All the Pedro boys

The smell of burnt coffee and too-sweet donuts evaded Joel’s nostrils as soon as he stepped foot into the office. The usual chaos and chatter was filling the space with phones ringing, printers pushing out important documents, the clicking of keyboards, and sergeants and officers hurriedly zooming back and forth. Joel was tired, and the overstimulation was already getting to him.

“Jesus Christ,” he chided, not looking at anyone in particular as he walked through the sea of desks toward his back office.

Clara looked up, a cheerful smile brightening her face as she greeted him, “Good morning, Detective! I put a new file on your desk, came in last night.”

“What is it?,” Joel asked gruffly, turning his head to look at her as he continued walking past her desk. She wasn’t offended by his unpleasant morning attitude. She’d been Joel’s assistant for the past four years and was greatly attuned to him and his usual morning grumpiness. Or, just his usual grumpiness.

Joel’s assistants typically did not last very long. There were a few different reasons for this. For one, Joel had limited patience for mistakes. He tried to work on this over the years, at least in the beginning, but if he deemed a mistake “careless,” that was usually the end for him. Secondly, he had no interest in forming personal relationships at work. He’d had some assistants over the years that seemed keen on pushing this boundary of his, thinking they were being subtle by prying for personal information, or ingratiating themselves to him a bit too much. He had no tolerance for this. It pissed him off and was usually the first reason he’d fire someone. And lastly, the job was hard. Joel was not an easy person to work for. His standards were high, his patience thin, and his expectations at times bordered on unreasonable. The role required someone with a thick skin, quick brain, and persistent attitude. Clara had so far been his longest-standing assistant for these reasons.

She spoke quickly, so he could get all the information while still making his way to his desk. “Missing person. Seems it was filed late, though. Report came in yesterday saying he’d already been missing for two weeks,” she said the last part tentatively, knowing the reaction Joel was going to have, and that he was likely to pass the case on to a more rookie detective if he didn’t feel it was worth his time.

“Two weeks, huh?” Joel rolled his eyes, turning the knob to his office and swiftly shutting the door behind him.

Joel knew by now just how sensitive the timing is in a missing persons case. And a person already being missing for two weeks before being reported was not a promising start. He plopped down in his office chair, reaching for a pen and his trusty pad of paper as he flipped open the file and started taking notes.

Stanley Morton – 44, m, owns car dealership

Last seen – leaving home for errands

Wife, Jessica Morton, 37, f – made report

The details were few and Joel was already suspicious as to why the report came in so late. He stood up from his desk with a grunt and closed his notebook, securing the pen in the loop on the side of the notebook and slipping it in his back trouser pocket. As Joel left his office, Clara awaited him at the other end of the room, two coffees in hand as she watched him take long strides toward her. He took the coffee from her with a nod and a curt, “Won’t be needing company right now. Just gonna go meet the wife. Could you do some digging into his work? I wanna know how long he’s run the dealership, any prior failed businesses, any glaring financial issues – large loans, bankruptcy. And then get me a list of friends and colleagues, whatever you can find that seems relevant.”

Clara wasn’t offended as she stepped back and nodded while offering a quick, “Yes, Detective. I’ll get right on that.” She carried her coffee back to her desk and Joel could already hear the clicking of her keyboard as he left the station.

Willow Estates was one of the nicer neighborhoods in the area. The homes were fairly spread apart, set on a quarter acre each and allowing for privacy, even in a suburban landscape. Joel knew that these houses ran for at least a million dollars, and because of the built-in security in the neighborhood, he hadn’t had a case here before. It was a low-crime, affluent area and Joel’s suspicions were only increasing as he pulled into the Morton’s driveway and parked his unmarked Ford Crown Victoria.

It was overcast this morning, common for March in Massachusetts. Joel pulled his black jacket around him as he stepped out of the car. He looked up at the house, scanning the property and acquainting himself as he slowly approached the front door. There seemed to be nothing in particular to note about the home. It was a large, fairly standard house. It didn’t stand out amongst the other homes. In fact, as Joel peered around at the surrounding houses, he thought that maybe this house was among the less notable ones.

He knocked on the black wooden door, taking a step back as he waited. Not even a minute passed before a woman opened it up. She didn’t appear tentative at all as she stood fully in the doorway and greeted him, “Hi, can I help you?” Her under-eyes were puffy and the tip of her nose was red. Joel noted the bloodshot whites of her eyes and the way her right hand which was down at her side trembled just slightly.

“Yes, are you Jessica Morton?” Joel’s voice came out confident and even.

She looked hesitant for the first time as she furrowed her brow and her voice quivered, “Y-yes...who are you?”

“Detective Miller, ma’am,” Joel extended his hand toward her as he spoke. “I’m here to investigate your husband’s disappearance. Mind if I come in?”

“Oh!” A mixture of relief and fear flashed across her face as she stepped back, opening the door as wide as it would go and ushering Joel inside. “Please, come in, come in.”

Joel stepped inside, glancing around briefly before looking back at her. “Where would be a good place for us to talk, Mrs. Morton?”

“Jessica, please.” She offered him a forced smile, fighting through her anxiety. “We can talk in kitchen, it’s right through here.”

She walked Joel through the foyer and into the open living room and kitchen. The living room boasted an impressive chandelier with an electric fireplace built into the wall. A couple nice but uncomfortable looking couches sat on either side of a plush rug. Joel redirected his attention to the kitchen island where there was a bowl of fresh fruit along with some papers scattered across the surface. He nodded his head toward the papers.

“What are those?”

His direct question seemed to catch Jessica off guard as she looked at him and her expression dropped. Her voice came out thin, “I’ve been, uh...trying to piece things together myself.” She walked toward the counter, stacking some of the papers back together. “I was looking through our bank statements when I heard your knock at the door.”

Joel nodded, offering her a stoic yet soft expression which was as close to comfort as he could get in the moment. He looked over at the table beside them. “Let’s have a seat and talk.”

Jessica set the papers down and took a seat at the table, watching Joel as he sat across from her. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out his notebook and pen. Flipping it open, he looked up at her. He saw the worry etched in her features, and it looked like true worry.

In his years, Joel had witnessed many people feign worry when a loved one goes missing. It’s oftentimes a loud worry, accompanied with fast talking, stammering, and lots of questions. His ability to sense when someone was being dishonest had only grown stronger over time, and he prided himself on being able to pinpoint a liar within minutes.

As he regarded the clearly exhausted woman across from him, Joel had a gut feeling that she was being honest. He drew in a breath, sitting forward at the table and making direct eye contact with her.

“Jessica,” he started, “can you help explain to me why you waited two weeks to report your husband missing?” His eye contact was unwavering as he looked across the table at her.

Jessica, however, looked around nervously. Whether it was nerves or shame, Joel wasn’t sure, but he gleaned fairly quickly that Jessica knew she had made a mistake. She opened her mouth to respond, hesitating and slowly blinking her eyes before looking at him again.

“I don’t really know...I just sort of figured he-” Before Mrs. Morton could finish her sentence, the floor creaked behind Joel and he turned around in his chair, looking behind him to see a woman standing there.

Your eyes were wide, clearly not expecting to see another person in the home. “Oh,” you hesitated, staying in the entryway and looking over at Jessica.

Jessica reassured you quickly, “It’s okay, come in. This is Detective Miller. He’s here about Stan.” She pulled out the chair beside her, hoping you’d sit down and help to settle her nerves. She looked at Joel for his approval. “Is it alright if she joins us? This is my best friend. She’s been here nearly every day since he’s been gone.”

Not only could you see Joel’s gaze on you, but you could feel it. His eyes were assessing, trained on your face and clearly noticing every minute expression. You met his gaze, not wanting to appear avoidant, but also gratefully moving your eyes over to Jessica when she spoke to you. As you sat down in the chair beside her, looking back at Joel and noticing his distinct nose, large brown eyes, and waves of dark hair, you couldn’t help but note the man as attractive.

He stood up partway from his chair, leaning over the table with his hand extended as he introduced himself, “Detective Miller, nice t’meet you. I don’t think I got your name.” He sat back down, picking up his pen and hovering above the pad of paper as he awaited your answer.

It drew some unexpected anxiety from you as you gave it to him willingly, watching him scribble it down and then look back over at Jessica.

“You’re alright talkin’ in front of her? ‘M gonna be askin’ you a fair amount of questions,” he clarified.

Jessica nodded and replied, “Oh yes, she’s been my best friend since we were in college.” She looked over at you with a smile, but you knew her well enough to see the dread behind her eyes, as though she couldn’t believe that this was a situation she was in. You reached over, setting your hand on her knee and smiling back. You looked over at Detective Miller when you heard him speak again.

“Fair enough.” He sat up more in his chair, glancing around toward the kitchen then back to Jessica. “Would it be alright if I bothered you for a cup o’coffee?”

“Oh my gosh!” Jessica stood up from the table immediately. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even offer you anything to drink!” She started walking toward the kitchen, grabbing the glass coffee pot and filling it with water as she carried it back to dump into the water reservoir.

“Thass quite alright, ma’am. Can only imagine how shaken up you’ve been over the past couple weeks.” When he said the words, he watched her reaction carefully. Nothing that ever came out of Joel’s mouth, at least while he was working, was incidental. Even him asking her for coffee had an ulterior motive, despite the fact that he really did want it. He knew that if she seemed hesitant or put out at all, that it was a sign of her not wanting him to stay. You have to brew the coffee, let it cool, then drink it. It is rarely a quick beverage, unlike water or soda. But Jessica’s eagerness to prepare it for Joel, seeming more embarrassed about being a bad hostess than anything else, gave Joel information he was looking for. You always want to rule out the spouse first.

At the same time, Detective Miller still found it quite odd that Mr. Morton’s wife had not reported him missing until he’d already been gone for two weeks. For someone who appeared so distressed, it wasn’t adding up to him.

She came and sat back down at the table while the coffee brewed. She sighed, reflecting on Joel’s statement. “Yes, well,” she answered, “it has been a very tough past couple weeks. But in all honesty, I’d had hope up until yesterday.”

“Hope?” Joel’s eyes narrowed just slightly.

“Well sure, I just kept expecting him to walk back inside the house, kept waiting to hear the garage door opening. But-” Her voice cracked, causing her to put a hand over her mouth and shake her head, real tears starting to come to her eyes. “Yesterday was our anniversary. He wouldn’t have missed that.” She continued shaking her head. “I know he wouldn’t have missed that. Not unless something was really wrong…”

She tried to take in a deep breath, but it only led to another sob. She put her face in her hands then looked up at Joel with wide, wet eyes. “Oh god….what if something’s wrong? What if he’s hurt?!” Her grief-stricken panic started to take over and Joel merely watched as you leaned over in your chair, wrapping your arms around her and shushing her lovingly. He watched how you kissed the side of her head, smoothing down her hair with your hand and murmuring, “It’ll be okay. No matter what, it’ll be okay.”

His interested piqued. He was now watching you more intently than he was watching her. What odd words, he thought to himself. He made a note in his pad and then finally looked back to Jessica, giving her another few seconds to compose herself before he continued.

“Mrs. Morton,” he tried to say gently but his gruff voice still came through, “where did you think your husband might’ve been these past couple weeks, since you’d felt so confident he’d come back?”

She tossed her hands up, “I don’t know. I just…” She took a breath, closing her eyes then opening them again and looking at him. She seemed more composed this time, like she’d switched over to a different part of her brain to help the detective answer his questions. After one more breath, she continued, “I thought maybe at first he was just letting off some steam. We- we’d had a fight...an argument. It was over something stupid and I thought things had cooled down. When he didn’t come home that night, I figured he’d stopped at a bar with some buddies, or something. Then the next morning was his usual golfing day, so it didn’t seem that odd. And then...I’m not sure where I thought he was. But I didn’t think something was wrong, you know? It’s like my brain didn’t even contemplate whether he was in danger...I don’t know how to explain it. I just kept waiting for him to come home. I- I’m still waiting for him to come home. Any other outcome just feels...unfathomable.”

Detective Miller alternated between looking at Jessica and writing in his notebook. This wasn’t the first time that he’d heard a family member of a missing loved one express disbelief that something bad could have happened. And yet, there are also plenty of family members who report someone missing after only a few hours. Two weeks is an exceptionally long time, he thought, even if she was sure he was gone on his own volition.

“Well, any information you have for me is valuable. It could be the smallest thing that ends up leading us to him,” Joel explained as Jessica nodded. “First, it would be helpful if you could give me access to any electronic devices in the home – cell phones, tablets, laptops. I’d like passwords for all of it, including bank accounts, social media accounts, email…” He looked at her, trying to read her expression. “Will any of that be a problem?”

She answered immediately, “No, no. You can have whatever you want. Please, I just...I want my husband back.” Joel believed her. He could hear it in how her voice wavered and the slight crack at the end of her sentence.

“Okay, ma’am. We’re going to do everything we can.” As Joel finished addressing her, he looked over to you. You’d been sitting silently this whole time, just taking in the conversation as you comforted your friend. You braced yourself, ready for him to ask you a question, but he just turned back to Jessica. “You said that the two of you had an argument. Was he upset when he left?”

“No, not really. It had been a couple hours since the fight, and she was coming over for dinner,” Jessica nodded her head toward you then continued talking, “so he said he was going to run out to the store to grab some steaks and that he had another stop he had to make, as well. I didn’t think anything of it.”

When Detective Miller looked at you this time, you knew that you weren’t going to fly under the radar again. There was a focus in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and it almost made you wonder if he knew the answer to his question before he even asked it.

“Did you see Mr. Morton on the day of his disappearance?” As Joel asked the question, Jessica slid out from the table, walking over to the coffee pot and grabbing a mug from the cabinet above it.

“What makes you think that was the day of his disappearance?” The question left your mouth before you could think better of it. It was not intended to be sassy; it was simply something that you’d found to be curious.

Detective Miller, however, furrowed his brow and responded, “Excuse me?”

Jessica had also paused. She was turned toward you now with an empty blue coffee mug in her hand, waiting to see how you were going to respond. She was used to your directness and had even listed it as one of the qualities she admired most about you. Still, she was caught off guard by your lack of compliance to his question.

You stayed relaxed in your chair as you spoke, not feeling as intimidated by the detective as you had initially thought. “I mean, Jessica said that there were other explanations for him being gone, right? So, what if one of those explanations was true, at least for the first day or so, and then he went missing after that?”

Joel paused for only a moment before replying to you, “With all due respect, ma’am, I’d like f’you to leave the investigating up t’me, okay? How ‘bout you just focus on answering my questions?”

Not wanting to push too much, you acquiesced with a nod and said, “Sure. Yes, I saw Stan that evening when I came over. It was about 4 o’clock. I bumped into him in the driveway as he was on his way out.”

Detective Miller seemed hesitantly satisfied that you were finally giving him an answer. “And what was that exchange like?”

“Fine. Normal. I said, ‘hey,’ and he waved at me as he got into his car and then drove away. I went inside and that’s when she told me that he was running to the store and would come back with stuff for dinner. Seemed like any typical day.” You glanced over at Jessica as she finished pouring the coffee and carried it over to Joel, setting it in front of him with a meek smile and returning to her seat beside you.

“And what did you think when he didn’t return home that evening?” It seemed like such a simple follow-up question, yet you immediately noticed your thoughts start to race as you tried to come up with an appropriate response.

“Confused, mostly. Just...wondering where he was and trying to make sure Jess was okay,” you finished your sentence and chewed on your lip for a moment, keeping your eyes on the detective.

Joel offered a small grunt in response, making another note and then glancing up at both of you. “How often are you over here?”

You shrugged your shoulders as you said, “Fairly often. I’d say 5-6 times a week.”

“Hm, that seems like a lot,” Joel said, giving nothing away as he continued watching you.

“I suppose, sure. But that’s how it’s always been for us, even before they were married.” You felt somewhat defensive, but were trying not to show it. The initial attraction you had felt toward him was starting to dissipate and instead irritation was blooming in its place.

“And Stanley doesn’t seem to mind that?,” Joel inquired then sipped his coffee before setting the mug back down.

“Why would he?,” you shot back, probably too quickly.

You swore you saw a twinkle in Joel’s eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it had shown up. “I don’t know, ma’am,” he responded calmly, “That’s why I’m askin’.”

Jessica patted your leg, a quiet signal for you to take a beat, and then responded herself, “Stanley doesn’t care. He works late most nights, and we’re all close. I’m sorry, I don’t see the relevance in any of this…”

“It just helps me to have a better understanding of what life looks like for the two of you. The more I know about Mr. Morton, the easier the investigation will be,” Joel finished speaking and glanced over at you before looking back at Jessica. “I think this is a good start.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a business card and sliding it across the table toward Jessica. You read it in passing, learning his first name and then looking back at him.

“I’ll get outta your hair now, ma’am,” Joel nodded as he stood up, taking another large sip of his coffee and setting the mug down. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll be waiting for those devices, feel free to bring them down to the station when you can.”

“Oh okay, thank you, Detective. I appreciate it,” she said as she stood up as well, watching him fold up his notepad and stick in his pocket, along with his phone, then turn to leave.

You instinctively went to reach for your phone, quickly realizing that you’d left it in the car. “Shoot,” you said quietly to Jessica. “I must’ve left my phone in my car. I’ll be right back.”

Joel had already shown himself out and was opening up the door to his car when he saw you step outside. You gave him a curt smile as you walked to the other side of the driveway to your car. The chime of your vehicle unlocking sounded and then shortly after you heard footsteps behind you.

When you turned around, Joel was a few feet away with a stoic but unthreatening look on his face. He held his car keys in his hand and placed his other hand in his front pocket.

“Would you mind comin’ down to the station later?,” he asked. “’m gonna be conducting interviews with friends and family of the Morton’s. I’m sure your statement would be helpful, considering how often you say you visit ‘em.” He shifted his weight to one side, perhaps just in an attempt to put you at ease as he appeared more casual.

“Uh, sure. Like...tonight?” You stood now with your door partway open, your hand holding on to the top of it as you looked at him.

“In the morning,” the detective clarified. “Let’s say around 8?” His eyes were still on you and you realized just how infrequently he blinked.

“Yeah, I can do that.” You bent down, reaching into your car to retrieve your phone then standing up and shutting your car door.

Joel had taken a step back and nodded as he started to walk toward his own car, still looking over his shoulder at you as he said, “Have a good day, miss.”

You nodded in response, turning toward the house as you walked back inside and fought the urge to not look back at him.

What you didn’t say to him was that there was information regarding Stanley that you never planned on sharing with him.

And what Joel didn’t say to you was that he knew there was something you were hiding.

a/n: this was inspired by @idknananchimaybe and a post she made about wanting a detective joel fic. i saw it, got excited, wanted to write it, and she was lovely enough to let me bounce some ideas off her and help me flesh things out. i hope you enjoy this and that it scratches that itch!

We never get Javi’s exact birth year in Narcos, but I personally use 1958, which is the real Javier Peña’s birth year, because it works with the timeline. I’m still talking about the fictional Narcos character here, not making claims about the real man. I’m only borrowing the year.

So Javi grew up through the 60s and 70s. By the time he was a teenager and started discovering women, sex, magazines with naked women in them, and all the other things teenage boys mysteriously discover despite nobody ever telling them where to find any of it, completely shaved pubic hair was absolutely not the norm.

The women in Playboy and similar magazines usually had pubic hair. The women he saw naked for the first time would most likely have had pubic hair too. Yep, even our Javi was a virgin once, despite the fact that he looks like he was born leaning against a headboard with a cigarette in his hand and three women already asking when he was free again.

So when teenage Javi was looking at those magazines and probably jerking off to the women in them (it is what it is, trust me), a full bush wouldn’t have looked unusual or unattractive to him. It was simply what a naked adult woman looked like. That was the image of female sexuality he grew up with.

And when he eventually started actually sleeping with women, which I’m assuming happened sometime during the 70s, I highly doubt they were all completely bare either. Maybe some trimmed, maybe some didn’t, maybe individual women had their own preferences, but fully shaving everything wasn’t the widespread expectation it later became.

By the time we get to S3 Narcos, around 1995, grooming trends were obviously starting to change. More women were trimming, shaping, leaving a strip, or removing more hair, and Javi could definitely have slept with someone who was completely shaved. But I don’t think he would react like some confused caveman discovering a new species.

He might notice because it was different from what he had been used to for most of his life. He might think it was hot because it was new. But he wouldn’t stare at her and go: “What happened down there?” and completely murder the mood. Please. This man has slept with enough women to understand that bodies look different.

Honestly, I don’t think he would care which option she chose.

Full bush? Fine.

Trimmed? Fine.

Landing strip? Fine.

Completely bare? Also fine.

I don’t see Javi as the kind of man who has one extremely specific acceptable design in his head and silently grades women on whether they achieved it. He wants the woman. He wants her body, her reactions, the way she responds to him. Whether she removed every hair beforehand would be very far down his list of concerns.

And he definitely wouldn’t laugh at her, act disgusted, or make her feel embarrassed about it. That doesn’t fit him at all. Whatever was between her legs, he would work with it very happily.

Maybe if she were his actual girlfriend and she suddenly changed the way she groomed herself, he might notice and ask about it later. Not critically, just because it was new and he was curious. Even then, I think it would depend on the mood because Javi does not strike me as a man who urgently needs to hold a post-sex discussion about bikini maintenance.

But with a hookup? He wouldn’t interrogate her. He wouldn’t offer suggestions. He wouldn’t arrive with a ruler and a list of Peña-approved landscaping regulations. He came there to have sex with her, and that is exactly what he would be doing.

So no, I don’t think an unshaved partner would bother him at all. It would have been completely normal throughout the years when his sexuality and preferences were developing. And I don’t think a shaved partner would bother him either.

His preference would probably be less “What hairstyle does she have down there?” and more “Do I want her?”

And once Javier Peña wants a woman, I really don’t think a few pubic hairs are going to stop that man, sigh

Thank you for staying with me through this very necessary historical and psychological analysis of Javier Peña looking at pussy how Javier Peña feels about pubic hair. Ahem. Obviously.

The fair is packed. Loud music, kids running everywhere, smell of popcorn and fried food in the air, lights flashing so bright it almost hurts to look at them too long.

And somehow Javi still spots you instantly in the crowd. Of course he does. You’re standing near one of the game booths, laughing at something the guy working there said, and Javi slows down beside you, sunglasses sliding slightly down his nose. “What’d he say?” he asks.

You glance over. “Nothing.”

“Mhm.”

That tone makes you smile immediately. “You jealous, Peña?”

He scoffs like the idea personally offended him. “Of a seventeen-year-old running a balloon game? Absolutely not.”

You grin. “You were glaring at him.”

“I was observing.”

“Right.”

He reaches for your hand anyway. Casual. Like he doesn’t even think about it anymore. The fair lights flash across his face while he pulls you through the crowd, one hand locked with yours, the other holding two paper cups of lemonade he somehow managed not to spill.

“You wanna go on the Ferris wheel?” you ask.

He looks up at it, already suspicious. “That thing looks unsafe.”

“Oh my God, you’re such an old man.”

“I am an old man.”

You laugh and tug him toward the line before he can argue more.

🎡

Twenty minutes later, he’s sitting beside you at the top, one arm around your waist while the whole fair glows below. Fireworks start somewhere in the distance.

You turn toward him, smiling. “See? Not unsafe.”

“Still deciding.”

“You’re dramatic.” You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling when he leans in and kisses you.

Slow. Warm. Familiar. The kind of kiss that feels easy. Like this. Like summer nights, sticky lemonade fingers, loud music in the background, and Javi looking happier than he probably realizes.

When you pull back, he keeps his forehead against yours for a second. Then, quieter: “You know this is my nightmare, right?”

You blink. “The Ferris wheel?”

“No.” His thumb brushes against your hand. “Being this gone for someone.”

Your chest tightens instantly. You smile anyway. “Too bad.”

And Javi, completely doomed at this point, just kisses you again.

thank you for reading!

💌 @idknananchimaybe @pascalispunktexas @mothmanuwu @pascalispunkbr @reasonablyluminousquill @justmasblack @indiegirlunited @saralovesjoelmiller @picketniffler @canonisoptional @katyispunk @daltoncharm @kirsteng42 @borinquenasoy @cuteanimalmama @negramurguera @senoratess @misstokyo7love @ningaispunk @suestormnotcheatingversion @lizette50 @grxnde-dwt @harriedandharassed @somedayheaven @ladyofmidlo72 @bardot49 @scarlettval2 @goonersquad101 @loveoverpride @fckyeahsaltandpeppercurls @javierarchieve @shadowqueen2024

You meet him at your friend’s art show, he’s handsome, funny, and instantly charms you. He at least pays attention to you and even knows your name.

You’re feeling bold, maybe it’s the negronis, your lilac short skirt and crop top, or the fact that you haven’t gotten off in over two weeks. You don’t hesitate to ask Oliver if he’d like to go back to your place.

The car smells like stale lemon, and the Uber driver’s playing some sad, twangy country song you can’t stand, but Oliver’s hand is warm as it rests on your leg. He tells you about his dreams of being a professional comedian. He’s cute, but not too cute, the kind of handsome that if your friends saw him, they’d send you a nod of approval. Good enough for a quick fuck.

As the car turns on your street, Oliver’s hand now rests at the top of your thigh, and you actually feel yourself begin to ache in anticipation. You’re giggly by the time you reach your bungalow, and Oliver’s palm stays on the exposed skin of your lower back as you dig through your purse for your keys.

Your hand stops when you hear the echo of footsteps behind you. Soft and rhythmic. You look up and over, just in time to see a shadow.

Alex. In a black tuxedo, holding his cello case, all debonair and gorgeous. You haven’t seen him since that night, and now he’s here, haloed by the streetlamp. He looks at you, and the only thing that gives him away is the split-second clench of his jaw before he begins to move again.

You turn back to your keys, unlock your door, and pull Oliver inside.

A joint is split between the two of you, kissing in between, sharing smoke and tongues as you try not to think of your tuxedoed neighbor just on the other side of the wall. Oliver’s grunts and groans as your hand runs up his leg tell you he really wants you, so you lead him to your bedroom.

You let him undress you, let him take in your body and call you beautiful. It feels… nice. Fine, really. The heat of his glare is a little warming, but it pales in comparison to the way Alex looked at you from the first time you knocked on his door.

You lie back on your bed, open your legs, and Oliver runs his fingers through your folds, definitely slimmer and clumsier than Alex’s thick, efficient hands. He’s hopeless at finding your clit, but you ooh and ahh him, hoping his cock will be a good enough lay to help you get off.

Oliver eagerly and clumsily undresses. You reach into your drawer and fetch a condom. Oliver rolls it on, and when he guides his dick in, it’s definitely slimmer than you wanted. He grins, like he’s been blessed by your pussy, and gently asks you, “Is this okay?”

You moan a yes for him, and he begins to move. Slow and savoring, not quick, passionate, desperate like the way Alex fucked you. Honestly, it’s so milquetoast and forgettable, your mind wanders off. No matter how much you want to be present, want to be here in your bedroom under cute Oliver, your thoughts are on Alex. He’s probably still in that tux, maybe he’s undone his bow tie, popped open the first few buttons of his crisp, white shirt.

It’s then that you hear the soft, muffled whine of cello through the thin drywall. The notes rise and fall on the other side of the wall. You close your eyes and open your thighs wider, as if you can let the notes slip in, past Oliver and fuck you. You moan, way louder than usual. Oliver believes your moan, and fucks you faster, desperate to be the one who’s making those noises escape you. But it’s not him. Of course it’s not. It’s Alex’s, keeping a tempo that makes each note drag you closer and closer to the edge of bliss.

Your moans duet with the music, and though your body lies in your bed, your mind and heart might as well have drifted past the thin drywall and into Alex’s home. It’s not the way Oliver moves in and out of you, or the sound of his slight whimpers and groans, but the faint music played by your handsome neighbor that nears your orgasm. You’re close, your eyes clenching shut, only picturing the ethereal glimpse of Alex you saw earlier. The memory of how full he made you, the rasp of his grunts, the warmth of his cum as it splashed across your skin. Alex, Alex, Alex.

Oliver feels you getting close, tries to seal his mouth over yours, but you tilt your head and move. Moaning loudly into the air as you orgasm.

The cello stops as soon as you let out the first, long moan.

Oliver finishes inside you, with a long gasp, then rolls away. You get up, clean yourself, and tell him there’s a trash can by your dresser, almost feeling bad about how clinical you make it, but you just want your guest gone now. You’re already resigning yourself to the fact that nobody’s going to beat your hot neighbor.

When you return, now covered in the silk of your robe, he’s at the edge of your bed, still naked. Before your new neighbor, you probably would’ve invited him to stay the night, let him hold you all night, then wake up and get breakfast. Maybe you’d see how it all plays out and date him for a while. But that’s just not going to work now.

You smile, touch his arm, and say, “This was really fun.” His grin is full of pride, and he looks at you like he’s almost in awe of you. “So, I’ve got such an early morning tomorrow,” you say.

You see a hint of disappointment before he smiles at you. “I totally get it. You’re busy. I’m busy.”

He gets dressed quickly, like a good one-night stand.

Maybe you’ll text him; maybe you won’t. Either way, when you walk him toward the door, you kiss him on the cheek and thank him for coming. The door clicks shut, and there’s a moment of quiet.

Until your siren song starts to play again.

The cello.

It summons you.

You open your door, cross the small strip of grass, barefoot and only in your robe, hair still mussed and sex still on your skin. There’s barely enough time for you to ask yourself what the fuck you’re doing here before you knock on the dark wood with 2B in gold letters. It’s like he was expecting you, it takes Alex no time to answer the door.

You were right. He’s still in his tux… and the top buttons are undone. That cocky grin is there again, but there’s a hint of ferality and maybe… possessiveness as his deep brown eyes assess your barely clothed body.

“Play for me?” you ask.

He nods and lets you in.

You float to the couch on the waves of lust and need, skin burning hot as you feel him watch you. The couch dips, the buttery leather forming around your heated skin when you settle atop it. Alex picks up his drink from the table, a scotch on the rocks, big clear ice cubes tinking against the glass when he takes a drink.

He sits in his chair across the room from you, pulling the cello into his hold. He almost looks out of place, bare feet planting against the oak floor, tuxedo pants riding high. He’s the confusing mix of cocksure and casual as he plays the first note.

It’s lush, full of longing, and you bite your lip because he’s not looking at the cello. He’s looking at you.

You can’t even pretend you’re here for the music, and Alex knows that. You untie your robe, silk parting to reveal your collarbone, your breasts, and the way your thighs are already pressed together. He watches intently, playing his instrument flawlessly. So you keep going, letting your robe fall to the couch, spreading your legs to let him get a good look at you.

The cello keeps time with you, your fingers dragging over your soft mound, through your folds, brushing against your clit. You move with the music, let it overtake you as your hips grind against your palm and you dip your finger lower. Every whimper you breathe is for him to play against, and for his greedy, predatory gaze.

God, you’re so fucking wet, leftover from your orgasm from just fifteen minutes ago and the searing heat of your neighbor’s attention. You slide two fingers into your cunt, flutter them inside, and drag them along the gushy walls in time to the tremolo of his bow. The music pulls you, spreads your legs wide, cants your hips in the air as the cello player soundtracks your desire.

He plays fast now, the loose curl on his forehead springs up and down as his eyes stay planted between your legs. Every note is perfect, but you can see the way you’re affecting him… the unsteady breaths he’s breathing, the tremorous rise and fall of his chest. You’re so fucking close, one hand petting yourself, middle finger circling your clit, the other hand, two fingers deep in your pussy. You start to chase and chase, your orgasm floating with the notes just above your reach. You’re a trembling, wet, and loud mess, stretched out on your new neighbor’s couch.

It’s obscene how bad you want this, how bad you want to put on this show for him. You’re panting, lungs singing “close, close, close” when Alex stops the song suddenly, and you freeze, holding yourself right on the brink.

“Don’t stop,” he growls.

You listen, but go slower now, and rebuild your bliss. He stands, cello set aside, and takes his scotch with him. His bare feet move across the room to you, lowball glass hanging from one hand. He comes to the couch, looms over you, and you have to tilt your head back to look all the way up at him, all domineering in the low, golden light. He watches, sipping, as casual as ever in his only slightly off-kilter tuxedo.

You whimper, and he catches your jaw, tilts your face towards him. He presses the glass to your lips, and you taste the smoke and warmth when he pours it into your mouth. You swallow every drop, even if it burns, because the afterglow is so smooth.

He takes one last gulp, taking an ice cube into his mouth. He spits it into his palm, then traces it over your burning skin, a delicious shock of cold against it. The trail of wet and cold runs down your chest, circling each nipple until droplets fall down your breasts. A cold path is left down your ribcage, down your belly, past your mound until he runs the melting edge between your spread lips and right over your clit.

You gasp and laugh and moan all at once, breath catching when you see the wild devotion in his eyes. The ice falls to the floor, and Alex parts your knees wider, fitting his thumb against your clit. You’re nothing but heavy breaths, ache, and want. You feel like you’re going to melt just like the discarded chunk of ice when he brings his face low, flicking his tongue over your nipple, teeth scraping against it. You try to speak, try to tell him you’re close, but you’re so fucking powerless, especially when his long, thick finger joins yours. You almost sob, a perplexing gratitude for the pressure of his hand guiding your own further. He presses the tip of your chin with his other hand and makes you look at him, as if he wants your eyes wide open for this, wants you to remember just how fucking humiliatingly desperate you are for him.

“Go on and take it,” he gruffs in that frustratingly still velvety smooth voice.

You do, bucking into his hand, soaking his palm as the pressure builds and sends sparks up your spine. Your whole body seizes up in one long, almost-endless orgasm. He doesn’t even let you recover before he pulls your fingers out and raises your hand to his lips, tasting you, licking the sweet, sticky webs of your soaked desire off your fingers.

You reach for him, finding the outline of his cock, thick and hard through the expensive black pants. You slide your palm along the impressive length, squeezing him, savoring the way he grunts into the air.

He’s already ragged and wrecked sounding when he tells you, “Take it out, if you want it.” Your clumsy hands are at his belt, fumbling and trembling so hard you nearly snap the black, pearl button off. He stands, towering over you, yanking his pants open, and pulls his cock out. Jesus Christ, he’s gorgeous, all golden brown and huge, a fat vein latticed down the shaft, leaking crown so fat your pussy clenches at the promise of being stretched again by it. His hand wraps around his base, stroking it once, you fight your eyes from rolling into the back of your head at the sight of the drop of precum that he squeezes out.

“Fuck me,” you beg. “Fuck me.” You’re a broken record of need and desperation, wanting to be played by this beautiful, broad man and his big cock.

He hmphs, cockily getting off at the way you plead for his dick. You’re shoved back against the couch, and Alex splits your legs open, lining himself up with a hand on each of your knees. He presses his cock against your soaked, dripping core, running the thick head of it against your swollen clit. You’re so restless, yearning for the stretch and ache of him that you’re keening, almost crying out prayers of his name as he teases your cunt with his cock. And then, when his cock finally bestows heaven into your needy hole as he enters you in one thrust, filling your glossy pussy, you scream. He holds you there, splitting you open as he’s buried in you to the hilt. You’re locked at cliff, just breathing hard, as if savoring the impossibility of feeling this way again. You hook your ankles behind his waist, and he begins to move, slow at first, then faster, fucking you with the same furious, controlled tempo as he played the cello.

You don’t know if you’ve ever felt more alive, vibrating like a string as he plays you, every nerve screaming loud. His pace is brutal, his balls slapping against your ass as he curls you even more into him, his weight pressing against you. A curl falls onto his sweaty brow, and it springs just like before, up and down, up and down, keeping tempo with the way Alex slams himself in and out of you. He grabs your head with both hands, his fingers tight at the nape of your neck. His eyes are locked to yours, pinning you down, narrowing your world down to just him. There’s something in the way he’s cradling your head, rough and careful at the same time, that makes you burn even hotter for him. There’s an almost exposed tenderness in his eyes as he holds you and grips you, giving you no choice but to meet his black-coffee gaze.

You can barely breathe. But why would you ever need to? Not when you want this man to inhale you, consume you, and destroy you.

“You let that boy fuck you earlier?” he growls.

“Y-yes,” you shudder.

He slips his cock out and freezes, heavy breaths puffing against your face.

“You like it?” he asks, eyebrow arching slightly.

“N-no.”

It’s borderline uncomfortable the way your pussy is aching for him as he teases you with the heft of his tip against your eager hole.

He hmphs, trusty cocky grin showing up again. “He get to cum inside you?”

“N-no. C-condom.”

“Can I cum inside you?”

You nod, eagerly. “I have an implant.”

That’s what Alex wants to hear. He slams into you so hard it almost hurts, but fuck, the pain is exquisite, it’s exactly what you needed. Tears are leaking from your eyes as Alex owns your pussy. He reaches around, splays his hand across your throat. The grip isn’t tight, but just enough to make you utterly surrender to him.

You orgasm again, not because he tells you to, but because you can’t not. Every part of you twists and detonates, your pussy clenching and spasming around him. The sight and feel of you shattering makes Alex join your euphoria. He thrusts once, twice, then lurches and his cock erupts inside you. You swear you can feel every pulse and drop of him paint your walls. He stills, tremors wracking his arms as he balances above you, then nuzzles his face into your neck, sucking greedy mouthfuls of your skin.

Time stops. You unwrap your still-shaking legs from around Alex, as he settles over you, his weight pressing you deeper into the soft cushions. You don’t know how long you stay like that, both gasping, stunned by the hedonistic display shared between the two of you. He presses a kiss to your jaw, and you try to ignore the way it makes your heart race. He stands, tucks his cock away, and excuses himself, blinking a look of awe away before he turns.

You’re already back in your robe when he comes back out, holding a dark gray towel. He offers it to you, eyes moving down to your exposed, sticky thighs, but you wave it off and tell him you’ll just shower at home.

There’s a slight tilt of his head, as if nobody ever tells him no, or maybe it’s just an awkward bobbling of a nod. Either way, you tighten your robe and head for the door. “See you around, Alex.”

“Wait.”

You turn, and almost get mad at how frustratingly gorgeous he is standing in the middle of his living room with his sex tousled hair and furrowed eyebrows.

“I have a question for you," he says.

“Yeah?”

“What’s your name?”

—-

Your bed-frame and mattress arrived today, hauled up three flights by a pair of delivery men who eyed you with something like pity, top floor in a victorian converted to apartments, old attic space with sloping ceilings, could maybe slide a credit card between the toilet bowl and tub, stove and fridge in beat to shit landlord white, state of the art circa 1980.

You lay in your newly assembled bed and stare up into the rafters, muted green glow of several hundred tiny plastic stars that some previous tenant applied. Across town from your old life, but it might as well me on the far side of the moon. Still have to work, still have to pay off your credit cards and child support. He used your insane work schedule against you in the custody fight, never mind that you did all that for them, used a DUI from a decade ago as a reason you were a shit parent. You have to pay your partner support which is fine, you only have Bug every other weekend which hurts like being cut every time you have to give her back.

He can’t even be bothered to pick her up most times, sends his shiny new girlfriend who always grabs Bug a little too hard by the elbow to pull her towards the car.

Music thumps up from below and the highway screams a few blocks over, and this is not where you ever imagined yourself, but it’s yours, new place, new you.Thirty minutes separating you from what you thought was going to be the rest of your life, but looking up at some college kid’s glow in the dark stars, you feel something that might become peace over time.

The day is for exploring, for seeing what’s in walking distance. The library seems like a good place to start, shares a building with the rec center, tennis and pickle ball courts tucked against the parking lot.

It’s hot for spring and the air conditioning hits you all at once, prickling your arms in gooseflesh, relatively dim cave of the lobby offering relief from the sun’s light sizzling up from the sidewalks, baking up from the asphalt.

The lobby is lined with signs thumbtacked to cork boards, fringed in tear off tabs with phone numbers, a missing cat, a lawn and landscaping service, gentle tai chi lessons for seniors, dotted with QR codes, summer sci fi book club, seed exchange. Flyers and tacked up menus. Schedule of classes offered at the rec center next door. They look like a pair of riotous quilts, shouts of competing text and color. You take a picture on your phone, one side and then the other.

“Well, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in-" Soft, southern drawl rising to a growling crescendo and squeals of little kid laughter. Bug would eat this right up, you think as you head towards the sci-fi section. Bug loves when you do voices.

you shouldn’t call her bug. what if it sticks? she’s four. still.

“Well that is an impressive armload of stories.” The man with the drawl grins at you from behind the help desk.You plop a good stack of science fiction bricks on the counter. Your eyes find his, deep and warm and bracketed in crows feet, all scruffy cheeks and dimpled smile, errant streak of brilliant white among his dark curls, like a splash of cream in black coffee. “I’m guessing you need a card before we get down to business.” “Yeah. How’d you know?” “Haven’t seen you around before,” he says, “Library patrons tend to be creatures of habit. And folks who are new to the library system or are returning after a long absence tend to grab as much as they can carry.” “Guilty. I’ve got more time to read these days,” and you feel your eyes drop from his, catch on his badge hanging from a lanyard around his neck, thundercloud eyes, and bright red scar across one cheek. Ezra Broussard.

“-a photo ID and proof of-Miss? Ma’am?” You shake your head. The time you don’t have with Bug opens up in your mind like a gaping maw, a black hole that can drink you down if you think about it too much. “You went somewhere just now,” says Ezra, “Are you okay?” “Yeah. Sorry. It’s been a week. Here.” You hand him your driver’s license. He reaches across his body to take it, and you see the sleeve of his rust-colored henley tied in a knot where his right arm ends, just below his shoulder. “Hmmm. Out of state. You really are new to these parts, huh?” “Is…” you raise your eyes to his, “Is that a problem?” “Do you happen to have a utility bill with your name on it? Some proof of residence?” “No, not on me,” You shake your head, slide your stack of books towards him, “I’ll come back some other-“ “Write your info down for me, darlin. Mailing address and good phone number if you don’t mind.” He slides a sheet of printer paper across the counter, “It makes my hunting and pecking less tiresome.” “I don’t want to get you in trouble--“ “You won’t. I’ve been known to pull this trick a time or two, and the most blowback I get is a gentle ‘Now, Ezra, you know you’re not supposed to do that.’ Accompanied by some rolling of eyes.“

You write your address down, have to open your phone and look at your maps, it’s all too new, street number, apartment number, none of it has had time to stick-- “Sorry I’m so discombobulated,” you say, sliding the sheet of paper back to him, “This isn’t where I thought I’d be, you know?” “No need for sorrow,” says Ezra, “Especially not when you’ve got all these science fiction yarns to keep you company. Sorry if this takes some time. Before my mishap I had more hunters to peck with.” You snort laughter despite yourself, an apology spooling up in your throat but when you meet Ezra’s eyes they glitter with mirth, lopsided grin sinking a dimple in his stubbled cheek. “That’s terrible,” you say and feel yourself smile. Ezra’s grin widens. “When the littles inevitably ask why i’m down a limb I tell them something different each time, depending on what I’m reading that day.” “What did you tell them today?” “That I too was fool enough to build a house of straw and the Big Bad Wolf blew my house in and bit my arm clean off. It gets them real invested in the story. With the older kids I just make stuff up because they’re smart enough to know that i most certainly did not attempt to wrestle an alligator because i lost a bet or get struck by a falling bit of space junk on my way to work. Here’s your card. This is good for our entire library system.” He hands you a bit of perforated plastic, one for your wallet, one for your keychain.

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. 

That following morning, you had woken up in Harry’s arms. You should have felt relieved, but instead, you felt a weight on your chest. You had sex with him last night—drunken, but good fucking sex. You slowly moved away from him, careful not to wake him, but he was already up. 

“Leaving me already?” Harry asked, rubbing his eyes. 

You sighed and sat up from bed. “Last night was—”

“A mistake?” He finished for you. “Is that what you’d call it?” 

“Harry,” you whispered. 

“It wasn’t a mistake for me,” he continued, slowly sitting up from bed now too. “For once since this fucking trip, I’m seeing everything so clearly now.” 

You shook your head. You still had your back facing him. You didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t think you were ready for it either. 

“You hurt me,” you said over your shoulder. “And I didn’t think you would ever be someone who would.” 

Then, you stood from the bed and walked to the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind you. 

Harry sighed. When he heard the water run, he stood from the bed too and left the room, walking down the hallway and into the kitchen. 

One more day left and everything would change forever. 

You emerged from the bathroom half an hour later. You were dressed casually—a pair of black spandex shorts and a light grey tank top—for a morning walk and massage scheduled with Harry’s mother. 

When you left the bedroom, you were expecting to see Harry seated in the living area or in the kitchen. You didn’t expect to see him shirtless and in his board shorts jumping into the water. You bit your lower lip and watched him from the living area, the sun cascading down into his tanned skin. 

You shook your head and looked down at your phone. It was a message from his mother, telling you that she’d be seeing you soon. You glanced back outside only to see him climbing out of the water and onto the deck, water trickling down his body. 

“Are you leaving?” Harry asked, a towel in hand as he used it to dry himself. 

“Oh, um, I’m meeting your mom this morning.” 

He nodded. “When you get back… can we talk?” 

You shook your head. “I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.”

“Baby,” he sighed. Then, he said your name. “Please.” 

“You’re not changing my mind,” you said quietly. 

“I know,” he replied. “I just—I don’t want us to leave things like this.” 

You sighed. 

Harry’s eyes softened. 

Then, he pleaded once more. “Please.” 

“Fine,” you said. “Tomorrow’s the big party before we leave, so we should—we should at least pretend that we’re okay.” 

Harry nodded. He let out a relieved breath. “Okay, great. I’ll—I’ll uh, see you later then.” He took a step forward out of instinct, almost leaning down to kiss your cheek but he stopped himself. 

Especially because you turned on your heel to begin walking away from him anyway. 

Harry watched you for a moment, hoping that you’d spare him a glance before you reached the front door. 

But you didn’t. 

You kept on walking like last night didn’t happen. Like the things you both said didn’t matter. 

Peter walked through the threshold of Harry’s villa and glanced at the other man with a clenched jaw. A part of him felt guilty about finding out that Harry’s relationship with you was fake; Harry felt the need to lie to him and to his parents just so they would stop asking him about Lucy and other prospects. 

“Peter,” Harry said, shutting the door. 

Peter looked around. He didn’t see you. 

“She’s with mom,” Harry added. “She’s not here.” 

Peter sighed in relief. Harry had made him promise yesterday not to tell anyone he knew, especially you. 

“How are you doing?” Peter asked. 

“Terrible,” he answered honestly. “But we leave the day after tomorrow, so just gotta get through that, right?” 

Harry walked to the living area and sat on the sofa. He stared out the dock, having kept the large sliding door open to let the natural light and warmth into the villa. “Did you tell Charlotte?” 

Peter followed him and sat on the sofa next to his brother. “You know I didn’t.” 

“Thanks,” he sighed. 

“I can’t believe you—you had to lie.” 

Harry glanced over at him. “You all wouldn’t let me breathe,” he admitted. “If mom or dad wasn’t trying to set me up, there you were. Trying to hook me up with Charlotte’s friends. I just—I just wanted it all to stop.” 

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered. “We just want you happy. Lucy—she—”

“I know,” Harry interrupted. “It’s done and over with.” 

“Did you even love her?” Peter asked. 

Harry shrugged. “Does everything have to be about love? We were both compatible. I would’ve added value to her life.” 

Peter shook his head. “Love is everything, Harry.” 

“Right.” 

“And Adore? You really thought you’d find someone?” 

“You did.” 

“I got lucky,” Peter said. 

Harry sighed. “I had a lot of matches.” 

“Doesn’t mean they’re all going to work out.” 

He looked away. Harry’s mind drifted to you. Always to you. “Yeah, sure.” 

“What is the plan after this? Once we’re back in New York?” 

Harry’s jaw clenched. “She and I go our separate ways,” he answered. 

“Really?” 

He shrugged. “It’s what she wants.” 

“But what do you want?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

Peter reached out and rested a hand on Harry’s forearm. “It matters, Harry. What you want matters too.” 

He looked down at his brother’s hand and sighed shakily. Harry had been keeping everything bottled in—away from his family, away from you. Saying it out loud would make it real and he wasn’t sure if he could handle that, especially not if the end result would be you leaving him for good. 

“It doesn’t,” Harry repeated. “I tried, okay? I—I tried. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.” 

Peter sighed. “If this relationship was all a lie, then… then why does it seem so real?” 

“We had a physical relationship before all of this,” he admitted. 

“What?” 

“Sometimes, she’d show up at my place. Oftentimes, I’d show up at hers.” 

“And you both just…” 

“Yeah,” Harry finished for him. “It was only ever sex. Before this trip, that was all it ever was. She’d use me. I’d use her. We knew what the expectations were for each other. I didn’t want her. She didn’t want me.” 

Peter furrowed a brow. “How long was that going on for?” 

“Long enough,” he answered. 

“Even during Lucy?” 

Harry shook his head. “We wouldn’t—we wouldn’t see each other if either of us were in a relationship or exclusively seeing someone else. It really was just only sex.” 

“So, what was different about this trip?” 

“I—I started seeing her differently,” he confessed. “I don’t know, Peter. The plan was to always go back to before once the trip was over.“ 

“But?” 

“But now, she doesn’t want anything to do with me after this,” he sighed, bringing a hand to his face. Harry shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t slept, not really, especially since he was holding you all night. 

“Do you really believe that?” 

“You didn’t see her face.” 

“You love her,” Peter whispered. “Don’t you?” 

Harry opened his eyes and looked over at Peter. His deep brown eyes glistened with tears threatening to spill over. He hadn’t known what love was… not until this trip. 

Not until you. 

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I do… and I don’t know how to fix it.” 

“Yes, you do,” Peter said. “You know exactly what you need to do to fix it.” 

“But I don’t think it’d be enough.” Harry confessed. “Her finding out that I had an Adore membership… I didn’t think she’d react that way.” 

Peter let a small smile line his lips. He looked over at him and leaned over to squeeze his older brother’s shoulder. “That’s because she loves you too, Harry.” 

He looked over at him. Eyes slightly widened and lips parted in surprise. “What?” 

“Think about it. If she didn’t care about you, or love you too, do you think she would have reacted that way?” 

“I don’t—I don’t know.” 

“Come on,” Peter chuckled. “You had that membership for a reason… and you didn’t tell her for a reason.” 

“I didn’t think she’d care.” 

“And now that you know she does…” 

“Oh,” Harry said. He looked out onto the deck once more. He should’ve felt relief, should’ve felt the weight on his shoulders lift. But instead, it did the complete opposite. 

Because if you did love him, why were you so willing to throw it all away? 

Why would you still want to push him away?

“Just… talk to her.” 

“And what if she still doesn’t want this? Doesn’t want me?” Harry asked quietly. 

“Then, you move forward. You move on.” 

“And if I can’t?”

Peter sighed. “Things will work out,” he said softly. 

Harry scoffed and shook his head. “Things don’t usually work out for me.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Peter replied. “Just be honest with her. Be honest with how you feel.” 

Harry nodded once. 

“I’m serious.” 

“Right.” 

“What do you have to lose, Harry? You’re losing her anyway.” 

He looked at the younger man with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. “I’ll… I’ll try.” 

You were lying on your abdomen on the massage table, eyes shut and next to Harry’s mother. The masseuse had come in and adjusted your towel before applying some oil onto your back. You tried to relax, tried to just revel in the moment, but you couldn’t. 

All you could think about was Harry. 

Last night. 

The sex. 

The falling asleep in his arms. 

The fact that he came inside of you. 

This trip wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was meant to be easy—fake the relationship and then head back to New York once it was done and over with. 

You both established rules. 

Agreed that you both would follow them. 

You weren’t only angry at him, but you were also frustrated with yourself. Before this, it never crossed your mind that Harry could potentially be someone you’d want to be with. 

It wasn’t like he ever showed interest either. The relationship you had with him was purely sex, simply out of convenience. 

But this trip changed everything. You started to wonder if maybe it was there all along. It had to be, right? The physical attraction could only go so far, but the lingering glances and the words you said to each other these last few days had to have come from somewhere. 

You both stopped pretending this was something other than it was. 

Because you slipped into your role so easily. 

And Harry welcomed you like it was second nature to him. 

“You’re tense,” the masseuse said softly, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I just—” You sighed and slowly lifted your head off the table to look over your shoulder at him. “Can I just have a few minutes?” 

“Of course,” he nodded with a smile. “I’ll be right outside.” 

You sat up and wrapped the towel around yourself, climbing off the table to pull on a robe. His mother nodded to her own masseuse who also left the room before the older woman did the same. She sat up from the table and pulled on her own robe before walking over to you. 

“You okay?” She asked softly. 

You nodded and turned to look over at her, forcing a small smile. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

She sighed. “What is going on with you and Harry?”

“Nothing,” you said softly. “I’m just thinking about how things will change after this trip. It was nice… to get away from real life for a bit,” you lied.

His mother arched a brow before she poured two glasses of wine and handed one over to you. “You know, you’re a terrible liar,” she laughed quietly. 

You shook your head and looked down at your glass of wine, taking a careful sip before you looked back out the window to the amazing view of the island. “What if I do love him?” You asked quietly. 

His mother smiled. “I think that’d be a good thing, no?”

You looked at her and your lower lip trembled as you tightened your grip around the wine glass. You were standing in front of a woman that meant so much to Harry, lying to her face, and it all felt so… wrong. Before this trip, they were just your employers. Now, it felt like they were welcoming you to their family. 

“Mrs. Castillo—”

She clicked her tongue. “That’s too formal, honey. I know you have been working for us for years, but I’d like to think that our relationship has changed since then.” 

You felt your breath catch in your throat. 

Tears began to pool at your eyes.

His mother immediately noticed. She set down her wine glass and pulled you into a hug, rubbing your back gently. “I think you need to listen to your heart,” she whispered. “You’re letting your mind do all the thinking. What does your heart tell you?” 

You bit your lower lip to prevent it from trembling even further. You knew what your heart wanted. You knew who your heart wanted, but your mind told you otherwise. Harry didn’t want you. If he did, he’d have done something about it sooner than this trip.

Right? 

“I don’t know,” you mumbled.

She let out a quiet laugh and pulled back to look at you. With her gentle hands, she cupped your cheeks and slowly wiped your tears away. “Yes, you do.” 

“Love—it’s scary, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “It is, but when you find it—when you truly find it—it’s the best thing in the world.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” you answered honestly. “I don’t know if Harry—if he’s someone that’s meant for me.” 

She smiled. Wiped away the last tear that trickled down your cheek. “And if he isn’t, that’s okay… but I think there’s something else that’s holding you back, honey. Why do you think you’re not ready?” 

“Because if I was, I wouldn’t be this afraid of it. Of… love.” 

“I think that’s the point,” she replied. “Love isn’t meant to be easy—finding it especially isn’t—but when you find the right person, everything else just falls into place.” 

“Were you afraid? Of loving your husband?” 

She nodded instantly. “Of course,” she answered. “But not taking that risk was something I was even more scared of… because what if I hadn’t allowed myself to love him? What if I didn’t tell him how I felt? What if I just ran away? We wouldn’t be here,” she continued. “Love is all about taking risks, honey… and yes, I’m biased because Harry’s my son, but he has never looked at anyone else the way he looks at you.”

You inhaled sharply.

“And that look—it didn’t only start from this trip.”

“What?” You asked.

“Whenever you worked one of our events, you’d always catch his eye.” 

You bit your lower lip. You knew he would look at you during those events, but you always assumed it was because of his anticipation and impatience to get you alone—to take you to bed like you both had done so many times. You didn’t think that anyone else noticed and you certainly didn’t think that it meant anything more than just the physical relationship you both started. 

“I mean, you are a beautiful young woman, of course, but it was different. He never looked at any other woman the way he looks at you. Not even Lucy,” she said. “And you don’t have to tell me what you want, or explain to me how you’re feeling, but you do need to be honest with yourself.”

“What if I can’t?” You asked. “What if I can’t be honest with myself?”

“Then be honest with Harry.” 

You nodded. 

“Do you mind—do you mind if I end this massage early and just take a walk to clear my head?” 

His mother smiled. “Of course. I’ll see you at dinner tonight though, okay? It’ll be at our villa, just the immediate family before the big party tomorrow.” 

“Yes, we’ll be there,” you said, pulling her back into a tight hug. “Thank you,” you whispered. “For listening.” 

“Always, sweetheart.”

After your walk, you stepped foot into the villa and found Harry standing in the kitchen area with a cup of coffee. His hair was damp and he was dressed casually, but when he saw you, his eyes widened and he set the cup down onto the counter.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” you answered. 

“You’re back early.” 

“I ended my massage early and just went for a walk instead.” 

“Oh,” Harry nodded, rounding the kitchen counter to get a bit closer to you. “How’s my mom?”

“She’s good,” you answered once more, biting your lower lip. Everything about this interaction felt forced—awkward. “I think she’s excited for the party tomorrow.”

Harry chuckled. “I’d imagine so,” he replied. 

“But we do have dinner tonight at their villa.”

He nodded. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” you repeated.

You were about to turn on your heel before Harry reached out for you. His hand slowly touched your wrist and you turned around to look up at him.

“Can we talk?” 

You nodded. “I think that was the plan, right?” 

“Right.”

You pulled your hand gently from his and walked towards the living area, sitting on the couch and pulling your legs onto it. 

Harry wasn’t sure if you wanted him next to you, so he opted for the loveseat adjacent to where you were sitting. It was like he was tiptoeing around you, not wanting to scare you away. So, he took a deep breath and said, “Peter knows.”

“What?”

“I told him about… about us. About our deal. About what we planned.”

You sighed. “What did he say?” 

He shrugged. “He just couldn’t believe I had to lie.” 

“Yeah, well, he’s also part of the reason why you did, so…”

“I know. I told him that. Said that him and our parents just—they wouldn’t let me breathe. It was like I was suffocating.”

You nodded and looked away from him. 

Slowly, Harry leaned forward. “Baby…”

You bit your lower lip, keeping your eyes away from him as you felt tears slowly trickle at the corner of your eyes. You brought a hand up to your cheek and wiped them away slowly. “Harry, I don’t—I don’t think I’m capable of this. You were right. I’ve never been in love before. All those relationships—they were never the real thing.” 

Harry cleared his throat. He opened his mouth to say something, but you continued. 

“And again, you were fucking right. I broke a rule. The one important fucking rule,” you said, finally looking over at him with tears in your eyes. “This stopped being fake that minute we shared that dance. You know it. I know it.” 

“Yes, and I think we should—”

You shook your head. “But that’s the thing, isn’t it?” You interrupted quietly. “None of this would’ve happened if you didn’t bring me on this trip. We never—we never wanted each other like that. We understood what we were to each other.”

“Things change,” Harry said. 

“You never wanted me that way,” you whispered. “And that’s okay because I—I didn’t think I ever wanted you that way either.” 

Harry felt his own tears now. “I can’t—I can’t go back to New York like this.” 

“You’re gonna have to… because I will have to as well,” you said, voice shaky now. “We both just got caught up in this trip, that’s all. Once we’re back in New York, I’m giving my resignation—”

“Baby, no,” he said, standing from the loveseat to sit on the coffee table in front of you. Harry reached for your hands, but you pulled them away slowly. 

“Be honest with yourself,” you whispered. “You had Adore’s services for a reason, Harry. I will never be someone you want and you know what, that’s okay. I—I’m happy for the time we shared with each other.” 

He shook his head, tears trickling down his cheeks now. “Stop—”

“We’re going to finish out this trip like we planned—pretending that we’re in this relationship, but once this trip is done, we go back to New York and go our separate ways.”

“No.”

You reached up to cup his cheek now, wiping away the fallen tears slowly. “You’ll find someone that’s a better match for you. Someone honest, someone real… and I’m sorry. For the things I said before.”

“I canceled Adore,” he blurted out. 

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have.”

Harry shook his head. “How—how can you look at me and pretend that I’m someone you’ve never met? After all this, how—”

“Because I have to,” you interjected. “Because if this was real, it would’ve happened a long time ago.” 

“You can’t keep telling me what’s real and what isn’t,” Harry mumbled. “What I feel for you—it’s fucking real… and I’m sorry it’s taken me this long, but it is. You’re—”

“Let’s just get through tonight and tomorrow,” you whispered quietly, slowly standing from the couch. 

“Baby,” Harry pleaded. 

“We have one more day, Harry,” you said, wiping your tears away and straightening up. “Let’s make it a good one, okay?” You turned on your heel and walked down the hallway, leaving him in the living area.

Harry stared at the couch, tears strolling down his cheeks now. He clenched his jaw and when he heard the bedroom door shut, he finally stood up and walked towards the kitchen area again. He didn’t know how to fix it, didn’t know how to change your mind. 

If this was what you wanted—if this was going to make you happy—then he’d listen. 

Even if it was breaking his fucking heart.

Later that night, both you and Harry walked into his parents’ villa. Even now, it felt awkward. He wouldn’t touch you and you wouldn’t look at him. The walk to the villa was quiet too—almost like you both were just counting the minutes before the trip ended. 

“Harry!” His mother smiled and looked between the both of you. She noticed it instantly. You leaned up to kiss his cheek, but he pulled away before your lips could touch him. You sighed and excused yourself, leaving Harry alone with his mother. 

“You okay?” She asked.

“Fine,” he answered. “Drinks?” 

His mother sighed and pointed to the kitchen. “Pace yourself.”

“I’m fine, ma,” he said, kissing her cheek quickly before he made his way to the kitchen. Harry saw you with Charlotte, sitting on the couch and laughing at what she was saying. Harry tightened his jaw. 

How could you act like nothing was wrong? 

How could you act normal when his heart was breaking? 

Peter stepped up to him and clasped a hand on his shoulder. “So… how’d the talk go?”

“Fucking horrible,” he answered, downing a shot of tequila before pouring himself another one. “I shouldn’t have listened to you.” 

Peter furrowed a brow. “What?”

“You and your wife shouldn’t have fucking meddled either,” he muttered. “From now on, leave me alone. My life is my own.”

“Harry, I—”

“Do I make myself clear?” He interrupted, staring at his brother with narrowed eyes.

“Y—Yeah,” Peter replied. “Got it.” 

“Good.” Harry downed another shot and instead of pouring himself another shot, he just grabbed the entire bottle of tequila and walked outside of the villa to the deck, sitting down on the edge as he stared down at the water. 

His mother noticed the interaction between both her sons, furrowing a brow at Harry before she glanced over at you. You looked at him and excused yourself from your conversation with Charlotte, stepping out onto the deck where he was. 

“You wanna share?” You asked, moving to sit down next to him.

Harry shook his head. “No.”

“We still have a role to play,” you whispered. 

“Don’t fucking care anymore,” he said. When he turned to look at you, his eyes were red, tears brimming his eyes. “If they find out that it’s fake, who fucking cares?” 

You cleared your throat. You reached out and grabbed the bottle of tequila before he shook his head, using  his free hand to stop you and accidentally shoving you backwards. 

You fell onto your back, eyes wide as you looked at him. 

Then, it suddenly registered what he just did. Harry’s eyes softened instantly.

“Baby, I’m so sorry—”

“You act like you’re the only one hurting,” you whispered, voice trembling and the tears that you held back now falling down your cheeks. “But you hurt me too.” 

You stood from the deck and Harry did too.

He took a step closer.

You took one step back.

“Harry?” His mother said. 

“I didn’t mean to push you,” Harry whispered, ignoring his mother. 

“I know you didn’t… It’s okay,” you said. “But I think—I think I should just head back,” you turned to look at his mother and gave her an apologetic smile. “And I think maybe you should just spend the night here.” 

Harry tried to reach out for you again, but you were already walking away. He watched you whisper something to his mother, who nodded in understanding, before he watched you walk away. It wasn’t until you were out of his parents’ villa that he finally broke down. 

His mother immediately caught him, wrapping her arms around him as he cried into her shoulder. “I—I ruined everything…” 

She sighed and began rubbing his back gently, trying to get him to calm down as she sat back down on the deck with him next to her. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on, Harry?” 

“I love her, ma,” he mumbled, pulling back and away from her. “I love her so fucking much and it hurts.” 

“If you love her, then why are you both treating each other like you don’t?” 

“Because—” Harry looked at her and bit his lower lip. “Everything about this—it was all fake.”

Once you were finally alone and back at the villa, you collapsed onto the bed and cried into the pillow. You screamed into it, gripping the edges of it tightly. You didn’t think that Harry would have this big of a reaction—you honestly thought he’d agree, that going back to New York and parting ways would be something he’d agree with. 

But you knew that it wouldn’t work outside of this environment. If you and Harry did give it a real try back in New York, you knew that there was a big possibility it would only end in heartbreak. 

So, you figured why not end it now? And it hurt, it fucking hurt, because you did love him. But the fact that it took this trip for you both to see what you both felt for each other made you wonder how real it was. 

There had to have been a reason why both you and Harry never wanted each other in that way prior to this trip. Right? 

Sitting up, tears streaking down your cheeks, you reached for your camera. When you turned it on and navigated to the gallery, you felt your chest tighten at the pictures you had taken so far on this trip. You hovered over the delete button on the ones that you took of Harry, but you couldn’t bring yourself up to actually delete them. 

You thought about your conversation with Harry earlier—how he looked at you so completely wrecked and broken. 

Then, you thought about what his mother told you earlier that morning. 

Love is all about taking risks. 

When you find the right person, everything else just falls into place. 

He never looked at any other woman the way he looks at you. 

Why did everyone else notice this but you and Harry? 

Your thumb clicked a video recording on your camera that you didn’t remember taking. Furrowing a brow, you pressed play and heard Harry’s voice come through the camera. 

It was the day before everything changed. 

The day that you both shared that intimate dance on the beach.

The day that everything shifted. 

“You said to never touch your camera, but I couldn’t help myself, baby,” he laughed into the camera, panning it to face you as you swam in the water outside the deck of your villa. “But look how beautiful you are.”

“Harry, what are you doing?!” You exclaimed, swimming to the surface and rubbing your eyes. The camera zoomed in on you and Harry chuckled once more.

“Nothing!” 

“Liar!” You giggled, disappearing under the water again. 

Harry sighed contentedly. “I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, baby,” he whispered into the camera. “I better turn this off before you catch me using this… but if you’re seeing this later, I’m sorry in advanced. I just couldn’t help myself.”

You felt tears sting your eyes as you continued to watch the video. 

“I just want to make so many more memories with you,” Harry continued. 

“Harry! Join me in the water!” 

“Okay, that’s my cue.” He set the camera down. 

You bit your lower lip when you saw his face finally come into view. 

He took a deep breath, smiled softly, and then quietly said, “I think I always loved you, baby. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“Harry!” 

“Okay, coming! Jeez, you’re so impatient,” he laughed, reaching up to turn the recording off. 

Then, the video ended. 

You gasped.

You could feel your heart beating out of your chest.

Harry recorded that before everything happened. Before you finding out about Adore. Before the awful things you said to him. 

He was sure about you. 

This trip had opened his eyes to the person that had always been there. 

He was looking for love in other places, when it was in front of him all along. 

It was you.

It had always been you.

You and Harry ignored each other all day yesterday. You stayed in the bedroom and he stayed in the living area. It was only when you stepped out onto the deck did he retrieve a pillow and his luggage to keep outside with him. He should’ve felt relieved to have canceled Adore, and he was excited to tell you, but some part of him—the stubborn part—refused to give in. 

Because you said you were done. 

That all of this would be over once you both went back home. 

And he thought that you’d be okay the next day. He thought that you’d come up to him, tell him that everything that happened yesterday was just a mistake, that you didn’t mean anything you said. 

But you didn’t. 

You kept to yourself. 

Didn’t even spare him a glance when you’d pass him. 

It was like he didn’t even exist. 

Harry knew that today was going to be difficult. You’d both have to continue pretending like yesterday didn’t happen or else his parents, and his family, would catch on. He couldn’t use the same excuse that you weren’t feeling well to get out of today’s activities—he knew his mother would be over to the villa if he ever said that. 

So, he followed your lead. When he saw you come out of the bedroom, Harry stopped and stared. You were dressed casually this time, but still, you managed to take his breath away. You were in a pair of olive green linen pants and a white fitted tank top with an oversized white button up shirt. 

“Hey—”

“Bathroom’s all yours,” you interrupted. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll see you at lunch.”

Harry sighed. “I don’t think it’d be a good idea to go separately.” 

You didn’t look at him. 

And that hurt Harry more. 

“I’ll come up with something,” you answered. “See you later.” 

“Wait,” he sighed. Harry reached for your hand, but you pulled it away immediately when you felt his touch. “We need to talk—”

“There is nothing to talk about,” you interrupted once more. “Let’s just get the next couple of days over with.” 

Harry nodded. “Fine.” 

Then, he watched you leave with a quiet shut of the front door. Harry sighed, glancing over at the kitchen and noticing the same Polaroid pictures you both had taken a couple of days ago. He sighed, wishing that he could just go back to that time. 

Go back to what it was before yesterday. 

Harry turned on his heel and walked down the hallway and into the bedroom. When he stepped foot into the bathroom, he was immediately hit with the scent of your perfume mixing in with the shampoo, conditioner and body wash you used. 

Sighing, Harry turned the water on. As he shut his eyes, all he could see was the hurt and pain on your features during the fight yesterday.

You were walking towards the main building of the resort when you spotted Peter. Sighing to yourself, you tried to look the other way, but he was already jogging in your direction. 

“Hey,” he smiled. “Where’s Harry?” 

You looked up at him and forced a smile. Luckily, your eyes were guarded and covered by your sunglasses. “Oh, he’s getting ready. I wanted to go for a walk before lunch.”

“Mind if I join you?”

You bit your lower lip. “Sure.” 

“Cool, thanks.” Peter smiled, pocketing his hands. “We missed you guys yesterday.” 

“Oh,” you laughed nervously. “Those mimosas were… a lot.” 

“Yeah,” Peter chuckled. “Charlotte told me you just kept ordering more and more.” 

“They were good,” you reasoned. 

Peter looked at you. He didn’t know how to approach the subject, especially considering that what Charlotte told him yesterday wasn’t believable. Harry wasn’t the type of person to be in an open relationship—he’d always wanted to settle down, to find love and now that he had it, Peter didn’t believe for one second that Harry would want more. 

“About yesterday…” Peter began. 

“What about it?” 

“Charlotte told me that you and Harry… you’re in an open relationship?”

You clenched your jaw. Felt your heart break yet again. “We are.” 

Peter nodded slowly. “Really?” 

“Yes.” 

“It’s just—I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like something he’d do.”

You looked up at him. “It works for us,” you said again. You knew you had to say the same things you told Charlotte yesterday or else Peter would catch on and realize everything you said yesterday was a lie. “He gets to do his own thing and I get to do mine.” 

“But you’re still together?” 

“Exactly.” 

“How does that even work? Harry doesn’t seem like the type who likes to share…” 

You shrugged. “You’d be surprised,” you lied. 

“And his membership with Adore? That’s something you’re okay with?” Peter asked. 

“It works for us,” you repeated. 

“Right. I’m just surprised. Yesterday, he told me he didn’t have a membership with Adore and then Charlotte comes back from brunch to tell me that you know that he does.” 

You cleared your throat. Here you were, cleaning up Harry’s fucking mess. “Maybe he didn’t want to tell you that we have an open relationship?” 

Peter’s brow furrowed. In a fleeting moment, he resembled Harry so clearly. You bit your lower lip and stopped walking, glancing over at Peter. 

“Could we… not bring this up to his parents? I doubt they’d be open to something like that,” you asked. 

Peter nodded. “Oh, right. Yes, of course.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Do you—are you happy?” Peter asked. “With my brother, I mean.” 

You forced a smile again. “Yes, Peter, I am.” 

The other man sighed in relief. “Okay, good. Charlotte and I were worried. I mean, my brother is many things, but a cheater isn’t one of them.” 

You nodded and your hand that was gripping the strap of your bag tightened its grip. You blinked back the unshed tears before you heard Harry’s voice in the distance. You turned to look at him approaching both you and Peter. 

“I’m gonna use the bathroom and then I’ll see you both inside. I’m guessing Charlotte’s already there?” 

“Yeah,” Peter answered. “She is.” 

“Great. Thanks for joining me on my walk,” you said, turning on your heel to walk into the main building and away from Peter. 

Away from Harry. 

“Harry, hey,” Peter said, waving. 

“Hey.” 

“You look like shit,” he chuckled. 

“Thanks,” he rolled his eyes. “What did you both talk about?” 

“What?” Peter furrowed a brow. “Oh, nothing.” 

“Uh huh.” 

Then, Peter led Harry away from the building. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“What?” 

“Yesterday, when I asked you about Adore, you were lying to me.” 

Harry’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t mean to,” he answered. 

Peter sighed. “Are you really okay with being in an open relationship?” 

He caught a glimpse of you walking towards his parents. Harry turned to watch you from the large window, biting the inside of his cheek. He could tell you were masking the hurt and pain—your smile looked forced and he knew that you had been crying last night. 

“Yeah,” he finally answered. “It works for us.” 

Peter furrowed a brow. “Really? Because I always thought you weren’t the type to share.” 

“I’m not,” Harry said immediately. “But with her, it’s fine…” 

Peter crossed his arms over his chest. Then, he leaned a bit forward into his older brother’s space. “Did she want the open relationship and therefore, you just went along with it?” 

Harry took a step back. “Stop,” he said. “Stop digging. Stop trying to figure shit out, Peter. It’s my relationship and what works for us might not work for other people, but just… just fucking stop.” 

Peter immediately backed off. He raised his arms as a sign of surrender and nodded. “Okay, okay. I didn’t think you’d react like this.” 

“Like what? Do you see me trying to question everything about your relationship with Charlotte?” 

“Well, no—”

“Exactly. So, stay the fuck out of mine.” Harry blurted out. He didn’t mean to lash out on Peter—everything just felt like it was closing in on him. 

“Peter, Harry!” Charlotte yelled from the main doors of the building, waving them both to come inside. 

Peter stared at Harry. 

He did the same. 

“You’re sure—”

“Leave it alone,” Harry interjected. 

Then, he turned on his heel and began walking towards the doors, towards Charlotte. 

You were at the other end of the table, drink in hand, and laughing at what Carlos was saying. Harry noticed how his cousin was inching closer to you, his jaw clenching at how unbothered you look. Considering Carlos called you a rebound last night, Harry didn’t think you’d actually give him another chance to talk to you. 

He was about to walk towards you when his mother came in and wrapped her arm around his. 

“Harry,” she said with a smile. “She’s looking better.” 

Harry cleared his throat. “Yeah, sorry we had to miss yesterday.” 

“That’s okay,” she replied. “Charlotte said they had some fun at brunch. It’s nice—seeing her get along so well with the family.” 

Harry nodded. “Yeah.” 

“You know,” his mother smiled, gently patting his arm. “She is family. She always has been, and you—you’re different around her, you know?” 

He nodded. He couldn’t respond because all he could think about was the argument you two had yesterday. And a part of him hated the fact that he was lying to his mother, to his family about the true nature of his relationship with you. 

“And you’re happy?” 

Harry looked down at his mother for a moment and then moved his gaze back to you. He stared at you, watching the way you tilted your head back to laugh. Your hand reached out to touch Carlos’s arm and for a second, he stepped forward before taking a deep breath. 

“I am, ma,” he answered. “Very happy,” he lied. 

“Good,” his mother smiled. “And don’t get jealous. Carlos—he’s no match to you. He’s a good man, but she’s only got eyes for you.” 

“I know,” Harry muttered. “I’m not worried about it.” 

“You’re staring, honey,” his mother replied. 

“I just want to make sure he doesn’t take advantage of her,” he said. 

“Oh, come on,” his mother answered, turning to face him now. “We both know she can handle her own.” 

“I know that.” 

Then, his mother noticed the slight flicker that flashed in his eyes. Anger, sadness, regret. “What’s going on, Harry?” 

“What? Nothing,” he answered. 

“It look like there’s something bothering you.” 

“It’s nothing,” he said. “I just didn’t get much sleep.” 

His mother’s brow furrowed. “Did you two get into an argument?” 

“What?” Harry asked. “No, we’re fine.” 

“Hm.” 

He sighed and removed his arm from his mother’s grasp. “I’m fine. We’re fine. I’m gonna get a drink,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Don’t worry about me.” 

Then, Harry walked away from her and stepped up to the bar. He ordered a shot of tequila and glanced over his shoulder. You had moved away from Carlos to walk down the hallway where he assumed the bathrooms were. 

Sighing, he thanked the bartender and downed the shot in one gulp. Then, Harry straightened up and followed in your direction. 

The sounds of his family’s laughter and chatter grew distant as he followed you down the hallway. Harry kicked his foot out just before the door shut behind him and he stepped inside and locked it. 

You looked up at him. Harry didn’t see any hint of emotion on your face. 

And that hurt just as much. 

“Can you just give me some space, Harry?” 

“I gave it to you. All day yesterday. Last night. This morning.”

“Yeah, and I need more of it,” you argued. 

Harry sighed. “I’m fucking sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear?” 

“Saying sorry doesn’t mean anything,” you answered. “What’s done is done. That’s it.” 

He brought a hand up to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t… I don’t like this. I don’t like how distant you’re becoming.” 

“Me?” You scoffed. “We’re nothing to each other,” you said. “Stop acting like we are.” 

He took a step closer to you. 

The words lingered at the tip of his tongue. He wanted to tell you how he felt about—how he truly felt—but the look of disgust and hatred in your eyes stopped him. 

Because you meant it. 

You meant every word. 

This was done. 

You were done with him. 

“I—I don’t know how to fix this,” he muttered.

“There’s nothing to fix.” 

Harry sighed. 

“You said yesterday that I broke a rule… seems to me like you did too.”

His jaw clenched. “I just don’t like this. I don’t know how—how to act around you when it’s like this.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes, we have to do shit we don’t want to do.”

“What does that mean?” 

You sighed. “Nothing.”

“No, what does that mean?” Harry asked.

You looked at yourself in the mirror before turning to face him. 

“You agreed to this,” he whispered. “You said it was okay.” 

“It was a fucking mistake.”

He inhaled sharply. 

You brushed past him and bit your lower lip at just how close he was. 

Harry turned and gripped your arm.

“Let go,” you muttered.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said quietly, loosening his grip around your arm but not quite letting you go. 

“You didn’t.”

“You’re lying.”

You looked up at him and put a hand to his chest, staring deeply into his eyes. “What if I said you did, hm? Then, what?” 

Harry kept his hand around your arm. He stepped closer and dipped his head lower until his face was inches from your own. “Then I’d spend the rest of this trip making it up to you.”

“And after?”

He cleared his throat. “And after… we go home.” 

You nodded, blinking back your tears though they trickled down your cheeks. With a deep breath, you pulled your arm from his gasp and straightened up. “I’m going to go back out there. We have a role to play.” 

“Baby—”

“But when we are back at our villa, you stay in your space and I’ll stay in mine.” 

He was about to respond before he heard a knock at the door. You looked up at him and blinked back the tears, bringing your hands up to wipe them from your cheeks before you took a couple of more breaths. 

“Hey, lovebirds!” Charlotte giggled from outside the door. “Lunch is about to be served.” 

“We’ll be out in a second, Charlotte,” Harry called out. 

He kept his eyes on you and heard the sounds of Charlotte’s heels click against the floor, becoming more distant as she walked away from the door. 

“Can we just—can we talk when we get back to our villa?” 

“No,” you answered, unlocking the door and stepping out of the bathroom. 

Harry watched you walk away, sighing quietly to himself as he let the door shut, slamming his hand against the wall angrily. 

He was seated next to you at the table, sitting across from his parents and Charlotte and Peter. Harry had his arm draped over the back of your chair, but you hadn’t scooted closer like you had before. Instead, you kept your distance. You still made conversation, still laughed and acted like nothing was wrong, but he was finding it difficult to pretend. 

“So,” Harry’s mother grinned. “Will you be moving in with Harry?” 

You looked across the table and smiled. “I think that might be too soon.”

Harry stiffened next to you. His mind drifted and he hadn’t realized that they were all now looking at him, expecting him to chime in the conversation.

“What?” He asked.

Then, you put a hand on his leg. It shouldn’t have calmed him down as it did, but feeling your touch managed to ground him. He looked down at you, but you weren’t looking at him. 

“Your mom was asking if I’m moving in,” you laughed. “I think it’s too soon.”

“Oh,” Harry answered. “Yeah. We don’t want to rush things.”

“Really?” His mother asked. 

Harry felt you move your hand away. He sighed under his breath and reached for his drink, taking a sip of the clear liquid and feeling it burn the back of his throat. “Yeah, ma.” 

“Besides,” you added. “I like my space.” 

“Amongst other things,” Charlotte giggled, winking over at you.

You forced a smile.

His mother furrowed a brow in confusion.

Harry clenched his jaw.

Peter cleared his throat. 

“What does that mean?” His mother asked.

Peter shook his head and gently leaned over to whisper into Charlotte’s ear. 

You kept your gaze on her for a moment before turning to look at Harry’s parents. “Nothing,” you smiled. “Our relationship… it’s different and it works for us,” you lied. “But moving in… I think that’s still too soon.”

Harry spaced out again. He wasn’t paying attention. 

His mother started noticing. 

His father did too. 

“Trouble in paradise, son?” His father blurted out. “Let me give you some advice… she’s always right,” he laughed.

His mother rolled her eyes. “Are you two okay?” 

“We’re fine,” Harry answered. “We just—we both didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

“Oh, so no trouble at all then,” his father winked. 

Your cheeks flushed. You looked over at Harry and then sighed, leaning up to kiss his cheek lightly. He looked down at you, surprised. “Want some fresh air, baby?” 

“Y—Yeah,” Harry answered. “Fresh air sounds nice.” 

His mother nodded slowly. “Okay, go take a walk. We’ll be here.” 

You stood from the table and smiled. “Thank you. We won’t be long.” 

Harry followed your lead, walking away from the table and towards the main doors of the building. 

Peter sighed, glancing over at Charlotte before he felt his mother’s gaze on him.

“What?”

“What’s going on?” She asked.

“Nothing,” Peter answered.

“You’re lying.”

“Mom…”

“What happened?” 

Peter sighed. “They’re okay, just—just leave it alone.”

“Will you talk with him?” She asked. “Make sure he’s okay.”

“I will,” he nodded. “Just—just let them get some air. We’re here to celebrate you and dad, so just don’t think about it.”

His mother sighed. She always did have a soft spot for Harry—her first born. “Okay, honey.” 

Peter leaned over and kissed her temple. “He’s okay, trust me.” 

“Wait up—” Harry jogged over to you, trying to catch up. “Hey—”

“You need to focus,” you interrupted, turning around to look up at him. The building was quite a bit of distance now. “I’m trying my hardest to—to pretend that everything’s okay, but I can’t do that and make sure that you’re playing your part.”

He sighed. “I’m distracted.”

“You wanted this,” you said. “You wanted to lie to them. You asked me to be part of it. So… pull yourself together. We have two more days of this.” 

Harry nodded. He reached out for you, but you took a step back. 

“Please,” you whispered, voice shaky. “I just want to get the next two days over with. So, please…” 

“I can’t,” Harry muttered. “I can’t live like this for the next two days. I can’t—I can’t sit next to you and act like everything’s okay.” 

“Everything isn’t okay!” You exclaimed, staring up at him with tear-filled eyes. “It won’t ever be okay, Harry.” 

“Do you really mean that?” He asked, biting his lower lip. “Do you really think that you can go back to New York and just forget all of this? Forget about me?”

“Yes,” you lied.

He sighed. 

Then, Harry nodded. 

“Fine.” 

“Good.”

He ran a hand over his face. 

“If that’s what you really want—”

“It is,” you lied again. 

Later that day, his mother wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon with the women of the party, which was more than okay with his father. You were exhausted—it was one thing to fake a relationship, but to pretend like you weren’t hurting was another thing. You thought that with Harry no longer by your side for the rest of the afternoon would help, but truth was… you missed him. 

And you had begun pushing him away because finding out that he had a membership with Adore made you realize that whatever was happening this week wasn’t real. He didn’t feel the same as you did because if he did, he would’ve canceled his membership as soon as those feelings started developing. 

It also didn’t help that Charlotte kept asking you questions that just made the pain more noticeable. You wanted to tell her to stop, to quit asking you questions that pushed the limit, but you couldn’t. 

So to get your mind off what truly bothered you, you kept drinking. It numbed the pain and managed to fog your thoughts from Harry, from the hurt you felt. 

You were already on your third cocktail when his mother stepped up to you, leaning against the counter of the bar with a small smile.

“Hey you,” she said.

You grinned in her direction. “Hi.”

“You’re on your third drink,” she pointed out.

“Their cocktails are really good,” you giggled, grabbing your glass and clinking hers softly. “Are you having fun?”

“I am. Are you?” 

You nodded, taking a long swig of your drink. “Mhm.”

“Honey, are you—are you alright?”

“Of course,” you smiled drunkenly. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m here. I’m with you. I’m with Harry.” 

She sighed. “Something seemed… off between the two of you today. Did you guys—”

“Oh, just a little argument,” you interrupted, waving a hand in the air. “It’s nothing.”

“Right,” she said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You sighed loudly. “He doesn’t like talking about his feelings, does he? I mean, I shouldn’t complain. I’m the same way.” 

His mother tilted her head. “You haven’t told him you loved him.”

“I don’t,” you blurted out. You had no idea what you were saying. 

She laughed. “I don’t believe that.” 

“He’s just so—” You sighed, shaking your head. “When did you know that you loved your husband?”

“When I realized that I wanted to share all of my moments with him—big and small,” she smiled. “And when I knew that he would choose to stay even when things got tough.”

You nodded, downing the rest of your drink before you raised your hand for the bartender to refill your glass. “I don’t think Harry’s the type of person to stay,” you confessed. “I think he’d—he’d choose the easy way out every single time.”

His mother nodded. “You might be right,” she agreed. “But that’s everyone, isn’t it? Until you find the person that you’re willing to stay for.” 

“And I don’t think that’s me,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. 

“Oh honey,” his mother pulled you into his arms and reached up to wipe your tears. “My son is in love with you.”

You shook your head. “He’s not.”

“He is.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“That’s okay,” she laughed quietly. “Because I don’t think he knows it either.”

You inhaled shakily. “He’s right, you know? I don’t think I know what love is.”

“I think you do.” 

“I don’t.” 

“Honey,” she said softly. “You wouldn’t react this way if you didn’t love him too.” 

Harry was seated in the living area with a bottle of tequila on the coffee table when Peter walked inside. He looked around and noticed his older brother seated on the couch, drinking straight from the bottle as he leaned back.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked.

Harry glanced over at him. “Hello to you too. Don’t you knock?”

He rolled his eyes. “Did you sleep out here last night?” 

“What does it look like?”

Peter sighed and snatched the bottle from his grasp. “What the hell is going on?” 

“Nothing.”

“You’re a fucking liar.”

Harry looked at him, eyes dazed. Then, he let out a loud chuckle. “You don’t know anything.”

“Then help me understand.”

“I wish your wife didn’t butt into my relationship.” 

“She didn’t.”

“No?” Harry asked, standing from the sofa and snatching the bottle back. “She didn’t have to say shit, but instead, she chose to.”

“She thought you were cheating.”

“Even if I was, it’s not any of her business!” 

Peter sighed. “You’re not in an open relationship, aren’t you?”

Harry took another swig from the bottle. He set it back down onto the coffee table and looked up at his brother, eyes narrowed. “What the fuck do you think?”

“Then, you were cheating?”

“No,” he sighed. “I wouldn’t ever.” 

“Then, what’s going on? I don’t—I don’t understand.”

Harry shook his head and slumped back against the couch. “I did have an Adore membership.”

“Okay, you did… meaning you don’t have it anymore?”

“I canceled it yesterday.” Harry sighed. 

Peter furrowed a brow. “Why would you have a membership if you’re in a relationship?”

“Because I’m not.” 

“You’re not what?”

“In a relationship,” Harry confessed.

Carlos had his arm wrapped around your waist with your arm draped over his shoulders as he led you back to the villa. You had stayed at the bar while everyone else left and when he showed up, he knew that he had to get you back to Harry. Sure, he liked to rile the other man up, but Carlos actually looked up to Harry. 

When the door opened, Harry’s eyes widened at the sight of you before his gaze turned to Carlos. 

“What the fuck did you do?” Harry mumbled.

“Nothing. I—I saw her at the bar and she was drunk. I figured I’d bring her back and—”

Harry’s jaw tightened and he gently took you from the other man’s grasp, feeling you lean against him. “I got it.”

“I’m sorry. About what I said the other night,” Carlos said. 

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered. “Thanks, Carlos.” Harry shut the door before he gently brought you to the living area, seating you carefully on the couch. He was also drunk, but the sight of you with Carlos had sobered him up just a bit.

“Harry—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he mumbled. Then, Harry walked away from you to grab you a glass of water. When he made his way back to the living area though, you had your lips wrapped around the bottle of tequila before you took a long swig of it. 

“Stop,” Harry said, taking the bottle from you. “Stop.”

“Leave me alone.”

He sighed and set the glass of water down roughly on the coffee table. “Why were you with Carlos?”

You giggled. “He was sweet. Saw me at the bar and—and said he was gonna bring me back here.”

“He was sweet?” Harry asked. His eyes gaze darkened. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Would you rather I stay at the bar?” You asked, staring up at him.

“I’d rather you stayed here. With me.”

You laughed.

Harry’s jaw clenched. 

“You’re drunk,” he pointed out.

“And seems like you are too.”

“I’m thinking more clearly than you.”

“Are you?” You asked, standing from the sofa and walking over to him. You moved a hand to his chest and noticed the way your gaze flicked to his lips. 

“You’re drunk,” he repeated, taking your hands from his chest. 

“Your mother thinks you’re in love with me,” you grinned. 

Harry’s straightened up. “What?”

“I also told her that you’re not the type of person to stay when shit gets hard,” you answered. “You take the easy way out every chance you get.” 

“Why are you talking to my mother about me?”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” You asked, staring up at him and tilting your head to the side. 

“It isn’t.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes, removing your oversized shirt until you were clad in your tank top and linen pants. “If we’re in an open relationship, you think I have a chance with Carlos?”

“Stop.”

“What? You can plan your dates and everything once we get back to New York, but I can’t?” 

“Carlos is family.”

“Sure.”

Harry stepped closer to you. “And I thought I told you that I don’t like other people touching what’s mine.”

You stepped up to him. Sized him up. “I’m not yours.”

“Yes, you are,” Harry said, one hand moving out to grip your hip roughly. “Just as I am yours.” 

“That’s funny. You’re funny.”

He growled lowly and gently shoved you back against the couch. You looked up at him, eyes wide and dark now. 

“You don’t get it, do you?” Harry asked, pulling the ends of his shirt over his head and tossing it over his shoulder. He settled himself between your legs and moved his hands along your sides. “You’ve always been mine.”

You gasped. Then, you pulled him down for a heated kiss. It was rough. It was messy. But it was fueled by something else—something that neither of you had spoken about or even addressed but knew that it had lingered. 

He moved his hands underneath your tank top, slowly lifting it until he pulled away. He stared down at you and tugged the tank top over your head before he reached behind you to undo your bra. Now fully exposed, Harry leaned down and wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, flicking his tongue against it. 

Your hand moved to his hair, gripping it tightly before you reached down to the waistband of his shorts. Harry swirled his tongue around you, smirking up at you before he moved to your other breast, his free hand pushing his shorts and boxers down his legs. 

“H—Harry…” you whimpered, eyes falling shut. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, pulling away from you. “Say my fucking name.” Then, Harry tugged your linen pants down your legs, bringing your panties down with it. 

Once you were both completely naked and bare for each other, Harry gripped your hips roughly and tugged you to the edge of the couch. He leaned over you, nose brushing with your own as he stared deeply into your eyes. 

“You’re mine,” he growled. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whimpered, feeling the head of his manhood brush against your sex. “Please, Harry…”

“Please what?”

“God, just fuck me already!” 

He chuckled and slowly slid into you. A deep, guttural moan escaped him at the feel of your walls sliding along his length. You were already wet and suddenly, Harry slammed into you all the way. Your body jerked upwards at the rough thrust, a loud moan escaping your lips. 

“That what you wanted?” Harry asked, moving a hand to hover at your throat. “Huh, baby?” 

You nodded, staring up at him as you wrapped your legs loosely around his waist. Harry slowly applied just a bit of pressure around your throat, lowering himself until his lips brushed your cheek lightly. 

“You have no fucking idea,” he groaned, slamming into you once more. “How much you mean to me.” 

Your eyes fluttered and your hand moved to wrap around his wrist, urging him to apply more pressure around your throat. 

Harry’s expression shifted to brief concern. He applied more pressure around your throat, causing your mouth to part before a small smile lined your lips. He relaxed and slowly pulled out to his tip only to push inside of you. He continued the rough thrusts, watching your face contort into pleasure as he slammed into you repeatedly. 

You stared up at him, tears brimming your eyes as you locked your ankles together at his lower back. You knew this wasn’t going to solve everything, that having sex with him especially when you were both drunk wasn’t going to fix anything. 

But you kept thinking about what his mother said earlier. 

Harry was in love with you. 

And you were in love with him too. 

Harry loosened his grip around your throat when he noticed your tears, hearing you inhale sharply as he continued to thrust into you without any sign of stopping. 

“Harry,” you moaned. Your hands moved to his chest and around his shoulders to link your hands together at the base of his neck. Pulling him down on top of you until his body pressed against yours, you leaned in and pressed your lips onto his. 

“M’right here,” he mumbled, one hand gripping your hip as the other moved to rest on the back of the couch. Harry shut his eyes, reveling in the way your body felt against his and the way your lips moved with his own. 

Tears trickled at the corner of your eyes as you kissed him. Part of you felt like this was goodbye, like this was the last time you both would ever be this close again, and it shouldn’t have had this much of an impact on you if you didn’t love him. 

And the sudden realization that maybe you did caused you to pull back from the kiss only to bury your face against the side of his neck. 

He sighed breathlessly, rolling his hips into you. This felt different to him too. It was crossing a boundary, a line that neither of you ever thought to cross. 

But it felt right. 

With you, it always did. 

He knew you were close too. Could feel it in the way your body trembled, could hear it in your voice as you continued to moan his name. 

And all of a sudden, he couldn’t control himself. Harry held you close to him as he continued to hammer into you, feeling his own release fast approaching. 

“You mean—fuck—you mean so much to me too,” you mumbled out, arms wrapping around him now. Your body reacted instantly to the way he felt, every inch of him dragging along your walls. 

That was all it took. Harry slammed into you once more, shooting his warm release into you. He dropped his forehead to your shoulder, gasping loudly at the way you felt around him. He pulled back just a bit only to push back into you, groaning as your tight walls milked every last drop of him. 

Another rule fucking broken. 

Slowly, Harry leaned up to look down at you. He reached up and ran the pad of his thumb across the corner of your eye, wiping your tears away carefully. 

“Harry—”

“Fuck,” he mumbled, pulling out of you and watching his come seep out of you. Harry cleared his throat—something had overcome him at the sight of his release. 

He shook his head to himself, standing upright and walking to the kitchen to grab some towels. When he walked back to where you were lying, he was careful in cleaning you up, biting his lower lip as the tension lingered in the air. 

“We shouldn’t have done that,” you said first. 

Harry sighed. “I know.” 

You looked down at him and stood upright, grabbing the towels from him. 

“Baby…” he whispered. 

“Good night, Harry.” 

He cleared his throat and shook his head. “Please… just stay. Just for tonight, then—then tomorrow you can go back to hating me.” 

You looked up at him and pulled on your oversized button up to cover yourself up. Harry did the same, pulling on his boxers as he looked down at you. 

“If you think I hate you, Harry, you haven’t been paying attention.” 

Then, you turned on your heel and walked down the hallway and into the bedroom. 

Once Harry heard the door shut, he felt his chest tighten. 

And once you were away from him, you started crying. 

Peter grabbed Charlotte’s phone and went through her contacts, hovering over Lucy’s number. “Peter?” 

“You need to stop meddling,” he said. “And you need to stop involving Lucy in my brother’s life. She made her choice and it wasn’t him.” 

Charlotte furrowed a brow. “I didn’t mean to do anything.” 

“I know you didn’t, but—but it has to stop.” 

“Did something happen?” 

Peter shook his head. “No, it’s just—whatever goes on in their relationship is their business.” 

“I know that,” she sighed. 

“Then, we need to stop trying to figure things out.” 

Charlotte sat on the bed and nodded. “Okay,” she agreed. “Okay.” 

“I’m deleting Lucy’s number,” he said. “Okay?” 

Charlotte nodded. “That’s fine.” 

“Listen—” Peter sighed and walked over to Charlotte, gently sitting down next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I’m grateful for Lucy, grateful for Adore because it led me to you, but—but she’s not your friend.” 

Charlotte sighed. 

“Baby, I mean it. We paid her for her services. Yes, she can know about our life, but that doesn’t extend to Harry.” 

She looked up at him. “Did I make things worse?” 

Peter shook his head. “No… I just don’t want Lucy knowing what’s going on with him. She doesn’t need to know.” 

“She asked…” Charlotte admitted. “She asked and I told her. I’m so sorry.” 

Peter sighed and pulled her close to his side. “It’s not your fault,” he said quietly, kissing the crown of her head. “Everything will be okay… I promise.”

After Charlotte had gone to bed and Peter blocked and deleted Lucy’s number from her phone, he couldn’t sleep. Before removing her contact from Charlotte’s phone, he had entered Lucy’s number into his. 

Harry had always looked out for him, made sure that he was taken care of, and now it was his turn. Peter dialed Lucy’s number and stepped into the kitchen, jaw clenching at the sound of it ringing on the other end. 

It rang a few more times before Lucy picked up. 

“Hello?”

“Lucy, it’s Peter.” 

“Peter? Hi,” she answered. “Everything okay?” 

“You need to stay out of Harry’s life.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Asking about him? Wondering what he’s doing? It needs to stop,” Peter warned. “You don’t deserve to know anything about his life. You made your choice.” 

Lucy sighed. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I don’t care if you did or didn’t mean to, just leave him alone. Stop asking about him and stop contacting Charlotte.” 

“Peter, I’m sorry—”

“I don’t want an apology. I want to hear you say that you understand and that you agree to leaving Harry alone.” 

She sighed again. “Okay,” she said. “I understand and I agree.” 

“Good.” 

“Is that why he canceled his membership? Because it’s a conflict of interest?” 

Peter scoffed. “He canceled his membership because he’s already in love with someone else. Now, if I hear you try to contact my wife or ask about Harry or my family again, I’m getting my lawyers involved.” 

“Right, of course. Understood,” Lucy mumbled into the phone. 

“Great. Goodbye,” Peter hung up the phone and then blocked her number. 

In the middle of the night, Harry heard the sounds of your feet against the tiled floor. You were trying to stay quiet but you weren’t doing a great job at it. 

He thought you might be going to the kitchen, but he was surprised when he saw you turn the lamp on to illuminate the living area. 

Harry sat up from the couch and looked up at you. You were dressed in one of his shirts and nothing else, but before he could even take in your frame, he noticed your red-rimmed eyes immediately. 

You had been crying. 

“Baby?” Harry asked, standing up from the couch. 

You walked over to him and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face against his chest. 

He inhaled sharply and immediately wrapped his own arms around you, eyes falling shut as he felt your tears against the fabric of his shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“My mind hasn’t changed,” you said, sniffling quietly. “But for tonight, I just—I just want everything back to normal.” 

He nodded. “Okay,” he replied softly. “We can do that.” Then, Harry scooped you into his arms and carried you down the hallway and into the bedroom. He set you down carefully and watched you get beneath the sheets and blanket, turning on your side until your back faced him. 

He bit his lower lip and climbed into bed, moving closer to you until Harry was spooning you from behind. One arm draped over you and he felt your arm rest over his, pulling him closer gently. He leaned forward until his cheek was resting against the side of your neck, turning his head just slightly to press a light kiss behind the shell of your ear. 

You inhaled shakily and moved your hand to rest over his own, lacing your fingers over his. 

“Good night, baby,” he whispered. 

You nodded. You didn’t say anything, afraid that if you did, you’d tell him to get out. So instead, you reveled in the comfort that he provided and felt yourself finally relax. 

Tomorrow would be another day. You’d deal with the consequences then. 

But right now, all you wanted was to just be in his arms like this. 

The following morning, you were standing in front of the bathroom mirror, fixing your hair while you were getting ready to meet with Charlotte. Harry was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at you intently. Last night had felt like a line was crossed by the both of you and yet, neither of you decided to talk about it. 

Instead, it just felt like you were both caught up in the moment. It wasn’t serious. It didn’t mean anything. 

“You sure you’re gonna be okay?” Harry asked. 

“It’s just breakfast with Charlotte.” 

“Okay, but what if she starts asking about us?” 

“Oh, I’m pretty sure she will.” 

He sighed. 

You looked over at him. 

“Why are you nervous?” 

“I’m not.” 

“You are, Harry.” 

He tightened his jaw. He hadn’t been able to sleep at all last night, the text from Peter sounding so ominous that his mind started unraveling. Harry watched you turn to face him and his eyes softened instantly at the sight of you. 

There were so many things that you both needed to talk about, so many things that you both needed to address.

But you didn’t. 

Neither of you did. 

“We’ll be okay,” you said. “We’ve got a few more days left. We’re fine.” 

“But what if we aren’t?” Harry blurted out. Then, he corrected himself. “What if they find out?” 

“They won’t.” You reached up to rest a hand on his chest, leaning up on your toes to kiss his cheek lightly. “We’re okay.” 

He sighed and shut his eyes, leaning forward against your touch. He reached out to rest a hand on your hip, lightly squeezing it as you stepped closer to him. 

It wasn’t even the fact that there was a possibility that his brother and Charlotte found out. 

It wasn’t that they were onto the lie that you both curated. 

Instead, it was the fact that Harry started looking at you in such a different way that he wasn’t sure how to move forward. 

He was so used to being in control, of making sure that everything was perfect and up to his standards and expectations, that you—and his feelings for you—put him on edge. 

Because last night, everything changed. The way you looked at him or the way he held you. It was different. You were no longer just a friend who was doing him a favor. 

“Are we?” He finally asked. 

Your brows furrowed. “Yes.” 

Harry opened his eyes to look at you. 

You bit your lower lip. You knew what he was saying, understood what he was trying to refer to. You couldn’t help but think back to last night, about what his mother said. Instead of addressing it directly, you decided to push it aside. “Do you trust me?” 

“More than you know,” he answered quickly. 

Your lips curled into a small smile. “Good. Then trust me when I say that we’re okay.” 

Harry nodded and slowly, he leaned forward to press his lips against yours. Your hand moved from his chest to rest at the base of his neck, stepping closer to him as you began moving your lips with his own. 

His hand moved from your hip to wrap around you while his other hand lifted you up into his arms. 

“Mm, I have to go soon,” you mumbled. 

“Not yet,” he whispered, pulling back to pepper kisses along your neck as he set you on the edge of the bathroom sink. He stepped between your legs, running his hands up and down your smooth and bare legs. 

“Harry,” you said quietly, eyes falling shut as you felt his lips move along your neck. 

He pulled back enough to look up at you. Harry moved his hands to your hips and tugged you closer to him. “Why can’t I get enough of you?” He asked honestly. 

You smiled and ran your fingers through his hair. “This is new to you? You couldn’t get enough of me before,” you teased. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not true.” 

“Uh huh, sure.” 

“You act like I’m the only one,” he said softly. Harry pushed into you, his covered bulge now pressing against your clothed sex. “Maybe… maybe the fact that I’m seeing you everyday is doing something to me.” 

“Right,” you teased, clearing your throat quietly. “Or maybe it’s the fact that the last couple of times, we haven’t been exactly safe.” 

He growled. “We should stop doing that.” 

“We should,” you agreed. 

“But it feels good.” 

“It does,” you smiled, leaning forward and gently nipping at his lower lip. “Could feel every inch of you.” 

Harry’s grip around your hips tightened. “Mmm,” he whispered. “I do like the way you feel around me.” 

“Yeah?” 

He nodded. “How wet and warm you are,” he whispered, moving his lips along your jawline. “How tight you feel around me,” he continued, moving his hands to the waistband of your shorts. 

“Harry,” you whimpered. 

“Yeah, baby?” 

He pulled back to look down at you. Then, before either of you could do or say anything else, you both heard a couple of knocks from the front door. 

Harry sighed. 

You let out a quiet giggle. 

“At least I can hide mine,” you teased. 

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Do you think if we ignored them they’ll just go away?” 

You smiled. “You know we can’t do that.” 

“Why not?” He sighed, stepping back and letting you down off the edge of the sink. 

“Because… whatever Peter wanted to talk to you about sounded serious.” 

“Fine,” Harry said. “But afterwards, you’re mine.” 

You smiled and kissed his cheek. “I’m counting on it, baby.” 

The knocking continued. Harry readjusted himself and looked over at you. 

“Go,” he said. “I’ll… be out shortly.” 

You grinned and looked down at him, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. “I’ll see you after breakfast.” 

He nodded. “I’ll be here, baby.” 

Harry watched you leave the villa with Charlotte by your side. Peter was already inside, seated on the couch, but he remained at the doorway. He watched you look over your shoulder at him and you smiled, giving him a wave before you turned back around. Harry just wanted to spend all day with you. 

Once you and Charlotte were quite a distance away, he finally shut the door and walked to the living area where Peter was seated. His foot was tapping anxiously against the floor and Harry furrowed a brow, sitting across from him. 

“Okay, what’s going on?” He asked. “You look nervous.” 

“I’m not,” Peter said. 

“You sure?” Harry replied, pointing to the bouncing of his leg. 

Peter sighed. “Are you cheating on her?” He blurted out. 

“What?” 

“Are you cheating on her?” 

“Why would you even ask me that?” Harry shook his head. “Of course I’m not. That’s not the kind of person I am.” 

Peter sighed. The tapping of his foot slowed. “I knew it.” 

Harry looked at his younger brother, confused. “Peter, what the hell is going on?” 

“Charlotte,” he said, running a hand over his face. “She told Lucy that you were here with another woman and well… she said that you had a membership with Adore.” 

Harry’s jaw clenched. “What? Why would she say that?” 

“I don’t know? Maybe she’s jealous?” 

He stood from the sofa. “Yeah, sure.” 

Peter furrowed a brow and watched his older brother begin to pace back and forth in front of him. “You—you don’t have a membership with Adore, right? She was just lying? Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this with anyone else before.” 

“Of course she’s lying,” Harry answered quickly. He looked over at his brother and sighed. “Is that why you wanted to meet with me this morning? Is that why Charlotte’s taking her out to breakfast right now?” 

“No… I mean, yes,” Peter sighed. “I just—I wanted to talk to you about it. When she told me last night, I didn’t believe it.” 

“And do you believe it now?” 

“No, of course not,” Peter answered. “I know that you’re not that type of guy, Harry.” 

“Then, why does it look like you think I’m hiding something else?” 

Peter shrugged. “Are you? Hiding something else?” 

“No,” he answered. “Jeez,” he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “If I don’t have someone, you, mom, and dad are on my ass, trying to hook me up with someone that you think would be a good fit. But now, now that I do have someone and I’ve brought her here, it still isn’t enough.” 

“Harry—”

“You know it’s true, Peter.” 

“We just want you happy.” 

“Do I not seem happy?” He asked. 

“You’ve looked the happiest you’ve ever been since we got here,” Peter answered truthfully. 

“Then what?” 

“I just… Why did you keep this—keep her—a secret from me? From us?” 

Harry looked at his younger brother. “Maybe I just wanted something for myself before I got you all involved… and maybe, maybe I didn’t want to ruin it either.” 

“What? What do you mean?” 

“I’ve introduced all of the women I’ve been with too early in our relationship and look how all that turned out. I just—I wanted it to be me and her for a bit before we got to that point,” Harry lied. 

Peter sighed. “Okay,” he nodded. “Okay.” 

“Is Charlotte—Is she going to say something?” 

“I told her not to.” 

“That wasn’t an answer.” 

Peter bit his lower lip. “I don’t know.” 

“Fuck,” Harry sighed, sitting back down. “Fuck.” 

“You really like her…” 

“Of course I do,” he said, looking over at Peter. 

“Did you always?” 

Harry cleared his throat. He couldn’t tell his brother that you both started sleeping with each other long before this and he certainly couldn’t tell him that all of this was fake. 

That he did have a membership with Adore. 

And that he was sure he’d have several dates to go on when he got back to New York. 

“She’s beautiful, Peter,” Harry said. “Kind of hard not to like her.” 

Peter chuckled. “You know, before all of this, I was telling Charlotte that I was willing to bet her that you’d get engaged soon.” 

Harry scoffed. “You’d lose that bet.” 

“Why? I mean, everyone saw the way you two looked at each other last night.” 

He rolled his eyes and sat back on the couch. His mind drifted to last night’s events, how all he could remember was how beautiful you looked and the dance you two shared. 

But he couldn’t allow himself to get comfortable with that memory because Peter and Charlotte knew something that you didn’t and if you found out, Harry wasn’t sure how you’d react. 

“I’m trying not to jump into things so fast,” Harry finally answered. “We saw how that went with Lucy.”

“Lucy wasn’t the one for you,” he said. “But this one… she’s perfect for you.” 

Harry looked over at him. “It’s too soon to tell.” 

“Please… we’ve known her for years.” 

He cleared his throat. “We’re just… navigating all of this, okay? It’s too early.” 

Peter nodded. “Sure,” he said. “But you can’t look me in the eyes and tell me that you’re not in love with her. We all see it.” 

Harry shook his head. He didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed his phone and sent you a quick text. Two words, simple, and straight to the point. 

HARRY: How’s breakfast?

“I can’t believe we’re here,” you smiled over at Charlotte. You were both seated at a table that overlooked the water and the waiter set down two glasses of mimosas on the table before leaving you both to look at the menu. 

“I know,” she said. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? How rich they are.” 

“God, I know,” you agreed. “They rented out an entire island,” you laughed. “It sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud, but they worked hard for it.” 

Charlotte nodded with a smile. “Their mom loves you,” she pointed out. 

You shrugged, “I’ve known them for years. This time… it’s just a bit different.” 

“Yeah, you don’t work for them when you’re here,” she said. “Here… you’re their son’s girlfriend.” 

“Right,” you nodded. “Exactly.” 

“And how is that going?” Charlotte asked. 

Your brows furrowed. “Good,” you answered. “Harry’s great. We’ve known each other before this too, so… it’s not like we’re starting fresh. I mean, this is new to us, but we were friends before.” 

Charlotte took her own glass and sipped her drink, looking at you from the rim of the glass. “Sometimes, I wish my story with Peter was as cute and normal as yours and Harry’s.” 

“Why?” You smiled. “You ended up marrying him. It doesn’t matter how your story started. What matters is how the story ended.” 

She shrugged and set down the glass. “I know, but I mean… it’s not as romantic as yours, you know? Someone asks us how we got together and we say that we were matched from a matchmaking service. That’s not romantic at all.” 

“Hey, dating is hard,” you reassured her. “Besides, from what I hear, Adore is very elite. It’s not like Tinder, you know?” 

Charlotte’s interest piqued. “Oh, so you know about Adore?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, Harry told me about it.” 

“He did?” She asked, surprised. Maybe that was the nature of your relationship with him, she thought. An open relationship. 

“Why are you surprised?” You laughed quietly. 

“I just—I don’t know,” she answered. “You don’t seem like the type of couple who would be open to that.” 

You brow furrowed. “What? Open to what?” 

“I mean, Harry using Adore’s services while he’s with you? From the looks of last night, it just seemed like you two were so head over heels in love with each other. I didn’t think that you’d both have an open relationship.” 

You cleared your throat. Your heart dropped to your stomach and a sudden wave of unease washed over you. It shouldn’t have effected you the way it did—Harry wasn’t technically yours to begin with and all of this was a lie anyway, but… 

Why did it hurt? 

Why did finding out that Harry was already hoping to find someone else when he got back to New York unsettling? 

You felt tears sting your eyes, but you blinked them away, feigning a yawn. You couldn’t show Charlotte that you were taken by surprise. Instead, you had to go along with it. 

And that fucking hurt too. 

“Yeah,” you laughed anxiously. “Well, it works for us.” 

“That’s crazy,” Charlotte chuckled, letting out a breath of relief. “I was so nervous! I didn’t want to be the one to tell you the news, but I’m glad that you already knew.” 

You nodded and forced a smiled. “Well, I appreciate it.” 

“I just didn’t want him breaking your heart. I know he’s technically my brother-in-law, but still… us women need to stick together, right?” She smiled. 

“Right,” you answered. 

“Great, now that that’s over with, I can finally relax,” she laughed softly. “Does this mean you also have someone too?” 

You shook your head and looked down at the menu. Every passing minute just made you nauseous and anxious because you had to go back to the villa and face Harry. 

“No,” you answered. “Not yet,” you teased, despite the hurt and pain you felt. 

Everything that you had begun feeling for Harry since the start of the trip was now coming back to bite you in the ass. You both established rules for a reason—at the time, it seemed easy enough. Go back to normal after this trip, act like nothing ever happened. 

But now… now it was fucking hard to do that. How could you go back to normal when you had feelings for him? Genuine feelings? 

“Well, I’m sure it won’t be too difficult for you,” Charlotte said. “So… tell me how it works.” 

You cleared your throat and felt your phone vibrate from your bag. You excused yourself for a moment to go to the bathroom, promising Charlotte all the spicy details that you were sure she was hoping to hear about. When you were in the bathroom and the door shut and locked behind you, you looked down at your phone and read Harry’s text. 

Anger washed over you. 

You answered with one word. 

YOU: Fine. 

Harry read your text and let out a sigh of relief. Maybe Charlotte didn’t tell you. He leaned back against the couch for a moment before he heard his brother get up and walk towards the kitchen. He was rummaging through the cupboard and pulling out two glasses. 

Quickly, Harry sent you one more text. He would see you soon enough.

HARRY: Miss you. 

You looked down at your phone and wanted to scream. You didn’t respond. You just stuffed your phone into your bag and then looked at yourself in the mirror. 

You were embarrassed. Harry could have at least told you before all of this that he had a membership to Adore, to the same fucking matchmaking services that paired Peter and Charlotte together. 

Instead, he lied. He was lying to you from the start. And you weren’t sure what hurt the most. The fact that he didn’t want you to know or the fact that you were starting to develop real feelings for him. 

After about an hour, both you and Charlotte were back at your villa. You had too much to drink, slurring your words, laughing obnoxiously, and could barely stand on your two feet. Once the door opened, Charlotte gave Harry an apologetic look. 

“Sorry, we—we got carried away.” 

Peter looked over at the both of you. You had stumbled inside and tossed your bag and kicked off your sandals. 

“We should get head out,” Peter mumbled, leading Charlotte out of the villa. “I’ll let mom and dad know you’ll both be skipping lunch.” 

“Noo!” You yelled, already laying on the couch. “We will make it!” 

“No, we won’t,” Harry said. “Thanks,” he muttered, glancing at Charlotte who refused to look at him. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.” 

Once Peter and Charlotte left, Harry walked to the kitchen to pour you a glass of water. He chuckled to himself at the sight of you all sprawled out on the sofa. He had no idea what you knew. 

“Here, drink some water,” he said, setting it onto the coffee table as he sat down next to you. 

“No,” you muttered. 

“You need to—”

“You don’t tell me what to do,” you interrupted, words still slurring. 

“You’re right,” he said. “The water’s there for you if you need it.” 

“Stop acting like you care.” 

Harry furrowed a brow. “What?” 

“You heard me. You don’t have to pretend anymore. It’s just me. No one else is around.” 

“I’m not pretending. I do care about you,” he mumbled. 

“Liar. You’re a fucking liar,” you spat, sitting up slowly and staring at him. He noticed the tears pooling at your eyes now. 

“I don’t understand…” he said. 

“Of course you don’t,” you shook your head. “You’re still lying.” 

“I’m not—Baby,” he tried to reach out for you. Harry hated the look on your face—disgust and pain written across your features. 

“Don’t. Don’t call me that.” 

Harry’s brows pulled together in confusion. “What happened? At brunch? What happened?” 

“Why don’t you tell me?” You asked. 

“You’re not making any sense, baby.” 

You laughed. Then, you stood. 

Harry did too. He tried to reach out for you again. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

He cleared his throat. “I’m just making sure you don’t fall.” 

“It’s not my first time being this drunk, okay? I’ve done it before without you.” 

He sighed. “What did Charlotte tell you?” Harry was starting to realize that maybe she did tell you about his membership to Adore, that he did have dates already planned for when he got back to New York. It was the only explanation for your reaction. 

“What do you think she told me?” 

Harry’s jaw tightened. “I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“I didn’t think it mattered.” 

You scoffed. “Do you know how bad that makes me look? Do you know how bad that makes you look?! God, I should’ve acted surprised. I should’ve made her believe that you were a fucking cheater.” 

“What?” 

“I told her that I knew about Adore because you told me about it before… but she—she thought I meant that I knew because we’re in an open relationship.” 

“What?” He repeated. “She thinks… we’re in an open relationship?” 

“Yeah,” you answered. “Because how bad would it look if the woman you brought to the Maldives to his parents’ anniversary trip had no idea that you were cheating on her?” 

“I wasn’t—”

“Just stop,” you interrupted. “We’re nothing, right? This was all fake?” 

Harry didn’t answer. 

“Right?” You repeated, staring up at him as you blinked back your tears. 

He straightened up and looked down at you. Harry took a step back and nodded, clenching his jaw once more. “Yeah, this was all fake.” 

“Good.”

Harry yearned to reach out for you. To wipe the tears away from your face and pull you into his arms. He wanted to go back to last night, to the way you looked at him and how it just felt right with you in his arms. 

“When we get back to New York… we’ll go back to normal,” Harry said. 

“No,” you said. “When we get back to New York, I’m done.” 

“What?” 

“I’m done,” you repeated. “I’m not going to be just some woman you need to go to when shit doesn’t go your way.” 

He scoffed. Harry was getting upset now. “Right. You do the same thing. That’s what we are to each other. It’s what we agreed on. Don’t act like I’m the only that uses you.” 

“You’re right,” you nodded, pointing at him. “I use you too and what a fucking mistake that was.” 

Harry took a step back. He stared at you with tears in his own eyes now too. He felt the tightness in his chest, could heart his own heart beating in his ears. He hadn’t felt like this when Lucy had broken up with him, so why did this—why did you—have this much of an effect on him? 

“I didn’t think me having a membership at Adore would cause this kind of reaction,” he muttered. “Seems like maybe you broke a rule.”

“Fuck you.” 

“What? Am I right?” 

You stared at him with tears trickling down your cheeks. You shook your head, sobering up now that you were high on emotions. “No,” you lied. “How could I develop feelings for someone who doesn’t even know what love is? Who thinks that everything has to be perfect? Do you know how fucking exhausting you are, Harry?”  

Harry inhaled sharply. “Stop.” 

“What? You can say things, but I can’t?”

“You’re drunk.” 

“I’m seeing things clearly now,” you mumbled. 

“You think you know what love is? You’re still fucking single!” Harry spat. 

“At least I’ve been in love before!” 

“Yeah, and look how that turned out.” 

You shook your head and took a step back. You looked at him and bit your trembling lower lip. “I should be going home.” 

“Then why don’t you?” 

“Because after all of this, I still fucking care about you!” You blurted out. “God, how stupid do you have to be to not see that, Harry?” 

His eyes softened. “I—I’m—”

“Like I said, after this trip, once we get home, we are done. I don’t ever want to see you again after this.” 

“You don’t mean that,” Harry whispered. 

“I am done, Harry.” You sighed, allowing your tears to now fall freely down your cheeks. “You could have told me… but you chose not to.” 

“I didn’t think it would matter,” he said honestly. 

“Yeah… well, it does.” You turned on your heel and walked down the hallway to the bedroom, shutting the door behind you. 

Harry remained in the living area, bringing his hand to his face and wiping the tears with the back of his hand. He grabbed his phone and walked out to the deck, dialing his matchmaker’s number. 

She answered it after one ring. 

“Harry, hi!” 

“Cancel my dates,” he said. “And cancel my membership.” 

“What?” She asked. “I’m sorry. Did something happen? Did you change your mind? We have other matches for you—”

“Did you not just hear me? Cancel everything. I don’t want anything to do with Adore anymore.” 

She sighed. “Harry, you—”

“Cancel it. Or else you’ll be hearing from my lawyers.” 

“Okay,” she answered. “I’ll go ahead and cancel everything. If I could get some feedback or insight as to why—”

“Yeah,” he interrupted. “I think I'm already in love with someone else.”

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Di and you are lying down on a blanket, the remains of a picnic around you. The sun is setting, and there is a light breeze caressing the grass around you. It's a quiet spot, a little park Di found one day, a little ways away from both your places, but it's calm, not too crowded, and beautiful. Both of you are happy to enjoy this moment, a quiet bubble in your busy lives. With an arm thrown over your eyes, you feel sleep dragging you down its path when Diana breaks your near slumber.

"Why did you and Eric divorce?" She almost sounds like a child, asking a question that has been bugging her for some time, something she can't make out by herself and finally resolves to ask you.

"Huh?" Yet, for you, the question comes out of nowhere, and it takes you a moment to comprehend the words. Your arms fall off your face, and you blink in the diminishing sunlight, staring at her.

"I mean, I know what you told me, you just drifted apart, fell out of love, yadi-yadi- ya." She isn't looking at you, her face is still turned toward the sky. "It's just… You were such a perfect couple."

"Obviously not." You can't help your snicker. But she turns her head to look at you, and you see something more in her eyes, something almost like betrayal.

"You were my role model."

That stops whatever you were about to say, the way you tend to dismiss the conversation, deflecting with a joke. "Di, I… I don't know what to tell you."

"I mean, it always felt a little strange. One day you two were living together, happy and in love, after probably one of the best weddings I've ever been to, and the next day, you call me and tell me you are getting a divorce."

"It didn't happen in a day, it took longer than that." You frown, grasping an errant thought: that maybe you hadn't really told Diana everything. Not that you deliberately hid anything.

"But what happened? I mean… I always looked up to you both. I know you think I'm in my slut era, that's been lasting for decades," she laughs with something that sounds almost deprecative, and you want to interrupt, but she goes on, "I always felt like, one day I could have what you had. And now I don't know."

"Di, where is this coming from? It sounds so sudden." You sit up, and she mimics you, both sitting with crossed legs, facing each other.

"Benny and I had a fight." Her eyes drop to the ground, and she quickly adds, "Don't worry, it's all good now, but it made me realize how much I care about him, and I don't know… Is it all worth it?" Her eyes look up to you, and you see that child all over again.

"What did you fight about?" You can't help but worry. Diana just shakes her hand, a way of saying it's not important.

"Oh, it's silly; we both kinda got in our heads, because we haven't really been official, you know. And it escalated until we both realized we really just want to be a couple." Her smile betrays her happiness at saying the word out loud.

"Wait, does that mean I'm finally going to meet him?"

"Yeah… maybe." You throw an empty bag of chips at her.

"OK fine! We are thinking of doing it soon. Try to organize something where he could bring his brother and friends, and I could bring you. That way we could all meet each other."

"When were you going to tell me?"

"I'm telling you now!"

A moment of silence follows, while you both share a smile. You know you owe her a better explanation, because you want her to understand, and you also want her to be happy. You take a big breath and start.

"It's true, we did fall out of love. But we also still love each other, just not romantically."

"I don't get it."

"We still have a lot of respect for each other. And you can't erase a decade of being together, of being in love for most of it."

"But that's the thing, you were together for so long, why didn't you... I don't know, try harder?" She looks apologetic as she says this, not wanting you to feel hurt by her words, but also really wanting to understand.

"I know, but we met young and grew apart. It's true!" You exclaim when you see Di roll her eyes, "We just didn't really realize it until it was too late. And we did try, but… but I don't know what to tell you. We became roommates, not lovers anymore. We didn't have the same interests, we didn't want the same things. It was fun when we were younger, but as we grew older, we grew apart. And I think we just didn't notice until one day he mentioned wanting to move to another place, sell the apartment, and buy a house. And I didn't. That started a conversation, one which made us realize how different we wanted our future to be. And that's that. There was no big fight, no cheating, just a slow realization that we weren't in love anymore, and that we didn't really want to fall back in."

"That feels so sad."

"It is, but also, it's not? We were together for more than 10 years, and most of our time together was wonderful. I have so many fond memories of him, and I'll always want the best for him, and him for me. There is no regret, I don't think I wasted years of my life with him." You reflect on what you said, trying to see if there is a better way to explain things, but there isn't. That is exactly what happened. "I maybe wish we had realized a little earlier, and I wouldn't have gone so long without sex." You can't help but add a little joke to diffuse the small tension.

"Really! How long has it been?"

"Well, now it's fine. I did go on a few dates before moving here, at least I scratched that itch." You hear Diana whisper "slut" under her breath, and you laugh before continuing.

"Before that, I don't know, it's like we didn't want to, didn't even think about it. We maybe had sex 2 or 3 times a year."

You sigh. "I don't know what else to tell you, it just happened. What was harder was when I noticed most of my life had evolved around him. And that's partly on me, because I was fine with not having too many friends. And I did make my own and still keep in touch. But I wanted to find myself again."

"And you aren't mad he's with someone again, so soon?"

"We divorced almost a year ago, I'm fine. He met her while we were figuring things out, and he told me right away he was starting to feel something for someone else. Was I thrilled at the time? No. But angry? Never. And she's really great. Not my type, we won't become friends, but she is perfect for him, for who he is now."

"You act so wise, it just feels impossible to be in love and then not be anymore." Her voice is still laced with regret and a little bit of uneasiness. You want to reassure her, want her to understand that it was worth it, whatever the outcome was.

"Diana, while we were together, we were good, happy. We can still be your model. I actually think the way we broke up is also great. And I still believe in love."

"With Frankie?" Her sly smile makes you feel flushed.

"Shush, I don't know. He's fine." You wave your hand, trying to chase the subject away.

"He's fine," Di repeats, mocking you. "So fine that you lent him a book, and are what, texting now?"

"I already admitted to liking him. I just don't know if he likes me. We're just friends."

"Friends, fuck this! The guy is flirting, and you know it." She throws the bag of chips back at you.

"Maybe… But I think I like this part. I'm enjoying the status quo, not really knowing, for the moment. It's like a shy flirt. And if it doesn't go further than this, then it's fine, really. I'm not pursuing him for my next love story, I'm just happy being friends with him, and maybe more."

"Don't you want to fuck him?"

"Of course I want to! Girl! I saw him piloting a helicopter! Can you imagine what it's done to me?" You groan, lying back dramatically and then sigh, "He was so hot, being so competent and all."

Di lies back again and sighs, "I want to see Benny train people, and watch him work out. I would climb him like a tree."

"You are already fucking him."

"Yeah. But not enough." You both giggle like teenagers talking about their crushes.

"¡Holà pendejo![Hello, asshole!]" Frankie exclaims loudly when he sees Santiago coming through the sliding doors after customs. He and Mia went to greet him at the airport, and have been waiting a little out of the way, Mia in his arms, holding a sign they made together displaying "Bienvenido, Tío Santi! [Welcome, uncle Santi!]"

"Frankie, it's so good to see you! Mia, ¡princesa! ¡Has crecido un montón desde la última vez que te vi!"[Princess! You’ve grown a lot since I last saw you]

But Mia is a little shy, she hasn't seen her uncle in 6 months, and even if she remembers him and has talked with him on FaceTime many times, she still feels a little apprehensive.

"Muñequita, ¿puedes decir hola a tu tío? [Sweetie, can you say hi to your uncle?]" Frankie murmurs in her ear when he senses her discomfort, her head buried in the crook of his neck. She starts by shaking her head, but Frankie gently rubs her back to comfort her, and she eventually turns her head to look at the adult standing in front of her with a kind smile and manages a timid "Holà tío."

"Did you make this pretty sign for me? Can I see it?" Santi asks kindly, reverting to English in case it helps the little girl. She hands him the sign, which is now all crumbled from the motion she made to hide in her father's arms, and he compliments her, admiring the drawings she made around the words that Frankie wrote. "It's beautiful. Can I keep it?"

"Yes." Her shyness is slowly ebbing away from the kind words she received.

"I'm going to cherish it. Let me put it in my bag to keep it safe," Santi reverently folds the sign and puts it away.

Frankie can't help the fatherly pride he feels watching his daughter overcome her shyness. He wouldn't have pushed her, but he wants to make sure she is comfortable. And soon, as they walk toward the car, Mia is babbling away while Santi asks her questions, and the sound of their laughs combined makes Frankie's heart swell with content.

After arriving home and putting Mia to sleep for her afternoon nap, the two friends finally settle outside to catch up. They are sitting on the back porch, watching the water, coffee in hand, the sliding doors behind him open, in case Mia calls for him.

"Have you taken Mia on the boat yet?" Santi breaks the silence that until then was only disturbed by the distinctive song of a <type of bird>.

"No, I'm afraid she's too little. I don't think I can sail and watch out for her at the same time."

"What if we went together? Just a small trip on the bay to see if she enjoys it? That way you can finally put your sailing license to the test."

"I've sailed plenty, thank you very much. But yeah, that would be great." It puts Frankie at ease, knowing he can count on his friend for a few weeks. Not that he couldn't have asked Will, Benny, or Tom. But he knows how Will and Benny are busy, and he doesn't trust Tom on a boat yet. And having Santi at home, it's different, it's showing his daughter what true friendship is like, and also knowing she will be spoiled rotten by her tio. Of course, the best way he can show his appreciation is by saying, "So, when are you finally getting your own place?"

"I'm barely here, and you are already kicking me out?" Thankfully, his friend knows exactly what these words mean, especially when they are underlined by a squeeze on the shoulder.

"I have a few places I need to look at, see if the pictures are true." He trails a bit before adding, with something like awe in his voice, "Yovanna wants to go back to school. She started a nursing degree in Australia, and she wants to finish it here and eventually specialize to become a Midwife. She's already in touch with the school, so I'm here to look for a place close by." The smile on his face tells Frankie that his friend is finally letting himself be happy.

"How about the money?" They never really speak about that, and Frankie knows Santi isn't reckless, but he wants to make sure his friend is doing well, see if he can help in any way.

"I'm fine, don't worry. I took plenty of well-paid contracts and barely touched the money. I have plenty to get us a good place, even something for Yov's brother; he still hasn't decided if he wants to come. I have everything sorted immigration wise, so we should be good. "

"What about you? What are you going to do?"

"Honestly?" The sigh Santi lets out holds a lot: uncertainty, even some shame. "I don't know, whatever I can help with. I'm tired of moving around, chasing guys, but I don't know what else to do. Are you hiring?" Santi's eyes turn expectant.

Frankie laughs. "I don't really know what the hell you could do there. But I can look around if I hear about anything that could fit. Maybe ask Will and Benny, they might have an idea. And they know a lot more people than I do."

"Thanks, I need to find something. I can't stay idle, it'll kill me." The desperation in his words is palpable. All of them have had action ingrained in their habits for so long that even if they had the money to do nothing, none of them really could. Frankie was the perfect example.

"Believe me, I get it. It almost did for me." He will always feel shame for the few months when they got back from Colombia, the moment that changed everything, his own life being at the forefront of the list of things he could have lost.

"Mi llave [my friend], I think you were a warning for all of us." Santi squeezes Frankie's shoulder. "But you are also the strongest, Frankie. And I hope you never forget it."

Frankie snorts dismissively. Yeah right, none of you are addicts." But Santi shakes his head, his hand still on Frankie's shoulder, not letting go.

"We all carry something from our years of service, and we all have our own form of addiction. Do you think me running around the world, trying to set things right, was healthy? You and Will are the ones who showed us the way. Showed us there is a life outside of our own trauma. Look at Benny with his fighting. And now his training, he seems to need the adrenaline of the fight. And Tom with his ventures–"

"And his drinking." Frankie cuts in; at one point the guys need to see it's a problem.

"That bad?"

"He says he stopped, but doesn't want to get any help. So I'm not very sure."

"Shit…" Santi shakes his head, but isn't deterred from his speech. "Well anyway, what you overcome is more than any of us could have done. And we all looked up to you when we saw you struggling and succeeding. I know I did. I always will."

Frankie feels his throat constrict, emotions swelling his heart, he's about to deny it, try to say something, but Santi cuts him.

"Don't. It's just the way it is." Frankie nods, finally accepting it.

"So, tell me more about your pretty meteorologist. Have you gotten better at flirting?"

"Vete a la mierda [Fuck off]."

"No? Come on! Tell me!"

"It's just that I'm technically her boss, even if she doesn't know that. And even if I am just a coworker, it can still be an issue."

"Fuck that, don't try to find excuses!"

Thankfully, a loud"Daaaaaaaaad" saves Frankie from finding an answer.

Another week ends, and you are already at Joe's securing a table, waiting for your colleagues to unwind after a stressful few days, the last of the summer storms making everyone's work more difficult.

You know Frankie is flying and will join you soon. Alysha, being on vacation this week, picked up the sunset tour he usually forgoes in the weeks he has Mia, but he mentioned having a friend to help. Colin would join you later, from a meeting downtown. Joan had promised to arrive soon, she wanted to finish sorting out the archives room before leaving for the weekend.

As you are waiting with your drink, sitting at what you now think of as your favorite table, you get a text from Colin saying his meeting is running late and he won't be able to make it. Almost at the same time, Joan announces she has a personal emergency, a friend needing her support. Fred had declined, having already plans, which meant that you were about to end up alone with Frankie. Which makes you feel very nervous. Despite how cool you acted with Di, you are very flustered at the idea of being alone with him. Part of you is excited at the prospect, and part dreads it, wanting nothing more than to run away.

Before you can text him to let him know, wanting to give him the choice to cancel, Frankie shows up, a drink in his hand, and sits in front of you with a large smile. The water to his back, and the light from the setting sun, shines softly, highlighting the brown of his hair and his golden skin. Your heart flutters at the sight, and you are speechless for a second, admiring him in the glow of the evening. Until Frankie asks, "Where is everyone?"

"Oh, they just all texted to cancel. I was about to tell you in case you wanted to…" You let your voice trail, not knowing how to finish.

"Oh!" he seems a little caught off guard, but soon an easy smile spreads on his face. "Their loss, I'm happy to have a drink after the week we had."

"You mean the weather? Or is there something else?"

"My whole life! As I mentioned, I have a friend over for a few weeks. I love him, and it's great to have him over, but he spoils Mia and makes my life difficult." You can tell from his tone that he is, in fact, very happy and loves every moment.

"I'm sure you hate it." You tease, and he answers in the same tone.

"Yeah, it's really the worst." He grins at you and starts regaling you with tales of the latest mischief Mia and his friend, whom he calls alternatively Santi, Santiago, and Pope, until you have to ask him if it is indeed talking about the same person.

"Sorry, Pope is his call sign, from the army, his name is Santiago, Santi is what we usually call him."

"You have a call sign? What is it?"

"Catfish." He seems a little embarrassed, which prompts you to ask more questions.

"Why? Because you are a good swimmer? For the whiskers?" Each time he shakes his head, smiling, but refusing to give you any indication.

"It's a whole story, and maybe one day you'll earn it." Frankie finally relents, but refuses to say more when you beg and even ask what you need to do to earn the privilege of hearing the story.

It feels like the best date you've had in years. Except it isn't one. It's just a drink between two colleagues who are maybe also friends, and who might both be attracted to each other.

You know your attraction is getting stronger, but on his side? It's still hard to know. You suspect there is, by the way he looks at you, something. But the conversation always stays on safe topics, such as work, books, movies, food, his daughter. Never about past relationships, never any innuendo that would be borderline flirting. Yet you can feel something in the air, it's almost tangible. There is attraction, you are almost sure. It makes you want to seek more, leave the status quo, and see if there is something and where it could lead you both.

But it's getting late, so tonight won't be the night. Tonight you enjoy the end of your drink, laughing and saying goodbye a little awkwardly by your cars, a hand wave, almost turning into a handshake, when it's clear both of you wanted to hug.

"Have you met up with the guys yet?" Frankie asks Santi over dinner.

"Not yet. I had both Benny and Will on the phone. Benny mentioned there was a fight next week, a guy he's been training for some time. He said we could all meet there."

"When will it be?"

"Saturday night, fight starts at 8 PM."

"Sounds good, I can make it. Mia will be with her mom that night."

"Great! Just like old times."

Frankie can't help but remember the last time they all went together to a fight, when Benny was still competing. The moment when Santi came to ask them for their help. And judging from Santi's face, he is also remembering that same moment. When asking for help for a recon mission turned into

And even if they are mostly all doing well, sometimes Frankie wonders if he had the chance, would he do it again? Is money worth what happened to them? The guilt, the way it broke the dynamic of their friendship? He doesn't have an answer.

"What are you doing next Saturday?" Di doesn't even say hello when you answer your phone, straight to business, as always.

"Eating pizza while I watch a movie probably. Why?"

"Do you want to see two men beat the shit out of each other?"

"That sounds very appealing."

"Yeah, I know, but think of the smell of sweat and stale beer!"

"You know the way to my heart."

"Benny will be there."

"Now you got me interested!"

"I told you he was training a guy, well, next Saturday is his first fight since he got into training. I know it's not really our scene, but his brother and his other friends will be there. I thought it could be a good opportunity for everyone to meet. Without the pressure of a dinner or a drink at the bar."

"Of course I'll come! I'm not letting you have all the fun alone. Plus I'm curious, I've never been to a fight. I don't know if I'm going to like it, but at least I'll have tried!"

"Great, I'll send you the details!"

Spanish translation: muñeca/muñequita: literally doll, sweetie Mi llave: my friend (literally my key), Colombian Vete a la mierda: Go to hell, Fuck off

The gallery was already crowded with people within its first hour of opening. The atmosphere buzzed with excitement and anticipation, particularly outside the closed exhibition hall for which the very event you were here for will be held.

Your heels clanked against the hardwood flooring as you approached the growing queue. Aside from you, everyone here seemed to have been long aware of the reception.

Your hand reached inside the small bag hanging over your shoulder and you fished out the ticket you had received yesterday. Your eyes perused over the letters printed on the thick rectangular paper over and over again.

Just what, was your luck?

Your feet unconsciously moved with the line until you finally reached the staff in charge of the event admission.

"Madame? Your ticket, please." The staff's voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you looked up to find him looking mildly annoyed at your lack of focus.

"Pardon." You extended your hand to lend him the ticket, but instead, he only blinked at you as if you just offered him illegal money. "Is there a problem?"

"We use digital tickets, Madame."

Confused, you glanced over to the person behind you who looked just as impatient. The woman, whom you guessed was about your age, held up her phone to show you her ticket.

You turned back to the staff. "But this is still a ticket, no?—"

Before the staff could deny your entry, the faint sounds of chatter and camera shutters grew in your ears. You—and everyone else—whipped your head in the direction of the noise to see a group of people swarming a moving subject.

The actual reason you're here.

Reed Richards.

From the distance, you could see him flashing a polite smile as he answered questions thrown his way from the journalists. But your gaze didn't get to stay long on the man because the staff once again called you.

"I cannot let you enter yet, Madame. I have to consult my manager to make sure this ticket is valid."

Sighing, you let the woman behind you through as you stood next to the line, wondering if you should give up and leave, or give this man—in a boring, plain black blazer—a good headbutt so he could perhaps see better. Do you look like you'd scam your way inside with fake tickets?

Your patience was running thin as you watched the other visitors pass through. After calling someone over with his in-ear piece, a bald man, presumably in his mid 50s, rushed over. You assumed he was the manager.

They discussed the issue, and he took hold of your ticket, examining it like a lost artifact—and you had to physically hold yourself back from rolling your eyes.

"Mademoiselle. You made it."

The familiar soft voice shook your train of thoughts. Your head swiftly turned to find the artist himself standing next to you with hands shoved down the pockets of his trousers.

The paparazzi had left him alone, finally; the ones invited for media coverage already heading inside to get the best views and set up their tools.

"H-hi. You." You stammered, unsure on how to react after your encounter yesterday. It brought a chuckle out of the man.

"I believe I told you it's Reed." He smiled, showing off his dimples. "Though, I haven't had the pleasure of knowing yours, yet."

You swallowed as you stared into his eyes and told him your first name.

Reed repeated it. Your name sounded light on his tongue, like a brush on a canvas.

"That's a beautiful name."

He tore his eyes from yours and briefly glanced down at his watch. "The event starts in twenty. Best to get seated now."

"That's the thing.."

"Excuse me, gentlemen."

The two gallery staffs stopped their chatter to look at Reed. Their eyes widened at the unexpected presence.

"Monsieur!" The manager placed his hand over his chest and bowed curtly, and the staff followed suit.

Reed brushed off the greeting and went straight to the point. "Is it true that you're not the letting the owner of this ticket inside?" He pointed to your ticket that the manager was holding.

"Uh, yes. We're informed that all tickets are in digital form."

"Well," Reed gently took the ticket from the manager's hand. "This one is legit. I personally gave it to my special guest. So if you will.." He smiled; the kind that made the gallery employees shudder.

"Right away, Monsieur!"

"Merci bien." Reed nodded in satisfaction.

The staff quickly allowed you in. You thanked them, feeling relieved that the spectators of your earlier predicament no longer looked at you like a fraudster.

You caught sight of Reed already heading off to the back entrance reserved for staffs, but he turned his head in your direction and sent you a quick wink.

You have to thank him later for saving your dignity.

You immediately frowned at the thought your mind had conjured up.

No. HE got me into this trouble.

You shook your head to shrug off the debate arising in your head and went to find a seat; somewhere at the end of the row where you wouldn't be attracting anymore unwanted attention.

When you had finally settled in your seat and calmed down, your ears finally registered the sound of cello filling the room.

At first, you thought it came from the speakers. But then you craned your neck to look between the heads sitting in front of you and found a man in a suit playing the instrument, live.

The bow glided over the strings purposefully, and his loose curls swung over his forehead with matching intensity. You recognised the melody, Andante Cantabile by Tchaikovsky. It sounded wistful and tender, perfect for the atmosphere inside the hall.

The opening performance ended and you softly clapped along with the other guests. As the cellist stood, you managed to get a better look of the talented man. He held his cello and bow in one hand and bowed, smiling gratefully.

At the same time, Reed emerged from the white partitioned wall that displayed his artworks, and the claps only grew louder at his appearance. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him.

You spot the cellist's smile breaking into a grin as he gave Reed a little bow. He was about to leave with his cello, but Reed stopped him, placing a hand on his arm. The cellist, wearing a suit with a black bow tie was caught off guard as Reed led him to the center of the room.

"Please. Another round of applause for my good friend, Alex Serian." The room erupted with applause, and the man, whom you now know as Alex Serian, bowed again, this time with a slightly embarrassed smile.

You found Reed chuckling at his bashful response, which you had to admit, was adorable. Finally, with a pat on Alex's shoulder, he disappeared behind the same wall Reed came through.

"Thank you all for coming." You attention again shifted towards Reed, now standing in front of everyone with his artworks displayed behind him. He talked about how his latest works came about with bright eyes and the same excitement as you witnessed yesterday; when you shared your thoughts about a painting that was apparently his.

The memory had you biting your lower lip to suppress the embarrassment that had been plaguing your mind. You barely had any sleep last night thinking of how you must have made a fool of yourself.

Despite it all, you couldn't miss the chance to see Reed Richards's other masterpieces before the general public does. So here you were.

"Thank you again for coming, and please, help yourselves." Reed gestured towards the lines of frames holding his paintings after ending his speech.

Everyone started leaving their seats, thrilled to see his works up close. The media on the other hand, was quick to approach him for more questions, shoving mics into his face.

You took your time with each painting, observing the colours, the intentionally asymmetrical shapes, the brush strokes, the similar art style to the painting you saw yesterday. You found yourself smiling, finding joy in seeing patterns and seeing what makes each painter unique.

Your feet halted before a painting placed on the other side of the room. There were only two main colours. Black for the background, and orange for the subject. At first glance you thought it was mars. But no, it was a fox; curled up into an almost perfect round. The painting took your breath away, partly due to your love of foxes.

You lost track of time studying the fascinating artwork, and before you knew it, you were one of the last few visitors left inside the exhibition room.

"You've stared at this one for a while. I didn't expect the fox to receive most of your attention." A pair of heels softly clanked against the hardwood floor before stopping right beside you. "I'm almost jealous."

Your head whipped in his direction, and you found Reed smiling at you. You instantly mirrored his smile. "It's really beautiful."

"I'm glad one person thinks so."

"I'm serious."

Reed chuckled before playfully bowing with a dramatic flair. "I appreciate your kind words, Milady."

"Stop it." You gently slapped his arm without thinking, chuckling in embarrassment, as you caught some visitors' eyes on both of you. "We're in public." You continued in a hushed tone.

Reed only smiled and watched the twinkle in your eyes as you laughed. "So you won't mind if it's in private?"

His question made you stop, heat suddenly creeping up your cheeks as your heart thumped against your ribs. What the hell is happening?

"I don't—Not like that!"

Reed laughed. "Apologies, love. I was merely teasing." He placed his palm over his heart to show how sorry he was; but the way he bit his lower lip to suppress another chuckle told you that he relished in seeing your reaction.

Just then, another set of footsteps approached you. You both turned to find the man who played the cello earlier, looking slightly... disheveled. He smiled at Reed before sparing a glance at you.

"Alex." Reed tugged his sleeve to pull him over. Alex smiled as Reed introduced you both to each other, and you shook his hand with a polite smile.

Alex then turned to his painter friend and leaned close to whisper in his ear; which you could somehow still hear—very clearly. "Will you stop dragging me around?"

You had to bite the inside of your cheeks to stop yourself from laughing. This man sure didn't appreciate being the center of attention.

"Where were you anyway?" Reed gave his friend a look. Alex's lips parted but no words came out.

"Just went to get some drinks." He said after a beat of silence.

"Right." Reed smirked. You watched their exchange in amusement.

"How did you two know each other?" You asked, redirecting the conversation to something that wouldn't keep pushing Alex to the corner. The man gave you an appreciative look.

"We met in art school." Alex nodded in confirmation. "He made me do his painting assignment." He then added bluntly. The cellist snapped his head towards his friend in betrayal.

"No I didn't."

"Yes, you did. How else did you get an 'A' for that class when all you did was play cello and—"

"Fine, alright?"

Reed grinned in victory at his surrender, forcing the chuckled you had tried to contain out of you. You could tell they'd been friends for a while.

"Come on, dinner's on me." Reed said, voice turning softer as looked at you.

"Me?"

"Yes, and us." He jerked his head towards Alex.

"It's alright," Alex said, "you two can go together. I'll get something on my way back to the hotel."

"Absolutely not. I owe you for that performance."

"You don't owe me anything though." You interjected, feeling almost bad that you might be getting in between their plans.

"It was a mistake on my part that the gallery staffs almost didn't let you in because iof the ticket I gave you. So I do owe you a proper apology." Reed looked at you hopefully. For a second, you thought his eyes looked rounder, like puppies. And it made you want to give in.

"You sure?"

"Very."

Alex watched the whole thing like a tennis game. Reed's eyes on you didn't waver, and he then added,

"Please."

At that word—and the way he said it—Alex's eyebrows raised in surprise, but he didn't say a word.

"Alright." You finally gave in. "I guess I'd enjoy some company for tonight."

The implication that you rarely had company at night had Alex curious. "Why? Are you single?" He inquired, which earned him a jab from Reed.

"Uh, yeah. I am." You answered with a sheepish smile.

Alex's eyes sparkled with mirth and he glanced at his friend with a grin.

"Don't mind him." Reed said, subtly glaring at the man next to him. "Come. I know a place."

The atmosphere of the restaurant was warm and cozy. The three of you ate your meals and filled the silence with lighthearted conversations. You hadn't felt so happy talking to people in a while.

"You haven't shared your thoughts on my paintings yet today." Reed pointed out as he wiped his mouth clean of his tomates farcies.

"It wouldn't matter. I'm no art critique."

"That's exactly why it matters. My art are not for critiques—though they are, unfortunately, important for PR. But ultimately they're for myself, and for the people who find joy and comfort in it."

You sighed, knowing that aside from fine arts, Reed Richards was a master in the art of persuasion—or at least you couldn't seem to resist him.

So you talked, and talked, and the two men listened without cutting you off.

Alex looked at you before his gaze landed on his friend who was listening intently to everything you had to say—and a small, almost fond smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

You finally arrived home after midnight, thanks to Reed and Alex who made sure you got back safely.

You felt your heart fluttering the whole time as you recalled your conversations. The way Reed valued your opinions, the way he listened to you without interrupting, the way his voice would get softer whenever he talked to you.

You wondered if you'd ever get to see him again.

Reed and Alex walked down the dimly-lit pavements back to their own hotel after sending you back.

"You should've gone to that dinner without me." Alex said, breaking the silence of the night.

"What? Why?"

"Because clearly, you didn't need me there. It could've been a date."

"But it wasn't supposed to be a date." Reed looked at him in confusion.

Alex's lips parted in disbelief. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Reed's neck, holding it in a headlock. "Do you even know how to pick up a woman?"

"Ow! Let go, idiot! I'm not like you."

"You're the idiot! You're literally in love with her!" That immediately shut Reed up.

Alex let him go with a shove, sending the man stumbling on his feet. "And yeah, I'm a ladies man." He shrugged. "So if you don't make your move, maybe I will."

Reed gasped, and his hands suddenly itched to wipe the smirk off the menace he unfortunately called friend's face. "Don't. You. Dare."

"Try me."

Sensing the warning signs in Reed's eyes, Alex instantly took off, with the man in glasses chasing after him into the night.

Deep down in his heart, Reed knew Alex was right.

When he looked at you, he saw a woman who spoke his language—a woman who could interpret the strokes on his canvas.

And Reed knew he had fallen. Hard.

Thank you for reading!! Hope this made your day/night :) reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I would love to know your thoughts <3

The day Javi adopted a dog, he had gone out to buy a burrito.

He was walking peacefully through downtown, the neon sign of his favorite takeout spot just a few steps away, when he heard a voice say, “Do you want to adopt a dog today?”

It was afternoon, just before sunset.

He turned around and saw you, wearing jeans and a T-shirt from a local animal shelter.

“Are you talking to me?” he exclaimed, surprised.

A small van was parked on the street and had the same logo you had on your shirt on the side.

“Would you like to adopt?” you smiled, gesturing toward the dogs in a pen next to you.

It was a temporary metal structure, set up on one side. Water bowls, cooling mats and dog toys were scattered here and there, and a few puppies were scampering and chasing each other inside.

He looked at you again, back at the puppies, then at you once more.

Beautiful eyes, a nice smile—your jeans hugged your hips perfectly, and despite your oversized T-shirt, he could see your curves.

You held out your hand and told him your name and the shelter where you volunteered.

Whoa,well now this is a sight to behold, he thought while shaking your hand.

But the puppies? Oh no.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m the right fit” he tried to say.

He saw a glimmer of disappointment in your eyes that you tried to hide right away.

“I understand,” you murmured, lowering your gaze, and Javi immediately felt guilty. “It’s just… I’m sorry, it’s not your fault—I’ve been here all afternoon and no one has stopped by.”

He found you delightful and hated hearing that hint of sadness in your voice.

So he looked at the puppies again, just to make you happy.

“How old are they?”

“Four months now; they’re already weaned, dewormed, and vaccinated.”

There were five of them in all, short-haired—four black with white spots and one brown.

“We found them in a trash bag when they were just born, you know, it was horrible.”

Javi wasn’t surprised; he’d seen enough horrors in his life to know that certain people have no scruples at all—not for anything or anyone, not even the most defenseless beings.

It hadn’t stopped disgusting him, he was simply aware of it.

But you seemed genuinely concerned, so sweet as you looked at him with a hopeful half-smile that Javi didn’t have the heart to disappoint you completely.

“I could make a donation to the shelter,” he suggested, thinking he could at least give you some satisfaction.

“Oh, thank you, that’s very kind of you,” you replied gently.

You couldn’t stop watching the puppies chase each other with sad eyes, though, and Javi knew what you were thinking.

He’d had a dog when he was a kid, down at his father’s ranch. Lola, a sheepdog. Chuco had gotten her to help with the livestock, but Lola was a little too unruly and lazy, so she’d simply become the family dog.

She’d lie under their porch taking long naps and run through the cornfields with Javi. And Javi adored her. He hadn’t thought about her in years, but at that moment he remembered those days as if only a glimpse had passed since Lola had died.

They hadn’t gotten any other dogs because Javi was inconsolable—and so was Chuco, even though he would never admit it.

His father was gruff, but he had a big heart. He caught him that evening, sitting in his armchair watching the football game, wiping his eyes. They’d buried Lola that afternoon.

“Want to hold one?” you tentatively asked.

Oh man, now he was really in trouble. If he’d said no and just handed you some money, what would you have thought of him? He stopped his hand just as it was about to reach into the back pocket of his jeans to pull out his wallet.

“Okay,” he replied. He heard it echoing in his head as if someone else had said it.

Why did he care so much, anyway? Sure, you were cute. But Javi had never had any trouble finding someone to hook up with.

And anyway, after Colombia, he wasn’t really interested in getting even the slightest bit attached to anyone. But there you were, leaning against the fence, picking up a brown puppy with a gentleness that was practically impossible to miss. And that struck him. You were a volunteer—no one was paying you to do this—and yet you did it with a care he’d seen in few other people. The puppy was calm and quiet, unlike the others, who were all scampering around yelping.

“I think this quiet little lady might be just right for you,” you smiled as you handed her over. “She’s the smallest— she was probably born last—but she’s strong, healthy, and well-behaved. Isn’t that right?” you chirped in a goofy but lovely voice as you scratched the puppy behind her right ear “yes, you’re a good girl”

Javi held her for a moment, awkwardly, not quite sure what to do. He hadn't felt so clumsy since the occasional times Steve had asked him to hold his daughter.

Javi wasn’t the type to be all mushy—he never had been. But he was the type to stand up for the weak. It was his job, after all, to fight for what was right. And with that puppy in his arms, he felt something: tenderness, a sense of protection.

You adjusted his grip, touching his arms without even thinking about it, completely focused on the puppy. “From underneath, like this,” you instructed him patiently, “rest her on your forearm.”

Javi adjusted his position and watched the little one settle in, her head resting on Javi’s bicep, her little paws dangling down the sides of Javi’s arm. She seemed calm and serene.

“There you go. Perfect,” you winked at him with a very satisfied look. “You’re much better than you think.”

“She’s warm. And heavier than I thought.” He looked into those lively, curious little eyes reflected in his own, stroked her back with his other hand, and felt her soft fur beneath his fingers. She happily licked his hand, bumping her little nose and rubbing her muzzle on his skin.

“She likes you” you said, grinning softly.

You were so sweet, watching him, happy with what you’d accomplished.

You invited him to sit down in the back of the van and he spent some time with you chatting and playing with the dog.

The puppy was a little bundle of joy and he found himself enjoying himself more and more. She was playful and gentle despite being so young, no excessive biting and jumping around with no awareness of her surroundings or her own strength.

“She’s smart” he observed “and very cute”

“Yeah, she is. Sure you can let her down?” You smiled, very softly.

He couldn’t tell if it was your fault or the puppy’s, but he found himself again saying something that he didn’t think would ever come out of his mouth: “Well…uhm..I’ll need some help, though—I don’t know how to train a dog.”

“I can help you. When someone adopts a dog, we have to make sure that everything goes well in the following weeks and that the person is truly committed. I can come by to check on things and bring paperwork to sign.” You told him in that honeyed voice of yours that Javi felt dipping into his chest.

“Well, I think you should, it’s your fault I’m bringing this little girl home tonight” he chuckled.

And it felt right, when he said that.

Your eyes immediately lit up at the realization that you'd made it, and your smile spread across your face like a ray of sunshine. You moved as if to hug him, before limiting yourself to a pat on the shoulder, but you were excited. And happy. It showed, and Javi was happy too.

“Okay, I have a lot of tips to give you then. Let her sleep with you, at least at first, because she needs to feel like she's not alone and she needs to get used to you, your house, the smells, and then—well, then let her out often, especially—” you were chattering, caught up in the excitement, and Javi thought it was so beautiful.

If he could have, he would have taken them all home at that point, just to keep you happy. He couldn’t quite explain it, but you were the first person he’d met since returning who knew nothing about his past, his job, or what he’d had to do in Colombia.

During the time he'd lived with his father, upon his return, he'd continued to have nightmares and smoke like a chimney. Then he'd gone to therapy, and now he was using nicotine patches. The urge to search his pocket for the pack was still strong, but he had to admit he was feeling better, breathing easier, and being more helpful to his dad when he visited him at the ranch.

He’d seen old friends again, met with relatives, and everyone was well aware that he wasn’t the same person he’d been when he left.

But you—so easygoing, fun, and simply genuine—made him think that maybe there was still a chance for him to live without being crushed by the ghosts of his past.

And clearly you’d seen something in him, judging by how you’d insisted he pick up the puppy. Maybe you knew it would do him good. Maybe you’d noticed that veil in his eyes. And you knew that little creature would do much more for him than he could ever expect, if only he were willing to open up.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I'm afraid I'll forget everything you're telling me as soon as I get in the car,” he admitted, scratching his beard.

You chuckled and agreed that you were talking too fast. “It’s just that I really needed this, you know. But I want you to be ready, it’s a big responsibility.”

“Sure, you’re right,” he said, looking at the little girl in his arms, already feeling a sense of duty toward her. “I want to do a good job, I promise. I was just thinking… what if you came over tonight?”

It was obvious from your expression that you weren’t expecting an invitation so soon, but you accepted willingly.

You pulled a notepad out of your bag and wrote down the address, asking him his name as Javi kept admiring you.

“Javier,” you repeated, and his name sounded incredibly soft on your lips. “I like it.”

The little one was sleeping in his arms as if she’d always been there, and he was starting to think that maybe it really was fate that he’d met both of you.

It was a wonderful feeling—all of it. You, the little one, and the way it felt as if someone had lifted a heavy weight off his heart.

“Listen, I have to drop off the others at the shelter and get what I need for her. I only have this with me,” you said, handing him a leash and collar. “But I'll bring you food, bowls and other stuff in a couple of hours, okay?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect”

You put the collar on the little one and attached the leash, Javi put her on the ground and she immediately tried to climb up his leg to get back into his arms.

Javi looked at her and laughed like he hadn't laughed in a while.

He insisted on making the donation he’d promised.

“You’ll see, you’ll be able to find someone for them, too,” he felt compelled to reassure you, “and we’ll be waiting for you, right, young lady?” he added, gently lifting the puppy into his arms again and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead “Yes, we will.”

You thanked him, promising to meet him at his house to teach him how to get through the night. Javi was thrilled even though he knew he wouldn't get much sleep.

He didn't intend to hit it off right away, he just wanted to talk to you again and get to know you better and savor once again the carefree feeling you had just given him.

“Hey” he turned around and called you as he was walking away, the puppy happily trotting at his side “Does she already have a name?”

You smiled and said, “Lola.”

You shake yourself back to reality, giving the soup another stir in the pot before you reach to turn off the stove. You move to take a spoon from one of the drawers. The smells in the kitchen makes your mouth water, and your moves are maybe too quick as you taste the still too hot food.

The moment the spoon touches your lips, you hear a loud and frustrated sigh coming from the living room.

Well, maybe today isn’t as peaceful as you thought it would be.

You swallow that spoonful of soup, humming at the taste before you put the used spoon in the dirty dishes. It clatters against the plates, but you’re already out the door, worry filling you as you round the corner and your eyes fall on Alex.

You furrow your brows, not noticing anything unusual. Alex is laying on the couch, headphones on, tapping on the bunch of paper in front of him in his lap with a pencil. You almost swoon at the way he looks like. Black tank top with gray sweatpants. One of those outfits he wears when he’s not in his practice room, playing on his cello in just a shirt and his underwear.

“Alex,” you call out, but quickly realize that he can’t hear you because of the music playing in both his ears.

So you walk through the room, your bare feet tapping on the wooden floor quietly as you get closer. When you arrive beside him he still doesn’t look up, and as you sit down a soft breeze hits you through the open window behind the couch.

“Alex,” you try again, leaning closer to him.

When he still doesn’t pay any attention, not even turning his gaze towards you for a second, you do something that you immediately know you would regret after.

You take hold of the bunch of paper in his lap, placing it on the coffee table in front of you, followed by his pencil too.

“Hey, what are you doing?” he asks confused, brows furrowing, making the lines between them deeper.

You reach to push back his headphones, letting it hang around his neck as you look at him. “Lunch is ready,” you announce with a soft smile, pushing back a strand of hair that fell in front of his forehead.

His hands fall back onto his stomach, and with a frustrated sigh he throws his head back against the pillow. “I was in the middle of analyzing a very hard passage,” he murmurs under his breath, and you immediately feel guilty for interrupting him.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you couldn’t have known,” he shakes his head, lifting his head and looking at you. With one hand he reaches out, holding you by your waist and pulling you suddenly towards him. To prevent falling across him and landing on the floor, you throw your leg over his lap, straddling his hips. When your eyes fall on his face, you see a wide grin paying on his lips. “It’s okay.”

“You’re a menace.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, his arms circling your middle and pulling you down to his chest. You rest your head in the crook of his neck as much as the headphones allow, and you listen to the music playing from it, the pace too fast, notes flying so quickly you can’t even understand how someone is able to play that.

“What is it?” you ask, curiosity winning as you glance up at him from behind your eyelashes.

“Saint-Saëns, Cello Concerto No. 2, Op. 119,” he answers immediately. Your eyes widen at his precision for knowing the exact passage, and you smile up at him.

“Sounds complicated.”

“That’s why I’m analyzing it first. I may understand harder works, but not this one. The notes I’m making don't make any sense,” he explains, his thumb drawing small circles on your back.

“And it’s making you frustrated because you want everything to go perfectly on your first try.” It’s not even a question. You know him so well now, to understand that he’s a perfectionist, when it comes to his playing and music.

“At this point you know me better than me," he chuckles. He angles his head so he can place a soft kiss on your temple, hugging you tighter.

You stay like that for a few minutes. Him holding you, the music playing beside your ear, the occasional chirping of birds creeping through the window, filling the room. But no matter how peaceful the moment seems like, the position makes your legs go numb, so you start squirming in his lap, trying to find a better one.

As you move, you feel his hands tightening on your waist, and he lets out a low groan. “Shit. Stop moving around, baby.”

You look at him confused for a second, not understanding why he says that, but then realization dawns on you when you push yourself back to sit in his lap again. You can feel something hard under you, pressing against your center. You look at him with a surprised expression, but then a satisfied smile stretches across your face. “You’re hard.”

He tries to ignore your statement, clearing his throat as he looks up and down your body. “This is my shirt. The one that I played in yesterday.”

“Don’t avoid the conversation,” you warn him, leaning close so you are hovering above him, steadying yourself with your hands on his chest. “You’re hard just by me moving around a little in your lap.”

“That wasn’t moving around a little. You were basically dry humping me. Of course I get hard.”

“Oh, Alex. I see some concepts are not clear for you. This is what dry humping is,” you shoot back with a wicked smile, starting to move your hips around in his lap, dragging the most aching part of your body across the hard line of his cock in his pants, and you can’t help but let out a soft sigh at the feeling, the thin fabric of your underwear not blocking the sensation.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, gripping your hips and guiding your movements as he occasionally lifts his hips to match your rhythm.

When he closes his eyes and throws his head back, you suddenly stop. He tries to thrust up again, but you lift off of him enough that he can’t reach you, and he looks at you with a wounded expression. “Why did you stop?”

“I thought you wanted me to stop, no? You said it moments before.”

“No, hell no. I don’t want you to stop. The music must have got to my brain for saying that. Too many notes, too many sounds, too many—”

You don’t let him finish the sentence, capturing his lips with yours. He groans into the kiss, and you take that quick moment to take control, slipping your tongue past his teeth. His hands wander down from your back to your ass, squeezing down hard when you teasingly nip at his bottom lip.

You can feel his hands moving again, up under your — technically his — shirt, caressing your back before he moves them to your front, moaning gently when he realized you don’t have any bra on. He immediately starts playing with your breasts, the callouses on his hands rough against your skin, but still igniting a fire on the path he takes with them.

You can feel the wetness between your thighs, and maybe because of the lack of oxygen getting to your brain because of the kiss, or because something else entirely, you get an idea you never had before.

You break away from him with a soft gasp, taking in a deep breath as you look into his eyes, seeing only hunger and desire burning in them, his soft brown eyes turning almost fully black.

When you feel like your brain can function again, you reach for his headphones, taking them off from around his neck, but not putting them down behind you on the coffee table. You just hold them while he looks at you with confusion. You nod towards his tank top. “Take it off.”

He complies without a sound, taking his hands from under your shirt and sitting up so he can quickly get out of his tank top, throwing it to the side. When he is done, he lays back again, his hands finding their place again on your waist.

You lift the headphones a little in the air, hovering above him again. “So I hear this piece is very fast. Must require some amazing finger work,” you wonder, and you watch how his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I wonder how yours is compared to it.”

Without warning you take hold of his left hand, guiding it down along the waistband of your underwear until you dip it into the fabric, his fingers immediately swiping across your wetness. He moves to dip his fingers lower, but you stop him with a soft squeeze on his wrist, and you hold up the headphones in your other hand. “You’ll follow this pace, alright?” you ask, and lift it to put it on his head, but he is the one stopping you now.

“I won’t be able to hear you that way.”

“Take it as a challenge or an experiment,” you answer. “Imagine a deaf musician. They simply rely on their feelings and eyes. They feel the vibration of the strings under their fingers, see where they’re supposed to hold them down. You feel too, no?” you ask, bucking your hips into his hand, his fingers gliding across your folds again.

“I do,” he nods, his voice strained.

“Great. Good thing you have this piece on repeat.”

You place the headphones on his head, pulling them over his ears so he can only hear the music and nothing else. You nod at him, and he dips his fingers between your folds, swiping them back and forth until his index settles on your clit, drawing slow and tight circles over it.

But his pace is not matching the music you heard coming from his headphone earlier, so you lean down next to his ear, lifting one side of the headphone so he can hear you. “I don’t think the music is this slow.”

That is all you say before placing the headphone back on his ear and leaning back again. At your words his finger immediately speeds up, following the pace of the piece in his ear. His eyes are studying your reactions closely, and you can see them glint when your mouth opens around a soft moan, your eyebrows running together.

You reach to unbutton the shirt you have on, giving him a free sight of your bare breasts, and he doesn’t miss a beat as he sits up to take one of your nipples in his mouth while his right hand plays with the other. His tongue circles around the hardened nub while his index finger wanders downwards towards your entrance. You hold on to him with your arms around his shoulders, and you tilt your hips a little when he eases one finger inside of you, a soft moan leaving your lips.

He starts to move it in and out of you to the music, and you can already feel your walls tightening around his finger, your orgasm building up faster in you than you expected.

It doesn’t take long until he adds a second finger too, and you look down at him.

He is now resting his chin on your sternum, your nipple still glistening from his saliva. But in his eyes you see such concentration like you never saw before. He is looking out for every small breath you let out against his face, every time you open your mouth when you moan, every time you furrow your brow at the sensation growing in you.

And you know he can also feel the way your walls are tightening around his fingers.

So when the music hits another fast point and he picks up the pace of his fingers again, you let go. You fall forward, letting your forehead rest against his while your orgasm washes over you. Your thighs are shaking slightly around his, but he holds you up, slowing his fingers so you can ride out your high without him overstimulating you.

When you feel like your body can work again, you lean in to kiss him. He reciprocates it, pulling his hand out from your underwear to place it on your thigh.

When you pull back, you also push off one side of his headphones. “And how is your timing?”

“What do you mean?” he asks confused.

“Your timing. When you have to hold down the note, or jump into a passage,” you explain, trying to sound like you understand everything about his world.

“It’s pretty good I guess,” he shrugs, still looking at you with furrowed brows, trying to guess where this conversation is going.

“How about we practice that too?” you ask, slowly climbing off of him to lay down on your back. He follows you, hovering above you. “Do you want the underwear to stay?” you ask, hooking your thumbs in the waistband.

“No, not this time,” he shakes his head, his answer coming out breathless. You start pushing the lacy material off, but he takes over halfway down your thighs, pulling them off himself and throwing it on the ground. His eyes fall on your exposed center for a second, and before you can say anything, he is already laying on his stomach between your thighs.

You place your leg on his shoulders, but realize that this position easily pushes off his headphones, so you reach down to pull it back in place, keeping your hands on either side of his head.

He doesn’t wait for you to approve his action, he dives in, swiping his tongue all the way from your entrance to your clit. You jerk your hips at the sudden contact, and he places one hand on your lower belly to keep you still.

You let out a loud moan when he starts drawing quick circles over your clit with his tongue, you are sure that he can hear it even through the headphones. And when he closes his lips around the little nub and starts sucking it gently between his teeth, you know you won’t be able to last too long this way.

And the second time you come, you want that to happen on his cock.

So you quickly pull him up by his hair, and the sight of him with your wetness glistening on his mustache and beard makes you go dizzy. You partially push back the headphones from his ears again.

You open your legs wider so he can settle in, and when he is leaning comfortably over you, you reach down to pull down his gray sweatpants along with his underwear too. The moment his cock is free, your focus falls on it. His tip is already glistening with his precum, the head almost an angry red for being denied any friction for so long.

You place your hand on his stomach first, following that path of coarse hair from his belly button leading down to his cock, taking a hold of him.

He lets out a long groan above you as you gather his precum with your fingers, spreading it over his length as you stroke him a few times.

When you pull your hand away, he tries to chase it at first, bucking his hips, but then he waits for what you are going to do next. You reach up taking a hold of his headphones. “Concentrate on the timing,” you remind him before you put the headphones back over his ears.

He purses his lips, but nods. He reaches down between your bodies, taking a hold of his cock and guiding it through your folds a few times before he lines himself up at your entrance, pushing in slowly. Your walls stretch around his length, and you throw your head back against the pillows at the feeling.

He lowers himself closer to your body, his forearms resting on both side of your head, his chest making contact with your breasts.

When he bottoms out, you both let out a strained moan. He waits for a few seconds for you to adjust to his size before he starts moving based on the music.

His rhythm is steady, and when he hits the spot in you, you don’t even care anymore if he really is following the music’s timing, or he is just making it up. Your arms are thrown around his shoulders, keeping him close while you wrap your legs around his waist, the new angle allowing him to go deeper in you, making you see stars.

You are moaning at every thrust, and next to your ear Alex is grunting too, breathing heavily and occasionally cursing under his breath. You can hear the music drifting out from his headphones, but it doesn’t matter anymore.

You tear it off from his head, throwing it to the ground carelessly.

Alex falters for a second, pulling back to look down at you, and when you nod in encouragement it is almost like a spell falls over him. He leans down to capture your mouth with his, and he starts driving into you with more force and determination, and you can’t help but hold on to him tighter, every thrust sending you further up on the couch.

The living room is filled with moans and the sound of skin slapping against each other, the smell of sweat and sex lingering in the air. Now the house is not filled with cello notes bouncing off the walls, but with the music of two people merging into one.

“Oh God, Alex,” you moan into his mouth.

He groans too, closing his eyes tightly. “Fuck, I missed hearing your moans,” he murmurs against your lips before kissing you again.

You can feel yourself get closer to your high again, and you pull back to warn him. “I’m close, Alex. I think I’m gonna—” Your sentence is broke off with a loud moan from you, your walls squeezing him tight as your orgasm washes over you in waves again, this one a lot more powerful than the previous.

Alex doesn’t stop moving above you, but you can feel how his thrusts become sloppier, and he doesn’t need more than a few before he comes hard, burying himself to the hilt, his warmth filling you. You can feel his cock twitching in you as your walls milk every last drop of cum from him, and then he collapses over you, careful not to crush you with his weight.

Neither of you says anything, but you don’t need to.

You brush your fingers through his hair, combing back the sweaty curls as he breathes into the crook of your neck. His hand is all over your body where he can reach — your arms, your shoulders, your sides, your outer thighs.

You have already learned that after such an intense time with you he always needs time to process. He is not used to such level of intimacy, not used to being vulnerable in front of anyone. So after these moments he needs some time to look back at them while you hold him close. Not because he is weak, but because he is afraid of the possibility that it was only just a dream that he made up to comfort himself.

And you always wait patiently until he is the one to break the silence.

Like now.

“I’m hungry,” he says with such simplicity that you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle.

“I bet you are. We’ll need to re-heat the soup.”

“Maybe, but I don’t regret having this moment,” he shrugs, looking up at you with a loving smile. He cranes his neck to place a kiss on your jaw before he pushes himself off of you. Both of you let out a low hiss when he pulls out of you, the emptiness in you suddenly too unexpected. He gets up from the couch, pulling his underwear and sweats back on before he looks back down at you. “I’ll get a wet towel.”

You nod, resting your head on a soft pillow as you watch him walk away, the muscles in his back moving under his tanned skin, hips swaying slightly with every step he takes, making your eyes fall on the curve of his ass.

When he disappears around the corner, you look up at the ceiling, closing your eyes for a few minutes, listening to the birds chirping outside under the window.

You only open them again when you hear his footsteps.

He kneels down beside the couch, cleaning you gently, and you watch in silence as he works. When he is done, you look around for your underwear, and when you see it on the ground you reach for it, but he stops you. You glance at him holding up a simple black material, and you look at him with a questioning expression. “A new pair of underwear. So you wouldn’t have to put on back one that is… well, you know,” he tries to find the words, and you consider it adorable how he stumbles over his own thoughts.

“I get it, don’t worry,” you reassure him, taking it from his hand to put it on. When the material sits around you comfortably, you take his face between your palms, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his forehead. “Thank you.”

“Right,” he laughs nervously, getting up from the ground and pointing in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll, uh, get us some food then. I’ll be right back,” he announces.

Before he can disappear behind the corner you call after him. “Alex.”

He turns around quickly, eyebrows pulled up, waiting for your next words. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His lips pull into a small smile at those three words. He nods before he finally disappears.

He didn’t say it back. He never has, but you're patient with him. You know about some of the traumas that happened in his past. He sometimes is emotionally distant, but you don’t blame him. In those times you let him have his moment in his practice room, and when he comes out after spending hours in there, you keep him company.

Sometimes he talks about what happened at the rehearsal that day, or why he feels that way, sometimes he just prefers the silence and you close to him. There were times he asked you to read for him, or asked if he could play for you while you watched.

Even though he doesn’t say it out loud, you know he loves you. He shows it with his actions.

He just needs time to process his own emotions and feelings before he can say those three little words out loud too.

And you will be next to him when that day comes. Let it be days, weeks, months, or even years. But you know that you won’t ever be his first true love.

His true love will always be the music, and the beauty of playing. He fell in love with it as a child, and since then the bond between him and the music only grew. Nothing proves it better than him still playing on his first cello, that he got from his parents.

But you don’t mind. It was composed for him this way.

And his fingers run through the strings of life with a quiet, but strong confidence, creating a beautiful melody.

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from it): @picketniffler, @speaktothehandpeasants, @harriedandharassed, @bergamote-catsandbooks, @misstokyo7love, @shadowqueen2024, @missadangel, @annwrites24, @eviispunk, @baronessvonglitter, @johnssherlock221, @goonersquad101, @my-tearsricochet, @nutbutterjellie, @kokoluwie, @cozymochaa

The port of Jorvik looked sullen and grey under the overcast sky as the ship approached. Eight days had passed since you left Ulvehi, a fast journey across the Western sea. You glared at the town as sails were pulled down and oars were put out to guide the longship up the mouth of the river Ouse. Ulvehi's, and your father's, banner were raised high and Asgeir wasn't challenged as the ship passed the chains that protected the port from attacks.

Instead a man was waiting at the dock, raising a hand in greeting as the oars gently brought the ship to a halt.

"Asgeir of Ulvehi, what are you doing here? They told me one of Agnar's ships had been spotted, but this is a surprise!"

The man spoke Norse with an accent you couldn't place, but Asgeir seemed to know him well. They embraced once he'd jumped off the railing and landed with a thud on the planks of the dock.

"Good to see you, Ulf," Asgeir smiled, "It's been a while hasn't it?"

"Many years I think, I didn't think we'd see you in Jorvik again. What made you brave the journey?"

"No bravery," he grimaced in return, "Don't we own the Western sea these days?"

Ulf chuckled as the gangway was laid out and Asgeir gestured up to you.

"Jarl Agnar's daughter is to marry Ealdorman Cuthbert of Ripon and I've been charged to bring her to him."

Ulf looked up at you and bowed his head, "You're in luck then, he's in town for a few more days. The king has just left Jorvik, there was a council on how to deal with King Malcolm of Scotland, he's causing trouble."

Asgeir frowned at Ulf, "How much trouble? Are the roads safe? The Jarl will not leave his daughter here if these lands will be Scottish."

"Agnar was always too cautious," Ulf scoffed, "The northern forces will deal with Malcolm, and the king is sending reinforcements from the south. But come, you and the Jarl's daughter can stay with me until the Ealdorman is ready to receive his new bride. Save you braving the new inn, my beds are softer on the backs of old men, Asgeir."

Ulf held out his hand, pointing away from the docks, and led the way. Asgeir shouted orders for a few of the men to follow, while the rest secured the ship.

You walked next to Asgeir, Ravn close on your heels, as you looked around the new city. The area closest to the port was much like Skiringssal, or Sigtuna, filled with a clutter of wooden houses, workshops, and shops, but the Anglo Saxon Christian presence was much stronger here. Most people seemed to have simple crosses around their necks, and small groups of monks crossed in front of you as you passed a large church.

"I didn't realise Jorvik was so Christian," you said to Ulf in Norse, and he glanced back at you.

"King Cnut is Christian, and so is York. Many of the remaining Norsemen have converted, or been born into Christianity now. The Danes are Christian too, but some still hold to the old gods."

"I remember coming here as a young man," Asgeir added, "Jorvik was a Norse city then, and the only Anglo Saxons we saw were traders from Wessex or Mercia.

"Cnut stabilised trade, and the Norse in Jorvik find it easier to accept a Danish king than one from Wessex, so the north is calmer now than back then. But the Danelaw is fading, strangely enough under a Danish king, we'll all be English soon."

"What do you know about Cuthbert of Ripon?" you asked, and Asgeir gave you a sharp look, the meaning clear.

"Not the most powerful man in these parts, but he's rich and has an extensive trade network with connections in Frankia. He only has daughters by his late wife though, so he'll be keen to have sons quickly enough."

"So his wife died then," you said, not bothering to keep the disdain out of your voice, "Last we heard she was still alive and he was just waiting for her to pass before finding a new brood mare."

Asgeir inhaled sharply, grabbing your arm as Ulf stopped and turned to you.

"My house is here," he replied in a low voice, pushing open a door in a low wooden wall, "and you should keep your opinions to yourself. Christian men expect their wives to be silent and meek. You'd do best to remember that, and forget your Norse customs."

"Silent and meek is not how I was brought up," you replied, shoving at Asgeir's arm as he ushered you inside.

"I know, that's why I'm warning you," Ulf said, "Do you not think I was raised by a Norse mother? She ruled our household, ruled the men, thralls, beasts, and my father too. But Cuthbert is not Norse, and you will not fare well in his household if you don't hold your tongue."

"You see what you're forcing me into?" you hissed at Asgeir as Ravn gave a low growl, sensing the tension.

"I serve your father," he replied, but his face was unhappy as Ulf led the two of you further into his front yard, leaving the men that had followed from the ship behind. You cursed them all under your breath, and the people in Ulf's household gave you odd looks as you stomped through the house.

Asgeir sent word back to the ship, and Ealdorman Cuthbert, and soon a messenger came back with an invitation for the very next day. It seemed the high ranking Anglo Saxon was keen to meet his new bride, and move forward with the wedding quickly. And you were equally keen to postpone the whole thing as much as possible, praying to Freya that Pero was safe, wherever he was.

But no amount of pleading with Asgeir helped the next day. He just shook his head and ordered you into the carriage that had been readied for the short journey across to the Ealdorman's home in York.

You already knew this lord had his main seat at Northmere Hall west of York, it was where he'd been preparing to travel too when word came of your arrival. But in York he resided at a large house near the church that dominated the centre of the town, and it was to this place Asgeir and the retinue of Norsemen that had come on the ship escorted you the next day.

Being led into the smokey hall felt like being led into a prison, many times worse than when you'd first met Grim. All your fears about Cuthbert of Ripon seemed to come true, as he pushed himself up from the high seat at the top of the great hall. The lank, grey hair was combed back in greasy strands, and the heavy wool cloak looked like it dwarfed the short man. As he stepped down, the sheath of his sword clanked against the high seat, making him stumble and curse. He was built like a man who had spent too many winters at the feasts, and not a single summer raiding.

But Asgeir bowed low and introduced you, and the old man let his gaze drift over your form. He seemed to take no notice of your face, or to the words Asgeir was saying. Instead he inspected your body as if he was appraising a cow, mumbling something to the man standing next to him.

You recognised him as the envoy who had been at Ulvehi last year, Edmund. He must've lied to your father to get him to agree to this marriage, and you wondered to yourself what Assar and Saga would say if they saw who their Jarl thought was a suitable groom for his daughter. But of course, your father had never met the Ealdorman, all he knew was that there was money, and a trade network to use.

The small carved dog Pero had given you pressed against your chest, hidden underneath your clothes, and the rounded shape of the bone against your skin made you feel less alone as you tried to ignore the eyes of the men and women studying you from around the edges of the hall, and the old man leering at his new bride.

Cuthbert had made his way down from the dais, and across the stone floor to where you were standing just in front of Asgeir.

"So, she looks healthy enough," Cuthbert remarked, "Wide hips, clear skin, and I've been told she has all of her own teeth even."

Looking over at Asgeir he nodded, "You can send word back to your master that I'll accept her as my new wife. She'll give us heirs that can continue to build what their fathers have founded."

You bit your tongue, forcing back the rage that filled you as the despicable man spoke of you as if you were a new thrall. What would Pero think if he could see you now? Reduced to the same status as he was, only disguised as a marriage? The old Pero probably would've thought it was fair; the Jarl's daughter getting a taste of what her own family's thralls suffered. But your Pero, he would take this man's head for even suggesting he could own you.

The thought almost made you smile as you imagined your strong mercenary cutting down the Ealdorman. And there would be no heir to this old man, no matter how hard he tried.

Behind you Asgeir nodded as the English words were translated into Norse.

"If it pleases the Ealdorman, we can begin preparations for the wedding as soon as possible," he replied, and the translator passed the message on to Cuthbert.

"No need," Cuthbert said, shaking his head, "All is already taken care of. We will do the betrothal ceremony now, and then we will have the wedding tomorrow. I have already alerted the monks at York Minster. The feast will be lacking, of course, but as my third wife, that is hardly the most important part."

"Now?" you said, "It's too soon, I-we are not ready."

Cuthbert looked at you with a frown, "Why isn't she ready?" he asked, turning to Asgeir, "She's been wed before, has she not? I was told she was a widow."

The translator quickly relayed the message, but before Asgeir could get the full message, you shook your head.

"I am not ready. We have just arrived to Jorvík, we need time to prepare for a wedding and-"

"Lady, I don't wish to be crude," the Ealdorman cut you off, "and I know you might not be familiar with our traditions, but I was told you were wedded to a Christian man and converted. And as a widow you are sure to be familiar with all the duties of a wife."

You opened your mouth to contradict him, but he held up his hand and snapped his fingers, "In my household, as in any Christian household, a wife holds her tongue when her husband speaks. As I said, I don't wish to be crude, but a son and hair must be produced, and God will only see that happen in the marital bed, and I have no wish to wait."

"But I do," you replied, finding your voice again as the translator furiously whispered to Asgeir. His hand shot out to close around your arm, as Cuthbert frowned, "I do not know you, you do not know me. I ask you for some days to at least become familiar an-"

"Silence!"

The order rang out across the hall and as one, everyone stilled. Asgeir's grip on your arm tightened and you heard him hiss behind you as the translator relayed what was being said.

"Do not anger him."

"No, lady, do not anger me!" Cuthbert spat, "Listen to your father's servant and hold your tongue."

He waved behind him, and a priest hurried down from where he'd been standing behind the high seat, followed by Edmund, the envoy.

"Ordgar, oversee the betrothal, and Edmund, go to the church, tell Bishop Godwine we are doing the wedding today."

Edmund bowed and passed you as he hurried through the hall, Cuthbert looking back at you.

"And tell him the bride might not be willing, but he knows my support," he called after him.

"Asgeir, please! I am not ready!" you said, turning to your father's envoy in this whole shamble with a desperate plea, but his face was drawn, and he shook his head.

"Your father's will stands, you're to marry the Ealdorman, and it's up to him to decide when."

"Nidingr," you spat at him, "Traitor, the Norns will curse you."

"You father…" he replied, but you shoved him away, making him lose his grip on you, there was no help coming from him.

Instead Cuthbert grabbed your arm, his grip strong despite his short stature, and pulled you around to face him.

"Speak the words, Ordgar. Asgeir will answer for her."

Ordgar, the priest, nodded and drew a deep breath and called loudly enough for all in the hall to hear.

"Give hand to hand and faith to faith. Who speaks for this woman?"

"No one!" you spat in reply, but Ordgar looked past you as the translator mumbled to Asgeir.

"Before witnesses I pledge her hand, her kin hears this pledge," he said, his voice low, but it seemed to be enough for the priest.

"My Lord Ealdorman?"

"I pledge before God and these witnesses that I will keep her lawfully as wife," Cuthbert replied.

"Does my voice not count at all?" you asked loudly, "I do not consent."

"In my household, you consent whether you want it or not," Cuthbert replied sharply, and the priest made the sign of the cross over your joined hands, "Now, the bishop will join us, and then you are mine, as your father wanted."

He let go of your hand and drew back, his men moving forward and preparing for the departure to the church, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the great hall.

Asgeir came up behind you, holding your cloak that had been left at the door, "Lady, he is powerful, do not anger him. Let him wed you and then you can have an easy life, just carry his children and he will be happy."

He spoke in a low voice, in Norse, as he helped the cloak over your shoulders.

"You carry his children then, I do not-"

"His first two wives did not die natural deaths," Asgeir mumbled, taking hold of your arm again, "I cannot protect you here."

"Then why did you bring me?"

Asgeir flinched at the hatred in your look, and you turned away before he could reply. The Ealdorman's men were approaching, and without words they ushered you and Asgeir to the waiting wagons.

The ride to the church was short and silent, and your wagon drove an extra lap around the town to give Cuthbert and his household time to arrive first and prepare the bishop. Asgeir sat next to you, but you turned your head away from him, and willed the tears clinging to your lashes to not fall.

"I am sorry," Asgeir mumbled, as the wagon circled the church, "If I could take you back to Norway, I would. But as it stands, both you and I, and the crew, would be dead before we cleared Jorvik harbour."

"Did you know?" you asked him, still staring through the lattice window of the wagon, "Did you know what kind of man he was?"

You felt Asgeir take your wrist, making you turn to look at him.

"No, and I swear it on the old gods, had I known, I would've sailed us both up to Upsala, for protection from these Christian traditions. I have known you since you were born, and I've served your father even longer. Never did I think I would bring you into this much danger."

"Then tell my father, when you go back. Tell him and make him come, or tell Assar and the Steinvikr men."

Asgeir nodded as the wagon pulled up in front of the church, "I will, I promise."

"And find Pero Tovar. If you want my forgiveness for this, find him and make sure he is safe."

"Your…your father will not allow a thrall to marry you…" Asgeir shook his head, looking pained as your nails dug into his hand.

"I don't care about marriage, or where I live or how. The only thing that matters is that Pero is safe, and with me. We can settle at the end of the eastern rivers for all I care, just help Pero find me. And then my father can pretend he never had a daughter for all I care."

The door of the carriage was pulled open, and Asgeir looked at the man who was reaching in to grab your arm, and then back at you.

"The love you have for him…it's clear. I'll try, I promise."

Someone tugged on your arm, and you glared at the guard as he pulled you from the carriage, making you stumble before you looked up at the scene outside the church. The dark stone building was the largest you'd ever seen in your life, and the imposing height of the tower drew your gaze upwards, towards the rain heavy clouds racing past just out of reach of the cross that topped the building.

The heavy wooden door stood open, and the armed men that formed a guard around the church yard urged you on, through the curious crowd that had gathered, pulling your gaze from the sky above and into the dark interior. Asgeir followed, his head bowed, as the rest of the men from Ulvehi formed up behind him.

Vaulted ceilings rose above you inside the church, hazy with smoke from the incense, a scent you recognised well from Sigtuna, together with cold stone and wet wool. Candles burned before the altar in wavering gold flames, their glow catching silver chalices and the dim red paint of ancient saints upon the walls. In the distance you heard monks chanting, Latin incantations hummed through the dark. The windows of the great church were small, letting in only a smidgen of daylight on this glum day, and the dim mood of the nave seemed to suit your own.

Reluctantly you walked down the aisle to the waiting bishop and your supposed husband to be. Asgeir followed behind, and two of Ulvehi's hirdmen, the rest remained outside. Cuthbert looked impatient, and the bishop looked bored, picking at his nails with a dull face as you approached.

"Godwin, read the words," Cuthbert said before you'd even reached the altar, and the bishop turned, facing the large altar piece where the fat, yellow wax candles waved in the draft.

It was as if you left your body, rising above the scene in the church. The foreign Latin words washed over the empty form without meaning as you looked down at the woman standing behind the priest, next to the man who was meant to soon be your husband.

This was not you. This was just your body being subjected to the will of these men. A shell that meant nothing. Your true self was floating in the rafters, searching for a way out so that you could look over the Western Sea and see if a scarred mercenary was coming for you.

Below, on the cold stone floor that made your back ache, words were spoken, promises made on your behalf that held no meaning. You searched the horizon for that ship as your voice answered the bishop's question far below, and when your hands were joined with Cuthbert's, he had to hold them tight, your limp grip slipping through his fingers. The words spoken were not a promise to anyone, they held no meaning to you. The man you called husband was somewhere else, and as you searched the horizon for him, meaningless figures moved on the church floor far below.

You sat through the meagre wedding feast in a daze, seeing it all as from above still. Your hands were cold, and you tucked them inside your dress. The small bone dog was warm where it was hidden against your skin, and you stroked it with your thumb, caressing the small scar across its eye. You were still searching for him, even as the evening turned to darkness. Spring evenings here in England weren't long and light as they were in your home, but as your body went through the motions of standing up and following the man they now called your husband, you still searched the darkening horizon for the ship that had to be coming.

But not even your mind could protect you from the wedding night as the heavy oak door of the bed chamber closed. The thump cut through your daze as Cuthbert unbuckled his sword belt. He leaned it against the wall by the fireplace and turned to you, setting aside his gloves with the same care he had shown his sword.

“If you are wise,” he said, “you will give me a son quickly.”

You said nothing, trying to return to where you could search the horizon, but your mind was frozen as you watched him hang the cloak over a chair and pull his tunic over his head.

Outside, somewhere far below the chamber windows, drunken voices still echoed through the hall. He crossed the room toward you as though approaching some long-awaited inheritance.

"On the bed now, wife."

The wind tugged at his clothes again as Pero stared down at Thorsten's broken gaze, and behind him Assar stepped closer and looked down at the corpse.

"I never liked him, good riddance," he said, "I would've killed him myself if you hadn't."

Bending down he snatched the money purse hanging at the belt and shoved it into Tovar's hand, and Pero looked up, pulled out of his daze.

"Thank you, I…"

"Take the silver, keep her safe," Assar said, "She loves you, so keep her safe. Now you'd better run, hide in the forest, head south."

"I have a ship to England waiting. Thank you, I owe you my life," he said, hastily sheathing his sword and giving Assar a short bow,

"You'd better run fast, Tovar, she'll sail any moment with this wind," Assar replied, waving him away, "Run! And tell her I'll see her in Valhalla!"

The wind chased Pero as he bolted through the back streets, back towards the dock. In the distance he could hear shouts going up as people caught sight of a dark haired man with a blood stained tunic and a great long sword in his hand. But he didn't have time to try to avoid them, or stay hidden. The wind was strong, and he knew the ship would be pushing out from the dock at any moment.

The air seemed to escape his lungs in short bursts, a burning pain with every breath he took as he ran, skidding across the muddy ground. The harbour came into view, and he pounded across the wet planks, making people jump out of the way at the sight of his face. At the end of the dock he saw Godric waving at him, shouting something. The ship was still there, and Godric standing on the railing as ropes were cast onto the ship.

"Run! Run!"

Tovar jumped over a crate, the great sword tight in his hand, and stumbled the last few steps. Throwing the sword over the edge of the railing, he leapt, grabbing hold of the slippery wood. Hands grabbed his arms, scraping his nose as he was tugged onto the ship, and with a groan he tumbled onto the deck, rolling onto his back as he gulped big lungfuls of air. Around him oars creaked as they were pushed out, Aelfric calling for the sails to be raised.

"Dammit, man, get out of the bloody way," he snapped at Tovar, kicking his sword out of the way, "'If I get hanged for whatever you did, I'll be haunting you in the next life."

Tovar scrambled to his feet, grabbing his sword and moving to the edge, slumping down next to Godric who was hunkered down against the hull.

"You had me worried there, Tovar," he said, clapping him on the shoulder, "Letting me risk all that, only for you to run off and get yourself killed over a sword."

"I'm sorry," Tovar panted, leaning back and drawing another deep breath as his racing heart began to slow down, "That man…if it had been any other man with my sword, I would've left it. But him…he's hated me since the first hour, and he was the one who betrayed me. I couldn't leave it with him."

"What happened? Did you…kill him?" Godric lowered his voice, making sure none of the other men on the ship could hear their conversation over the rush of the wind and creaking wood, "And how were you even able to call on the aid of someone like Saga of Steinvikr? She only told me she knew you and that you needed help escaping."

"She is the cousin of the daughter of the Jarl of Ulvehi, my wife."

Pero smiled at the word, wife, as Godric's mouth fell open. It felt good to say it out loud.

"You married the Jarl's daughter? How did he allow that?"

Pero almost laughed out loud, "He didn't, he doesn't even know it. When he found out his daughter had…"

He paused, he didn't even know how to say it. How could he explain what had happened in the past two years at Ulvehi? The anger he'd felt at first, he knew Godric would well understand that. But the rest? The slow growth of trust and friendship, and the early tender feelings he'd had. The growing need to first protect you, and then to be near you, to touch you. It had moved so slowly, and settled so deeply, that looking back he could hardly understand how he'd looked at you with hatred.

"Tovar?"

Godric looked at his friend, who had suddenly gone quiet, staring off into the distance past the ship's hull.

"She's my wife, because she said she's my wife. Not because a priest said it," Pero replied, "She carries my child, and she's been taken to England to marry against her will. I have to find her again, and keep her safe. Both of them."

Godric looked at Pero with wide eyes, "I think you need to start from the beginning, friend. We have at least a week's journey, and I'll need a good story to keep me entertained."

It wasn't an easy journey across the ocean back to England. A late spring storm rushed in from the north, and flurries of snow bit the faces of the men sailing the ship. Pero and Godric huddled down as best they could in the open hull, but shivered their way through the journey. Godric was less used to sea voyages than Pero, and when the storm hit he spent as much time hanging over the railing as he did hunkered down. Pero grabbed hold of the belt around his waist, hooking his arm through it to keep the man from falling overboard. They didn't sleep many hours as the storm raged.

As the ship finally made its way up the Ouse, both men stood by the railing, looking with relief out over the green lands they'd been taken from two years earlier.

"We're a lot further north, but I can make my way south along the coast once I've helped you find the Ealdorman," Godric said as they watched the green banks of the river flow past, "I've got family further inland, I don't think I'll be settling near any rivers or oceans again."

"Thank you, Godric," Pero replied, "I'll make sure you don't leave empty handed."

"I'm not doing it to get paid, Tovar," the other man protested, but Pero shook his head.

"I know, but you should have some of Thorsten's silver too an-"

He cut himself off as he saw Aelfric, the ship's captain, approach them where they stood at the bow of the ship.

"Jorvik is less than half a day's row up the river now, and I want no trouble there, so I'm letting you off here," he said, pointing to a small shallow beach just up ahead.

"I paid you to take us to York," Godric protested, but Aelfric shook his head.

"I know you caused some sort of trouble back in Skiringssal, and odds are I'm not able to go back there any time soon. Which is fine, I can trade in Hedeby or Ribe. But I don't want trouble in Jorvik, so you leave us here, or not at all."

Tovar nodded, and put his hand on Godric's arm, "Calm, friend, he's right. We shouldn't be seen in York, it's best if we leave them here."

Aelric looked relieved, eyeing the large sword that Tovar had hanging from his hip, "Thank you for understanding. I'll make sure no one knows you came across on my ship."

"Thank you," Tovar replied, and Aelric gave him a quick nod before retreating to the rudder of the ship.

It only took a few more moments before the ship pulled up alongside the low bank, and a simple plank was put out. Tovar and Godric made their way off the ship, and as soon as their feet touched the ground, Aelric shouted an order and the plank was pulled back in. It was only a moment's work, and then the oars came out and the ship was on its way again.

"England, at last!" Godric said, sinking down to his knees with his hands on the grassy bank, "I'd given up hope, never thought I'd see it again."

"We're not safe yet, amigo," Tovar replied, looking around them, "We need to find a village or a hamlet and buy supplies. Then I need to find out where I can find this Ealdorman. And I'll need your help. This," he pointed to the scar that cut across his eye, "is far too easy to recognise and remember."

Godric pushed himself up, nodding, "Agreed, and remember we're still in the Danelaw, plenty of Norsemen around here."

"Yes, and even if word of our escape hasn't made it here yet, the Jarl will send men after me, I'm sure. And I intend to be far away by the time they get here."

He pulled the cloak he'd bought from Aelric around his shoulders, pulling up the hood too, "Let's move, if we follow the river we should find a village."

The smokey air of the hall of Ealdorman Cuthbert's home in Jorvik stung your eyes as you bent over the bowl of stew that was your dinner. Around you the household bustled, the Ealdorman entertaining another set of important men from around Jorvik. He'd been sitting next to you, but now he'd moved down the table, drinking ale with some of the men. The men were raucous, and you knew too well how this evening would end, just like all the others had in the two endless weeks that had passed since your wedding.

You would try to take any opportunity you could find to slip away early, but Edmund, the man who had served as the Ealdorman's envoy to Ulvehi, would stop you before you could exit the hall, or catch up with you as you hurried away. Edmund was, you'd quickly learnt, much more intelligent than his master. He missed very little, and seemed to always be nearby, always listening and gathering information. Information he then passed onto Cuthbert, and you were sure he made all the servants share any, and all, of your secrets.

He was also cruel, and seemed to take dark satisfaction in seeing you humiliated. Once the wedding night was done, he made sure you had no privacy in the Ealdorman's house. It wasn't that you weren't used to the habit of sharing sleeping quarters with family, and sometimes thralls. You'd grown up hearing your parents' intimate moments as you slept in your bed in their room back at Ulvehi. It wasn't until your brother married and moved into a smaller longhouse with his wife that you had your own bedchamber, and even that you'd shared with Amina.

But here in Jorvik, the girl assigned as your maid slept on the floor in a corner, and Edmund had his bed in another. As the Ealdorman's closest advisor, he was given the honour of having his quarters in the same room as his master. And he treated the room as his own, walking in when he must know you would be undressing, the maid doing nothing but obeying him as he yanked open the door. Commenting on your body, he would urge you to become pregnant quickly, as you tried to pull your tunic up to cover yourself.

"Make sure his seed takes, or I'll have to find another broodmare," he grinned, "Wasn't that what you called yourself?"

"Get out!" you spat at him the first time it happened, as you tried to wrap the tunic around yourself, yanking it from the hands of the maid. She, the useless thing, was staring down at her feet as Edmund approached.

"No, I stay as close to my lord as he needs me, and make sure his wife does her duty as a good Christian woman."

Pressing your lips together you scowled at him, but held your tongue. The last thing you wanted was for Edmund to force you to convert, if he found out you hadn't confessed to their weak god. He smirked, tilting his head as he made a show of looking up and down your half naked body.

"Get her ready for the Ealdorman, he'll be here soon. And if you're not with child soon, maybe I'll fuck you too. Who would know if it was his son or my bastard that you whelped?"

He cackled, and retreated to his bed in the corner as you quickly pulled your sleeping clothes over your head, pressing back the tears that threatened to overflow.

You'd thought then, that first night after the wedding, that you could tell Cuthbert about Edmund's behaviour. Your father would never have allowed anyone in his household to speak to his family in that way, but you quickly learned that your new husband was indifferent to any of your discomfort. And worse even, Edmund had him under his thumb, in some way controlling him, but you'd yet to find out how. Cuthbert did what Edmund suggested, deferred any decision to him, and conferred on all issues. It was only outwardly that it looked as if the Ealdorman was the leader of the household. Behind closed doors, everyone knew who held the real power.

So as you sat at the table with your cold stew, you glanced over at Edmund, looking for a moment to slip away when he wouldn't notice. Cuthbert called for more ale, the feast growing more rowdy, but Edmund still had his eyes on you. It was a small comfort that tomorrow you would leave Jorvik and head to Northmere Hall with a Cuthbert and a retinue of his men. Edmund would remain in town and handle the trade. You presumed it was to begin setting up the lucrative trade network into Norway that your marriage had granted them, but you didn't know. You weren't told anything anymore, except where to be when Cuthbert needed you.

Eventually, after you'd stood up twice, only to be waved at by Edmund to sit down again, did Edmund come up to you at the end of the long evening.

"The Ealdorman wishes you to retire to the chambers, my lady," he said, always the same unpleasant tone to his voice even when he was addressing you in the correct manner, "He will join you shortly."

Standing up, you turned without a word and left the hall, and like a shadow, the maid followed. Perhaps you should try to win Edmund over, when all you wanted was to drive your knife into him. He was powerful, and it didn't serve you well to have him as your enemy. Right now he only treated you with the same disdain and malice he did everyone he considered beneath him, but if you weren't careful, you were sure he would turn truly vicious. No one had guessed your state yet, but you counted the weeks, and soon you would show. And then Cuthbert was sure to claim the child as his own, but you knew Edmund would count the weeks too and realise that it didn't add up. If he wished too, especially if the child turned out to be a girl, you had no doubt he would use that against you to his own benefit somehow.

Pulling the curtains around your bed tight, shutting out the world for just a little bit, you bit down hard on your tongue. Panic was digging into your chest as you faced another night with the Ealdorman. He would be here soon, and his sour breath and foul body would claim you again. It was hard enough to sustain the hope that Pero would find you during the days, but at night, after the man they'd forced you to marry was done with your body, it was as if the darkest pit opened up in your mind. There was no hope there, no light, and only one escape. You found yourself praying that Northmere had high towers, or a deep moat. If your mercenary didn't find you soon, there would be no other escape.

The damp was seeping through the thick wool of his cloak as Tovar peered out through the gathering dusk. It had rained a fine mist for two days as he'd waited for Godric outside the small hamlet they had reached after a day's walk. Jorvik was just over the next rise, and before the rain came, he'd seen the square tower of the church at the heart of town. Godric, ever the well of information, had said it was called a 'minster', not a church. Tovar didn't care, he just wanted to rush into town and tear every house apart until he found you, careless as that would be. But he'd tampered his urgency, and sent Godric ahead. If it wasn't for his scar, he would've risked entering York himself. There was very little risk that anyone from Skiringssal or Ulvehi had made it across to York before them, but someone could follow. And he didn't want anyone to remember seeing a brown skinned man with a vicious scar asking questions about the daughter of a Norse Jarl. So he'd stayed behind, seeking shelter in a small copse of trees a short way from the road. An ancient crumbling structure gave him some protection, but his two nights had been unpleasant and cold even though it was early summer. He shivered as he kept watch, staying out of sight.

Godric has set out two days ago, and had agreed to not return until he had information. He was going to ask around for you, claiming to be carrying a message from your father, an urgent message about his health if anyone asked. And now, just as the last light faded, Tovar spotted a cloaked figure hurrying down the paved Roman road that led east from York. But there was someone else, a second man, and Tovar quickly retreated behind one of the trees, his hand closing around the sword at his side.

In the dusk he saw the two men approach, stepping away from the road and walking towards the copse of trees. Both had their hoods up, and slowly Tovar unsheathed his sword, rolling his shoulders.

"Tovar!"

Godric hissed through the trees, a branch snapping under his foot as he tried to find the spot where he'd left Tovar, "Tovar! It's Godric, and I've brought someone who knows you."

Tovar lowered his sword and stepped out from behind the crumbling wall with a low whistle.

"Here, Godric," he said, "And who do I know in York?"

The man was two steps behind Godric as they approached, and he slowly pushed back his hood.

"Asgeir, of Ulvehi," he replied in Norse, and Tovar's sword flew up as he cursed loudly.

"Godric, you fool!"

"Hold, Tovar," Godric said, raising his hands as Tovar glared at Asgeir, "He's told me where your wife is, he knows where they're taking her."

"I can't trust him, he was the one who took her to York. He serves her father. I should kill you right now for what you've done to her," he spat, the last part in Norse at Asgeir, who raised his hands too, holding his palms out.

"I have no right to claim your trust, I know," he said, "But for her, I will tell you what I know, and help if you let me."

"Why?" Tovar asked, taking a step closer to Asgeir, the tip of his sword dangerously close to the other man's chest, "Why would you help a runaway thrall?"

Asgeir's hands dropped as he shook his head with a groan, the old man slumping before them.

"I've served her father since before she was born, I've lived my whole life at Ulvehi, and I owe everything I have to Jarl Agnar. I thought he knew it was the right choice to send her here, to marry this English lord. But now that I've seen the life that she must face...and that man…" Asgeir shook his head again and looked up at Tovar, "I watched her grow up, I remember the young girl she was, and I've seen her forced to marry once already. This life, as Christian wife, is not a life I would want for my own daughters if I had any. I should've left for Ulvehi weeks ago, after the wedding, but I…I couldn't leave her here. May the Gods forgive me for going against my Jarl, but I was trying to find a way to get her back."

Tovar stared at the man, his sword still pointed at the man's chest as he considered what he'd said.

"Where is she now?" he asked after a long pause, his sword arm dropping slightly.

"On her way to a place called Northmere Hall, north of here, and outside of a village called Ripon. They left yesterday."

"Yesterday?" The sword dropped to his side, "How do I find this place? How many guards does it have?"

Asgeir looked relieved as Tovar sheathed his sword and bent to gather his few possessions.

"I don't know exactly, but the old Roman road west goes through Ripon, and Northmere is just on the other side of the village. They can't make the journey in one day, so they must stop overnight, probably at his thegn's hall at Hartham. The man is called Uthred and he was at the wedding, but left to prepare for their arrival a few days ago.

"And guards?" Tovar asked impatiently as he adjusted his cloak and pulled up the hood, leaving the shelter of the trees and walking towards the road into York, Asgeir and Godric following.

"I don't know, but he left Edmund, the envoy, in York to oversee the trade and it seems like most of his men stayed behind. Probably to protect the goods and silver.

"Are we leaving now?" Godric asked, hurrying after Tovar and Asgeir, "We need horses, supplies."

"I can't wait," Tovar replied as he turned down the road at a brisk walk, "I need to catch up to them on the road. I will never be able to get her out of a lord's castle, and she might not be allowed to leave for a long time."

"Godric is right, we need horses," Asgeir said, "I can go into York and get two from the lord's stable, no one will question me if I'm to bring Godric's message from her father to her. I'll meet you at the Ouse crossing beyond the north gate in an hour. Godric can show you how to skirt the outside of town while I get the horses."

Tovar looked over at Asgeir as they picked up their pace, "If you betray me…" he said, but Asgeir held up his hand.

"I've seen your skill with an axe, Tovar. I have no doubt you are even more deadly with your own sword. And I won't ask how you got it back."

Tovar gave a short nod, whether he was satisfied or not was hard to tell. He didn't have much choice but to trust Asgeir. But if the man turned up with half the city guard, he would take down as many as possible, beginning with Asgeir.

The dusk had settled into night by the time Tovar and Godric reached the river crossing just north of York. The city gate was visible only thanks to the torches that glimmered on each side of it. Slipping past the city hadn't been difficult, as the darkness shrouded the small farms and hovels that clustered up against the city walls, the inhabitants had retreated indoors to get out of the drizzle.

Tovar shook out his cloak and stared at the gate, willing Asgeir to hurry up, the hour was almost up judging by the bell of the clock tower, and then glanced at Godric.

"We should say our goodbyes, amigo," he told the Anglo-Saxon, "You've been a good friend, but you are no fighter. If you leave now, you can take shelter without being seen with me, and then head south in the morning."

"Tovar…I want to see you reunited with your wife," Godric said, but he was also glancing out into the pitch black darkness of the road leading away from York with an anxious look.

"Don't try to convince yourself," Tovar said, chuckling despite himself, "A ride through the darkness, speeding to catch up with a lord and his armed guard? That is not something you want to experience."

Godric opened his mouth as if to protest, and then closed it, looking over his shoulder at the dark road again.

"I…"

"Here, take this silver, and go south," Tovar interrupted, "What's the name of your family's place?"

"Merewic, it's a three day ride south."

"Merewic, I will find you there if I can, or send a message."

He pushed part of the silver he'd taken from Thorsten into Godric's hand, grabbing his shoulder with the other, "Go, stay safe. And thank you for everything."'

Chapter 18

You don’t even bother to close your robe when you stomp out into the damp night. Your bare feet squelch in the wet grass, and you don’t care. The music gets louder when you get to your neighbor’s door. It’s nice? You guess. You don’t even know anymore.

You pound on his door. Three rasps. You give your neighbor time. Nothing. So you pound again. Until the music stops. Footsteps get closer, floorboards creak.

The door opens, just like your jaw drops. Dark hair slicks back from a face that the gods might as well have sculpted. Sharp cheekbones, strong nose, plush lips, big brown eyes. He’s in a black tank top, ridiculously broad shoulders escaping the flimsy fabric. His gray sweatpants hang loose on his hips. His whole look suggests either a strategic carelessness or a total lack of giving a shit. It might be due to how fucking horny you are, but your new neighbor could be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

His dark eyes size and assess you. Your robe. The flimsy, light pink tank top sticking to your skin, the short, barely there sleep shorts with tiny, green polka dots. Your hair’s probably a mess, your skin still damp with a sweat of frustration. He looks almost amused at the sight of you, but his eyes linger a little longer than propriety should suggest at your thighs.

“Can I help you?” he asks. Deep, kinda dark, like a freshly poured cup of your favorite coffee.

“It’s la—” your voice squeaks. You clear your throat, square your shoulders. “It’s late. Your music. It’s… loud. Some of us have to, you know. Sleep.”

He leans on the doorframe, folds his arms, and your eyes square in on the way his biceps bulge, the line of his forearms. “Sleep,” he says.

“Yes. That’s right. It’s past 11.”

“Didn’t think it was that loud.”

“Could you turn it down at least?”

A thick eyebrow arches up. “Guess these walls are paper-thin. I suppose I could use a different bow.”

There’s no shame in his voice, no apology, and it just irks you more. You wobble a bit in the way he looks at you, half wanton desire, half boredom.

“I’d… appreciate that.”

“Mm,” he says, and his lip quirks up in a maddeningly handsome smirk… like he knows he’s gorgeous and getting under your skin. “You best get back to… sleep,” he says.

You nod, because you have no other fucking clue how to respond under his heated, cocky gaze and the revelation that the music was being played by him and not a too-loud stereo.

The silk of your robe swishes across your hot skin as you make your way across the grass to your bungalow. You’re sure your neighbor’s watching you the whole way and you don’t dare look back.

He keeps his word, you can barely hear the music when you lie back down in bed. Fuck him for being beautiful. Your whole body is still reverberating from the baritone rasp of his voice. You press a pillow over your face and scream an annoyed sound into it, as the heat of his gaze still blooms across your body.

At least now all you can hear is nothing but the sound of your breathing, picking up when the heel of your hand slinks its way back between your thighs. Jesus Christ, you’re even wetter now. You’re leaking a frustrating hunger, the image of your neighbor’s big shoulders and golden skin playing in your mind. You imagine his biceps pinning you down and his thick fingers hooking against your waist as he pounds into you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, picturing his wide palm against your mouth. You wonder what he sounds like when he cums, is it as sad and tragic sounding as the music he plays?

God, it’s so easy now. Your body’s arching up, desperate to feel how soft his tank-topped chest is when it’s shoved against your chest. You can almost feel him, the weight of him atop you, his dark eyes searing into you as you edge yourself closer and closer. You’re pressing needy circles against your clit, your thighs tensing and toes curling. “Fuck, fuck,” you moan out, too loud for your own good and the silence of your own bungalow. Your hips are moving against your hand harder, faster, and when you think of that damned smirk of his and the way he’d watch you shatter apart for him, you orgasm, hard and hot and loud. “Oh fuck, godddd,” you moan. You don’t even care. You want him to hear it. Maybe he will, with the thin walls. Maybe he won’t, because he’s too busy playing that damned music. Maybe he heard a hint, and now he’s sat, frozen in his chair, bow in one hand, listening to your own symphony between the walls.

—-

Two nights of silence, and then you hear it… a loud cat-like moan around 11 PM. Followed by another high-pitched mew. “Aleeeeex,” the shrill sounds. “Oh god, Alex.”

So, your hot neighbor’s name is Alex.

A rhythmic thumping starts up against your wall, fast, brutal, not sweet. You can’t help yourself as you move towards the wall, listening in for any type of low grunt or groan, but there’s nothing… just a repetitive smack of wood against drywall and the squealing of a woman.

You roll over, turn on your speaker, and pick up your phone. You know the perfect song. You scroll to the B’s in your music, find Cello Suite no. 2 by Bach, and let the sad, melancholy play… loud.

The pace just behind the shared wall picks up, and the wails of the woman speed up, along with the tapping against the wall. Now it’s your time to smirk, take that, Alex, and whoever he’s decided to fuck.

And when the roaring sadness of the music slows and quiets at a point… you hear it. A long, low groan timed perfectly to the song, almost like he was waiting for it.

You feel the angry roar of want in your body at the sound of him and let the song fade out as you reach into your drawer and pull out your vibrator.

—-

The next night, the cello is back, at 11 on the dot. Louder. Like it’s back to mock you. You shake your head and smile, willing it not to bother you as you turn in bed and put a pillow over your ear, but even through the muffled down, you recognize the song. It’s Cello Suite no. 2, just like you played him last night.

Damn, he’s talented. You have to give him that.

By 11:30, he hasn’t stopped, and the cello almost plays like a siren song to you and your sleepy, horny frustrations. You step out into the night air, and you swear the cool air hisses against your heated skin. No robe this time, just you and your light blue silky, short nightdress, complete with the lace trim across your breasts.

You punch at his door again, then stand back, arms crossed. You’re sure your nipples are pressing against the thin fabric, and you don’t care.

He answers almost instantly, and good lord, he’s only in a pair of boxers and a loose, button-up shirt.

“You’re playing on purpose now, aren’t you?” you ask him, no greeting, just attitude.

“I need to practice. Figured you’d like to hear it.”

You snort. “So why that song?”

His hand rests against the doorframe and he looms over you. “Thought I’d return the favor of last night.” You roll your eyes and huff. “Thanks.”

He turns his head back to his living room, then back at you, deep brown eyes searing into you. “Come in. I’ll play you something else.”

“It’s late.”

“It’s not like you were going to sleep anyway.”

You don’t say anything, you just walk past him into his place. It’s neat, in order, vintage furniture with modern touches. His bow is discarded on the floor, the cello leaning against the wall.

He lifts his hand, guides you to his couch, a soft, buttery leather that dips when you settle on it, mindful of just how short your nightdress is. He bends to pick up the bow, and your throat goes dry as you stare at his ass. You blink yourself back to reality as he takes a seat and places his cello between his legs. God, his legs, strong and dusted with hair, he looks to be golden all over.

He begins playing. Something you don’t recognize, but it’s smooth and sultry. Your heart and body answer, heating and beating with each note of music that flows from the instrument.

Alex doesn’t look up, he’s transfixed by the music he plays, and you’re just as spellbound. You’re sure you’re breathing hard, sure your pulse is thrumming along to the song. You don’t know how long you sit like that, mesmerized by the music and the man. If this is how he looks as he plays, then you’ll surely sacrifice the nights of sleep, just to let this beauty out into the world.

His head tips back, neck straining as his head lulls back and forth, caught in the notes, and when he looks at you, dark brown eyes meeting yours, you know he can see the way your chest is rising and falling, the heat of your stare. He gifts you one of those damned smirks, but this time it’s different. It’s heated and full of desire. He watches you watch him, and you can’t look away. Every note he plays flows through you, from your ears to between your thighs.

Alex’s arm slows, the bow stopping, and the last warble of the strings escapes the cello. He sets the cello against the wall with reverence, his loose shirt gapes open as he turns, exposing golden chest and a dark line of hair. You try to adjust how you’re sitting, the leather couch sticking to you with the heat of your thighs.

His eyes roam over you, from your bare legs up to your chest, up, up, finally meeting your eyes again. He licks his lips, pink tongue against his plush bottom lip. He smiles, hot, knowing, painfully cocky. “Did you like it?” he asks.

You answer with a bobble of your head. Any type of words would just fail to be husked out of your dry throat. Goodness, you want him. You want him a way that’s almost embarrassing in the desperate, feral way you do.

"You want to try to play?" he asks.

You’re silent again, just another nod sent to him.

He pats his thighs, beckons you over, and you rise and pad towards him, going to exactly where he wants you. He parts his legs, and you straddle his lap, your back meeting his chest. You’re painfully aware of the silk of your dress clinging to the arch of your ass, the way your thighs bracket his, his skin meeting your skin. You move, hoping he can’t feel how wet you are for him, but you hear the small grunt, and you know he absolutely can.

He picks up the cello and sets it between both of you, the smooth wood is cool against your thigh. He wraps his arms around your waist, enveloping you in his strong arms, his chest flexing against your back.

You’re glitching, absolutely dumbstruck by how gentle and low his voice is as he places your fingers over the strings. “Here,” he whispers, guiding your hand to the cello’s neck. “Thumb here. Not too tight.” His hands are big and hot. His breath fans across your ear, and it makes you shiver.

“Now, try,” he says, handing you the bow. You attempt to make a song, but you’re so heady off the closeness of him that you’re too clumsy to do anything right. The bow draws across the strings, and it’s… like a car crash of a note, but he tightens his arms and chuckles low against your ear.

“Again,” he whispers, and you try. This time, the note is softer, a pleasant hum leaves the cello. “Good,” he says, lips grazing against your earlobe. He rewards you by letting his hand skim against your thigh.

There’s a shared hunger, an almost understanding, guided by the music and want that’s drifted between the walls. You melt and tense at the same time, and you feel the press of his cock against you when you tilt back and press yourself into him.

He slides his hand up, rucking up the hem of your dress. “You still want to play?”

You’re dizzy, barely holding onto the bow. “No.”

“Then set the bow down.”

You obey, letting it clatter to the floor. He takes the cello from between your legs and sets it aside while keeping you still locked against him, hand splayed against your belly. “Spread your legs,” Alex tells you.

You instantly spread, letting him slip his palm between you and trace your soaked pussy through the wispy layer of your lace panties. You almost lose it right there, hips jerking at the thick, callused fingers of his exploring the drenched line of your cunt.

He lets out a low, incredulous growl as he touches you, pressing his mouth to your neck, sucking at the skin. “Feel good?” he rumbles. “Yeah?”

“Fuccck,” you manage.

He smiles into your neck, slides his fingers into your panties, parts you, thick, middle finger slowly exploring before plunging deep into you. You moan, noisy and erupting, louder than any song he can play.

He fucks you with his hand, two fingers, thick and skilled, shallow then deep, giving you a pattern you’ll never guess. His thumb rubs circles on your clit, making you stupid with just how good he is at this. You’re sweating now, shaking, under the control of Alex’s possessive hands against your body.

He’s rutting and hard against you, whispering “that’s it, that’s it,” over and over as his fingers play you like an instrument he’s mastered.

You cum for him, so hard you shudder and squeeze. Head knocking back against his broad chest. He growls, licks up the sweat of you, holding you tighter as you ride and writhe against his fingers.

He pulls his fingers out, yanks your panties to the side, and frees his cock from the thin cotton of his boxers. You don’t know if you’ve ever wanted someone so bad before and when he brushes the fat tip of him against your accepting hole, you gasp at the promise of his size.

It’s one monstrous, behemoth of a thrust that makes your eyes flutter shut and all the air escape you. He fucks up into you hard, and you grab at his big hands, holding on as the old wooden chair frame creaks. He’s so fucking thick, overwhelming and rough, but Christ, the way your slippery cunt swallows him, it’s like he was fit for you. You ride him, back rubbing against his chest as he pumps in and out of you, the noise of your slick and his grunts crescendoing in the sex-heavy air.

He grabs your hips, planting both feet on the floor, and starts railing up into you so deep you let out a sob of his name. He’s rewarding and withholding at the same time, sliding all the way out, holding you above himself, letting you beg for him, until he plants all of himself into you. He slinks a hand up your body, thumb stroking your cheek before he sticks two of his fingers into your mouth.

You taste the sweet tang of your orgasm, tongue licking at the rough and ridges of his fingers. You suck, and he groans, bucking so hard the chair actually scoots back across the floor.

He must want to see you desperate and dumb, his other hand finding your moving between your legs, playing with you there. It only takes a couple strokes of his fingers against your puffy, needy clit for him to orchestrate your orgasm out of you. It’s shocking how fucking hard you cum for him, how white your vision goes, how the pulse of your body pulses a cacophony of beats. Alex fucks straight through your orgasm, cock spearing you as you whimper around his fingers and drip around his cock. But, he’s losing it now, panting into the crook of your neck, hips snapping so loud against you.

He pulls out, and you feel the slide of his cock head against your clit when he cums, thick, white ropes painting against your panties, your belly, the silk of your dress. You’re still floating high like the music notes he plays, a trembling mess in his arms when you lean your head back and can’t help but laugh. Alex chuckles, too. Both of you are sticky and soaked, pressed together, glazed in shared sweat and cum.

The cello sits unused, the bow on the floor. Alex’s forehead rests against your shoulder as he comes down. You think he’s going to say something smart and frustrating, but he just kisses your shoulder blade and tightens his arms around you.

It had been a horrible date.

You should’ve known the second the guy, Mark, only talked about crypto and how his parents had inherited money from some fucking oil empire. It became painfully obvious within the first ten minutes that he'd never had to worry about paying rent for his absurdly overpriced downtown apartment with its skyline view.

Unlike you.

Some months you stretched every single penny until it practically begged for mercy, just to make sure you made it to the next paycheck without surviving on instant noodles. There was no trust fund waiting in the wings. No wealthy parents. No safety net.

So it was safe to say your realities couldn't have been more different.

You tried to be polite, carrying the conversation where you could, but when he started talking about tennis lessons and the private coach he'd hired to improve his serve, your mind quietly checked out.

Instead, it wandered somewhere infinitely more familiar.

To Frankie.

You could picture him so vividly it almost hurt. His strong arm draped over the back of your chair, rolling those warm brown eyes so dramatically they'd practically disappear into his skull while muttering something about rich dudes being all talk and no action.

"Bet I could beat him at arm wrestling."

You'd ugly-snort into laughter, hiding your face against the broad shoulder straining beneath his well-worn denim shirt.

Frankie would grin. That crooked, impossibly boyish grin you loved so much. The one that somehow made you forget the man pushing forty. The one that softened the hard edges years of war, grief, and bad decisions had carved into him.

With terrifying clarity, it hit you just how much you missed him. He'd been away for weeks on another flying contract, and his absence had lodged itself somewhere uncomfortable between your ribs.

While Mark rambled on about God knew what, you reached for your phone beneath the table. Your last message still sat there.

You: Text me when you're back on homeland. Take care. ❤️

—

At least Mark paid.

Outside the restaurant, you exchanged an awkward hug before climbing into your ancient Honda Civic.

The second the driver's door shut, you sent him a polite text thanking him for the evening, telling him you didn't think you were compatible and blocked his number.

With a tired sigh, you pulled onto the road. Taylor Swift filled the car as The Prophecy echoed through the speakers. You really didn't know how you kept picking the wrong men. None of them ever sparked the kindling you kept hoping for. Most of them only managed to light every warning sign imaginable.

Your thoughts drifted aimlessly until your car answered with a horrible metallic groan.

"...No."

A plume of white smoke burst from beneath the hood.

"No, no, no—"

The engine sputtered violently as you barely managed to wrestle the Civic onto the gravel shoulder before it gave one final, pitiful cough and died.

"Shit!"

Your palm slammed against the steering wheel before the horn blared into the empty night and your head fell back against the seat.

Perfect.

It was pitch black. Nothing but distant city lights behind you. No road signs. No passing traffic. No anything.

Your eyes drifted toward the dashboard.

11:57 p.m.

Great.

Tow services weren't exactly eager to rescue people in the middle of nowhere after midnight. Even if they were you couldn't afford one. Your mind raced through every person you could possibly call when your phone suddenly lit up.

Francisco 💙 calling...

A laugh escaped you before you even answered.

"Heyyy, preciosa."

God, you'd missed that voice.

"How are you doing?"

Despite everything, you smiled. The real smile. The one that only ever seemed to belong to him.

"Hi, how was your flight back?"

He exhaled dramatically. "Had some turbulence. Sucked. But I landed in one piece, so..."

"Thank God."

A comfortable silence settled between you.

Then—

"You home?"

You shook your head before remembering he couldn't see it. "No, sir."

A sheepish pause. "Actually... I was on a date."

"...A date?" His voice flattened immediately. "With who?"

"His name's Mark. Rich crypto guy."

A sharp inhale crackled through the speaker. "Damn."

You couldn't help laughing.

"One of those again?"

"Don't get me started. It was horrible. You would've hated him. He even smelled expensive."

Frankie let out a low whistle. "One of those, huh? I really gotta start questioning your taste in men, preciosa."

You snorted. "Fair."

Silence lingered another moment.

"I..." You sighed. "Actually, my car broke down on the way home. I'm stranded."

Another beat.

"...You are what?"

"My Honda died somewhere off Highway 65."

"I managed to get onto the shoulder, but it just…quit."

"You in the car?"

"Yeah. But it won't start. And there's no point in calling a tow truck now."

"Why the hell would you call a tow truck?"

His answer came so quickly it almost overlapped yours.

"You call me."

"You literally just got home, Frankie."

"So what ?"

You heard keys jangling. A door opening. His footsteps already moving.

"Send me your location."

"Frankie...it's almost midnight."

"Exactly. And you're sitting alone on the side of a highway. I'll come get you and tomorrow morning Will and I'll come back for your Honda."

"No, it's okay. I don't want to cause any—"

"—unpleasantness?" Frankie actually scoffed. "The only unpleasant thing right now is you sitting alone in the dark."

His voice changed, dropped lower. Got firmer. It was his military tone. The one that left absolutely no room for negotiation.

"Send.Me.Your.Location."

You sank farther into your seat. "...Okay."

Your phone had, naturally, chosen tonight to hover at one percent. You hurriedly shared your location. The screen blinked once and then the call died.

"...Fuck."

The silence that followed somehow felt louder than before.

—

Without the distraction of your phone, the minutes crawled by. You tried not to think about every horror movie you'd ever seen that started with a broken-down car. Nervously, you nibbled at your thumb until finally a pair of familiar headlights cut through the darkness.

The engine had barely fallen silent before Frankie climbed out of his old truck—Betsy, as he lovingly called her.

With far more flourish than necessary, your car door swung open, letting in the cold night air. He leaned one arm against the frame, pointing at you.

"You okay?"

You nodded, only for your eyes to unexpectedly fill with tears of relief that blurred your vision.

"Did somebody stop?"

You shook your head. Only then did he visibly exhale.

"Dios mío... you scared me."

You let out a watery laugh. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

He immediately shook his head. "None of that."

His voice softened. "C'mon. Let's get you warm, hm?"

He helped you out of your car, walked around to grab your bag from the passenger seat and slung it over his shoulder with zero fucks given before tossing it onto the backseat of his truck.

Without really thinking, you folded into him while he held the passenger door open for you.

He was warm. Smelling faintly of sweat, gasoline, and the aftershave he always wore. His arms came around you without hesitation, secure and intimate, before he pressed a kiss into your hair. Your heart squeezed painfully inside your chest at that.

"Thank you," you could only murmur against his broad chest, the words muffled by his Henley.

"For what exactly?"

"For rescuing me. For..." You smiled to yourself. "Being you. For everything, I guess."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific than that."

You only shook your head against him, letting his warmth seep into every part of you.

It was the first time all day, honestly, the first time since he'd left that you felt completely at ease.

"Missed you," you admitted. 

You felt him smile against your hair. "That so?"

"Mhm."

A beat passed.

"Missed you too."

His arms tightened just a little, and you could've sworn his heartbeat picked up beneath your cheek.

—

Once you were settled in Betsy and the heater had begun chasing the chill from your bones, Frankie handed you a charging cable.

"So your phone doesn't die on me again."

Then a bottle of water, of course. Frankie the caretaker.

"I brought you something from the trip," he said after a few miles, eyes never leaving the road. "It's in the glove compartment."

You blinked at him. "You... brought me something?"

He shrugged.

"My birthday isn't until summer."

"Oh, I know."

Another shrug. "But I saw it and thought of you."

You smiled despite yourself before opening the compartment. A small bracelet slipped into your palm, decorated with tiny shells and beautiful blue stones that caught the dashboard lights. It was gorgeous.

"Frankie..."

You immediately fastened it around your wrist.

"I love it."

"Really?"

He finally glanced over for half a second.

"I wasn't sure. But the lady in the shop said it'd make a nice gift for someone special."

You looked up. "Someone special?"

He groaned. "Oh, please. Don't start."

A grin tugged at your lips. "Sorry, sorry. I'll behave."

He snorted, shaking his head as he looked back at the road. 

You absentmindedly turned the bracelet around your wrist with your thumb, watching the little blue stones catch the passing streetlights.

He'd seen it. Thought of you. Bought it without needing a reason or an occasion.

Your date hadn't even remembered that you didn’t like coffee. Frankie had crossed half the county in the middle of the night and somehow still found the time to bring you home a piece of the ocean.

thanks for reading 💌

main masterlist • ko-fi

He felt more relaxed after the day on the yacht. Harry didn’t feel like he had to make everything look so perfect anymore because it was easy with you. You fit in his life so perfectly. 

He also couldn’t remember the last time he woke up feeling so refreshed, so at ease, so comfortable. He’d wake up with you either in his arms or him spooning you from behind. It was like during the night, both your bodies craved each other. 

Harry knew that he shouldn’t, but he started looking at you just a bit differently now—how he wanted to hear you laugh more or see you smile. He knew today’s events would be at nighttime, which meant that you both had the rest of the morning and afternoon to spend with one another. 

And it terrified him. Not because he had time to spend with you, but because the feelings that he started to surface couldn’t go unnoticed anymore. Though, he was still going to try to push it away, to try and ignore it. 

But there was a part of him—a really big part of him—that wished you both could just stay here forever. 

Because it meant not having to go back home, back to reality, back to what you both were to each other. 

You had woken up to Harry gently shaking your shoulder. The doors to the outdoor deck were open, allowing a cool breeze into the room. You shielded the brightness with your arm and turned to your abdomen, covering your head now with the pillow. 

“Wake up,” he said, shaking your shoulder again. 

“It’s early.” 

“It’s not.” 

“It is for me.” 

He chuckled. “We have the entire day to ourselves. At least until tonight.” 

“Great, let me sleep some more.” 

He shook his head and took the pillow from you and the sheets that covered your body. “Get up.” 

“Why do you hate me?” 

He smiled. “I want to spend the day with you. Can I do that?” 

That caught your attention. You slowly turned back around and blinked the sleep away from your eyes. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” 

You sat up from bed and gently tugged him down on top of you, wrapping your arms and legs around him loosely as he kept himself propped up with his hands on the mattress. 

“We can swim,” he said softly. “Go for a walk. Get one of those couple’s massages,” he suggested, bringing one hand to your cheek and gently brushing your hair away from your face. 

“You’d do that? Just me and you?” 

Harry nodded. “Gotta have some fun while we’re here, right?” 

You grinned and slowly rolled him onto his back, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Yes.” 

“So, get ready. I’ll order breakfast. We can eat it out on the deck and then go for a swim.” 

“You’ll come join me too? Not just dip your toes in?” 

He chuckled. “Yeah, baby. I’ll join you.” 

You smiled and Harry felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of your excitement. He craved more of it—more of seeing you happy and him being the reason for it. 

“You’re spoiling me today,” you teased. “What got you in such a good mood, hm?” 

Harry chuckled and rested his hands on your hips as he stared up at you. “Yesterday was… it was just a really fun day. You brought out a side of my parents that neither me or Peter have seen in such a long time.” 

You smiled. “So, I’m being rewarded?” 

He rolled his eyes playfully. “You make it sound worse than it is.” 

You laughed quietly and then slowly climbed off his lap to stand from the bed. “I’m just teasing. I’m glad you had fun yesterday. I did too.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Uh huh,” you said, walking towards your luggage. “Especially our brief time in the room.” 

Harry sat up and cleared his throat. He watched you rummage through your luggage to pull another one of your bikinis. “Oh?” 

“Yeah,” you said, pulling a yellow pastel-colored two piece. “I’m thinking if we have sex again, we might just have to forego the condom.” 

Harry’s lips parted in surprise. 

“You know, just one more time, without alcohol in both our systems.” You continued, beginning to walk towards the bathroom. “Just to make sure that it really feels as good as it did yesterday.” 

Harry stood from the bed immediately and tripped over his feet as he began walking towards you. He felt himself twitch beneath his shorts, already hardening at the memory of how you felt around him. 

“Can’t just say those things,” Harry said, scooping you up into his arms before he set you down on the edge of the sink.

“Why not?” You smiled, biting your lower lip as your arms snaked around his shoulders loosely. 

“Gonna get me all excited,” he answered. 

“And are you? Excited?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he grabbed one of your hands and tugged it down to his crotch. “You tell me.” 

You gasped, feeling his hardened length from beneath his shorts as you slowly began to palm him. “Yeah, I’d say you are.” 

He chuckled and leaned in to press his lips along the side of your neck, groaning against you when he felt you push your hand down his shorts so you could touch him fully. 

“We gonna start our day like this, Harry?” 

He nodded and dropped his forehead to your shoulder. “I’d hope so, baby.” 

“Good,” you smiled, running a thumb over his glistening tip. You hopped off the sink and moved to kneel down in front of him, pulling his shorts down with his boxers. He kicked them off the side as he placed both hands at the edge of the sink, looking down at you with dark eyes. 

“Whatcha doing?” He asked. 

“What’s it look like?” You asked back, leaning forward to wrap your lips around his tip. You lapped at his precome, tongue swirling around him slowly. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes falling shut as one hand moved to your hair. “This my reward, hm?” 

You smiled and pulled back, letting his tip brush along your wet lips. “Yeah, it’s your reward for a good day ahead.” 

Then, you put your mouth back on him. 

You had been having an amazing morning so far. It made you wonder if more moments like this would occur if you and Harry became something more than what you both were used to. You knew that you both established a rule that you’d talk to each other if one of you started developing feelings, but it just didn’t seem… right. 

Because it meant having to admit to him that you were starting to feel something so real for him, when that was never the plan. 

You both agreed that you weren’t what he wanted and he wasn’t what you wanted.

But why did three days in the Maldives change all of that? 

It wasn’t even the sex that caused a shift. It was the small moments in between. The lingering glances, the soft touches. The way you fit in so naturally with his family. You told yourself it was the fact that you were in the Maldives, pretending to be someone special to him—that was why you started developing feelings for him. 

If you just kept it to yourself and waited until all of this was over, surely the feelings would disappear too. 

Right? 

“You look like you’re thinking,” Harry called out, swimming over to you and resting his arms over the deck. You were sitting at the edge of it, sipping your coffee and dressed in your bikini. 

Your eyes narrowed at him. “I’m just… reveling in this moment.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“I am.” 

“Right.” 

“You don’t believe me?” 

“Nope,” he smiled. 

You rolled your eyes and grabbed your camera, snapping a few pictures of him before setting it down. 

“You ever gonna let me try and take a picture of you?” Harry asked, climbing out of the water and walking towards his towel to dry himself off. 

“No.” 

He chuckled. “Why not?” 

“My camera is my baby… I don’t trust anyone but myself to hold it.” 

“That’s a bit serious,” he pointed out, sitting down next to you. 

You bit your lower lip and sighed. “I did bring another camera that you can use.” You stood from the deck and walked back inside the villa, disappearing down the hallway to retrieve the Polaroid you brought with you. 

After a few minutes, you stepped back outside and handed the Polaroid to Harry. “I trust you with this.” 

“Ah, thanks,” he smiled. 

“I assume you know how to use it.” 

“Why’s that? Because I’m old?” 

You smirked and sat back down, leaning back just slightly on your hands. “Maybe.” 

“You weren’t calling me old about an hour ago,” he pointed out, winking in your direction. 

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes. 

“In fact, I think you were screaming my name for more,” Harry licked his lips and looked through the viewfinder of the Polaroid before he pressed the button. The film slid out of the camera and he began shaking it. 

You grabbed it from his hand and shook your head. “It’s a myth… shaking a Polaroid.” Instead, you tucked the Polaroid underneath your journal to shield it from the light. 

“But everyone does it.” 

“Shaking it doesn’t make it develop faster… in fact, shaking it can actually cause discoloration or unwanted blotches.” 

“Well, you are the professional,” Harry smiled, lifting the camera to his eye again and taking another photo of you. “You look beautiful, you know that?” 

You smiled to yourself and glanced over at him. “Are these pictures for me… or for you?” 

“For me, obviously.” 

When the film came out of the camera, he followed your lead and tucked them underneath your journal as well. 

“How about we take one together?” You asked, moving to sit next to him. He wrapped one arm around you as you leaned into him and he raised the camera to face the both of you. 

The both of you posed for several pictures—a simple one where the both of you were smiling at the camera, another where he kissed your cheek, but the last one… the last one you were looking into each other’s eyes, a broad smile on both your lips. 

Then, he set down the camera and pulled you onto his lap, hand coming up to your cheek. “You make me feel comfortable like this,” he whispered. 

“Hmm?” 

“I just—I just mean that this week so far… I’ve never felt as comfortable in my own skin as I do when I’m with you.” 

You leaned into his touch. 

“You just look at me like… like I’m special,” Harry said quietly. 

“You are,” you said quickly. “I mean, of course you are, look at your family,” you continued, trying to reason with the fact that this type of conversation wasn’t something that you or Harry were used to having. 

He chuckled, but he cleared his throat afterwards. Harry wasn’t sure why he was trying to gauge whether or not you were feeling the same thing he was. Even if you did, he wasn’t sure he’d even act on it. 

Would this even work back in New York?

“Look at us,” you smiled. “The Maldives are… making us look at each other just a little bit differently.” 

He nodded. Harry felt his stomach drop at that. Maybe you were just still following along, still pretending. He pulled you closer to him until he leaned in to press his forehead against yours. 

“So… what’s next?” 

“For the day?” You asked. 

Harry nodded. Though, he wanted to ask was what would be next after this, after the Maldives. “Yeah, baby.” 

“Well… you did mention a couple’s massage,” you grinned. 

“Okay,” Harry nodded, kissing your cheek lightly. “I can get that scheduled.” 

“I’m definitely gonna miss this once we go back home,” you chuckled. 

Harry stared into your eyes. 

And at the tip of his tongue, he wanted to say, what if this became real back home… then what?

The massage lasted an hour, but the sounds that were coming out of you did the opposite of what the massage should have been doing. You were letting out relieved groans at the masseuse who was working on you to the point that Harry looked over to see another man’s hands running along your bare back. He ended up cutting his own massage short but he allowed you to continue with yours. 

When the masseuses left, you had walked into the bedroom feeling lighter than you ever felt. Harry, on the other hand, was sitting on the edge of it with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed. 

“Didn’t have a good massage?” You asked, still walking around in your bikini from earlier that morning. 

“Something like that.” 

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, walking over to him. “Maybe next time, you should get the guy that worked on me. I swear, he had magic fingers or something.” 

Harry huffed. “No thanks.” 

You furrowed a brow. “Is something wrong?” 

“No.” 

“You’re lying.” 

He just shook his head. “It’s nothing.” 

“It’s obviously something if it’s causing this kind of reaction.” 

Harry stood from the bed. “I should probably get ready.” 

“We have a few hours left…” 

“Then I’ll go for a walk.” 

“Harry—”

He was almost halfway through the door before he turned to look at you. “Why do you have to make those sounds?” 

“What?” 

“You were… moaning.” 

“I was not.” 

He scoffed. 

“Okay, the fact that you don’t know the sounds I make is a bit concerning.” 

Harry’s eyes narrowed again. 

“I wasn’t moaning.” 

“Well, that guy was pulling some noises out of you.” 

“Yeah… because my body was tense, Harry.” 

“Exactly.” 

You shook your head. “I wasn’t moaning because he had his fingers inside of me.” 

Harry cleared his throat. “It sure sounded like it.” 

“Oh my god,” you sighed. “Is this… is this how you get when you’re in a relationship? Did you get like this with Lucy?” 

Lucy. You regretted it the moment it left your lips. 

“Shit, I’m sorry—”

“I’m not the jealous type.” Harry interrupted. He took a step closer to you now and slammed the bedroom door shut behind him. 

“Right. So… why did I find you pouting in here like someone kicked a puppy?” 

Harry tightened his jaw. “And I was never like this with Lucy.” 

That stirred something inside of you. Something you didn’t want to admit, something that had been simmering in the pit of your stomach since the first day you got here. 

“Sure. So, I’m the special one?” 

“Yes,” he answered quickly, taking a few more strides in your direction until he was standing in front of you now. “I didn’t like that man’s hands all over you.” 

“He was doing his job.” 

“I could’ve just fucking given you a massage myself.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Sorry, Harry, but you’re not a professional masseuse—”

Then, his large hand lightly encompassed your throat. He didn’t grip it, didn’t cut off any oxygen, but it remained there. Almost like a warning. 

And immediately, you felt your insides tingle. Could feel a pool of wetness now settle between your legs. 

“I just don’t like other people touching what’s mine.” 

Your eyes widened slightly. Harry suddenly turned you around until your back was facing him. Then, he shoved you down onto the bed and crowded you from behind. 

“Do you hear me?” He asked. 

You nodded, moving your hands to the mattress as you felt his hands roughly push down the bottoms of your bikini. He called you his. That wasn’t him pretending—that was real.