course. That’s okay.” A half-smile. Are you covering disappointment?

“I’m more than happy to go down on you if you–”

But a shake of your head stops him. “No, it's fine. I can tell you’re tired. You said you had a hard day. Wanna tell me about it while we get you dried off and into bed?”

He feels like a child as he simply nods, allows you to help him up, succumbs to you as you care for him. It’s easy to do, to melt under your attention, to crack open and spill. He does his best not to control the spread as he generalizes a failed report at work, a difficult project he’s fallen behind on. By the time you’re sliding into the sheets and curling up next to him, he’s breaching the topic he’s been deciding and undeciding and deciding again to tell you about–that his mother called without warning.

“She wants to meet you.”

Your breathing stills in the darkness. “You told your mom about me.”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I..” you stutter, “I guess I didn’t… I’m flattered that you talk about me?”

There’s a pang of guilt that he’s let you believe you’re not important enough for him to tell the world that you’re in his life. But he sighs as you squeeze your arm around his middle. “You might feel differently if you met her.”

“Are you kidding? I’d love to meet your…is it just your mom?”

“And my father. I have an older brother but he lives in Australia. Doesn’t go home much.”

“Home issssSantiago?”

“Just outside of it. Rancagua.”

Another squeeze. Perhaps that was a lie; your arm around him and the brush of your lips on his shoulder feels like his true home now. 

“So this call was stressful because she wants to meet me. And you’re nervous?”

“The call was stressful because…I don’t…want her to meet you.” Your squeeze lightens a bit and he slides his grip over your arm in case you decide he’s awful and want to pull away. He knows he should let you go if you want to but– “I wanted to ask you, Pres…I’m sorry I don’t know if I can ask this much from you but–”

It almost breaks his heart when your arm slides through his hand, when your warmth leaves his side, when you abandon him…

But it’s only for the time it takes to hear the click of the bedside lamp, register the bright sting and spill of light, and you’re back beside him, leaning over him, turning his face to yours with one patient hand on his cheek. “What’s going on. I’ve never seen you like this.”

Shit. Get it together.

“You’re going to think I’m a fucking jerk–”

“Don’t tell me what you think I’m going to think, sir. Tell me what you need from me. Just say it.”

This leaves him with depleted gambling chips, raises the stakes. But you’re right. He has to be honest.

“The relationship I have with my family is…strained. That’s why I live here and not there. I see them somewhat regularly, but the holidays are when the whole family gets together–all the cousins–and it’s just a lot. There’s a lot that’s expected, a lot of judgements…it’s overwhelming. I can barely make it through myself, but having you there? Watching you be scrutinized on top of it when we’re just figuring this out? I just…no.”

“You know I won’t tell them–”

“It’s not that, fuck, it’s not that.” He surges in for a kiss, taking you in deep, willing you to understand him by osmosis; if only… “Every time I’ve gone down for the holidays it’s stressful enough…it’s…it’s bad enough that I’m away from my clients, but–”

“But under stress the itch gets worse. And you don’t have your outlet. And you’re not in control.”

Oh god, you see him. You see him and he’s so…fucking pathetic.

The last thing he expects is for you to pepper kisses along his mouth and chin, to dot a lingering one on his cheek before pulling him into your chest, to cradle him, breathe into his hair.

But it’s exactly what you do.

“What do you need, beautiful boy? Anything you want.”

He breathes. Sighs. Curses himself for doubting you, for assuming you wouldn’t surprise him. Allows you to hold the weight of his heart on your own without a spotter.

“I need to…not do the ‘meet the family’ thing this year. I just want you to myself for a while.”

A hum of sympathy, of bittersweetness, one that stakes his heart into the ground at your feet. “Oh Patricio. Is that all?” Your breast moves under his cheek as you lean over to turn off the light, your soft curves and soft scent and soft hum whispering to him, calming him, soothing him into you. “I’ll admit that I’m a little sad that I don’t get to show you off to my family, but I definitely see the appeal of a quiet holiday season, just us hiding away from the world together. You want me to yourself? Did you really think I would find that anything but absolutely wonderful?”

All at once, the strains of the day overtake him, the need to say more is gone and took his energy to do so right along with it. A whole lifetime of relief in just an hour. That’s your secret power. Always has been. He cannot think of words more meaningful than, “Thank you.”

Your fingertips begin their pattern of affection along his jaw, tattooing a spell of sleep through him. “This really means a lot to you, huh.” He’s too gone to get his voice to work and it seems you assume he’s fallen asleep. “Well you mean the world to me. You don’t even know, mister.”

It’s not worth the effort to drag himself from the downward pull of dreams to ask you to say more about that. Not when he knows you’ll be right here in the morning and he can ask you then.

Or say the same thing right back to you.

Maybe this time he’ll find a way to do that.

______

MASTERLIST