carolina

From the back seat of the first, you watched the estate emerge through the trees—gray stone, climbing ivy, and tall windows catching the last pale light of the afternoon.

It had always looked peaceful from a distance.

Today, it looked like the kind of place where families gathered to hear something they would never forget.

Harry hadn't let go of your hand since Ron received the call. His fingers remained tightly threaded through yours, his thumb brushing slowly over your engagement ring and across your knuckles in a steady rhythm that was probably meant to calm you.

It wasn't working.

Not when his jaw had been locked for the past forty minutes.

Harry had walked out of a meeting without his coat, picked you up before you'd even had time to change, and ordered the driver toward Rhinebeck without waiting for another explanation.

Across from you, Ron sat unusually still, his phone dark in his hand. He'd already called the house twice.

Both times, Eloise's nurse had given him the same answer.

Mrs. Castillo had suffered a difficult morning. She wanted the family in Rhinebeck immediately.

Nothing more.

"Did she sound frightened?" you asked again.

Ron looked up. "The nurse?"

"Yes."

"She sounded controlled."

"That wasn't my question."

Ron hesitated a fraction too long. Harry's grip tightened around your hand. You turned toward him. "Maybe we should've gone straight to the hospital."

"If she needed a hospital, her nurse would've sent her to one," Harry said evenly. "She knows what she's doing." His voice was calm. Deliberately calm.

It might've convinced anyone else.

Not you.

Harry was terrified. He was simply doing everything he could to keep that fear from reaching you. "Eloise is probably fine," he continued, his thumb brushing over your hand again. "It could be exhaustion. A medication adjustment. Anything."

"You don't believe that."

His gaze met yours. "I believe worrying before we know anything won't help you or the babies."

"I'm all right." You leaned closer, covering his hand with yours. "Hey. She's the strongest woman I know. She's going to be okay."

Harry held your gaze for a long moment, as though he wanted to borrow your certainty but wasn't sure how. "She'd better be," he said quietly.

He lifted your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles before lacing your fingers together once more.

Your free hand drifted instinctively to the gentle curve beneath your dress.

At five months, hiding the pregnancy was no longer possible—not with twins, and certainly not from a man who'd spent the past several weeks monitoring every meal, every yawn, and nearly every step you took.

Harry noticed immediately. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Was that a cramp?"

You smiled. "One of the babies."

"Which one?"

You waited until another tiny flutter danced beneath your palm. "The mischievous one."

Ron blinked. "You can already tell them apart?"

"Of course I can."

"They're identical twins."

"That doesn't mean they have identical personalities."

Another tiny kick answered for you.

You laughed softly. "This one waits until I'm trying to sleep. The other prefers interrupting my calls with Gerard."

Harry considered that. "The second one sounds strategic."

"Definitely a Castillo," Ron said with a smirk.

Harry slowly turned his head. Ron calmly redirected his attention to the window.

Before Harry could answer, the iron gates opened, and the car began its final climb toward the house.

A second car followed close behind.

Through the rear window, you caught a glimpse of your mother and Vivienne sitting side by side, both unnaturally rigid.

Lately, the two women had been spending an astonishing amount of time together.

Ever since you stopped speaking properly to Scarlet... and Harry had grown just as distant from Vivienne.

That, however, was another story.

Probably several.

A third black car turned through the gates.

You frowned. "That's Mikey's car."

Harry glanced over his shoulder.

Ron followed his gaze. "Michael was called as well."

"Of course he was," Harry muttered.

Ron's expression hinted there was more to say. He wisely chose continued employment instead.

The first car rolled to a stop beneath the portico.

Harry was out before the driver had fully opened the door. He rounded the car and offered you his hand. As you stepped out, his other hand instinctively rose above your head, shielding you from the doorframe.

You smiled. "I'm not quite big enough to need help getting out of a car."

"You're carrying our babies." His voice softened. "The least I can do is take care of my queen."

You slipped your hand into his. "You're supervising every limb I own."

Once both your feet were on the gravel, he rested an arm around your waist instead of letting go. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss beneath your ear. "I'm very attached to them," he murmured.

You laughed. "All of them?"

"Every single one."

Behind you, Scarlet and Vivienne climbed out of the second car.

Scarlet looked as though she'd abandoned her reading glasses somewhere along the drive. Vivienne, meanwhile, had lost every trace of color.

Your mother's eyes found yours first. Hope flickered across her face, fragile enough to disappear almost immediately.

She took the smallest step forward. At the same moment, Vivienne looked toward Harry with nearly the same uncertainty.

You felt Harry's arm tighten around your waist. Your fingers quietly found his hand.

No words were exchanged. None were needed. Together, the two of you turned toward the house. Scarlet stopped. Vivienne did too. Ron watched the mothers...

...then their children.

He let out the quietest sigh.

The third car pulled beneath the portico. Sienna stepped out first. Mikey emerged from the opposite side. For one suspended moment...

Neither of them moved. Sienna's hair was slightly less polished than usual. Mikey's tie was missing. The top two buttons of his shirt hung open beneath his coat. He looked exactly like a man who hadn't expected to arrive at his grandmother's estate with Harry Castillo's younger sister.

Harry noticed. Slowly... His attention shifted from Sienna...

...to Mikey.

Mikey straightened immediately. Sienna lifted her chin. Even Scarlet and Vivienne forgot their panic long enough to look between them.

"We ran into each other," Mikey said.

"At lunch," Sienna added a little too quickly.

"She needed a ride."

Vivienne frowned. "Weren't you supposed to be at the gallery all afternoon?"

"I was."

"Then how exactly did you run into Michael at lunch?"

Sienna opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

Mikey rescued her. "Manhattan becomes a very small place when two people are hungry."

Scarlet's eyes drifted over his missing tie...

...his open collar...

...and finally the restaurant bag still hanging from his hand.

"Apparently."

Ron glanced toward the company sedan assigned exclusively to Mikey.

"A fortunate coincidence."

Harry remained silent. Which, somehow, was much worse. You felt the exact moment suspicion began arranging itself inside his head.

Questions were coming.

Before the first one could leave his mouth, you caught the front of his coat and gave it a gentle tug.

He looked down.

You held his eyes for a beat.

Not now.

His brows drew together. Somehow...He knew you knew something. He also knew this wasn't the place to ask.

You pulled your coat tighter. "Can we go inside? I'm freezing."

Mikey disappeared from Harry's mind instantly.

His arm settled around your shoulders. "Come on."

Together, you headed for the front entrance.

The interrogation disappeared.

For now.

The front doors were already open.

Two members of staff stood inside the foyer, their expressions solemn. The housekeeper held her hands clasped tightly at her waist, while a young footman stared fixedly at the marble floor.

Something about them felt wrong. Not grief.

Performance.

The realization flickered through you and vanished before you could fully grasp it. Perhaps they had simply been instructed not to say anything. Perhaps your fear was making everything seem strange.

“Where is she?” Harry asked.

“Upstairs, sir,” the housekeeper replied softly. “Her nurse is waiting.”

Scarlet moved first.

Her heels struck sharply against the marble as she crossed the foyer, Vivienne close beside her. Sienna and Mikey followed without looking at each other.

Harry kept one hand at your back as you climbed the stairs.

Too slowly for everyone else. Too quickly for him.

His arm tightened every time you reached another step.

“Harry, ” you warned beneath your breath.

“I’m not carrying you.”

“You were thinking about it.”

A reluctant smile touched his mouth.

You would have answered, but Eloise’s nurse appeared at the top of the staircase. Her face was composed. Almost suspiciously composed. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Harry stopped in front of her. “What happened?”

Vivienne stepped beside him. “I was gone for two days. She was perfectly well when I left.”

“She’s resting.”

“That isn’t an answer,” Harry said.

“She asked me not to discuss anything until everyone was present.”

Vivienne looked around sharply. “We are present.”

The nurse’s gaze passed over the group, pausing briefly on Mikey and Sienna before returning to Vivienne.

“Yes,” she said. “You certainly are.”

She turned and led all of you down the corridor. The house had gone unnaturally quiet. No distant clatter from the kitchen. No music from one of the sitting rooms.

Only footsteps and the steady ticking of the old clock near the staircase.

At Eloise’s bedroom door, the nurse paused. “Please try not to upset her.”

Vivienne pressed one hand to her chest. “Oh, God.”

The nurse opened the door. The curtains had been drawn halfway, leaving the room washed in muted silver light. Eloise lay beneath a pale cashmere blanket, her head resting against a mountain of pillows.

Her eyes were closed.

For the first time since the call, Harry released your hand.

He crossed the room in three strides. “Abuela?”

Eloise did not respond.

Vivienne hurried to the other side of the bed. “Mama?”

The rest of you gathered near the footboard. Scarlet reached blindly for your hand, and despite everything that had passed between you, you let her take it.

Sienna stood stiffly beside her. Mikey’s usual restless energy had disappeared completely. Eloise’s nurse closed the door behind all of you.

A long moment passed.

Then Eloise took a faint breath. “Is everyone here?”

Her voice was weak enough to make Harry bend closer. “Yes,” he said immediately. “We’re all here.”

“Scarlet?”

“I’m here,” Scarlet whispered.

“Vivienne?”

“Here, Mama.”

“Sienna?”

“Yes, Abuela.”

“Mikey?”

Mikey blinked. “Uh… yes, ma’am.”

Eloise’s eyes remained closed. “Mi reina?”

You stepped closer, Harry’s hand finding yours again. “I’m here.”

From somewhere near the door, Ron cleared his throat. “For the record, I’m here as well.”

Eloise remained motionless. “Ah, Ronald,” she breathed. “I remembered you.”

Ron gave a small nod.

Eloise released a long, tired sigh. Then her eyes opened.

Clear. Sharp. Entirely alert.

“Bueno,” she said.

Before anyone could react, she pushed herself upright against the pillows with surprising ease, pulled the cashmere blanket neatly over her lap, and held out one hand.

Her nurse placed her reading glasses into it.

Eloise slipped them on and looked around the room, visibly pleased by the collection of pale, frightened faces before her. She clapped her hands together once, bright and decisive. “Everyone is here. Perfect. Then we will not waste Dr. Adler’s time.”

Silence.

The door to the adjoining sitting room opened.

A woman in a navy suit stepped through, carrying a leather notebook and wearing the professionally neutral expression of someone who had already been warned about the family waiting for her.

“Good evening,” she said. “I’m Dr. Vanessa Adler.”

No one moved.

Harry stared at his grandmother. “Abuela.”

Eloise adjusted her glasses. “What?”

“Did you fake a medical emergency?”

Her mouth fell open in theatrical offense. “Fake? Ay, por favor (please). I did no such thing.”

“Your nurse said you’d had a difficult morning.”

“I did. My eggs were cold, the coffee was weak, and none of you have answered a direct question in nearly a month. It was a terrible morning.”

Scarlet made an outraged sound. “We thought you were dying!”

“You frightened all of us,” you added. “We came here expecting the worst.”

“I left an entire boardroom without saying a word,” Harry said.

Sienna folded her arms. “That was cruel, Abuela.”

Mikey whined. “I abandoned my dessert.” Everyone looked at him. “What?” he said. “Grief affects people differently.”

Eloise waved one dismissive hand at all of you.

“Dios mío, look at these faces. At my age, death is always somewhere nearby. I never said it had entered the house.”

Vivienne turned toward the nurse. “You allowed us to believe something had happened to her.”

“I said Mrs. Castillo wished to see the family urgently,” the nurse replied calmly. “That was accurate.”

“You trapped us,” Sienna said.

Eloise looked at her over the rim of her glasses. “Had I said, ‘Come to Rhinebeck, niños, there is a therapist waiting to discuss your feelings,’ would you have come?” Sienna opened her mouth. Nothing emerged. “Exactly,” Eloise said. “Do not argue when you know I am right. It gives me a headache.”

Mikey looked between Eloise and Dr. Adler. “You used mortality as a scheduling tool.”

“And you arrived on time for the first time since I met you.”

Mikey considered that. “That’s incredibly manipulative.” Then a slow, appreciative grin appeared on his face. “I like it.”

You stepped closer to the bed. “Eloise, I’m five months pregnant with twins. You cannot summon me by implying that you may be dying. There are currently three heartbeats inside this body, and you frightened all of them.”

Eloise reached for your hand. “Come here, mi reina.”

You gave her a suspicious look but allowed her to take it.

She squeezed your fingers between both of hers, her expression softening. “I am sorry I frightened you, mi amor.”

“You don’t look very sorry.”

“No, because I am not sorry that it worked.”

“Eloise.”

“Ay, let me finish.” She patted your hand. “I would not have done any of this if all of you had not become completely impossible.”

A chorus of protests began.

Eloise lifted one finger. “¡Basta! (enough!)” The room fell silent. “At our last family dinner, Scarlet and mi reina spoke exclusively through the salt and pepper.”

You glanced toward your mother. Scarlet looked away with great dignity.

“Harry and Vivienne exchanged six words all evening,” Eloise continued. “Four of them concerned the rain.”

Vivienne folded her arms. Harry said nothing, which did very little to help his case.

“And now Vivienne is spending every free hour with Scarlet. Just like schoolgirls. Their son and daughter are sulking in separate corners, so naturally the mothers have abandoned them to whisper together.”

Scarlet’s expression became carefully blank.

Vivienne lifted her chin. “We are allowed to enjoy one another’s company.”

“Sí, of course.” Eloise looked between them over the rim of her glasses. “And I am supposed to believe the two of you have no secrets while you disappear for lunches, lower your voices when I enter a room, and suddenly stop speaking whenever one of your children appears.”

Neither woman answered.

Eloise gave a satisfied nod.

“You may fool your children. You may fool one another. But you will not fool this old woman. Whatever you are hiding, whatever ridiculous problem has driven you into one another’s arms, you will solve it.”

Scarlet’s expression remained perfectly composed.

Which, in your experience, generally meant Eloise was right. Sienna lowered her head, hiding a smile. Then Eloise turned toward her.

“And you.”

Sienna blinked. “What about me?”

Eloise narrowed her eyes. “You have been happy.”

Sienna stared at her. “I’m sorry?”

“Too happy,” Eloise said. “Smiling at your telephone. Disappearing for lunch. Wearing perfume in the afternoon.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sí, sí. And I am a foolish old woman who has never seen a girl hide a man.”

Mikey coughed. Eloise’s head turned toward him immediately.

“And there he is.”

Mikey straightened. “Why am I suddenly involved?”

Eloise looked from him to Sienna and back again.

“I may be eighty-six, cariño, but when it comes to romance, deception, and badly concealed attraction, my mind is still sharper than most of yours.”

Sienna abruptly found the carpet fascinating. Mikey looked toward the window. “Come on, Eloise,” he said with an unconvincing laugh. “This is becoming wildly speculative.”

“Mm-hm.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly does that mean?”

Eloise waved one hand dismissively. “Nothing you need to worry about yet.”

“Abuela.”

“Do not ‘Abuela’ me. If there is something to know, I will know it before you do.”

From near the door, Ron murmured, “At least we now know where the Castillos inherited their observational skills.”

Eloise released your hand and settled back against her pillows, looking around at the family with the weary affection of a woman who had raised too many stubborn people and somehow acquired several more.

“So I have decided that all of you need therapy.”

“We do not all need therapy,” Vivienne said.

“Some people need boundaries,” you murmured.

Scarlet looked at you. “Some people need to communicate instead of freezing out their mothers.”

“Some people need to stop investigating other people’s private lives,” Vivienne added.

Harry’s jaw tightened. “Some people need better judgment regarding men.”

“Ay, Dios mío.” Eloise struck the mattress lightly with her palm. “Listen to yourselves. You sound like children arguing over one toy.” No one answered. “As the eldest person in this family, I am asking for one afternoon without secrets, sulking, investigators, secret lunches, mysterious interviews, and whatever else you are all doing behind closed doors.”

She pointed toward Dr. Adler.

“You will speak to this nice woman. You will tell her the truth. Not the elegant version, not the corporate version, and not the version where you are all innocent little angels. You will solve your problems, or at the very least, you will learn to argue more quietly. I would like to enjoy the rest of my life.”

Dr. Adler cleared her throat and stepped forward.

“My plan is to begin with a few brief private conversations. Afterward, we’ll meet together to discuss the patterns affecting the family as a whole.” She glanced around at the collection of reluctant faces.

“Shall we begin?”

The private sitting room was smaller than Eloise's bedroom, warmer too, with tall windows overlooking the gardens and a low fire crackling beneath the marble mantel. A carafe of water sat on the table beside a box of tissues with the quiet menace of something fully expecting to be needed.

Dr. Adler was already seated in one of the armchairs, her notebook resting open across her lap. She gestured toward the sofa opposite. "Please. Make yourself comfortable."

You lowered yourself carefully onto the cushions, one hand supporting the underside of your stomach. "Comfortable stopped being an available position about three weeks ago."

A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Would another cushion help?"

"If you bring me another cushion, Harry will somehow sense it through the wall and order six more." That earned a soft laugh. You adjusted your skirt and glanced toward the closed door. "I still can't believe Eloise actually did that."

"I'm observing that her method was effective," Dr. Adler replied. "Everyone she asked to come arrived."

"Because we thought she was dying."

"Which says something rather lovely about how much she means to all of you."

You narrowed your eyes. "That sounds suspiciously like therapeutic manipulation."

"It sounds like an observation."

"You're going to fit into this family beautifully."

She smiled, letting the joke pass. Instead, her attention drifted briefly—not intrusively—to the curve of your stomach. "Before we discuss your family… how are you feeling? Is everything going well with the pregnancy?"

You rested your palm over the place where one of the babies had been moving throughout the drive. "I'm about as well as anyone five months pregnant with twins can be."

"Tired?"

"Constantly."

"Any pain today?"

"No. Just pressure, backache, occasional insomnia… and two tiny people with very strong opinions about where my internal organs should be."

She nodded. "And emotionally?"

You looked at her. "That feels like a much more expensive question."

"It usually is."

A comfortable silence settled between you.

Then she asked, "Where would you like to begin?"

You gave her a knowing look. "You already know where Eloise wants us to begin."

"She gave me a broad outline."

"And?"

"I'd rather hear your version."

You sighed. "Of course she did." Another quiet pause. "If we're actually doing this…" You drew a slow breath. "Everything started after I moved into Harry's house."

At the time, you had been barely three months pregnant. The babies were still easy enough to hide beneath tailored coats and structured dresses. The nausea wasn't. Neither was the exhaustion. But Queen Financial had only just begun recovering, and the last thing you wanted was for anyone walking into a boardroom to mistake pregnancy for weakness. For weeks, you carried ginger tea in coffee cups and smiled through mornings when simply remaining upright felt like an act of corporate defiance.

"And your mother knew?"

"Everything."

"Was she supportive?"

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "I thought she was."

When you told Scarlet, she'd cried. She'd held your face, kissed your forehead, and told you that after everything you'd survived, you deserved something beautiful. Then, less than twenty-four hours later…

…the conversation became strategy.

"Her first concern wasn't my health. It was the company."

Dr. Adler remained silent.

"Queen Financial was still fragile. Investors were watching everything I did. And she believed a public pregnancy would overshadow the recovery. She thought it would become the only thing people saw."

Scarlet's voice still echoed in your memory.

You cannot announce this yet, darling. Not until the company is stronger.

At first, you'd agreed. It seemed reasonable. Temporary. You'd wait until refinancing was complete. Then the board transition. Then quarterly earnings. There was always another milestone. Another reason to wait.

"How did that make you feel?"

You looked down at your hands. "Like I wasn't carrying two babies. Like I was carrying a liability."

Dr. Adler let the silence sit. "And the wedding?"

You leaned back carefully. "That was worse."

Scarlet had been thrilled when you and Harry found your way back to one another. She'd told you pride wasn't a substitute for love. That you'd regret letting fear choose your future. But once the ring was on your finger…

…and the pregnancy could no longer be hidden…

Everything came with conditions.

You cannot marry him while you're visibly pregnant.

"I honestly thought I'd misheard her."

"What was her reasoning?"

"That Manhattan would turn it into a circus."

Another memory surfaced.

They'll say Harry rescued you, rescued your company, got you pregnant, and rushed you down the aisle before anyone could ask questions.

"None of that was true."

"No," Dr. Adler said quietly. "It wasn't."

You gave a faint smile. "But she wasn't wrong about the headlines."

The smile faded. "She wanted us to wait until after the girls were born."

Twenty minutes later, Scarlet occupied the same sofa.

Her posture was immaculate, one elegant leg crossed over the other. Even now, she looked more like a woman preparing for a board meeting than a therapy session. Dr. Adler closed her notebook from the previous conversation and opened it to a fresh page.

"Tell me what changed from your perspective."

Scarlet folded her hands neatly in her lap. "She finally looked happy."

Dr. Adler waited.

"I had watched my daughter spend years carrying responsibilities that should never have belonged to her. Then she found her way back to Harry. She was expecting twins. She had a future." A faint smile touched Scarlet's lips. "I wanted to protect it."

"And what did protecting it look like to you?"

"Managing the circumstances around it."

"You mean the company."

"Among other things."

Scarlet glanced toward the window before continuing. "Queen Financial had only just survived the worst crisis in its history. Investors were watching everything. I believed one public pregnancy would eclipse everything she had accomplished."

"And the wedding?"

Scarlet didn't hesitate. "I wanted that to belong to them."

Dr. Adler tilted her head slightly. "Ms. Queen remembers it differently."

"I'm aware."

Scarlet let out a slow breath. "I told her she wasn't a spectacle. My concern wasn't the marriage. It was how the world would rewrite it. I wanted her achievements to remain her own."

Silence lingered for a moment. Then Dr. Adler asked quietly, "And what do you think Queen heard?"

Scarlet's brow furrowed.

"I…"

She stopped.

Dr. Adler didn't rescue her. Instead, she simply waited. Scarlet's shoulders lowered almost imperceptibly. "…That I cared more about appearances than about her."

Another pause. "Was she wrong?"

Scarlet didn't answer immediately. Finally… "No." She looked toward the floor. "Not entirely."

Dr. Adler turned back to you. “What happened after that conversation?”

"I stopped telling her things."

Scarlet's response came without hesitation.

"She punished me."

"I set a boundary."

"She excluded me from the pregnancy."

"She knew the babies were healthy."

"She wouldn't let me attend the next scan."

"She tried to relocate my obstetrician to Rhinebeck."

"I suggested an alternative arrangement."

"She had an examination room prepared in the house."

"It was discreet."

"It had a chandelier."

"The chandelier was already there."

Dr. Adler paused.

"And the flowers?"

Scarlet's eyes narrowed slightly. "Medical rooms are unnecessarily bleak."

Back in your session, you looked toward the ceiling. "Do you see what I'm dealing with?"

"I'm beginning to," Dr. Adler admitted.

"The second baby had already been identified as a girl," you continued. "The other refused to cooperate."

Despite yourself, a smile appeared.

"A few days ago… we finally found out."

Dr. Adler smiled back.

"And?"

"Another girl."

The words still warmed something inside you.

Two daughters.

Two tiny heartbeats.

Two entirely different futures already unfolding.

"And you haven't told your mother."

"No."

"Why?"

You looked down at your engagement ring before answering.

"Because I wanted one thing to belong to Harry and me before it became a theme, a luncheon, a guest list… and twelve thousand flowers."

That earned the smallest laugh.

Then Dr. Adler grew thoughtful.

"So withholding that information became a boundary."

"It did."

"And it remained one?"

"For a while."

"And after that?"

You hesitated.

"…Maybe it stopped being only a boundary."

"A little?"

You sighed.

"Moderately."

One corner of Dr. Adler's mouth lifted.

"Elegantly punitive."

Despite yourself…

You laughed.

"So Harry wasn't exaggerating."

"Oh?"

"He told me your sense of humor usually appears about twenty minutes after your honesty."

You smiled despite yourself.

"He's annoyingly perceptive."

"I've noticed."

Dr. Adler closed the notebook.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Finally, she said,

"I'd like to ask you one last question."

You nodded.

"When Scarlet said she was protecting you…"

"…did any part of you believe her?"

Silence. A long one. Eventually…

"Yes."

"And yet?"

"I didn't need protecting."

"You needed trusting."

Your voice had become barely more than a whisper. "I needed her to trust that I could live my own life."

Dr. Adler nodded once. "I think that's a very important distinction."

She stood, gathering her notebook. "I won't ask you to forgive her today." You looked up. "I don't think either of you is ready for that. But I do think you're both grieving the same relationship."

You frowned. "The same relationship?"

"The one each of you thought you had. And that's usually where healing begins."

By the time Harry took your place on the sofa, Dr. Adler had already filled several pages. She turned to a fresh one and poised her pen above it. “Mr. Castillo. Tell me about your mother.”

Harry settled back, resting one ankle over his knee. “My mother is seeing a man.”

Twenty minutes later, Vivienne answered the same question with visible irritation. “I had dinner with a perfectly respectable gentleman.”

“Four dinners,” Harry said in his own session.

“Three dinners and one lunch.”

“Two lunches.”

Vivienne sighed and looked toward the ceiling. “My son apparently keeps a ledger.”

“There was also a weekend in Connecticut.”

“There were twelve bedrooms in that house,” Vivienne protested.

“That doesn’t make the weekend less concerning.”

“It makes it considerably less intimate.”

“He sent her roses.”

“He is French.”

Harry looked directly at Dr. Adler. “That is not a defense.”

Dr. Adler rested the tip of her pen against the page. “Mr. Castillo, your mother is an autonomous adult.”

“I’m aware.”

“You had the man investigated.”

“Autonomy does not eliminate due diligence.”

"And did your mother ask for your protection?"

"No."

"Then why did you decide she needed it? What are you afraid will happen?"

“He could take advantage of her.”

“Financially?”

“Financially, socially or emotionally. Those things often overlap.”

“And did your mother ask for your protection?”

“No.”

“Then why did you decide she needed it?”

Harry’s fingers moved once against the arm of the sofa. “People rarely ask before something goes wrong.”

“That sounds less like an answer about this man and more like an answer about someone else.”

His eyes lifted to hers. “My father left.”

The words were flat and controlled. Dr. Adler did not immediately begin writing again.

“Your parents divorced?”

“No.”

She paused. “Your mother is still legally married to him?”

“Yes.”

“And yet he has not been part of her life for years.”

“No.”

Harry looked toward the window. “My mother never received an ending. He simply left her with the consequences.”

“And your grandmother?”

Harry’s expression tightened. “She doesn’t remember him.”

“Her own son?”

“Not anymore. We don’t remind her. The last time her condition worsened, the doctors told us to avoid anything that could trigger another episode.”

Dr. Adler regarded him quietly. “So your father’s absence is something the entire family is required to live around, but never fully discuss.”

“That isn’t why we’re here.”

“Perhaps not. But it may explain why another man entering your mother’s life feels less simple to you than it does to her.”

When Dr. Adler later asked Vivienne about Harry’s behavior after Eduardo left, her irritation softened. “He became efficient.”

“That sounds like an unusual response to grief.”

“It was Harry’s response. He dealt with the lawyers, the accounts and every practical problem Eduardo left behind. Sienna was nineteen and furious. Harry called her constantly until she threatened to block him.”

“And you?”

“I was still married to a man who had chosen not to be my husband.”

Vivienne looked down at her hands.

“Harry decided that if Eduardo had abandoned his responsibilities, he would assume all of them.”

“Did you ask him to?”

“No. Harry has never waited to be asked.”

Back in his own session, Dr. Adler said, “Has this new man given you any reason to believe he intends to hurt her?”

“Not yet.”

“So you’re preparing for a betrayal that has not occurred.”

“I’m being cautious.”

Dr. Adler lowered her pen. “Your mother’s marriage never formally ended, your father’s absence cannot be openly discussed around your grandmother, and you have spent years managing the consequences. It makes sense that you want this new relationship verified before you allow yourself to trust it.”

“Allow myself?”

“Yes. Because this is not only about whether your mother trusts him.”

Harry said nothing.

“It’s also about whether you can tolerate her beginning a new life when the old one was never properly closed.”

In Vivienne’s session, Dr. Adler asked, “Does being legally married to Eduardo affect how you feel about seeing someone else?”

Vivienne was silent for a moment. “Sometimes.”

“Guilt?”

“Not toward Eduardo.” Her answer came sharply. “He surrendered any right to ask for loyalty when he left.”

“Then what?”

Vivienne exhaled. “The strangeness of it. Beginning something new when part of my life is still sitting unfinished in a locked room.”

“And Harry knows that.”

“Harry knows everything.” A faint smile touched her mouth. “That is both his best quality and his most exhausting one.”

Later, when Dr. Adler brought them into the room together, Harry sat at one end of the sofa and Vivienne chose the other.

“Harry,” Dr. Adler began, “your mother understands that your actions come from love.”

“And arrogance,” Vivienne added.

“And arrogance,” Dr. Adler allowed. “But she is not asking you to erase the risk. She is asking you to trust her to decide whether it is worth taking.”

Harry looked at his mother. “Does he know you’re still legally married?”

“Yes.”

“Does he know why?”

“Yes.”

“Does he know about Abuela?”

“Only what he needs to know.”

“Has he asked for money?”

“No.”

“Professional introductions?”

“No.”

“Access to the family?”

“No.”

“Has he—”

“Harry.”

He stopped.

Vivienne’s voice softened. “I’m not replacing your father. I’m trying to stop living as though the life he abandoned is the only one I’m allowed to have.”

That silenced him.

After a moment, Harry nodded once. “If something feels wrong, you’ll tell me.”

“Yes.”

“Immediately?”

“Within a reasonable period.”

“Define reasonable.”

Dr. Adler lifted one hand. “No negotiations.”

Harry looked dissatisfied but relented. “Fine.”

“And you will not investigate him further,” Vivienne said.

“I won’t authorize any new investigation.”

“That isn’t the same sentence.”

“It’s the sentence I’m offering.”

“Harry.”

He sighed. “I will not investigate him further.”

“Or ask Ron.”

His silence lasted half a second too long.

Dr. Adler looked at him.  “Or Ron,” he added.

Vivienne’s shoulders eased. She reached over and touched his cheek. “My poor baby boy.”

Harry leaned away. “Mama.”

“You’ve always been so devoted to me.”

“I am forty-six years old.”

“And still my baby.” Vivienne smiled. “When you stop treating me like a helpless abandoned wife, I’ll stop treating you like a worried little boy.”

Harry looked toward Dr. Adler. “Is this therapeutically appropriate?”

She made one final note. “It appears to be working.”

Vivienne patted his cheek again. “My baby boy.”

Harry closed his eyes. “This was a mistake.”

Dr. Adler turned to a fresh page.

Across from her, Mikey settled into the armchair as though he had been waiting his entire life for an audience legally required to listen to him.

"Before we start," he said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile, "everything we say in here stays in here, right? I can tell you anything?"

"Within the boundaries I explained earlier, yes."

She regarded him over the top of her notebook.

"Although I was under the impression we would be discussing your problem."

"I don't have a problem."

"Are you certain? You and Miss Castillo appear to be concealing something from your families."

His smile faltered.

"Did Eloise tell you that?"

"She shared several suspicions."

"That woman missed her calling."

"What was her calling?"

"International espionage." He leaned back with a sigh. "Fine. It was a problem. Mostly."

Dr. Adler waited.

"I realized I liked Sienna." Another pause. "I then tried several strategies that failed spectacularly." She waited again. "And eventually everything worked because of my little sister."

That finally earned a smile. "You asked your sister for advice?"

"I did."

He leaned forward again, lowering his voice. "My little sister is the smartest woman I know. Smarter than my mother. If that sentence leaves this room, I'll deny it under oath."

The corner of Dr. Adler’s mouth curved. “And you asked your sister for advice about Sienna?”

“I did. She told me to stop trying so hard and just be myself.” He leaned back, satisfied. “She was right.”

Twenty minutes later, Sienna occupied the same chair. She looked considerably less pleased by Queen's advice. "I'd never thought of Mikey that way before," she admitted.

"He was funny. Different." A small smile appeared. "But whatever this is… it only started last week."

"What changed?"

"He came to an auction I'd curated." A pause. "Everything went downhill after that."

One Week Earlier

The Belcourt Auction House, Manhattan

The auction room was exactly what wealthy New Yorkers liked to imagine culture looked like—polished wood, quiet lighting, priceless objects behind glass, and enough restrained elegance to justify spending absurd amounts of money.

Mikey wandered through it wearing a burgundy velvet jacket, cropped black trousers, martini-print cashmere socks, tinted glasses, and the cream trilby Sienna would later describe as a personal attack against art.

A numbered paddle rested in one hand.

An open packet of gummy bears occupied the other.

He stopped in front of an abstract painting made up of three black lines.

A member of staff approached.

"A striking piece, isn't it, sir?"

Mikey tilted his head.

"Is it finished?"

"…Yes, sir."

"Good for him."

Then he saw Sienna.

She stood near the front beside the auctioneer, dressed in a sharply tailored dark suit that somehow made everyone around her look underprepared.

His grin appeared before he could stop it.

He had come for her. Entirely for her. Mostly for her. He lifted the paddle and waved. Sienna noticed immediately.

Her expression passed through surprise…

…disbelief…

…suspicion…

…and something softer that disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived.

She gave him the smallest wave in return. Unfortunately… So did the auctioneer.

Genevieve Crane smiled from behind the podium.

Mikey, meanwhile, looked at her with absolutely no recognition. An unfortunate situation… considering she remembered him perfectly.

"Two hundred and eighty thousand from bidder seventy-four."

Mikey blinked.

"What?"

The auctioneer rested one hand beside the gavel.

"Two hundred and ninety thousand on the telephone."

Mikey frowned.

"No, I was waving to—"

"Three hundred thousand from bidder seventy-four."

A ripple spread through the room.

Across the aisle, Sienna's eyes widened.

She shook her head frantically.

Mikey pointed at her.

"No. Her. I was waving at her."

"Three hundred and twenty thousand."

"What? No."

The auctioneer's smile never wavered.

"Three hundred and forty?"

Mikey threw both hands into the air.

"Stop looking at my hands!"

"Three hundred and forty thousand from bidder seventy-four."

Sienna mouthed,

Put. The paddle. Down. You idiot.

Mikey stared at the paddle as though it had betrayed him personally.

He shoved it inside his jacket.

The auctioneer waited.

The room fell silent.

"Three hundred and forty thousand, once."

Mikey cautiously raised one finger.

"Can I ask a question?"

"Three hundred and sixty thousand."

"Oh, come on."

"Three hundred and sixty thousand, once."

Sienna covered her face.

"Twice."

Mikey looked at her helplessly.

The gavel struck.

"Sold."

Polite applause echoed through the room.

Mikey remained frozen. "What did I buy?"

The gentleman beside him closed his catalogue. "A seventeenth-century Venetian cristallo marriage goblet."

Mikey stared at the stage.

"Singular?"

"Yes."

"For three hundred and sixty thousand dollars?"

"Plus buyer's premium."

He closed his eyes.

"…I don't know what that means."

The moment the auction ended, Mikey headed straight for the auctioneer.

"Excuse me."

She looked up pleasantly.

"Yes?"

"There has been a terrible misunderstanding."

"Has there?"

"I was waving."

"You raised your paddle."

"To say hello."

"Several times."

"Because you kept selling me things."

"I sold you one thing."

"For the price of an apartment."

She smiled.

"You should probably familiarize yourself with auction procedure, Mr. Queen."

A beat.

"Although I suppose rules have never been your strength."

Mikey frowned.

"…Do we know each other?"

Sienna stopped walking. The auctioneer laughed once. "Typical Mikey."

Recognition finally dawned. "…Genevieve?"

Her smile vanished. "Oh. So you do remember."

"Fuck."

"Perhaps the rules of an auction slipped your mind…

the same way the woman you left alone in a hotel suite apparently did."

Sienna quietly turned away and began speaking to another member of staff.

"Hey."

Mikey hurried after her.

"That was six years ago."

"I was a different person."

She didn't even look at him.

Behind them…

Genevieve smiled.

Mikey slowly turned back toward her. "You vindictive witch."

"You just ruined everything."

Two attendants approached carrying the goblet on a velvet tray.

It was breathtaking. Centuries old. Delicate. Beautiful.

Mikey looked at it with absolutely no emotional attachment.

"Congratulations, Mr. Queen."

"Shall we process the purchase through the Queen Foundation account?"

Mikey closed his eyes. "…Of course it's the foundation account."

He looked at the goblet. "…Well. I bought it. So it's mine."

He reached into his coat… removed the packet of gummy bears… and tipped them directly into the three-hundred-year-old Venetian goblet.

Silence. Genevieve stared. "That object has survived three centuries."

"And now it has purpose."

The administrator held the tablet toward Mikey again. As he prepared to sign, Genevieve leaned closer.

“Try not to forget this one by morning, Mr. Queen. It cost considerably more than the women you leave behind.”

Mikey’s hand stopped above the screen.

He looked at her for a moment, then lowered the stylus. “One second.”

He took out his phone and started a video call. "You asked for it."

The screen rang twice before you appeared. You were seated somewhere bright in a silk blouse, one hand resting beneath the pronounced curve of your stomach. Yuliana stood beside you with a tray of tea.

“Mikey.”

“Hey, baby sister. You look beautiful. Radiant. Glowing.”

“What did you do?”

“That’s hurtful. You don’t even know why I’m calling.”

“You only call me ‘baby sister’ when money, police, or bodily injury are involved.”

“Technically, none of those.”

Dr. Adler interrupted the story. “You called Ms. Queen—your sister?”

Mikey nodded. “She was the only person who could get me out of it.”

“And she did?”

A proud grin spread across his face. “Without even setting foot in the building.”

Mikey turned the phone toward Genevieve. "Someone would like a word."

Genevieve took one look at the screen. "…Queen." Her face fell. "Shit."

Mikey held the phone closer anyway.

The change in your face was almost imperceptible. Your posture remained relaxed and your voice gentle, but every trace of warmth disappeared.

“Genevieve, darling. Listen carefully, because I am five months pregnant with identical twins, I slept for approximately three hours, one of them has mistaken my ribs for a rehearsal studio, and the other appears to be conducting experiments on my bladder. What little patience I have left is reserved for members of my immediate family.”

Yuliana nodded solemnly behind the phone.

Genevieve raised her chin. “Your brother placed a valid bid. He should know the rules.”

“My brother should know many things—auction procedure, women’s names, and when to stop wearing that hat among them. His intellectual limitations are not the matter presently under review.”

Mikey looked offended.

You continued without acknowledging him. “The auction was recorded. Your staff saw him attempting to correct the bid. Half the room watched you accelerate the increments while addressing a registered bidder with whom you have an undisclosed personal history.”

Genevieve’s expression faltered. “That has nothing to do with—”

“It has everything to do with professional conduct. Do not mistake my brother’s stupidity for an opportunity.”

“Hey, sister-” Mikey protested.

You ignored him.

“Michael may be an idiot, but he is our idiot. You used a charity auction to settle a six-year-old grievance with a man who did not even remember you well enough to understand that he was being punished.”

Genevieve’s face flushed.

You studied her for another second. “Also, whatever you’ve been earning by selling antiques to harmless fools appears to have been reinvested in self-tanner. That was an unfortunate decision. The shade is less Saint-Tropez and more decorative terracotta.” Yuliana tilted her head, considered Genevieve on the screen, and nodded again. “And is that Valentino from four seasons ago?” you continued. “Genevieve, honestly. If you intend to humiliate my family in public, at least don’t do it dressed like an archived press sample.”

Sienna’s eyebrows rose.

Mikey beamed at the phone as though you had complimented him personally.

“That is insulting,” Genevieve said.

“No. It is embarrassing. There is a difference.”

Your hand moved over your stomach as one of the babies shifted. “Here is what happens next. You void the sale, apologize to Mr. Queen for the misunderstanding, and return the goblet to its case before he attempts to serve breakfast cereal in it.”

Mikey glanced at the gummy bears. “I wouldn’t use milk.” You gave him a look. He closed his mouth.

Genevieve folded her arms. “And if Belcourt refuses?”

Your smile appeared—small, beautiful, and lethal. “Then the Queen Foundation will dispute the transaction, suspend its annual patronage, and request a formal ethics review into why a senior auctioneer accepted repeated accidental gestures as bids from a former sexual partner without disclosing the conflict.” Genevieve’s lips parted.

“I am currently carrying the future beneficiaries of both the Queen and Castillo families and, regrettably, I am one of the most discussed women in Manhattan. If I say this was personal retaliation disguised as a charitable transaction, by breakfast every board member, donor, and consignor attached to Belcourt will know exactly which phrase to repeat.”

Silence fell around the podium.

Mikey slowly selected another gummy bear.

You tilted your head. “Have I explained the available options clearly?”

Genevieve swallowed. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Ms. Queen.”

“Wonderful. I knew we would understand one another.” Your smile vanished as smoothly as it had appeared. “Yuliana, end the call before she mistakes any more of my attention for social relevance.”

“I love you, baby sister,” Mikey called quickly. “Take care of my nieces.”

“Try taking care of your own reputation for the rest of the day.”

The screen went dark.

Genevieve turned toward the administrator. “Void lot forty-seven.”

The attendants took the goblet from Mikey. Before surrendering it, he scooped the gummy bears out with one hand and dropped them into his mouth.

From across the room, Sienna laughed.

She finished her conversation and walked toward him, glancing once at Genevieve and the retreating attendants. “Let me guess. Queen fixed it?”

“Yes.” Mikey removed his tinted glasses. “Sienna, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.”

“For putting gummy bears in a three-hundred-year-old Venetian goblet?”

“No. Well, partially.” He glanced down at the paddle still protruding from his jacket. “I came to an auction you curated because I wanted to support you, and somehow I made the entire thing about me.”

“That does seem to happen around you.”

“I know.” His confidence disappeared for the first time that afternoon. “But I came because of you. I care about you. More than a little, actually. And when I’m around you, my hands apparently stop communicating with my brain, and then I forget what I meant to say, and—”

Sienna began to laugh again.

Mikey frowned. “This feels like a vulnerable moment.”

“You really are unlike anyone I’ve ever met, Mikey.” She shook her head. “I told you to put the paddle down, and instead you hid it inside your jacket and kept raising your fingers.”

“I panicked.”

“That was obvious.”

“Does the fact that you’re laughing mean you forgive me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What if I buy you dinner?”

Sienna looked at him for a moment. “One dinner.”

By the time everyone returned to the sitting room, the April light beyond the tall windows had begun to fade, softening the edges of Rhinebeck into shades of blue and gold.

Without anyone consciously deciding it, everyone drifted back to the same places.

You settled beside Harry. His hand found yours immediately, his thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles. He didn't ask how your session had gone. Somehow, the gesture promised he would—later, when the answer belonged only to the two of you.

Across from you, Scarlet sat with the same composed posture she always carried into difficult conversations. This time, however, when your eyes met, neither of you looked away.

Beside her, Vivienne crossed one elegant leg over the other. She still looked faintly offended by several events of the afternoon, but no longer refused to acknowledge Harry's existence.

Harry gave her the smallest nod.

It wasn't quite an apology. It wasn't forgiveness. But it was a beginning.

Sienna chose the armchair nearest the fireplace.

Mikey sat on its broad arm without asking.

She looked up at him and, for the first time all day, didn't tell him to move.

Dr. Adler closed her notebook.

"I've heard four very different stories today," she began. "But they've all led me to the same conclusion."

The room grew quiet. "When this family is frightened, none of you asks for control." She looked around the room. "You simply take it." Harry lowered his eyes. Scarlet folded her hands. Vivienne's expression softened almost imperceptibly. Mikey suddenly found the pattern in the rug fascinating. "You investigate." She looked at Harry. "You plan." Scarlet. "You withhold." Your turn. "And sometimes…" her gaze shifted toward Mikey and Sienna, "…you attempt to solve problems before anyone has admitted they're problems."

Mikey slowly raised a finger.

"I feel mildly targeted."

"You should."

A ripple of laughter moved through the room. Even Harry smiled.

Dr. Adler waited until the laughter faded.

"Every one of you described those choices as protection."

She paused. "The person on the receiving end experienced them as control."

Silence settled once more. "I'd like each of you to try something different."

No one spoke. "The next time you're frightened for someone you love… ask them what they need before deciding for them."

Nobody argued.

For this family…

…that alone felt like remarkable progress.

The door opened.

Eloise stepped inside, carrying her cane less as a walking aid and more as a symbol of authority.

She surveyed the room carefully.

No one appeared to be crying.

No one appeared ready to disown anyone.

She gave a satisfied nod.

"Bueno." She tapped the floor once with her cane. "Enough emotional growth for one afternoon." A beat. "Dinner is ready."

"And if any of you start another family crisis before the soup…"

"…I'll schedule a second therapist."

Mikey stood immediately. "What kind of soup?"

"The kind you'll eat."

"That still doesn't narrow it down."

Sienna quietly caught the back of his jacket before he could continue and steered him toward the hallway.

Scarlet and Vivienne followed together, their conversation noticeably quieter than it had been only an hour earlier.

Harry rose beside you, offering his hand.

Once you were standing securely, his palm settled against the small of your back.

"Ready?"

You nodded. "Starving."

"Good."

"I intend to steal at least half your dessert."

"You always do."

"I know."

Together, you followed the others into the corridor. Within moments the sitting room fell silent. Almost.

Dr. Adler slipped her notebook into her leather bag and reached for her coat. A discreet knock interrupted her. The door opened just enough for Ron to step inside before quietly closing it again.

He remained standing. "May I ask you something?"

Dr. Adler smiled faintly. "Is this about the family?"

"No."

"Good."

She gestured toward the empty sofa. "Then it's probably about you."

"I'd prefer not to turn this into a session. If a man has never had a serious relationship but his current girlfriend wishes to get married and he doesn't believe he's ready…" He adjusted his cuff. "…there also happens to be a childhood friend."

Dr. Adler considered him for a moment. "Does your girlfriend know you're emotionally preoccupied with someone else?"

"No."

"Then you shouldn't agree to marry her."

"And the childhood friend?"

"Do you want a future with her or is she simply a safe possibility that allows you to postpone making a difficult decision?"

Ron frowned. "How does one determine that?"

"By telling both women the truth."

He looked genuinely disappointed. "That sounds unnecessarily human."

From somewhere down the corridor came Eloise's unmistakable voice.

"¡Ronald! Harry is already answering emails at the dinner table!"

Ron reached for the doorknob. "This conversation never happened." "¡Ronald!"

"I'm coming, Mrs. Castillo."

The door closed behind him.

April 23rd

A week after Rhinebeck, Queen Financial had settled into a rhythm that was not quite normal, but no longer felt like an emergency. Gerard called every morning with whatever developments he believed required your attention. Dana sent carefully filtered briefings twice a day, having apparently decided anything capable of raising your blood pressure required written authorization before reaching you. Emily and Chloe phoned almost daily, supposedly to discuss work and inevitably ending with questions about the twins, your appetite, and whether Harry had yet attempted to place you under medically supervised house arrest. He hadn't. Technically. By Friday evening, your final call with Gerard had lasted twelve minutes longer than promised. “The revised projections are in your inbox,” he said through the speaker. “You don’t need to look at them tonight.” “You sent them to me tonight.” “I sent them so you would know they exist.” “And now that I know they exist, you expect me not to open them?” “Yes.” “That’s an unreasonable understanding of my personality.” From the other end of the sofa, Harry calmly reached over and removed the phone from your hand. “We’re done,” he said. Gerard did not hesitate. “Thank you, Harry.” “You’re both becoming intolerable,” you informed them. “Monday morning,” Gerard replied. “Good night, Ms. Queen.” The call ended before you could object. Harry placed your phone facedown on the coffee table, well beyond your immediate reach. You looked at him. He looked back. “That was hostile.” “That was twelve minutes past your own deadline.” “I was receiving information about my company.” “You were reorganizing the executive committee from the sofa.” “They needed reorganizing.” “They’ll still need it on Monday.” You narrowed your eyes. Harry had already picked up the television remote. “No more work tonight.” “What are we doing instead?” “Watching a movie.” He moved closer and began scrolling. “No.” You glanced at the screen. “What’s wrong with that one?” “Home invasion.” “It’s listed as a romantic comedy.” “I checked the parents’ guide.” “You checked the parents’ guide?” “I’m being thorough.” You laughed. “Harry.” He ignored you and continued scrolling. Finally he stopped. “This one.” You looked at him suspiciously. “Have you already researched it?” “IMDb. Two reviews. Parents’ guide.” “…Of course you did.” The poster showed two people standing beneath strings of lights beside the sea. “A woman returns to the coastal town where she grew up,” Harry read. “She meets a man renovating an old hotel.” You considered it. Harry nodded once. “No violence. No blood. No psychological torment.” “Finally.” He pressed play. As the opening credits rolled, he stood. “Where are you going?” “Popcorn.” “With actual salt?” He gave you a look. “I’ll be right back.” You settled deeper into the cushions he had arranged behind your back. A minute later Harry returned carrying a large bowl of popcorn. He sat beside you, glanced at the curve of your stomach, and carefully balanced the bowl on top of it. You looked down. Then slowly back at him. “I’m carrying your children.” “I’m appreciating the engineering.” “You’re using me as furniture.” “You’re beautiful in every form, baby.” Before you could answer, he leaned over and kissed you, slow and gentle. You reached for the popcorn.

Your face fell almost immediately. “There’s a rumor of salt.” “We’re watching your sodium.” You sighed dramatically. “This family has become a dictatorship.” The film began exactly as promised. It was gentle, romantic, and occasionally funny without trying too hard. The heroine inherited a weathered seaside hotel. The hero knew how to repair everything except his own emotionally guarded heart. Harry disliked him immediately. “He should tell her why he left.” “It’s been twenty minutes.” “He has already created unnecessary confusion.” You smiled. “That’s how films work.” By the middle of the film, your head had settled against Harry’s shoulder while his fingers moved absentmindedly along your arm. Beneath the blanket, your stomach gave a sudden, unmistakable ripple. Harry looked down immediately. Another tiny movement answered beneath the fabric.

He smiled, leaned over, kissed your stomach, and rested his palm gently over it. “Easy, girls,” he murmured. “We’re trying to watch a movie with your mother.” Another kick answered beneath his hand. You considered it seriously. “I think they want pistachios.” “Five minutes ago they wanted popcorn.” “They changed their minds.” “They’re growing.” “…Fair enough.” He started to stand. You caught his hand. “The roasted ones.” “The roasted ones.” “And bring the whole bag.” Harry bent to kiss your forehead. “One full bag of roasted pistachios coming right up.” As he disappeared toward the kitchen, you settled deeper into the cushions, both hands curving around your stomach as though congratulating the girls on another successful negotiation. On the screen, the film drifted quietly toward its conclusion. The hotel had been restored.

Something tightened painfully behind your ribs. Before you understood why, your vision blurred. One tear escaped. Then another. Within seconds they were falling too quickly to hide. Harry turned immediately. “Hey.” You wiped beneath your eyes, only making the tears worse. “Hey, hey…” He set the popcorn aside at once, his hand instinctively finding your stomach. “What happened? Are you hurting?” You shook your head. “The babies?” “No.” “Then why are you crying, baby?” You pointed helplessly toward the television. “The movie.” Harry looked at the screen, then back at you. “The movie?” “They're just…” Your voice cracked. “They're just getting married.” He stayed quiet. “They're just doing it.” Another tear slipped free. “There isn't a wedding planner shouting into a headset. No ballroom booked two years in advance. No security outside checking guest lists.” You swallowed hard. “No board wondering whether the timing is strategically responsible. No journalists deciding what the wedding means for my company. No headlines about my dress, my body, or whether marrying you affects the markets on Monday.” Harry didn't interrupt. On the screen, the couple exchanged vows while the ocean rolled gently behind them. “They're just getting married,” you whispered again. “They get to live it before the rest of the world starts talking about it.” Harry reached up and gently brushed another tear from your cheek. “Oh, baby.” A shaky laugh escaped you. “I know. I'm crying over a fictional beach wedding.” “I don't think that's why you're crying.” You looked back at the television. The bride had slipped off her shoes. Her guests were laughing. The waves reached the edge of the aisle.

“I don't think I want all of it anymore.” “All of what?” “The spectacle.” The word hung quietly between you. “For years I thought that if I ever got married again, it had to be… perfect.” You gave a tiny, humorless smile. “Perfect enough to justify everything that came before it.” Harry remained silent, listening. “But watching this…” Your eyes drifted back to the screen. “It just looks… peaceful.” You leaned against him a little more. “I don't want our wedding to become public property before we've even lived it.” His hand tightened gently around yours. “I don't want to spend the day wondering which photograph they'll print first… or what the markets will do on Monday.” “You won't.” “We can't control that.” “No,” Harry said softly. “But we can control what we choose to give them.” You lifted your head to look at him. “I want one thing that's ours first.” A pause. “Before anyone turns it into a headline.” Harry studied you for several quiet seconds. “Do you want a beach?” Despite the tears, you smiled. “Maybe.” “Barefoot?” You looked back at the television. “Let's not become primitive.” A laugh escaped him. “Fair.” The newlyweds ran laughing toward the water while their friends chased after them. You watched them for another moment before speaking again. “Besides… Scarlet and Vivienne already decided we should wait until after the girls are born.” Harry listened. “That's still months away.” You looked down at your stomach. “And by then everyone will spend the entire wedding talking about the babies instead of us.” He brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You're the one who said you didn't want to be a bride with an enormous stomach.” “I know.” Your voice softened. “But if it were something like this…” You glanced back toward the beach on the screen. “Small. Quiet. Just family.” A tiny smile appeared. “I don't think I'd care.” You looked at him again. “Everything in my life has to happen in front of an audience simply because I'm a Queen.” Your hand drifted toward the small bowl on the coffee table. It was empty. You stared into it for a long second. “The pistachios are gone.” Your face crumpled all over again. Harry looked from the empty bowl to you just as another sob escaped. “Oh, no.” He cupped your cheek immediately. “Shh, baby. Don't cry.” “I wanted more.” “I'll order more.” “Two bags.” “Two bags.” “And the lemon sorbet.” He had already unlocked his phone. “And those thin crackers Dana brought last week.” His thumb moved across the screen. “Added.” “And strawberries.” He glanced up. “You said pistachios.” “The situation has developed.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Clearly.” “And chocolate-covered pretzels.” “Anything else?” You frowned thoughtfully, genuinely considering the question. “…The little tangerines.” Harry added them without another word before setting the phone aside. “Everything's coming. ” He drew you gently back against his chest. “Now breathe for me.” You nodded, still sniffling as you wiped beneath your eyes. “I’m fine.” A pause. “It’s just the hormones.” His lips brushed the top of your head. “Our wedding will be beautiful, baby.” You curled closer against him. “However we do it.” “Okay,” you whispered. The movie continued quietly in the background, but neither of you was really watching anymore.

Harry's fingers moved slowly through your hair until your breathing gradually steadied. Only then did his eyes drift back toward the television. The bride and groom were laughing barefoot beneath the driftwood arch. No ballroom. No photographers. No headlines. Just the people they loved. Harry watched in silence. His gaze lingered on the weathered wooden arch… the shoreline… the small gathering of family and friends. Then something almost imperceptible softened in his expression. A thought. Nothing more. He said nothing. He simply looked back down at you, asleep against his shoulder, one hand resting protectively over the gentle curve of your stomach. A faint smile appeared.

The Following Morning Chez Akiko

The restaurant had not yet opened for lunch, but the table nearest the kitchen was already occupied by six people who had been summoned with varying degrees of urgency and almost no useful explanation. Emily sat at the head of the table with coffee in front of her. Chloe had arrived carrying two garment bags and the conviction that every crisis could be improved with appropriate tailoring. Dana was answering emails beneath the table, while Ron had placed a leather folder beside his plate and appeared to be the only person who had anticipated an agenda. Mikey was eating something the kitchen had not officially served him. Harry remained standing. “We need to plan a wedding.” Everyone stopped. Mikey lowered the croissant in his hand. “Whose?” Harry looked at him. Mikey considered the question. “Right. Context clues.” Emily leaned back in her chair. “You and Queen are already getting married. After the babies are born.” “Scarlet and Vivienne have interviewed three event planners,” Chloe added. “One of them presented a forty-page proposal for the flowers alone.” Dana finally looked up from her phone. “The preliminary date is being held for late summer.” “And an entire team of professionals is supposed to organize it,” Emily said. “So why are we here?” Harry placed both hands against the back of the empty chair in front of him. “I’m not talking about that wedding.” The table went quiet again. Mikey slowly set down his croissant. “There are two weddings now?” “Technically, yes,” Harry said. Chloe narrowed her eyes. “What exactly are you planning?” “Something private. This weekend.” Six faces turned toward him. Even Ron blinked.

Emily slowly placed her coffee on the table. “Harry, it’s Thursday.” “I’m aware.” “You want us to arrange a wedding in two days?” “A small one.” “Rich people always say that,” Emily said, “before describing a small country.” “No ballroom, no hotel, no press. No guest list beyond the people in this room and immediate family.” Emily studied him. “What changed?” Harry looked down at the table. “We watched a movie last night. There was a wedding on a beach.” He paused, remembering the way your voice had broken when you said the couple had simply been allowed to marry. “She said she didn’t want ours to become public property before we’d had the chance to live it.” The room grew quieter. “No reporters,” he continued. “No analysts deciding what our marriage means for the companies. No photographs released before she chooses them.

She wants something that belongs to us.” “A private beach wedding,” Emily said softly. “Yes.” “Just friends and family.” “Yes.” “And Queen doesn’t know.” “No.” Mikey raised one finger. “Are you sure we’re talking about my sister? She used to plan her wedding while she was still in elementary school.” “I can confirm that,” Chloe said. “There were sketches.” “Sounds like her,” Emily agreed. Ron glanced down at his folder. “Ms. Queen being the only person unaware of her own wedding presents a significant degree of risk.” “Her hormones have made her more emotional lately,” Harry said. “She cried last night because the pistachios ran out.” Emily sighed. "Aw." “Oh, poor thing,” Chloe murmured. “My sister cried during a comedy when she was pregnant with my niece,” Dana added. “No one in the movie was even sad.” “Fine. Whatever she wants, we give her,” Emily said. Harry’s expression remained serious. “That doesn’t mean we decide for her. I’m not bringing her to a wedding and expecting her to perform because everyone is waiting. I’ll show her what I arranged and ask whether she wants to marry me that day. If she says no, the officiant leaves, we have dinner on the beach, and no one makes her feel guilty.” Emily nodded once. “If she says yes,” Harry continued, “everything needs to be ready.” Mikey looked at Harry. “Where exactly is this happening? And how are you telling our mothers? Because mine is not going to celebrate being excluded from wedding planning.” “Scarlet and my mother will be told last.” Ron opened the leather folder. “A sound security decision.” The planning moved quickly after that. Ron would secure a private beach, confidentiality agreements, transport and discreet security. Dana would clear your calendar without making the absence too obvious. Emily took charge of dinner, cake and a small reception, while Chloe handled the flowers and overall design. Then Chloe tapped her pen against the table. “We still have one significant problem.” Everyone looked at her. “The dress.” Harry’s attention sharpened. “What about it?” “She’s carrying twins. Her old measurements are useless, and her body is changing every week. I can’t fit a gown correctly by guessing.” Mikey added. “The dress is important, man. Those hormones can turn into rage when she looks at the photographs ten years from now. I’m warning you in advance.” Chloe pointed her pen at him. “For once, he’s right. We have very little time to make something beautiful and unforgettable.” “How quickly can you do it?” Emily asked.

“I can alter an existing gown if I have accurate measurements tonight. Soft structure, an empire waist, room around her stomach—nothing restrictive.” Chloe turned to Harry. “I need her shoulders, shoulder to floor, bust, underbust and the fullest point around her stomach.” Mikey sat back, delighted. “You’re going to measure a sleeping pregnant woman without telling her why. That may be the most dangerous plan I’ve heard today.” Harry stared at Chloe. “There’s no other way?” “You could tell her.” “No.” “Yuliana could possibly do it,” Ron suggested. Harry shook his head immediately. “No. I’ll do it.” Chloe tore a page from her notebook and slid it across the table. “These measurements. In inches. Don’t pull the tape tight.” Harry studied the instructions as though they described an unfamiliar explosive device. “I’ll handle it.” Ron closed his folder. “I recommend waiting until she’s asleep.” “Thank you, Ron."

That evening, Yuliana met Harry outside his study and lowered her voice as though reporting a delicate security matter. “She fell asleep upstairs.” “In bed?” “She said she was only going to rest for ten minutes.” A small smile touched Yuliana’s mouth. “She was listening to classical music.” Harry glanced toward the staircase, then at the flexible measuring tape concealed in his hand. Perfect. Or as close to perfect as this plan was likely to become. He opened the bedroom door carefully and stepped inside. The curtains had been drawn against the evening light, leaving the room dim and quiet except for the faint piano music escaping from one of the wireless earbuds in your ears. You were asleep on your side, one hand tucked beneath your cheek and the other curved protectively over your stomach. The second earbud had fallen onto the pillow beside you.

Your phone rested on the nightstand, still playing the same gentle piece on repeat. Harry stood beside the bed for several seconds, simply looking at you. Then he unfolded the list Chloe had sent him. This should have been easy. Harry had negotiated acquisitions involving several governments. He had once completed a merger while both legal teams threatened to walk away. He regularly managed people who considered compromise a moral failing. He could measure his sleeping fiancée. Carefully, he sat on the edge of the mattress and removed the remaining earbud from your ear. You made a quiet sound and shifted deeper into the pillow. Harry froze. Your breathing remained even. The first measurement was uncomplicated. He placed one end of the tape near your shoulder and extended it gently across your back, recording the number in his phone.

Shoulder to floor required an approximation from the side of the bed. Chloe had specifically written that an imperfect number was preferable to waking you, although Harry suspected she had not fully considered what would happen if you woke and found him standing over you with tailoring equipment. The underbust measurement was next. Harry stared at the instruction. Then at you. Then back at the instruction. The circumference of your stomach seemed safer. Harry lifted the edge of the blanket and passed the tape carefully around the fullest curve, reaching beneath your side to bring the ends together. Your eyes opened. Harry stopped breathing. You blinked down at the measuring tape wrapped around your stomach, then slowly raised your gaze to him. “Harry.” Your voice was rough with sleep. “What—what are you doing?” “Nothing.” You stared at him.

He was sitting beside you with a measuring tape in both hands. “Nothing?” “I can explain.” “Are you measuring my waist?” Your voice rose sharply as you pushed yourself upright, shock and hurt chasing the last traces of sleep from your face. “No—no, baby. Not like that.” You pulled the tape from his hands and looped it loosely around the back of his neck before he could react. “Harry Castillo, I will strangle you with this.” “Baby, wait.” “You measured me while I was asleep?” “It isn’t what you think.” “What do I think?” “That I was—” “Checking how much weight I’ve gained?” Harry’s expression changed immediately. “No. Absolutely not.” “How many inches was it?” Your eyes began to shine. “I’ve gotten huge, haven’t I?” “No.” “You hesitated.” “I didn’t hesitate.” “You looked terrified.” “Because you threatened to kill me.” “With a fabric tape. You would’ve survived.” The first tear slipped down your cheek. Another followed before you could wipe it away. “I knew I’d gained too much weight.” Your voice broke. “I look awful, don’t I? I’ve become enormous and ugly.” Harry gently removed the tape from around his neck and dropped it onto the carpet. “That is complete nonsense.” He moved closer and cupped your face between his hands. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.” More tears spilled down your cheeks. Harry wiped them away with his thumbs, his voice softening further. “You’re carrying our daughters. Your body is changing because it’s making room for two people. There is nothing ugly about you. Not one thing.”

You sniffed and looked down at your stomach. “My face is puffy.” “You’re beautiful.” “My ankles are swollen.” “Still beautiful.” “None of my clothes fit.” “I’ll buy you new ones.” “That isn’t the point.” You opened your mouth to continue, but a sudden yawn interrupted you. Your shoulders sagged as quickly as your anger had risen. “I’m so tired.” The abrupt change left Harry staring at you. “I just want to sleep.” His expression softened with relief and guilt in equal measure. “Okay, baby. Sleep.” You lay down again, then caught his wrist before he could move away. “Stay.” “I’m here.” You pulled his arm against your chest and settled around it, resting your cheek near his shoulder. So many emotions had passed through you in the space of a few minutes—anger, humiliation, tears and exhaustion—that Harry could not stop himself from feeling responsible for every one of them. “Will you stroke my hair?” you asked sleepily. “Of course.” His fingers moved gently through your hair, smoothing it away from your face. Every few moments, he bent and pressed a quiet kiss to your temple. Your breathing gradually slowed. “Harry?” “I’m here, baby.” “Don’t measure me again.” “I won’t.” Harry looked down at you suspiciously, but a faint sleepy smile touched your mouth before disappearing. Within moments, your breathing deepened. Harry continued stroking your hair long after you had fallen asleep. At first, he intended to remain for only a minute. Then five. Your fingers stayed curled firmly around his wrist, and every attempt to move made you shift closer. Eventually, Harry lay down beside you fully dressed, one arm trapped beneath your head and the other resting over your stomach. One of the babies moved beneath his palm. A quiet smile crossed his face. “Easy,” he whispered. “Your mother has already threatened me once tonight.” Twenty minutes later, his trapped arm had gone completely numb. He endured another ten. Then a faint snore escaped you. Harry looked down. Your lips had parted slightly, your head angled back against his arm. The snoring had appeared with the pregnancy and grew louder whenever you were exhausted—something you denied with absolute conviction every morning. Another soft snore followed. Harry smiled. “You’d call me a liar if I told you.” He gently touched beneath your chin and turned your head slightly toward the pillow, just as he had on countless nights before. The sound stopped almost immediately. You murmured something indistinct. Harry froze. “Harry…” He bent and kissed your hair. “I’m right here.” Your fingers loosened around his wrist, and your breathing settled again. Moving slowly, Harry reached down for the tape. He passed it around your stomach once more, careful not to pull it tight. When the ends met, he secured the exact point beneath one finger and eased the tape away without losing the measurement. This time, you did not wake. Harry carefully freed his arm, replacing it with the pillow before sitting up. He opened his phone, added the final number to his notes, and sent the measurements to Chloe.

Harry: This is everything I could get. Her reply arrived almost immediately. Chloe: Did she wake up? Harry: Briefly. Chloe: Are you alive? His gaze returned to you. You were sleeping peacefully again, one hand spread across your stomach, your mouth beginning to fall open. Harry: Barely.

He set the phone on the nightstand and watched you for another moment, smiling despite himself.

Saturday Morning

When you opened your eyes, Harry’s side of the bed was empty.

The sheets still held the faint warmth of him, but the room had gone quiet in the particular way it did only when he had been awake for some time. The curtains were partially open, allowing the soft April sunlight to spill across the carpet.

You reached blindly toward his pillow. Nothing.

“Harry?”

No answer came from the bathroom.

You pushed yourself higher against the pillows, one hand automatically settling over the curve of your stomach. “Harry?”

Still nothing.

That was when you noticed the folded card resting against the lamp on his nightstand, placed beside the snow globe.

You reached for it.

Good morning, baby. I have something planned for you. Trust me for a few hours and let Yuliana help you. I’ll see you soon. I love you. H.

You read it twice, then narrowed your eyes at the empty room.

“Trust you with what?”

A soft knock sounded against the bedroom door. Before you could answer, Yuliana stepped inside carrying a tray of tea. Her usually restrained expression had been replaced by a smile she was making very little effort to hide.

You held up the card. “What is happening?”

“I was instructed not to say, Ms. Queen.”

You accepted the tea and took a cautious sip while studying her over the rim of the cup. “You understand that smiling like that only makes you look more suspicious.”

Yuliana glanced at her watch.

“You’re timing me?”

“Perhaps.”

She waited patiently until you finished, then placed the cup aside and offered her hands.

“We should get you up now, Ms. Queen.”

“Why?”

“Several people are waiting for you.”

The way she said it made you immediately suspicious. “Which people?”

Yuliana continued holding out her hands.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Very much.”

With a sigh, you let her help you sit up. One of the babies shifted as you moved, a slow rolling sensation beneath your ribs. You pressed your palm against it. “At least one person in this room should tell me what’s happening.”

“Trokhy terpinnya, Ms. Queen,” Yuliana said gently. “Just a little patience.”

She helped you into your robe, tied it securely around you, then waited while you slipped your feet into your house shoes.

The moment you stepped into the corridor, you heard several voices coming from the dressing room.

You stopped.

Emily appeared first. “Look who’s finally awake.”

“Our Queen has arrived,” Chloe added from behind her.

Emily came directly toward you, placing one hand gently against your stomach. “How are you feeling? And how are these two?”

“We’re confused,” you said. “What are all of you doing in my house?”

“First, breakfast,” Emily said. “There’s a full table waiting.”

“No. First, someone tells me what is happening.”

Chloe exchanged a glance with Emily. “Perhaps it would be easier to show you.”

She opened the dressing-room door.

The room had been transformed.

A small hair and makeup team stood near the windows beside neatly arranged cases and brushes. Fresh white flowers had been placed on the vanity, restrained enough not to resemble one of Scarlet’s productions. Dana stood near the wardrobe holding two phones—yours and her own—while appearing entirely untroubled by the fact that she had confiscated your professional life.

“Good morning, Ms. Queen,” the team greeted.

Your gaze moved from Emily to Dana, then Chloe.

Finally, it settled on the garment bag. “What is that?”

Dana’s smile became dangerously emotional. “Morning, Ms. Queen.”

“What is in the bag?”

The room fell silent.

Emily quietly moved a plate of toast closer to the nearest chair. Dana looked down at the phones.

Chloe reached for the zipper. “Why don’t you take a look?”

She opened the bag.

Soft ivory fabric appeared first, followed by delicate folds of silk, a gracefully structured bodice and a skirt designed to fall around the curve of your stomach without constricting it. There was no excessive beading, cathedral train or rigid corsetry. The fabric caught the morning light with a quiet sheen, elegant without demanding attention.

It looked effortless.

Which meant an extraordinary amount of work had gone into it.

Your breath caught. “Oh, my God. That... looks like—”

A wedding dress.

Not something inspired by one. A real wedding dress. Pinned carefully to the front was another folded card. Chloe removed it and held it toward you. Your fingers trembled slightly as you opened it.

Baby, Chloe and her mother made this for you. I hope it’s close to what you wanted. There’s a car waiting downstairs. At the end of the drive, you’ll find a beach, the people closest to us, and me. I made today possible. Whether we marry here or wait for the wedding they’ve been planning is your decision. I’ll be waiting. H.

You stared at the page until the words began to blur. Then your gaze dropped to the dress again, and understanding arrived all at once.

“Oh, my God, Harry.”

A tear struck the card.

You looked toward Chloe. “That’s why he was measuring me.”

Chloe pressed her lips together, already close to tears herself.

You laughed, covering your mouth as more tears followed. “Oh, that man.”

Emily stood immediately. “Hey.”

“I cannot believe him.”

She placed both hands gently on your arms. “Is that a good cannot believe him?”

You looked down at the note. “He listened to me.”

The words emerged so softly that everyone in the room went still.

Emily’s expression changed. “Yes. He did.”

“And then he made it happen in two days,” Chloe added quietly.

You touched the skirt with your fingertips.

It was beautiful, but not because it was expensive or perfectly made. It was beautiful because nothing about it felt designed for other people to admire.

Harry had remembered the beach, the quiet, the absence of reporters and boards and questions. The moment in the movie when you had cried because two people had been allowed to simply marry each other.

Your face crumpled again.

Chloe hurried toward you. “Oh. I think the crying spell has arrived.”

You nodded, tears already falling.

Emily handed you a tissue. “Get it all out before they start your makeup. This entire team is here to prepare you for today.”

“Then I should wash my face.”

“Yeah.” Emily slipped an arm gently around your waist. “Then you’re eating breakfast, and after that, we’ll get you ready.”

Chloe hesitated. “You do want this, don’t you? Because after five years apart and two babies on the way, I think you two have waited long enough.”

You looked at Chloe, then Dana, Yuliana, and the waiting hair and makeup team.

For one unsteady moment, the reality of it settled over you: a beach, no cameras, no audience, vows spoken before the rest of the world could claim them. Was this really what you wanted?

Then you pictured Harry waiting for you, and the question became almost embarrassingly simple.

Finally, your gaze returned to the dress.

“Yes,” you said. “I want this.”

Bridgehampton

The limousine turned through the gates of the Bridgehampton estate just after four. Beyond the windows, pale dunes gave way to flashes of blue water beneath the soft April sky. The ocean wind moved through the beach grass, bending it toward the private stretch of sand Harry had somehow secured in less than forty-eight hours. Chloe looked mournfully at the view. “The fact that I can’t put any of this on my story is cruel.” “Post one frame and every paparazzi in New York will be outside the gates before we reach the sand,” Emily warned, holding up the one phone Dana had authorized for photographs. “No one posts anything,” you added. “Turn off your location services too.” “They’re already off,” Dana assured you. “Good. Now move closer,” Emily said. Despite her warning, she was already recording, the phone safely on airplane mode. You, Chloe and Dana leaned together while she turned the camera toward you. Yuliana sat opposite, watching with quiet amusement. “Smile,” Emily instructed. “I am smiling,” you said with a laugh as another small movement rolled beneath your hand. “They’re the ones refusing to hold still for the picture.” You glanced at your reflection in the darkened window. “Do I look as nervous as I feel?” “No,” Emily said immediately. “You look radiant.” “Annoyingly beautiful,” Chloe added. Dana nodded. “Exactly as you should.” “Beautiful is insufficient,” Yuliana corrected, studying you with open admiration. “Vy prekrasna (you’re beautiful) Ms. Queen. Prosto neymovirna. (Simply incredible.)” And, inconveniently, they were right. The ivory silk dress fell cleanly from beneath your bust, following the curve of your stomach without trying to conceal it.

Its deep V neckline was softened by delicate embroidery that gathered just above the swell of your belly, while the long skirt moved fluidly around your legs. There was no veil, no heavy train and nothing that required you to become someone else to wear it. You smoothed both hands over your stomach. One of the girls moved beneath your palm. “Apparently they’re as excited as I am.” “They’re half Queen and half Castillo,” Dana said. “Of course they assume the entire event is being held in their honor.” The limousine slowed. Your heartbeat immediately quickened. Emily lowered the phone. “We’re here.”

Down on the beach, Harry checked his watch for what Ron estimated was the ninth time. “She crossed the gate three minutes ago,” Ron said. “She’s here,” Harry replied, and the words came out softer than he intended.

He stood near the small flowered arch in a black tuxedo, his attention fixed on the wooden walkway leading down from the house. Mikey waited beside Ron, while Captain Mateo Alvarez—Richard’s oldest friend and, thanks to Ron’s exhaustive planning, a legally registered officiant—stood nearby with the ceremony papers secured inside his jacket. Sienna adjusted one of the white flowers in her hands. “The florist reinforced the arch. It won’t collapse unless the wind develops personal hostility toward us.” Harry barely heard her. Vivienne approached and straightened his boutonniere, her expression warm with emotion. “Breathe, sweetheart.” “I am breathing.” “You’re waiting aggressively.” Her hand lingered briefly against his lapel. “You get to marry her again. Try to enjoy this part too.” A small smile finally broke through his nerves. Before he could answer, the limousine appeared beyond the dunes. Every conversation stopped. Scarlet immediately moved toward the end of the walkway with Richard beside her. He relied on his cane for balance, his steps slower than they once had been. Scarlet slipped her arm through his without drawing attention to the support she provided. The car came to a stop. Harry went completely still, though from where he stood, the vehicle concealed most of the drive. “They’re here,” Sienna said, already moving. “I’ll go make sure she has everything.” A member of the staff opened the door. Emily stepped out first, followed by Chloe and Dana. Then the attendant offered you his hand. You took it. Emily immediately gathered the skirt so it would not catch beneath your shoes as you carefully stepped onto the stone drive. The ocean breeze caught the silk, pressing it briefly against the curve of your stomach before letting it fall into its clean, graceful lines again. For one suspended moment, no one spoke. Scarlet’s eyes filled before you had taken three steps. “Oh, my baby,” she whispered. “You are so beautiful.” You approached her, and she caught both of your hands. “You too,” you said, looking over her pale blue silk dress, structured hat and entirely unnecessary pearl gloves. “Though you appear to have dressed for a royal garden party.” Scarlet lifted her chin. “I was given forty-eight hours and absolutely no authority. I had to express myself somehow.” Richard sighed beside her. “They’re doing this the way they want, Scarlet.” “I know,” she replied, never taking her eyes from you. “I’m adjusting with remarkable dignity.” You turned toward Richard. “Dad.” His face softened completely.

“My beautiful girl.” His gaze dropped affectionately to your stomach. “How are all three of you?” “Nervous, happy and extremely pregnant.” “That sounds about right.” You hugged him carefully, feeling one of his hands settle against your back. When you pulled away, your gaze dropped briefly to his cane before returning to his face. “You look very handsome.” “I had an important place to be.” Your throat tightened. Before the tears could begin, Mikey appeared and opened his arms. “Baby sister.” He attempted to hug you, only to discover that your stomach reached him first. He looked down between you. “I think your stomach arrived before the rest of you.” “Careful,” you warned. “You’re insulting three Queen women at once.” “I would never.” He bent and spoke toward your stomach. “Your mother has always been this threatening.” You pushed lightly at his shoulder. “Move.” Laughing, Mikey kissed your cheek and stepped aside. Sienna approached carrying a bouquet of white ranunculus, sweet peas and small ivory roses. She placed it gently in your hands before glancing toward the beach. Harry was visible at the other end of the walkway. He had not moved. Even from a distance, you could see the way he was looking at you—as though the rest of the beach had disappeared the moment you stepped from the car. Sienna smiled softly. “Whenever you’re ready.” You took a deep breath, then another, waving your hands to calm your emotions. “Oh, no.” Emily was instantly beside you. “What?” “The crying spell.” She opened her bag and produced a tissue with the speed of a trained emergency responder. Chloe pointed at you. “Do not rub your eyes. We used waterproof makeup, but I refuse to test its limits before the ceremony begins.” “I’m trying not to cry.” “You’re failing beautifully,” Dana said. A laugh escaped through your tears. Emily carefully dabbed beneath one eye. “There. Crisis contained.” Richard moved beside you and offered his arm. You looked at the wooden path stretching across the dunes, then toward Harry waiting at its end. “Are you sure?” you asked softly. Richard straightened, tightening his hand around the top of his cane. “I didn’t spend two months learning to walk across rooms again just to sit down for this part.” Your eyes filled all over again. “Chloe,” you warned. “Ugh, honey breathe,” Chloe said firmly. “We have reached the maximum permitted tears.” Richard smiled and held out his arm once more. “Ready?” You slipped your hand through it, supporting him as subtly as he supported you.

Your gaze returned to Harry. This time, there was no hesitation. “Yes,” you said. “I’m ready."

The first notes of the music drifted across the dunes as you and Richard stepped onto the wooden walkway. Everyone rose. Warm applause followed, unrestrained and familiar. Mikey brought two fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly before stepping directly into the aisle with his phone raised. “Mikey,” Sienna hissed, catching the back of his jacket and pulling him out of the way. “I’m documenting history.” “You’re blocking history.” Laughter moved through the small gathering as he allowed himself to be dragged back beside her, though he continued filming over her shoulder. There were no camera flashes, no reporters calling your name, no phones raised for an audience waiting somewhere beyond the beach. Emily and Chloe recorded from their places, but only so you and Harry could keep the moment. Near the second row, a single videographer followed your progress through a discreet lens, having been warned by Ron so thoroughly that he looked prepared to surrender the camera, memory card and all personal identification at the slightest provocation. Nothing was being broadcast. Nothing had to become public before it belonged to you. The aisle was not lined with investors, board members or distant relatives invited out of obligation. There were only two short rows of chairs, and every person standing beside them was someone whose face you knew well enough to read without effort. Scarlet was already crying behind the sunglasses she had apparently worn to prevent exactly that. Vivienne held one hand over her heart, her expression radiant. Ron remained beside Dana, who was wiping beneath one eye while pretending to inspect Emily’s recording. Lara stood near Scarlet, openly crying without attempting to disguise it, while Yuliana watched you with quiet pride. They were all family. Some had witnessed the first marriage and the way it had broken. Some had arrived later, carrying you through the strange, tender work of finding your way back to one another. But every person standing there had seen enough to understand what this moment meant. They had seen the love, the damage, the silence, the repair—and they had stayed. The realization settled warmly beneath your ribs. Your free hand moved instinctively over your stomach. One of the girls shifted beneath your palm, followed by the faintest answering movement from her sister. You smiled down at them. Richard glanced toward you. “All right?” “More than all right.” The boards of the narrow aisle beneath your low ivory heels were dusted with sand carried over them by the wind.

Beyond the gathering, the Atlantic stretched endlessly blue beneath the afternoon sky, its waves folding softly against the shore and filling the spaces between the music. Then you looked ahead. Harry stood on a low wooden platform beneath the simple arch of white flowers. For one dangerous second, you nearly missed a step. He wore a perfectly cut black tuxedo, the ocean breeze moving lightly through his hair. A white ranunculus and a small sprig of olive rested against his lapel, chosen to match your bouquet without surrounding you with the heavily scented flowers that always made your eyes water. But it was his expression that caught you. The tension he had carried while waiting disappeared the moment he saw you. His entire face softened into a wide, unguarded smile reserved only for you. Richard tightened his hold on your arm before your heel could slip from the edge of the board.

“Careful, darling.” Your eyes locked with Harry’s. Neither of you looked away. Five years apart seemed to compress themselves into those final steps—every wrong decision, every unfinished conversation and every night you had convinced yourself that losing him had been necessary. But the last six months had changed you both. There were no secrets left between you now, no assumptions allowed to grow in silence. You were not walking toward the marriage you had once lost. You were walking toward something you had rebuilt together, deliberately and without anyone else deciding what it should become. In a few moments, you would be husband and wife again. This time, you both understood exactly what choosing one another meant. By the time you reached him, your eyes were wet again. Richard stopped before the platform. Harry stepped down immediately, offering one hand to you before turning toward him. For a moment, neither man spoke. Richard placed your hand into Harry’s. “I gave her hand to you once before,” he said, his voice low with emotion. “But she was never mine to give away. She is my girl because she chose to let me love her like a father.” Your throat tightened. Richard looked from you to Harry. “So this time, I’m not giving her away. I’m asking you to stand beside her properly. Hold on to her. Listen to her. And when life gets loud, don’t let silence do the damage again.” Harry closed his fingers carefully around yours. “I won’t.” Richard studied him for another moment, then nodded. “Good.” You leaned forward and kissed Richard’s cheek. “Thank you, Dad.” His eyes shone as he stepped away. “Go on, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Go marry the man who finally learned how lucky he is.” Harry helped you onto the platform, one hand steady at your waist until you were safely beside him. Captain Mateo waited a few feet away, but Harry appeared temporarily unaware that anyone else existed. His gaze moved slowly over the dress, your hair and the curve of your stomach. “I knew the dress would be beautiful,” he said softly. “I wasn’t prepared for you in it.” The words nearly started the tears again. You looked over his tuxedo with exaggerated consideration. “You look very handsome yourself, Mr. Castillo.” His smile deepened. “More handsome than the first time?” “You’ve aged.” One eyebrow lifted. “Like an obscenely expensive wine,” you added. Harry’s gaze softened. “Then I must be keeping suitable company.” One of his hands settled gently over your stomach. A visible ripple moved beneath the ivory silk almost immediately.

Harry glanced down, smiling. “They look as excited as we are.” “No. They heard their father arranged an excellent wedding cake.” A quiet laugh escaped him. His thumb moved lightly over the embroidered fabric before you looked around at the flowers, the two rows of chairs and the long table waiting farther up the shore. “Harry,” you whispered. “What did you do?” For the first time that afternoon, uncertainty flickered across his face. “Too much?” “No.” You tightened your fingers around his. “It’s more beautiful than anything I imagined.” His expression softened. “Thank you,” you said. “For listening. For all of it.” Harry lifted your hand and pressed his lips to your knuckles. “I wish I had done more sooner.” “We had a great deal to survive first.” “We did.” His eyes remained on yours. “Then we shouldn’t give away any more time.” Captain Alvarez cleared his throat with deliberate patience. “I have married people on boats before,” he said, glancing toward the wooden platform that extended just over the water. “This is apparently the compromise Ron could manage in three days.” Soft laughter moved through the gathering. Ron adjusted his cuff. “A legally valid compromise.” “The best kind,” Captain Alvarez said, smiling before he turned back to you and Harry. “We are gathered here with the people who know and love Harry and Queen best—not to begin their story, because that began many years ago, but to witness the choice they are making today.” The ocean moved quietly behind him. “This ceremony is small by design. There are no strangers here, no audience beyond those invited and no expectation except honesty. Before we continue, I need to ask one simple question. ” His gaze moved first to Harry, then to you. “Have you both come here freely, intending to marry one another today?” Harry answered without hesitation. “Yes.” You looked at the man who had arranged an entire wedding only to ensure you could still refuse it. “Yes,” you said. “I have.” Captain Alvarez nodded. “Then you may speak the promises you’ve prepared.” Harry’s eyebrows lifted slightly. You stared at him. “You prepared something?” “Not a speech.” His fingers tightened around yours. “I don’t need one to tell you the truth.” The last trace of humor faded from his expression as he looked directly into your eyes. “The first time you chose me, I woke up the next morning and watched you sleep because I still couldn’t believe you were my wife.” His throat moved. “Then I lost you. And for five years, I learned exactly how much of my life had been built around loving you.” Your eyes filled. “Harry, don’t make me cry.” His thumb brushed beneath one of your eyes.

“Then you came back,” he said quietly. “And I felt like a prayer I had no right to make had been answered.” A quiet laugh escaped you through the tears. “You gave me a second life with you. You gave me our daughters." He paused, as though even he could not quite believe it. “I promise you this: you will never have to guess where I stand again. No silence, no pride, no misunderstanding will ever come before the truth.” His voice lowered. “I will choose you in every version of our life. I love you more than I did the first time. And I will spend the rest of my life being grateful that you chose me twice.” For several seconds, you could only look at him. Around you, no one seemed to breathe properly. Scarlet pressed a tissue beneath her sunglasses. Vivienne’s mouth trembled. Dana looked down quickly, and even Ron appeared suspiciously interested in the horizon. “I loved you when I left,” you said finally, your voice unsteady. “That was the cruelest part. I loved you through every year I pretended I had moved on, and I love you now without fear, without secrets and without one foot near the door.” Harry’s eyes shone. “I choose you, Harry Castillo. I always have. And I always will.” You squeezed his hands. “This time, I intend to stay.” Neither of you moved. The silence stretched until Mikey called from behind you, “You can keep staring after you’re legally married.” Laughter broke through the emotion. Captain Alvarez gave him a patient look.

“It appears we have people here even more impatient than the bride and groom.” His eyes narrowed faintly with affection. “Mikey, you were always like this.” Mikey grinned. “Thanks, Captain.” Then he leaned toward Sienna and whispered, “He loves me.” Sienna covered her mouth to hide her laugh. Captain Alvarez turned back to Harry. “Harry Castillo, do you take this woman to be your wife—to love her, honour her and continue choosing her for the rest of your life?” Harry did not take his eyes from you. “I do.” “And Ms. Queen, do you take this man to be your husband—to love him, honour him and continue choosing him for the rest of your life?” “I do.” Ron stepped forward with the rings. Harry slid yours carefully onto your finger, his hand trembling just enough for you to notice. You placed his ring beside the one he had once worn before,

sealing a promise renewed rather than replaced. Captain Alvarez smiled. “By the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Mikey was already on his feet. “Kiss her!” Others joined him, laughing and applauding. “Kiss!” “Kiss!” “Kiss!” Harry’s arm curved carefully around your waist. He drew you as close as your stomach allowed, his other hand rising to cradle your face. Then he kissed you. Slowly at first, as though the two of you were alone. Then more deeply as the applause rose around you and the ocean wind carried Mikey’s triumphant whistle across the beach. When Harry finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. “Mrs. Castillo,” he whispered. You smiled through your tears. “You always did like calling me that.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “I missed it.”

Later, after champagne had been poured and the official photographs had been taken, Chloe insisted that the bouquet had one final responsibility. You turned your back to the small group gathered behind you and tossed it over your shoulder. The wind caught the flowers, shifted their course and dropped them directly into Vivienne’s arms. She stared down at the bouquet. Then she looked toward Marc, standing several feet away. Marc smiled. Vivienne’s cheeks turned pink as everyone began laughing and applauding. Beside you, Harry’s expression changed slowly. You looked up at him. “Don’t even start.” “I’m not saying anything.” “Your face is saying plenty.” He gave a small shrug. “I’m only wondering whether we can return the bouquet and try again.” You hit his shoulder lightly. “Shut up and dance with me.” The first notes of the music began.

Harry turned toward you and placed both hands at your waist. You slipped your arms around his neck, though the curve of your stomach prevented you from moving as close as either of you wanted. Harry glanced down at the space between you. “I had imagined holding my wife a little closer.” “Your daughters have other plans.” “They’ve been interfering all day.” “They’re making sure you behave.” Harry looked offended. “With my own wife?” “Especially with your own wife.” Harry laughed and lowered his forehead to yours, swaying with you as the music carried across the beach. A few feet away, Scarlet and Vivienne watched with matching tears in their eyes. “They deserved this happiness, didn’t they?” Vivienne whispered. Scarlet nodded. “More than anyone.” Vivienne dabbed at her cheek. “My eyes are leaking.” “So are mine.” Mikey appeared behind them.

“Should I call 911, or is this a shared maternal event?” Both women turned toward him. Sienna burst out laughing, and even Richard failed to hide his smile. You extended one hand toward the others. “Come on. Join us.” Scarlet joined Richard first, moving carefully around his cane. Ron drew Dana into his arms, while Sienna allowed Mikey to spin her with considerably more enthusiasm than skill. Vivienne hesitated only briefly before accepting Marc’s hand. Harry watched them, a trace of old protectiveness tightening his expression. You touched his cheek. “She looks happy.” His gaze returned to you. After a moment, he nodded and relaxed beneath your hand. “She does.” Near the edge of the dance floor, Emily, Chloe and Yuliana formed a loose circle, laughing as they danced together.

Lara clapped in time from her chair until Captain Alvarez offered his hand and persuaded her to join him for several careful steps. There was no ballroom, no orchestra and no audience waiting to judge what the day meant. Only the ocean, the music and every person you had chosen as family. Harry watched them for a moment—the people dancing barefoot or carefully around canes and hems, the laughter carried by the wind, the small, impossible life you had built out of everything that had nearly ended. Then his gaze returned to you. His arms tightened around your waist, and he rested his forehead against yours. “A little late,” he murmured, “but I think we made it.” You cupped his face in both hands. “We did. And we made it beautifully.” Your lips trembled. “Oh, no. I think it’s coming back.” Harry’s eyes softened with immediate alarm and amusement. “No. No crying, we just survived the ceremony. You can give the makeup ten more minutes.” You laughed, blinking quickly. “Okay. I’m not crying.” “Good.” “I’m almost not crying.” “That’s progress.” The wave passed slowly. You breathed in, steadied yourself, and looked up at him again. Harry’s smile faded into something quieter, deeper. “I love you so much,” he said. Your hands rested against his jaw as the music continued around you. “I love you too, Harry.” And while everyone you loved danced around you beneath the open sky, you let the moment stay exactly what it was. Yours.

Days turned into weeks. For a while, you and Harry stayed married only in the places that mattered. At home, in the quiet, his ring never left his finger. But every morning before a public meeting, a board dinner or anything involving cameras, he removed it with an apology he never seemed to grow tired of giving. “I hate it. I want everyone to know you’re my wife.” And every morning, you gave him the same answer. “They will. Wait until our girls are born.” The world still believed the real wedding was coming later—the grand one Scarlet and Vivienne were already designing with terrifying enthusiasm. When reporters asked how the preparations were going, you smiled, touched your stomach and said something harmless about family, timing and taking things slowly. Somehow, the rumors still began.

Did Harry Castillo and Ms. Queen Marry in Secret?

Private Beach Ceremony Reportedly Held in Bridgehampton. No Guests, No Press, No Confirmation: Inside Manhattan’s Most Talked-About Non-Wedding.

Some said Bridgehampton. Some said it had only been an engagement celebration. Some insisted there had been a wedding, but no one could produce a single photograph. You and Harry answered none of it. There were more important things to survive. Your stomach grew heavier by the week, until getting out of bed without assistance became less an act of independence and more an unnecessarily ambitious athletic event. Doctor’s appointments became nearly the only reason you left the house. Everyone else came to you. Emily arrived one afternoon claiming she had only stopped by to bring soup, then sat at the edge of your bed and confessed that she had started seeing the man her mother had hired as a waiter at the restaurant. He was Asian, apparently devastatingly handsome according to Emily’s increasingly unprofessional description, and “too polite in a way that felt dangerous.” Chloe gave her ex another chance and pretended she was being cautious about it, despite the fact that she blushed every time his name appeared on her phone. Scarlet and Richard came regularly under the excuse of checking on you, though Richard spent most of each visit asking the girls whether they intended to let their mother sleep. Lara moved in without ceremony, joining Yuliana in the practical, unspoken agreement that until the babies arrived, you were not to be left unattended for any length of time. Mikey and Sienna came sometimes together, sometimes separately, each visit explained with suspiciously unnecessary detail. Mikey brought stories from the office,most of them delivered with the confidence of a man who had survived another day in corporate warfare and deserved applause for it. Gerard still called when necessary, but even he had begun to respect the boundaries Dana enforced with frightening precision. For the last three weeks, he no longer patched you into meetings unless there was no alternative. Dana kept such careful notes that reading her briefings almost felt like being in the room. Almost. Queen Financial was not healed, not yet. But it was rising. The panic had passed. The structure was holding. The people who had expected you to disappear quietly were beginning to understand that you had only stepped back long enough to breathe. Harry had done the same in his own way. He met with Ron over laptop screens more often than in boardrooms now, choosing home whenever he could. Some afternoons, you would wake from a nap to find him at the foot of the bed, muted on a call, one hand resting absently over your ankle while he listened to Ron speak. By the time you entered your thirtieth week, your doctor stopped sounding politely cautious and began sounding direct. “You cannot be alone at home now,” she said. “Not for long periods. Not with this level of risk.” Harry’s hand tightened around yours. She reviewed the warning signs, the possibility of early labor, the need to avoid stress, overexertion and anything that might trigger contractions. “I’m also recommending pelvic rest from this point forward.” You glanced at Harry. He looked straight ahead.

The doctor continued, perfectly professional. “That means no intercourse, no penetration, and no sexual activity that results in orgasm. Uterine contractions after orgasm are usually harmless in low-risk pregnancies, but in your case, with twins and your current risk factors, we are not encouraging anything that could increase uterine activity.” Harry’s expression did not change, but his hand became very still around yours. You bit the inside of your cheek. He looked like a man receiving a sentence from a judge and refusing to appeal in public. In the car afterward, Harry remained silent for almost three minutes. “You’re being very mature,” you said. “I’m being tested.” You laughed and leaned your head against his shoulder. “It’s only temporary.” “I understand that.” “You look as if someone cancelled Christmas.” “I said I understand it. I didn’t say I enjoyed it.” But he was careful. More careful than you were, sometimes. When you curled into him at night, he kissed your forehead, your hair, your shoulder, then gently put space where space needed to be.

Sleeping became more difficult. Turning from one side to the other required planning, patience and, on particularly humiliating nights, Harry’s assistance. He surrounded you with pillows until the bed looked less like a bed and more like a medical nest designed by a luxury hotel. Still, the girls pressed against your ribs, your bladder, your lungs and every other part of you they apparently considered negotiable. Harry spoke to them every night. “Be kind to your mother,” he whispered, one hand spread over your stomach. “You’ll meet us soon enough.” A small kick answered him. “Not that soon,” he added sternly. You smiled into the pillow. Eight weeks, the doctor had said. Only eight weeks until you would meet your daughters.

Dinner was over when the call came. You were lowering yourself carefully onto the sofa, one hand braced against the armrest and the other resting over your stomach, when your phone began to ring on the coffee table. Unknown number. You frowned, reaching for it. “Who calls after dinner anymore?” Harry glanced up from where he was folding the throw blanket at the other end of the room. You answered before he could say anything. “Hello?” A woman’s voice spoke on the other end. Careful. Professional. “Ms. Queen? My name is Claire Walsh. I’m calling from a long-term care facility—” “A care facility?” you repeated, confused. Harry was beside you before the woman finished her next sentence. He took the phone gently but firmly from your hand. You stared at him. “Harry?” He ended the call. For a moment, neither of you spoke. “What was that?” “Nothing important.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You just took my phone from my hand. And hung up on a woman from a care facility.” “She shouldn’t have called you directly.” The sentence landed strangely. You pushed yourself higher against the cushions, studying him more closely. His face had gone pale, the controlled lines of it too still to be casual. “Harry,” you said slowly. “What is going on?” He looked away. That was enough. You knew every version of his silence. The business silence. The angry silence. The silence he used when he was trying to keep a room from collapsing around someone he loved. This was the last one. “How long have you been hiding calls from me?” His jaw tightened. Your breath caught. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? The last few days—your phone, Ron calling you outside the room, that woman—” “Baby.” “No.” Your voice sharpened. “Tell me. Please. What is going on?"

Harry stayed standing for another second. Then he exhaled, sat beside you and took both of your hands in his. “Last Friday, a woman came to the building,” he said carefully. “Security didn’t let her up. She said she needed to speak to you.” “About what?” “At first, I didn’t know.” Your fingers tightened around his. “And then?” “I saw her again the next day. Outside. I asked what she wanted.” Harry’s thumb moved slowly over your knuckles, as though he was trying to keep you anchored before he had even said the words. “She works at a long-term care facility,” he said. “Your biological father is there.” You swallowed. The room seemed to drop out from beneath you. For a second, you only stared at him. “My… what?” Harry’s face softened with worry. He reached up and brushed his fingers along your cheek. “Breathe for me."

You drew in a thin breath. One of the girls shifted beneath your ribs, and your hand moved instinctively to your stomach. “Continue,” you whispered. Harry nodded once. “She tried Scarlet first because he had been saying her name for weeks. Scarlet refused to speak to her. She tried to reach Mikey and couldn’t. Then she saw your name attached to mine in enough society articles to find the building.” Your mouth parted, but no sound came out. “Why is he there?” you asked finally. “Why is some woman calling me? Why now, after all these years?” Harry looked down at your joined hands. “The woman he left your mother for is gone. She took what remained of his money and disappeared when his illness became inconvenient.” His voice stayed low, measured. “He has Alzheimer’s. Advanced enough that some days he doesn’t know where he is. Some days he asks for Scarlet.

Some days he asks about the little boy.” “Mikey,” you breathed. Harry nodded. “And lately,” he said, softer now, “she said he keeps asking whether the baby was born.” The words moved through you like something cold. The baby. Harry did not answer immediately. Your eyes lifted to his. “Me?” His expression broke just enough to hurt. A tear slipped down your cheek. The daughter he had never met. The child he had left behind before she had even taken her first breath. Harry wiped the tear away with his thumb. “Baby, talk to me.” You stared past him, but all you could see was a man you had never known asking about a baby who had already grown up, married, divorced, survived him, and was now carrying two daughters of her own. “I need to see him.”

Harry’s brow drew together, that familiar deep crease forming between his eyes as his whole face tightened in immediate refusal. “No.” “Harry—” “No. Absolutely not.” “You don’t get to decide that.” “If we are talking about your health and our daughters’ safety, then I do get a say.” “A say, yes. Not the decision.” “You’re thirty weeks pregnant with twins. The doctor said no stress.” “I know what the doctor said.” “Then you know this is exactly the kind of thing she meant.” You pulled your hands back, not harshly, but enough to make him feel the distance. “I have to see him.” “You don’t owe him that.” “I know.” “He left you before you were born. He doesn’t deserve the chance to hurt you now.” “I know.” “Then why?” You pressed one hand to your stomach and swallowed hard. “Because if something happens and he dies, I will never know what was real.” Your voice broke. “I spent my whole life imagining him. When I was seven, I asked my mother about him, and after that I made up versions of him in my head. Younger. Better. Sorry.” You shook your head. “I don’t know if I want to see him. But I need to.” Harry looked at you for a long moment, the fight in his expression slowly giving way to something heavier. You reached for his hand again. “I don’t owe him anything,” you whispered. “But I think I owe something to the seven-year-old version of me who thought he might still come back if she was worth coming back to.” That did it. Harry’s face changed completely. The anger left him first, then the argument. What remained was something softer, almost wounded. “Oh, baby,” he murmured. He reached for you at once, his hand sliding gently over your hair as he drew you closer.

His eyes had gone bright, though he tried to blink it away before you could see. “She was always worth coming back to,” he said quietly. “He was the one who didn’t deserve to find his way back.” Your breath broke against his chest. Harry closed his eyes briefly and let out a slow breath. When he opened them again, his fear was still there. So was the decision. “We go together,” he said.

The facility smelled like lemon cleaner, old carpet and something medicinal underneath. You hated that your first thought was how small everything seemed. The woman from the phone met you near the entrance and spoke softly to Harry while you stood with both hands curved over your stomach. He kept one hand at your lower back the entire time, steady and warm through the thin fabric of your dress. When they brought you to the room, you stopped at the threshold. The man sitting by the window was not the man you had imagined at seven. He was not the famous director whose face you had cut from old entertainment magazines and hidden in the back of your drawer. Not the man smiling beside actresses at premieres, not the man whose interviews you had read in secret, searching for some trace of yourself in the shape of his mouth or the way his eyes held the camera. That man had belonged to glossy paper and childhood invention. This one was thinner than memory had any right to make him. Older than he should have been. His hair had gone almost completely white, his shoulders folded inward beneath a cardigan that looked too large for him. His hands rested in his lap, restless over the blanket. For a moment, you could not breathe. Harry leaned closer. “We can leave.” You shook your head. The man turned at the sound. His eyes moved over Harry first, then found you. He stared. Your body went cold. “Scarlet?” he whispered. Harry’s hand tightened at your back. You tried to speak, but nothing came. The man’s gaze drifted lower, to your stomach. Something in his face changed. Confusion. Wonder.

A grief too late to be useful. “The baby,” he said. Your breath caught. He looked up at you again, eyes wet and empty of recognition. “Our girl?” The room tilted. “No,” you whispered. But he did not understand. Or perhaps some ruined part of him did, because his mouth trembled as he reached toward you with a hand that shook. Harry stepped between you at once. The movement broke something in you. You took a step back before you could stop yourself, one hand rising to your mouth as you looked at the helpless, fragile old man in front of you. He did not look like the man who had destroyed your mother. He did not look like the man who had left behind a pregnant wife and a one-year-old son. He looked small. Lost. Almost pitiful. And somehow, that hurt worse. For years, you had imagined anger would be enough to hold you upright if this moment ever came. You had imagined questions.

Accusations. The clean satisfaction of finally saying what a child could not. But there was no one here to answer you. Only an old man who looked at you and saw your mother. Only a mind trapped in the year he had left. Only the baby he had never stayed to meet, standing in front of him with two babies of her own. You turned away because you could not look at him anymore. Behind you, he murmured something soft and broken. “Scarlet… don’t go.” Your eyes closed. Harry understood before you spoke. “That’s enough,” he said gently. The woman from the facility said something behind you, but you did not hear it. Harry guided you into the corridor, one arm firm around your waist. You made it three steps before the sob broke loose. Harry pulled you into him. “I thought he would be different,” you choked out. “I know that’s stupid. I know he was never good.

But when I was little, I imagined this so many times.” “I know.” “He was supposed to be healthy. Arrogant. Shameless.” Your voice broke harder. “He was supposed to be the man who betrayed my mother and left two children behind. I was supposed to be able to hate him. To ask him why. To make him look at me.” Harry held you tighter. “But he can’t even do that,” you sobbed. “He can’t answer me. He can’t apologize. He can’t even know me.” “Breathe, baby,” Harry murmured. “Please. For me.” “He was supposed to see me.” Your fingers twisted in his jacket. “He doesn’t even know me, Harry.” “I know.” His voice was rough now. “I’m sorry.” You clutched at him, crying too hard to stand without him. “I’m right here,” he said, his hand moving slowly over your back. “You’re not that baby anymore. You hear me? You’re here. You have me. You have Richard—the father who stayed. You have our girls. He doesn’t get to take that from you.” You tried to nod. Harry’s hand moved to your stomach. “Think of them. Just breathe. In and out.” It took several minutes before you could move again.

The woman from the facility followed you into the corridor, holding a worn black notebook against her chest. “I’m sorry,” she said carefully. “There is one more thing.” Harry’s arm tightened around your waist. “Not now.” But your gaze had already dropped to the notebook. “What is that?” The woman hesitated. “They found it among his things when he was moved here. He kept it for years.” Her eyes softened with something like pity. “He knew about you, Ms. Queen. About both of you. It’s only in the last year that the illness began taking names from him.” The words landed too slowly. He knew.

You should have said no. Instead, you reached for it. The cover was cracked at the corners, the pages swollen from age. When you opened it, the first thing you saw was Mikey’s face, cut from a society magazine years ago and pasted crookedly onto yellowing paper. MICHAEL QUEEN CAUSES SCENE AT CHARITY AUCTION A laughless breath caught in your throat. Mikey looked younger in the photograph, grinning at someone outside the frame as if he had absolutely no intention of learning from the incident. The next page was Scarlet. SCARLET QUEEN TO STAR OPPOSITE ROBERT DE NIRO She was impossibly young, impossibly beautiful, her smile bright enough to belong to a woman who had not yet learned how much grief could cost. Then another. QUEEN AND CASTILLO FAMILIES UNITE IN HIGH-SOCIETY WEDDING Your first wedding. Your face beside Harry’s, both of you caught on the church steps, younger and shining with a kind of happiness you had not known enough to protect. Your fingers trembled as you turned the page. MS. QUEEN RETURNS TO NEW YORK A photograph from one of your first major public appearances after joining Queen Financial. Then another. QUEEN FINANCIAL’S HEIRESS STEPS INTO POWER And another. MS. QUEEN SHINES AT ANNUAL GALA Page after page. Your face, collected in silence. Not loved properly. Not claimed. Not protected. Just watched from a distance. Harry looked over your shoulder and went very still. Between the clippings, there were folded letters in shaky handwriting. Scarlet, forgive me. Scarlet, I made a mistake. Scarlet, tell me about my kids. The words blurred. A sound left you before you could stop it. “He…” you whispered. “All those years…” Harry turned toward you at once. “Baby—” “He knew.” Your hand moved to your stomach.

For one second, everything inside you went too quiet. Then a hard tightening pulled low across your abdomen. You gasped. Harry’s face changed instantly. “Baby?” Another wave came before you could answer. Not sharp enough to name, but deep and wrong enough to steal your breath. The notebook slipped from your fingers and hit the floor. “H-Harry.” He caught you before your knees gave way. “No, no, no.” His voice dropped into panic before he forced it steady. “Baby, look at me.” Your fingers clutched at his jacket. “The babies—” Harry lifted you into his arms before you could finish. “I’ve got you.” His voice was calm in the way it became only when he was terrified. “Open the doors,” he called down the corridor. “Now.” The woman from the facility moved quickly, shouting for help as Harry carried you toward the exit. “Look at me,” he said, holding you carefully against his chest. “Breathe for me.” Then he felt it. The warmth soaking through the fabric beneath his arm. For half a second, his mind went brutally blank. Then everything the doctor had said came back at once: thirty weeks, twins, stress, warning signs, early labor, rupture, pressure, do not wait. His hold tightened. “No,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Not yet.” Another pressure rolled through you, harder this time. A broken cry slipped from your mouth. “Harry.” Your voice cracked with fear. “It’s too early. It’s too early. I can’t—They can’t come now.” “Yes, you can.” He pressed his mouth briefly to your hair as he moved faster, his heart beating violently against you. “Listen to me. You can. I’m taking you to the hospital. You and the girls are going to be okay.” “I’m scared.” “I know.” His voice roughened.

“I know, baby. I’ve got you.” The driver was already out of the car when Harry reached the entrance. “Mr. Castillo?” “Call the doctor,” Harry ordered as the doors opened ahead of him. “Now.” The driver grabbed his phone with shaking hands. Harry lowered you into the back seat, one arm still braced behind you, the other pressed protectively over your stomach. Another wave hit. You clutched his shirt, tears breaking free. “Harry…” He looked down at your face, all the color gone from his own. “Stay with me,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Please. Stay with me."

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You came thirty minutes early like every day to drink your coffee and have a cigar before your shift starts. You leaned on the grey wall and pulled your phone out, you had to set up the stage for an opera ensemble starting rehearsals today for a performance in two months. So while you drink your coffee, you check the notes your boss gave you. 

33 chairs needed, at least today. They would be facing each other in three lines each side. You tried to remember how many chairs would be needed for each instrument family.

As the minutes passed, members of the ensemble started to arrive, women and men of different ages, but mostly older than you – much older. You already knew a few of them, so you said hi with a nod and kept checking your notes.

“I need a cigar too,” says a man who approaches you.

“Tell me you brought yours,” you say without looking at him.

He laughs. “I got mine, but I need a lighter.”

You grab yours from your pocket and hand it to him. “I’m gonna charge you, Bobby.”

“I’ll get you a coffee for the break.”

You look at him. “Okay. I’ll count on it.”

You lit another cigarette to keep Bobby company and once you were done, you both went inside. While the members chatted about the performance and life, you moved to the big hall you had for rehearsals and started setting up the chairs just as your boss told you.

After a few minutes, you gave the musicians the green light to come inside, opening both doors to let everyone in. You saw them enter in a single file, recognizing them from other shows and other events, but you didn’t recognize one—a tall man who looked too polished compared to the rest of the musicians.

You tried to play it cool, but he got your attention. The long curly hair, the beard, the big broken nose… he was just your type. He said hi to his colleagues and sat on the chair you had adjusted for him. He placed the big box on the floor and opened it with quiet reverence. From it, he pulled a brown cello. He settled it between his legs and tested it, making it sound with the bow.

You sat in your small booth to keep an eye on the group, in case they needed anything.

The voices stopped when the director stood in his place. And with one wave of his hand, the music started to play. You looked at him now and then, driven by a primal attraction. His jaw was tense, his curls dancing on his forehead, his arms firm but relaxed. The way he played the cello, all focused and feeling every note, made you think how he would be while… “Stop,” you said to yourself.

When the director stopped to give some notes, this man looked back at you, meeting your eyes. You couldn’t look away; it was a quiet understanding of you admiring his playing. He looked away, paying attention to the director, but you were sure he saw the want in your eyes.

He played again when the director ordered, and sometimes his eyes would find yours. Was he playing for you now? Or was it just that he needed something to focus on besides the music? Either way, he was looking shamelessly into your eyes.

After a long moment, you left the room to set up the stage for tonight's show. While you were working with your colleagues, moving some props and wires, you could hear the music of the orchestra, and then the sound came: his. And when the sound met your ears, you could feel his eyes on you, even from the other side of the theater.

When you came back, they were already on a break. Half of the group was outside, while the other was in the room chatting. Bobby approached you, coffee in hand, and behind him was this handsome guy.

“There you go,” says Bobby, giving you the coffee.

“Wow, you kept your promise,” you joke.

“Well, this means you have to keep giving me cigars when I need them.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course.”

“Oh, so rude of me. This is my friend Alex. One of the greatest cellists you’ll ever meet.”

“Hi,” you smiled at him and introduced yourself. “I saw you playing. Looks like Bobby is right.”

“I do what I can.” He tried to play it cool but the smirk betrayed him.

“What an asshole,” you think to yourself. Instead, you say, “Guess you've been doing this for a long time.”

“Longer than I can tell,” he smiles. “You?”

“Not much. I graduated a few years ago.”

He nods. “Well, it’s nice to see talented girls backstage,” he winks at you.

The wink makes your cheeks turn a soft pink that you couldn’t control. Bobby, on the other hand, didn’t catch the wink nor the tension; he was too focused on what the violist was doing.

“Play Vivaldi,” Bobby says, smiling as he leaves you alone with Alex.

Alex parted his lips to say something, but before any word could come out of his mouth, the director was back, commanding everyone to sit in their places. Alex turned naturally back to his seat and you moved back to your booth.

An hour later, the rehearsal was done, and everyone was gathering their stuff to leave. In just minutes, you were alone, ready to prepare everything for the chorus rehearsal you had tomorrow morning. You only left one light on because your head was hurting, so in the middle of the dimly lit room, you moved with smoothness, knowing exactly how to do your job.

The sound of the door cracking open makes you turn to see who it is. In the soft darkness, you see Alex lurking inside with his big dark eyes.

“You need something?” you ask, turning fully to him.

He finally enters. “I forgot my bow.” he says as he closes the door behind him.

You look around the room. “I haven’t seen anything.”

He stays still. “I’m lying,” he finally says.

“You’re lying?” you tilt your head.

He laughs. “Bobby wanted some beers and I’m too tired for them.”

“Oh, Bobby, of course.” You get closer. “Well, you can hide here while I finish.”

“Thanks.” He looks at your lips. “Need help?”

“Nah, thanks. Just sit.”

He takes a seat close to you and watches you move the chairs as if it were second nature.

“Why the theater?” he finally asks.

“Because someone needs to make it work so you can play your silly box.”

“Rude,” he laughs. “Fair enough.” He plays with the fabric of his pants with one hand. “My girlfriend believes my silly box is pretty inspiring.”

The way he talks about his girlfriend feels out of place, like he is trying to make you jealous, or make you feel competitive.

“Well, that’s why she’s your girlfriend.” You hold his gaze like a challenge.

“Right.” He holds your gaze right back. “But it hurts me that you see my cello as a silly box.”

“Isn't it?” you ask quickly.

“No, it’s… so much more than just that.”

“And that’s why you are a musician and I work with lighting.”

He smirks at your response. “Smartass.”

“What do you want, Alex?” You adjust your posture, which makes your curves even more obvious, even under your work uniform.

“You were watching me,” he says after a pause.

“I look at everyone. It’s kind of my job.”

“Oh, come on.” He leans forward toward you. “No need to lie.”

“I’m being honest,” you smile, not believing what was just happening.

“You are lying, and good girls don’t lie,” he says, teasing.

“Not a good girl.”

He nods slowly. “Good to know.” His eyes meet yours again. “You liked what you saw?”

“Maybe.” You don’t get coy at his attitude; instead, you cross your arms over your chest. “You play nicely.”

“I'm not talking about that.”

“You have a girlfriend,” you remind him.

“She’s in Vienna,” he brushes it off with a shrug.

“Oh, so you're looking for a replacement while she’s gone?”

“Not exactly.” He shakes his head and then meets your eyes. “Why? Are you interested?”

You look away and smile in disbelief. He stands up and comes closer, feeling the warmth of your presence, the soft breath coming out of you. He looks down at your silhouette, the black cotton shirt highlighting the curve of your breast and waist perfectly.

“Tell me you didn’t like it,” he says, looking up at your face.

You look at him. “I didn’t.”

“Liar,” he gets closer.

“What do you want, Alex?” you ask again.

“Right now?” He closes the space to whisper right into your ear, “Show you how good I am at playing the cello.”

You feel a shiver in your whole body at the suggestion. His eyes change to a darker color; now, at this closeness, he looks even more handsome. His beard is patchy and covers the right places, his lips part, and before you could react, he kisses you, his big calloused hands framing your face like they belong there. You should feel ashamed, but instead, you find yourself caught up in the moment, responding to the kiss with the same intensity. The desire was bigger.

He backs you up against the wall as his tongue explores your mouth hungrily. His hands roam your sides with his calloused palms without asking, just taking what he wants because, in your eyes and in the way you breathe, he knows this want is mutual.

He moves fast, looking for the zipper of your black cargo pants, and slides his hand inside, finding the fabric of your panties. “So warm,” he murmurs against your lips. He rubs his fingers there, teasing, and then, he slides inside your panties with two fingers, making you spread your legs. He can feel your trimmed pubes and smirks at you before kissing you. His fingertips easily find your clit, making you bite your lower lip to hide the moan. “So cautious,” he teases, and kisses you again as he shows you how good he is at playing your cello.

He moves his hand deeper and slides a finger inside you as he looks straight into your eyes, determined not to miss any reaction you might have. Your mouth falls open at the feeling of his thick finger inside you, and before you can even process it, he adds another and starts moving them inside you.

His hands move slowly but deeply, with an intention that makes you arch your back in pleasure. He kisses your jaw and neck, enjoying how he can feel on his lips the way you are breaking thanks to him. Only for him. He isn't thinking about his girlfriend; right now, he only has eyes for how good you look while he touches you. He knows what he is doing—after all, he is an expert with his hands—and he's not shy to show you how talented he is.

You move your hips on his hand seeking for more friction, your hands rest on his shoulders, gripping tightly enough to leave marks, not knowing what to do with them, but the need is so big you can’t help but bring him closer by the neck to kiss him again and again. You just want to feel his tongue against yours.

“Fuck, Alex,” you moan, making him smirk.

“Knew you liked me.”

“Shut up,” you smile back.

He holds you in place as he drives you toward your orgasm.

“Tell me you like it,” he commands.

“I do,” you moan.

He smiles and adds the right pressure you need to come undone.

“I’m close,” you cry.

Your confession makes him feel a deep sense of pride in his chest, so he keeps the right pressure and rhythm, cupping your pussy so your clit feels the pressure as he fingers you. In just seconds, you are riding a wave of pleasure that makes your whole body shake and your toes curl. You rest your head on his chest as you try to catch your breath. It hurts to breathe again after holding it for so long, but the rush of air just adds another layer of pleasure. He smells your hair and takes his hand out of your pants to pull your chin up so you look at him. With both hands, and before you can even breathe properly, he pulls you by your neck to devour you until he has had enough. This kiss feels different, or maybe it is the smell of yourself wrapped around your neck that has you dizzy.

When he breaks the kiss, he kisses your sweaty neck and turns around to leave like nothing had happened.

“See you tomorrow at the same time, pretty girl.”

Five years later and your life with Harry looked the same, yet different altogether. You both moved into a bigger home, away from the city, but closer to his parents and yours. And two children became three, with hopes for another child. 

You ended up closing your chapter with the diner when Sammy—the youngest—was born five years ago. It had been a decision you didn’t take lightly either. The diner and the people there had become your family, long before Harry and long before Stevie. They saw you grow up, so when you decided to leave, it was an emotional goodbye. 

But it made sense. You wanted to be part of your children’s lives without worrying about missing special moments, and there were times that you wondered if Stevie ever resented you for it. 

Her siblings managed to get all of your attention—something she didn’t quite have the luxury of when she was younger. 

Yet, she never complained. Stevie was still the same sassy little girl that Harry met all those years ago, except now, she was just a couple of years away of being a teenager and it showed too. She wanted to spend more time with her friends, asked relentlessly for a phone so she can be like everyone else (Harry caved, like always), but she was still the same girl who had the biggest heart.

Because she’d help you around the house. 

She slipped into the role of being the big sister so easily too. 

Frankie admired her—wanted to do everything her big sister did. 

And Sammy—short for Samuel after the singer, Sam Cooke—was a sensitive little boy who was the spitting image of Harry, who just wanted to be part of whatever his older sisters were doing.

And Harry, he started working more, especially since his parents retired from the company and named him and his brother as co-CEOs. 

But he still made time for you, for the family you both created. Harry still looked at you like the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, would come home every night and hold you. 

Five years later, and everything just felt right. 

“Dad,” Stevie sighed, leaning against Harry at the kitchen counter. She yawned and rubbed her eyes, blinking up at him afterwards. “Can I try a sip of your coffee?” 

Harry looked down at her and smiled. “No chance, Stevie girl.” 

“But I’m tired,” she said. 

“Then maybe you should’ve gone to bed on time,” he said, gently tapping the tip of her nose.

Stevie huffed and then yawned dramatically. 

Harry narrowed his eyes. 

She blinked up at him. Pleading. 

He sighed. Harry could never say to no to her. 

“Fine. One sip.” 

Her eyes widened with excitement and she nodded, leaning up on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Yes, yes, of course. Just one sip. That’s all I need.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes and then set the mug down in front of her. He knew Stevie wouldn’t like his taste in coffee—black, no sugar or milk. 

“Don’t tell mom?” Stevie asked, reaching for the mug. 

“You kidding me? Of course not. I don’t want to get in trouble either,” he grinned. 

Stevie smiled and then brought the mug closer to her lips. She kept her eyes on Harry before she leaned forward to take a sip. Quickly, the dark and hot liquid hit her senses and she made a face. It was bitter. 

“Gross,” she said, turning around and spitting what she had sipped into the sink. “Why didn’t you tell me it wasn’t good?” 

Harry laughed, shaking his head as he looked at her. “Would you have believed me if I did?”

Stevie narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “Well, no…” 

“Exactly,” he smiled, gently reaching for her hand and kissing the crown of her head. “Had to let you figure it out for yourself, Stevie girl.” 

Stevie leaned against him. “Do all coffee drinks taste like that?” 

Harry wrapped an arm around her and shook his head. “No, just mine.” 

“So… I’m hearing that I might like mom’s coffee?” 

He chuckled. “Oh, I’m positive you will. She likes her coffee with lots of sugar.” 

Stevie’s eyes widened. She smiled. “Then, I’ll give coffee another try.” 

“Maybe when you’re older.” 

“I’m eleven, dad.” 

“Yeah, older,” he repeated. 

She huffed and then tried to reach for his mug, but he clicked his tongue and took the mug before she could get to it. 

“Fine,” she said. 

“I said one sip.” 

Stevie giggled. “I know. Figured I’d try my luck.” 

Harry smiled. “Nice try. I can say no to you.” 

“Yeah, sure… but you rarely do.” Stevie smiled, pulling away from him. “By the way, mom said it was okay that I stay after school today. Taylor’s mom will be bringing me home.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Taylor?” 

“Yes.” 

“Have we met this Taylor?” 

“Dad,” she sighed. “He’s cool! We both like the same things and we’re volunteering to help clean up at the school. It’s fine.” 

“He?” Harry asked. “Taylor is a boy?” 

“Dad—”

“I’ll pick you up,” he interjected. “What time will you be finished?” 

She sighed. “Around four.” 

“Great. I’ll be there. To pick you up.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“Oh, Stevie girl… if I was overreacting, you’d know it. Now, go get ready for school.” 

She sighed loudly and then walked away from him, disappearing around the corner and down the hallway. 

“I love you!” He yelled out to her. Harry sighed, hearing the door shut as a response as he looked down at his coffee. Seeing Stevie grow up—seeing his other two children grow up too—have been such an amazing thing to witness, but he did feel sad about it as well.

There would come a day where they wouldn’t need him anymore and Harry was just trying to hold on as long as he could before that day came. 

Harry stepped in the bedroom and noticed you come out of the closet with a towel wrapped around your head and a robe covering your body. He bit his lower lip and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. 

“Hey,” he whispered. 

You smiled and turned in his arms, looking up at him. Your hand moved to his cheek, gently brushing his facial hair. He had gone a bit more grey as the years passed, crows feet more prominent at the corners of his eyes. He aged, just like you did, but he still looked so damn good. If not better. 

“Morning, baby.” 

“I’m picking Stevie up from school later. After her… event or something.” 

“Oh, Taylor’s mom can’t take her home?” 

He sighed. “Did you know Taylor’s a boy?” 

“Yes,” you answered. “Harry, they’re just kids.” 

He shook his head. “I don’t feel comfortable with it.” 

“Okay,” you said quietly, nodding. “That’s okay. 

“Am I overreacting?” Harry asked, his lower lip jutting out unintentionally. 

You cupped his cheek and leaned forward to peck his lips. “No,” you answered. “You’re just a protective daddy.” 

Harry sighed and nodded, hands moving to your hips. “She’s not gonna need me anymore, will she?” 

“You know that’s not true.” 

“Feels like it.” 

You shook your head and walked away from him to shut the bedroom door, locking it behind you. With three kids in the house, you both started locking the door, especially when adult activities were happening. 

“Baby?”

You walked over to him and gently pressed your hands on his shoulders, pushing him to sit at the edge of the bed. He huffed quietly and unbuttoned his suit jacket, looking up at you as you straddled his waist and undid your robe to reveal your bare front to him. 

Harry cleared his throat. 

“You know that’s not true,” you repeated. “That little girl looks at you like you hung the moon, baby. She’s growing up, but she’s always going to need you.” 

“What if she doesn’t?” 

“She will.” 

“You’re trying to distract me,” Harry pointed out. “Trying to get me to not think about my little girl having a possible crush on a boy who won’t ever be good for her.” 

“She’s eleven.”

“You telling me you never had a crush at that age?” 

“Well, no…”

“Exactly,” Harry said, eyes dipping lower. 

“What will you do when she gets married?” 

His eyes narrowed. Harry wrapped his arms around your waist and slowly stood up only to lay you on your back with him above you. “She won’t.” 

You smiled and leaned up to cup his cheek. “I love you.”

“This isn’t amusing.”

“I know.”

“You’re looking at me like this is funny.” 

“Harry,” you sighed quietly, grabbing one hand and bringing to to rest against your chest. “She will always love you, okay?” 

“I know,” he sighed. “I know. I just—she’s my Stevie girl.” 

“I know, baby.” 

Harry bit his lower lip. “I should trust her, huh?” 

You nodded. “And trust me too.”

He nodded, moving his hand from your chest to your breast, covering it with his hand. Harry watched you gasp quietly, looking up at him with lips parted. “You’re good,” he whispered. “You know how to get me out of my head.” 

You smiled, grabbing his other hand and bringing it to your lips. You wrapped your mouth around the tip of his thumb, swirling your tongue around it as you felt him suddenly push into you. 

“Baby,” Harry groaned. “We’re gonna be late.” 

“I know,” you giggled, pulling his thumb from your mouth as his hand continued to massage your breast into his palm. “Mmm, don’t see you trying to pull away.” 

“God, how can I? Look at you.” Harry cleared his throat as he pulled away from you, standing upright between your legs as you remained on your back. “How much time do we have?” 

“About half an hour.” 

He grunted. “Can you stay quiet?” 

You grinned. “You know I’ll try.” 

Harry smirked, reaching down to undo his belt, followed by unbuttoning his slacks and lowering his zipper. He pushed his pants and boxers down to his ankles as he spit into his palm before wrapping a hand around himself. “Oh, I know what you want me to do.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, biting your lower lip as you parted your legs for him even further. 

“Yeah, baby,” Harry said, eyes taking in every inch of your bare frame. He leaned forward, rubbing the tip of his manhood along you, applying pressure to your clit. “You always did like it when I covered your mouth.” 

A strained whimper escaped your lips. You felt him slide the length of his hardened member along your lips, gathering your arousal with each movement. He was hot, throbbing against you lower half and you impatiently reached down to grab a hold of him. 

“And you always liked to take your time,” you whispered, guiding him to your entrance. “Please, Harry…” 

“God, I love it when you beg,” he smirked, sliding into you in one full thrust. Harry’s eyes fluttered—like it always did whenever he slid into you. Your walls were tight and wet, wrapping around him and sucking him in with each movement. 

When you felt him fill you to the hilt, you let out a relieved moan. It always felt like your first time with him—even five years later, you still looked at each other like you both just realized you were both in love. 

“Hmm, I’ll beg anytime,” you whimpered, sitting up just so you could remove the robe and the towel from your head. Now completely exposed for him, Harry delivered a rough thrust, causing your body to jerk upwards. 

“You promise?” He asked, hands moving to grip your hips. Harry was still in his jacket, dress shirt and tie, but he was completely bare from his lower half. He watched himself slide into you with ease, his length glistening with your own arousal. Harry tried to keep it slow, tried to force himself not to just hammer into you, but it was hard. He never could control himself around you. 

“H—Harry,” you moaned, hands moving to grip the end of his tie as you slowly pulled him down. 

He grinned and leaned down, brushing his lips along your own. Harry rolled his hips into you, savoring the feel of himself sliding along your walls. “Feel so good, baby.” 

“Fuck,” you moaned. The grip around his tie tightened, but he grabbed your hands only to pin them above your head. 

“Can’t have you ruining my suit,” he grinned. “Because if you do, I’ll have to change and I—” Harry groaned, one sharp thrust into you. “I actually like this one.” 

“Oh fuck,” you said loudly, his free hand coming up to cover your mouth. It was still early, and he certainly didn’t want any of his children barging in either. 

“Look at you… at my fucking mercy,” he said, his hips speeding up but being very careful in ensuring he didn’t make too much noise either. 

Your moans muffled against his palm, legs loosely wrapped around his hips as you arched your back. He wasn’t going as fast as you’d like him to, but he was still hitting that spongy part deep inside of you with each hard thrust. 

“How am I supposed to go to work now?” He asked, growling lowly under his breath. “When all I’ll be thinking about is how good you fucking feel around me, baby.” 

You moaned again. 

He pressed his hand over your mouth more firmly. 

“Gonna let go of your hands now, okay? Be a good girl and grip the sheets if you need to,” Harry smiled, releasing your wrists only to bring the same hand between your legs. 

Your hands needed to hold onto something, especially when you felt him begin to apply pressure to your clit and rub it in circles. Instantly, your hands flew to the sheets, gripping them tightly as Harry continued his movements. 

He wouldn’t ever get tired of this, of you. You were an absolute dream. The way you looked as you were nearing the peak of your climax—he’d commit it to memory every chance he could get and still, it felt like it wasn’t enough. 

“Harry,” you mumbled into his palm, tightening your legs around his hips to pull him closer. 

He grinned. Harry was close too. He sped up his thrusts, but still remaining careful to not make it sound like skin slapping against one another. 

You were moaning against his hand, gripping the sheets even tighter, as you felt the pressure build and build until it finally spilled over. Your legs pulled him in, body trembling against the bed, as Harry smirked down at you. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling out to his tip only to slide back into you with ease. He could feel how fucking wet you were, how tight your walls were sucking him back in. He moved both hands now to your hips, hearing you gasp loudly as he gripped you tightly. 

You bit your lower lip—hard. You couldn’t moan or make any noise as you normally would, but you knew that Harry was close too. You could feel it in the way he gripped your hips, could see it in his face too. 

His hips stuttered, eyes shut tight once he felt himself get closer and closer to the edge. Harry’s hands on your hips tightened even further, fingertips digging into your flesh. 

Then suddenly, after a few more rough thrusts, Harry slammed into you and came. Hard. He dragged his fingertips down your hips to the side of your legs and back up, growling under his breath as he filled you with his come. 

You smiled up at him and sat up, careful not to wrinkle his shirt or his jacket as you tugged on the edge of his tie to pull him down. He groaned quietly, rolling his hips slowly before pulling out, biting his lower lip as he looked down between your legs. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. 

“Morning, baby,” you teased, leaning up and pecking his lips. “Gonna feel you all day now.” 

Harry’s eyes narrowed down at you. “I love you.” 

You chuckled quietly. “I love you too. Help me clean up?” 

“Always,” he said softly, licking his lip as he looked down to see his come trickle out of you. “God, you’re fucking beautiful.” 

Then, he stepped away and pulled up his boxers and pants, walking to the bathroom afterwards to grab a small towel to clean you up. 

“You ready for the day?” You asked, teasingly. 

Harry chuckled and nodded, stepping back between your legs and carefully cleaning up the mess that seeped out of you. “I am now, yeah.” 

“Good.” 

“But I’m still picking Stevie up,” he said. 

You smiled. “I know, baby.” 

Then, the both of you heard quiet sounds of footsteps down the hallway. You both looked at each other and smiled. 

“Guess the other two are now awake,” you said. 

Harry smiled. “Come on, baby. Let’s get the cavalry ready for school.” 

Later that morning once all three kids were dressed and ready for school, the three of them sat at the kitchen table each with a plate of pancakes. Harry smiled to himself at the sight of the three of them, keeping an arm around your waist. 

“Mama,” Frankie said, looking up at both you and Harry. “We’re going to the park after school today, right?” 

“How about we go after we pick up Stevie? That way, it’s all of us.” You replied, walking over to her and kissing the crown of her head.

“And we get pizza?” Sammy, your youngest, asked. You looked across the table at him and grinned—deep brown eyes and dark curls that matched Harry’s.  

“Oh, of course,” Harry chimed in. “It’s pizza night.” 

Stevie couldn’t help but smile. “I guess… it’s okay that you pick me up then, dad.” 

Harry sighed in relief. “Oh good,” he said, walking towards her and kissing her cheek. “I’m glad I have your approval, Stevie girl.” 

Frankie giggled and looked over at her older sister. While Stevie had always cared about dressing up and doing her hair now that she was older, Frankie was the complete opposite. She was messy—like Stevie had been at the same age—but she didn’t like dresses or putting her hair in bows. She liked sports, always managed to get dirty and giggle about it too. 

Sammy had finished his pancakes first, sliding off his chair and walking towards the kitchen to put his plate away. Harry looked over at him and smiled, following him and picking him up into his arms. “You’ve got syrup all over your face, Sammy.” 

The younger boy giggled and then stuck his tongue out to try and clean his mouth. “Mmm, still good!” 

Harry chuckled and shook his head. “Let’s wash our hands and face, buddy.” Then, he held Sammy at sink level for the younger boy to reach. While Stevie and Frankie had the same attitude and features as you, Sammy had reminded Harry of himself when he was younger. A sensitive boy who felt so many emotions, but still had the biggest heart like his two older sisters. 

“I think I’m clean now, daddy,” he smiled, turning the sink off and reaching for a towel to dry off his hands and face. 

“Good job, buddy. You ready for school?” Harry asked. 

Sammy nodded. “My teacher said I’ll be able to write my name soon.” 

“Oh yeah?” Harry smiled. “You excited?” 

The young boy grinned. Dimples appeared at his cheeks. “Yes, then I can start writing you and mama letters too.” 

“You’re so sweet, buddy,” Harry chuckled, kissing the tip of his nose. His attention was pulled briefly when he heard laughter coming from the kitchen table, glancing over to see you, Frankie and Stevie giggling amongst one another.

And he stared at you for a few seconds longer. 

Still, you were as beautiful as the day he met you. 

You and Harry stood in front of the school as you dropped your children off. It was Stevie’s last year at this school before moving onto middle school next year, but still, it was convenient that all three of them were under the same school for now. 

“Frankie,” Harry said, kneeling down in front of her. “Is it basketball or soccer today?” 

Frankie grinned. “Basketball,” she answered. “I think I’ll beat the boys this time.” 

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Give them hell, babygirl.” 

“Harry,” you chuckled, moving a hand to his shoulder. 

Frankie giggled and then wrapped her arms around Harry, turning her head to kiss his cheek. “Love you daddy! Love you, mama!” 

“Have a good day at school, baby,” you said, leaning down to kiss the crown of her head before she turned on her heel to go into the school. 

Sammy bit his lower lip. This was his first year in school and he was still trying to find his footing, trying to make friends. 

“Mama?” He called out. 

You knelt down in front of him. “You’re okay, baby.” 

Sammy nodded. “You’ll be here when school is done?” 

“Yup, me and daddy will be here.” 

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll see you soon?” 

You smiled and gently cupped his cheek. “I’ll see you soon, baby.” 

“Love you,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around you before moving onto Harry to do the same. 

“Love you, Sammy,” Harry said, kissing the crown of his head. 

Once Sammy walked into the school, Stevie was already about to turn on her heel before Harry gently tugged on her backpack. 

“Um, hello?” He said. 

You smiled and watched Stevie turn around. 

“Dad…” 

“Give us a hug and tell us you love us,” he said. 

She rolled her eyes playfully. “But my friends—”

“Will see how much you love us,” Harry finished for her. “Isn’t that a great thing?” 

You let out a quiet laugh and then gently pulled Stevie into your arms. “Have a good day at school, Stevie.” 

She let herself relax in your arms for a second. It felt like she was that same five year old all those years ago. Then, almost like she remembered where she was, Stevie pulled away. 

“Okay, my turn,” Harry smiled, tugging Stevie into his arms. “Be good, Stevie girl.” 

“I always am,” she smiled. 

“See you later, okay?” 

Stevie nodded and pulled away to look between the both of you. 

“You really will pick me up?” Stevie asked. 

Harry answered without pause. “Yes, Stevie girl.” 

She nodded and then heard her name being called. She bit her lower lip and then noticed the both of you nod once. 

“I love you guys,” she said. 

Harry grinned. 

You smiled. 

“We love you too,” you said, leaning against Harry. 

“I love you, Stevie girl.” He repeated. 

Stevie smiled and then turned on her heel, jogging to catch up with her friends as she walked into the school with them. 

Harry sighed and looked down at you. “Why does drop off feel so sad now?” 

You looked up at him. “Because our babies are growing up,” you answered, turning around with him to begin walking back towards the car. 

Harry nodded in agreement, keeping one arm draped over your shoulder. “Growing up too fast,” he added. 

Now that all three kids were in school, you had plenty of time to yourself when Harry was at work too. You had been so used to working that it took a very long time to get used to this. Even Harry had to constantly remind you that it was okay, that he wanted you to stay home. It was his way of taking care of you. 

And everyday, you’d show up to his work with lunch. It was ironic, how you were now the one to make sure he was eating during his lunch break when he used to do it for you. 

As you walked toward his office with the food you cooked, you heard Peter from behind you. Turning, you looked over to see the other man who was grinning at you. 

“My brother’s lucky,” Peter said, now walking alongside you. “I should convince Charlotte to visit me during my lunch.” 

You laughed quietly and shook your head. “Charlotte’s seven months pregnant. You’d be cruel to have her come here,” you teased. 

“You’re right,” Peter chuckled. “I should be going home to her to make sure she’s resting.” 

“Second pregnancy tough on her?” You asked. 

He nodded. “Yeah,” he sighed. “That and it took a while for us to get pregnant a second time.” 

You nodded in understanding. Both you and Harry were experiencing your own troubles with getting pregnant again. “Well, just make sure you’re there. I’m sure she appreciates it.” 

“What about you and Harry? Trying for a fourth?” 

You smiled. “Trying, yeah. No luck.” 

Peter gave you a look of understanding. Then, he reached to rest a hand over your shoulder comfortingly. “Well, you guys will figure it out. You always do.” 

You nodded and then glanced over at Harry’s office door. “Is he overworking himself?” You asked honestly. 

Peter shrugged. “We’re co-CEOs, but I feel like since Charlotte got pregnant, he’s been taking more of the responsibility.” 

“So… that’s a yes. He’s overworking himself.” You bit your lower lip. 

“I tried to tell him I can handle it,” he whispered. “But—”

“He doesn’t want to burden you,” you finished for him. Then, it was your turn to reach out to rest a hand on his forearm. “Just look out for him when you are here, okay?” 

“Always will,” Peter smiled. He reached out and knocked lightly on Harry’s door. 

Within seconds, Harry opened the door and you noticed the look on his face before he turned to look at you. You could tell he was stressed—noticed it in his features and his posture too. 

“You’re here,” he said, a hint of relief in his voice. 

“Did you forget?” You asked. 

Harry shook his head. He glanced over your shoulder at Peter and nodded. “Lost track of time.” 

“Take a long lunch,” Peter said. “I’ll get to the next meeting.” 

“You should be going home,” Harry replied. “Charlotte is—”

“I can handle one meeting, Harry,” Peter interjected. “I’ll go home after that one, that okay with you?” 

He sighed. Harry glanced at you and felt the tension in his shoulders loosen just at the sight of you. He finally nodded at Peter and gently reached for the bag of food you were carrying. “Okay, sure. Yeah, thanks,” Harry said. “But if you need to go—”

“I’m fine,” he interrupted. Peter gave you a hug before leaving both of you at Harry’s office. 

“I’m sorry, baby, come in, come in,” he said, opening the door further for you to step inside. Once you were, Harry shut the door and locked it, bringing the food to the coffee table where the couch was at. 

“How many cups of coffee have you had?” You asked, biting your lower lip. 

“Three.”

“Harry.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” Harry removed his blazer and set it against the back of his office chair before he walked back over to you, wrapped his arms around your waist. “Missed you, though.” 

“You need a break,” you sighed. “You’re… overworking yourself, baby.”

Harry shook his head and leaned in to kiss your cheek. “Just making sure this company doesn’t go under. My parents trusted me—”

“Trusted both you and your brother,” you corrected. 

“He’s got a baby on the way,” Harry sighed. 

“And you have a family too,” you replied. “You know, if your mom ever found out how much you’re working, she’d—”

“She wouldn’t let me hear the end of it,” Harry interrupted quietly. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Can you just—try to take it easy?” You asked. 

He bit his lower lip. “Okay,” he answered. “I’ll try.” 

“Promise?” 

Harry nodded and moved a hand to your cheek. “Yeah, baby. I promise.” 

“Good, now, let’s eat?” 

He smiled and leaned in to peck your lips. This time, he lingered though. “What if… what if I want to do something else before we eat?” 

You hummed against his lips and moved your hands to his shoulders. “Is that why you locked your door?” 

He chuckled and nodded, moving his lips to your jawline now. “You’re my stress relief,” he whispered. “Whenever you’re around, I don’t feel the weight of this company on my shoulders. Feel like I can breathe.” 

“Maybe I should be here more often then,” you teased. 

Harry pulled back to look down at you. “Really?” 

“What would I even do here?” You asked. 

He shrugged. “Just… stay in my office? I don’t know.” 

“How about… when you feel like the walls are closing in on you, you send me a text and I’ll make my way over here?” You suggested. “Or… you can pencil me in everyday and we can take a walk in the park every morning.” 

Harry nodded. “How about both?”

“Yeah?” 

He leaned in and rested his forehead against yours. “I just… feel better whenever you’re around.” 

“Okay,” you said softly. “We’ll take a walk every morning—does ten sound good?” 

Harry kissed your cheek before releasing his hold on you to go back to his desk where his computer sat. He pulled up his calendar and nodded, setting a daily meeting every morning at ten. Now, his assistant would know to never schedule a meeting at that time. 

“Ten in the morning. Everyday. You and me,” Harry said. 

You smiled and then reached for his hand once he made his way back over to you. “Good. For now, you need to eat.” 

He nodded and sat on the couch, tugging you onto his lap and holding you there for a few seconds longer. “I love you, baby.” 

You smiled and draped an arm around his shoulders, leaning in to kiss his temple. “I love you too, Harry.” 

He stared at you and let the corner of his lips. He rested his head against your shoulder as you reached for the Tupperware, opening the lid and handing it to him. 

He knew he had been working a lot lately. More so than usual. But since his parents had retired and named him and Peter as co-CEOs, he had taken his role seriously. Harry had lots of ideas to expand the company, to make even more money than his parents could ever dream of, but he didn’t want it to be at the cost of his relationship with you or his family. He was still trying to balance work and his home life. 

Stevie was the last one to be picked up after her after school clean up with other kids, especially Taylor. Harry watched his little girl come out of the school building with a young boy standing next to her and he could have sworn he had never seen her this smitten before. The boy was inching closer to her and Stevie bit her lip from smiling. It wasn’t until she looked up that she saw Harry with his arms crossed over his chest and his brows pulled together. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Taylor,” Stevie smiled. 

“Oh,” the boy said. “Okay. Thanks for volunteering with me.” 

She nodded. “I’m always happy to help.” 

The boy stopped walking and looked at her with nervous eyes. “Do you think—do you think I could sit with you tomorrow at lunch or something?” 

Stevie’s eyes widened. Her smile grew. “Yeah, I think that’d be cool.” 

Taylor grinned. “Cool, yeah, that’s… that’s awesome.” Then, he leaned in and gave her a one armed hug before he pulled away abruptly, turning on his heel and jogging to where his mother was parked. 

Stevie could feel the warmth in her cheeks as she walked over to Harry, noticing that you were seated in the passenger seat of the car behind him. 

“Dad…”

“He hugged you,” Harry said. “Was that okay with you?” 

“Yes,” she answered. “Can you… not make a scene? In case he’s looking,” Stevie whispered, turning to look over her shoulder in time for Taylor to wave at her. She waved back and then turned her gaze back on Harry. “Please?” 

Harry sighed. He had been stressed at work. He didn’t want to be stressed about this too. So, he gently reached out and took Stevie’s backpack from her. “Okay, I can be… cool.” 

“Are you sure? It looks like you want to say something.” 

“I just—it’s nothing.” 

“Dad.” 

Harry sighed and gently took her hand, pulling her to his side as he let out a breath of relief when Stevie leaned into him. “You’re just getting bigger,” he said. “One minute you’re that same five year old girl who wanted to be around me all the time and now you’re… you’re a preteen with a crush.” 

“I do not have a crush!” 

Harry chuckled. “Stevie girl, touch your cheeks. They’re warm, aren’t they?” 

“So?” 

“So… you’re blushing.” 

She sighed. “For the record,” Stevie said, opening the door to the car once they were close enough. “I still want to be around you all the time. You’re just… busy with work.” 

Then, she climbed in and Harry felt his heart drop. He heard the muffled sounds of greeting as the door shut, biting his lower lip. Stevie had noticed it too. And if she noticed his stress, he was sure Frankie and Sammy did too. 

Harry set her backpack in the trunk before rounding the car to the drivers side. He pulled his phone out and texted his mom. Simple, two words that meant so much more. Meant that he was struggling, meant that he was lost. 

HARRY: Need advice. 

His mother didn’t waste a second to reply. He looked down at his phone at her response. Harry let out a breath. She replied and said that she’d come by the office tomorrow. 

After the five of you walked Central Park, Harry kept a tight hold on your hand as your three kids walked ahead of you to go to the same pizza shop that you had been going to with Stevie when it was just the two of you. Marco was like family now, watching your family grow over the years. 

“Stevie noticed that I’ve been busy at work,” Harry said with a sigh. “Do I make it that obvious?” 

You looked over at him, tightening your hold on his hand. “You just… wear your heart on your sleeve and your expressions say everything.” 

“I expect you to notice that, but Stevie?” 

“Harry, she’s always been aware of your emotions. Mine too. Even at a young age,” you answered. 

He sighed. You were right. Stevie was such an empath—always noticing and feeling other people’s emotions. “I should get better at hiding it.” 

You shook your head. “Hiding it doesn’t fix it.” 

He bit his lower lip. “Right.” 

“Will you at least reach out to your mom?” You asked. 

Harry squeezed your hand. “Already did, actually. She’s coming by the office tomorrow.” 

“Good,” you said, leaning up to kiss him cheek. “She did this before too, you know. Both your parents.” 

“I know.” 

“You don’t have to be perfect,” you whispered. “Not for the company. Not for us.” 

Harry’s eyes softened down at you. “It’s hard,” he answered honestly. “I just want the best for you guys and for the company.”

“We’ve got it already,” you answered. “We’ve got you, baby.” 

The corner of his lips lifted. “You know all the right things to say.” 

You smiled proudly. “I learn from the best. Not too long ago, you were the one saying all the right things.” 

Harry looked down at you. He noticed the age in your features now, the subtle strands of grey streaked in your hair. You were still younger than he was, but having three kids did tend to age you a bit. 

And yet, you still looked like the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. 

“I love you,” he said quietly. “Thinking when we get back home, after the kids are asleep, we can have more alone time?” 

You smiled. “I think I’d like that.” 

Harry smiled and kissed your temple. “Good.”

As the five of you approached Marco’s, Sammy was the first one to speak. 

“Cannoli?” Sammy asked, looking over his shoulder at both you and Harry. 

You smiled and nodded. “After dinner though, baby.” 

Harry pulled you closer, releasing your hand only to wrap an arm around your shoulders. “Just like Stevie,” he mumbled with a quiet chuckle. 

“I think Frankie’s the only one who isn’t too big on sweets like the other two,” you smiled. “Our little athlete.” 

The three of them jogged inside with excitement in their eyes. Harry chuckled and kissed your temple, nodding over to the same table. “I’ll grab the food.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, baby,” Harry said, hand moving from your lower back to give a gentle pat to your ass. “Now, go. Sit down.” 

“Naughty, Mr. Castillo.” 

He grinned. “You like it, Mrs. Castillo,” Harry winked. He walked into the pizza shop as you moved to sit at the table, smiling to yourself as you watched the four of them with loving eyes. You couldn’t believe that five years ago, you and Harry shared a pizza on the very first day you met. 

And now, here you both were, five years later. Married. With three kids. 

Sammy ran outside and climbed into your lap, snuggling closer to you as the two other girls remained inside with Harry. 

“Hi, baby,” you said, cradling Sammy in your arms. “How was school?” 

“Good,” he answered. “I made a friend.”

You grinned. “You did? That’s amazing, baby.” 

Sammy smiled to himself. “Yeah, he’s nice. He’s new to the school.” 

“Oh, yeah?” 

Sammy nodded. “I volunteered to help him in class.” 

You looked down at him and cupped his cheek. “You’re so sweet, Sammy. I bet it was nice of him to not feel alone on his first day.” 

“He said he was sad,” he said. “Because all his friends were back home where he used to live.” 

“And now he’s got one friend here,” you said, gently tapping the tip of his nose. 

Sammy grinned and nodded to himself, nuzzling his cheek further into the crook of your neck now. You held him closer to your chest and shut your eyes, reveling in the sounds of the city. 

“Alright, Frankie, Stevie, what are we getting?” Harry asked, keeping a hold on Frankie’s hand as she slid her own into his. 

“Pepperoni,” Frankie answered, looking up at Harry with a grin. 

Stevie nodded in agreement. “And cannolis.” 

“And breadsticks!” Frankie added. 

Stevie giggled. “Yes, breadsticks.” 

Harry smiled. “Okay, so the works. Got it.” He glanced at Stevie for a moment and noticed her pull out her phone that he had gotten for her a few months ago before she left the pizza shop to go sit outside with you and Sammy. He sighed and then scooped Frankie into his arms. 

“How was school, babygirl?” 

Frankie leaned against him. “Good. Our team won the basketball game during recess.” 

“Ooh,” Harry smiled. She was so different than Stevie and it had been great seeing the different personalities each child had. “So, mama and I were thinking… do you wanna join a sports team or something? You know, outside of school.” 

Her eyes lit up. “Really?” 

“Yeah, Frankie. You’ll get to go to practice, play games on the weekend. That sound like something you wanna do?” 

She nodded quickly. “Yes!” 

He smiled to himself. He didn’t know where Frankie got her athleticism from, but it excited him—getting to go to soccer or basketball games every weekend to cheer her on. 

“But first, pizza?” She asked. 

Harry chuckled and nodded, kissing her temple. “Yeah, babygirl. First, pizza.” 

Frankie smiled and then rested her cheek on his shoulder, holding onto him tightly. Just like Stevie, Frankie was a daddy’s girl. Wherever he went, she wanted to join. 

Dinner lasted for about an hour and a half before all three kids yawned, signaling that they were ready to go home and get ready for bed. Harry looked across the table at you, still cradling Sammy in your arms as Frankie leaned against your side, blinking slowly. 

Harry glanced at Stevie, seated to his left who had her eyes glued to her phone. 

“I think your screen time is done for the day, Stevie girl,” he whispered. 

Stevie looked up at him and nodded. “Okay, dad.” 

“Been glued to that thing ever since I got you it,” he said. 

She shrugged. “Just texting my friends.” 

“Friends?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, friends.” 

Harry arched a brow. “Taylor being one of these friends you’re texting?” 

Stevie rolled her eyes playfully and put her phone away, shaking her head. “He doesn’t have a phone.” 

“Oh? So, what I’m hearing is that kids your age can live without a phone.” 

“What? No…” 

He chuckled quietly and wrapped an arm around her. “Uh huh,” he teased. 

Stevie leaned against him then looked across the table at you. “Mom?” 

“Yeah, baby?” You said, looking over at her. 

“Can you… can you curl my hair tomorrow?” Stevie asked. 

Harry arched a brow. He looked at you and noticed your gaze shift to him. You gave him a look, one that said not to say anything. He sighed quietly and looked back down at Stevie. 

“Yeah, of course, baby. You gonna wake up early enough for me to do your hair though?” 

Stevie nodded. “I’ll be up and ready, I promise… but if I’m tired, can I get a sip of your coffee?” 

Harry looked over at you. 

“Coffee?” You asked. 

Stevie glanced at Harry. “Yeah, coffee.” 

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously between the both of them. “Stevie, I don’t think you’d like coffee, baby.” 

“Only one way to find out, right?” 

You shook your head. 

Harry cleared his throat. “Alright, should we get going?” He interrupted. 

You arched a brow at him. “You’re acting… suspiciously weird, Harry.” 

“What?” 

Stevie gently elbowed his side. He looked down at the younger girl. She gave him the same look you’d give him—don’t say anything. He let the corner of his lips lift before he shook his head. “I’m fine, baby. Those two are ready to pass out and this one needs to sleep early so she’s not sleepy when she wakes up tomorrow.” 

Stevie giggled. 

Sammy stirred in your arms. 

Frankie rubbed her eyes. 

“Okay then,” you said, looking between Harry and Stevie again. “Are you two hiding something?” 

“Nope!” They both said simultaneously. 

Harry smiled and then stood up, gently reaching for Frankie and pulling her into his arms. “Ready to go, baby?” 

You nodded slowly, standing from the seat as you reached for Stevie’s hand with your free one. “What are you guys hiding?” 

“Nothing,” Stevie giggled, leaning against your side. 

Sammy buried his face against your neck and yawned, his eyes now falling shut. 

Harry walked ahead of you, whispering into Frankie’s ear as she giggled quietly. Her tiny arms tightened even further around his neck as her cheek rested against his shoulder. 

“So, curled hair tomorrow, huh?” You said, looking down at Stevie. 

She nodded. “I—uh, I’m having lunch with Taylor tomorrow, so I don’t know. I just want to look nice.” 

You smiled and adjusted Sammy against your hip before your released Stevie’s hand only to wrap your arm around her shoulders. “Oh, baby, you always look nice.” 

She sighed. “Okay, I want to look nicer.” 

You nodded and leaned down to kiss the crown of her head. “My baby’s got a crush.” 

She rolled her eyes. “He’s just… he’s nice.” 

“Yeah?” 

Stevie bit her lower lip. “And he’s friendly… and kind to everyone.” 

You smiled and held her closer. “Good, baby. That’s really good.” 

“And you know his mom, so…” 

“Yeah, she’s kind too,” you said softly. “Sometimes, I forget that you’re eleven. To me, you’re still that same little girl who would get syrup or ice cream all over her face. For a long time, it was just you and me, you know?” 

Stevie looked up at you and nodded. You reached up and gently stroked her hair back and away from her face. “I love you, mom. Our family… I love it. It’s what I always dreamed of.” 

“And daddy? You know you’ve got him wrapped around your finger from day one,” you smiled. “But that doesn’t mean you get to take advantage of that now that you’re older, okay?” 

“I know,” Stevie said. 

“So, what’s this about coffee? Hm?” 

Her eyes widened. “Nothing.”

“Uh huh.” 

She giggled. “I asked for a one sip,” she admitted. “I didn’t like it, but dad said that I might like yours… because you have sugar in yours.” 

You laughed quietly and shook your head. “You know, I don’t like daddy’s coffee either.” 

Stevie smiled. 

Then, you continued. “Also… he’s going to be overprotective, okay? You’re his little girl. To him, no one’s good enough.” 

Stevie nodded slowly, glancing over at Harry who kept Frankie close to his chest. “I know,” she whispered. 

“You know, he’d give you the world if he could,” you said, smiling to yourself as you crossed the street to walk towards the car. “So… if he’s overreacting, it’s coming from a place of love… and fear.” 

“Fear?”

You nodded, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, baby. Us parents… when our kids get older, we think that they won’t need us anymore.”

“I’ll always need you, mom. And I’ll always need him too,” Stevie said quietly. 

Stevie gave you a quick hug before jogging towards the car after you all crossed the street. Harry buckled Frankie into her car seat before he felt Stevie collide against him, her arms snaking around his waist as she held onto him tightly. 

“Hey…” he said quietly, his arms coming to wrap around her too. “Everything okay?” 

Stevie looked up at him and nodded. “I love you,” she said. 

Harry’s eyes softened. “Aw, Stevie girl. I love you too.” 

She buried her face against him and tightened her hold. “Daddy?” 

He felt his heart rate pick up. Stevie had stopped calling him daddy for a while now and started calling him dad—just another sign of her getting older. 

“Yeah, Stevie girl?” 

“No matter how old I get, I’m always going to need you.” 

His eyes watered. “Yeah? Even when you’re adult and you have a family of your own?” 

Stevie nodded. “Yes, even then. Especially then.”

Harry smiled and wrapped his arms around her even tighter. He kissed the crown of her head and sighed quietly, looking up to see you set Sammy in his own car seat. He knew this was your doing, so he mouthed thank you before you shut the door. 

Later that night, after the kids were asleep, you climbed into bed where Harry was seated against the headboard. Before you could even move to lay on your side of the bed, he reached out for you and tugged you onto his lap instead. 

“Hey,” he whispered. 

“Hi, baby,” you said softly. “Dinner was great tonight.” 

Harry nodded and rested his hands on your hips, leaning forward to peck your lips lightly. “You talked to Stevie.” 

“I just… reminded her, that’s all.”

“You didn’t need to,” he said quietly. 

“I know,” you answered. “I wanted to. She’s going to get to that age where she’ll want nothing to do with you or me… but I just wanted to make sure she knew that we’re still her parents.” 

Harry nodded. “She called me daddy tonight. I don’t think I’ve heard her say that in a long time.” 

“She’s always gonna be our little girl, Harry.” 

“I know that,” he whispered. “Just wish time would just freeze, you know? Keep them little forever.” 

“I know, me too,” you sighed. “But hey, we’re doing this together.” 

He smiled at that. His hands moved from your hips to your ribcage, sliding his hands under your shirt. “Have I told you today how lucky I am?” 

You shook your head. “Ah, I knew you were forgetting something.” 

Harry chuckled quietly. “I’m gonna do better, okay? I don’t… want to miss anymore moments.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, leaning forward to pepper kisses along his jawline. “Maybe I should just show up at the office unannounced to distract you.” 

Harry felt his manhood stir beneath you. He tilted his head back against the headboard and shut his eyes, moving his hands further up your body until they covered your breasts. He brushed his thumbs of your nipples as you rolled your hips into his, lips moving down the side of his neck. 

“Hmm, that could work,” he mumbled, letting out a quiet groan. 

You felt his hardening length against your core, grounding your hips further into his. “I love you, you know that?” You asked, pulling back to look down at him.

He looked up at you and smiled. “I know, baby. I love you too.” 

“So… will you let me take care of you?” 

His brow arched. “What?” 

You pecked his lips and then slowly climbed off his lap only to settle himself between your legs. You palmed the center of his boxers, his hardened manhood against your palm now. “Just sit back… let me do all the work.” 

Harry groaned and nodded. He looked down at you and bit his lower lip. He couldn’t believe that this was his life. Today was a wake up call for him—he hadn’t been present in his kids’ lives and he certainly hadn’t been present for you either. 

“You spoil me,” he mumbled. 

“Good. I’m trying to return the favor,” you grinned, moving your lips now to brush against his clothed manhood. 

Harry’s hand darted out immediately to hold your hair back, biting his lower lip in anticipation. “Maybe… maybe you should do this every night,” he suggested. 

You smiled up at him and pulled down his boxers, watching his manhood twitch against his lower half. “Yeah? I wouldn’t mind that,” you grinned. 

“God,” he groaned, watching your lips wrap around the tip of his manhood. Harry cleared his throat, your eyes still locked with his. “Fuck, baby.” 

You pulled back and ran your tongue around his leaking tip. A smile still lined your lips. “Harry?” 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“I fall in love with you every day,” you said. 

Harry grinned. He reached out with his free hand to cup your cheek. “Oh, baby… I fell in love with you five years ago and I haven’t stopped falling since.” 

Before he could continue though, you wrapped your mouth back around him and began bobbing your head slowly. Harry tipped his head back and reveled in the way your lips felt around him, your tongue swirling around the base of him. 

“Fuck, baby…” Harry’s hand around your hair tightened as he slowly lifted his hips off the bed. “Wanna try for another baby, hm?” 

You nodded, but with his length in your mouth, caused you to just bob around him. He growled before he pulled out of your mouth, his free hand moving from your cheek to grab hold of his base. 

“Take off your panties,” he said, licking his lower lip. “And then sit on it. Take what you need, baby.” 

You nodded quickly. You were already throbbing and wet between your legs, sliding your panties off like he said before you straddled his hips yet again. 

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, feeling his tip breach your opening first followed by the rest of his girth, stretching you slowly. 

Both of you moaned. 

You stared into his eyes.

Harry stared back. 

“Gonna fill you up,” he whispered. “So much that I’ll be dripping out of you in your sleep.” 

You gasped, lifting your hips before sliding back down. “Get me pregnant, Harry,” you added. “Please.” 

Harry smiled. Both of you had been wanting to expand your family, but this time, it wasn’t easy. At least not as easy as it had been with Frankie and Sammy. 

He gripped your hips and pulled you firmly down onto him. As you sat firmly on his lap, his entire length filling you to the hilt, you both stared at each other and let out a breathy sigh. 

“I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you too,” you replied, leaning forward to press your forehead against his. 

It had been a while since you and Harry had sex twice in one day. You both just hoped that it was a sign that you’d end up pregnant this time around. 

"Hey hun, you're awake!" Tommy said, his voice loud and excited through the speaker. 

"Where is everyone at 12 PM?" you asked, your voice raspy and not so friendly. 

"Oh, we came to town because David heard there was some local block party going on."

"Oh."

"Lisa tried to wake you up, but you were way too tired… and drunk."

You had a sudden, painful flashback of all the beers you had downed last night. 

"Right," you muttered, sounding thoroughly ashamed. 

"What aren’t you telling me?" Tommy asked, his tone shifting, sounding more concerned now. 

"Nothing. Don’t worry. Have fun."

"You could still come. I can drive back and pick you up. Actually, I know Joel is still at the cabin, he could just bring you."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Joel is here?"

"He's not?" Tommy paused. 

"Haven’t seen him yet."

"Oh. Well, maybe he went out to grab more beers or something."

"Makes sense," you murmured, looking down at the wooden floorboards. "I'll call you if anything," you said before hanging up.

You left your phone on the kitchen counter. Your body was incredibly sore from the long walk, the alcohol, and the rough sex. You needed to get something into your stomach—not because you were actually hungry, but because you hadn't eaten a single thing for dinner last night. 

You made yourself a cup of hot coffee and some toast, then sat completely alone in the quiet kitchen. Your mind was racing, thinking and thinking and thinking again about everything that had happened. You couldn't stop thinking about Joel and his switch, heavy movements; about Joel and his bruising kisses. About Joel fucking Miller. 

You remembered that when you had slapped him back by the lake, you had felt a sudden, sharp pang of desperation radiating from him. A man you had known for so long had been watching you with the wrong eyes, but the moment his lips crashed into yours, you couldn't help but kiss him back. And that kiss had been perfect in its own chaotic way: passionate, needy, and entirely his. 

But when it was all over and he suddenly turned so distant, you felt scared. Truly terrified. You had started doubting what had just happened, and even though you tried your best to stay calm, your trembling voice and wide eyes had completely betrayed you. 

Right there, under the moonlight, you had asked him in your most vulnerable tone not to push you away.

"I’m not doing that," he muttered, his voice tense.

"Joel," you pleaded, your voice cracking. "What is on your mind?"

"Stop," he said, his tone sharp and not friendly at all. 

"No. We just—are you seriously doing this right now?"

"I’m not doing anything," he replied defensively. But then, his eyes caught the soft shine of yours. He saw the genuine hurt reflecting in them, and he knew this time was different. They had crossed a line there was no coming back from. He reached out and grabbed your shoulders with both hands, his grip tight but careful. "Look... I’m just not used to this."

"Used to what?" you asked, deeply offended, ripping yourself away from his touch. "Public sex? Rough sex? Me?"

He let go of your shoulders completely and let out a heavy, defeated sigh. "Can we just not do this right now?"

You stared at his face, searching for any sign of the man who had just held you so fiercely, but he refused to look at you, his gaze locked onto the dirt floor.

You threw your arms up in the air, giving up. "Okay. We won’t do this. Not now, not ever." You spun around and started walking past him.

"Oh, come on. That’s not what I said," he called out, spinning on his heel to watch you walk away, though he stayed frozen in place.

"You know what? If you couldn’t handle me, if you disliked me so much, you shouldn't have fucking fucked me!" you snapped, whipping around to glare at him, fighting desperately to hold back your tears. "I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, but I don’t deserve your bullshit." 

Joel froze. A sharp sting of guilt pierced his chest, but his stubborn pride was far bigger. He didn’t know how to be vulnerable around you yet; to him, the overwhelming emotions he was feeling were terrifying and embarrassing. He couldn't handle the thought of looking weak or pathetic in front of you, so he did what he always did: he pulled a heavy, iron wall between you both. 

"Is this some type of sick revenge because I sat on your lap at that Christmas party?"

"What?" Joel asked, visibly shocked, his eyes widening. "No! You honestly think I would have sex with you out of revenge?"

"I don’t know, Joel. Right now, you are a complete stranger to me." A few hot tears finally spilled over your eyelashes, rolling down your cheeks.

Joel immediately closed the distance between you, reaching up with a rough thumb to dry them, but the moment you saw his intention, you turned your back on him and kept walking.

You walked all the way back to the cabin, sobbing softly into the quiet night, with Joel trailing a few meters behind you in a heavy, agonizing silence, completely at a loss for what to do.

Once back at the cabin, he had locked himself inside his truck so no one would see him, while you had moved to the backyard with a bunch of beers, trying to numb the sting. 

Now, in the present, the coffee was still too hot to drink, so you ate the toast first. Just as you finished breakfast, you heard the exact sound you didn’t need to hear right now: Joel parking his truck outside. For a fraction of a second, you froze, feeling the sudden, desperate urge to hide just to avoid being seen by him. But you immediately rejected the idea, knowing it would be ridiculous to act that way. You took a deep breath, forced yourself to stay calm, and finally drank your hot coffee. 

The screen door creaked open. Joel walked in, carrying a few shopping bags. You didn’t look at him, and he didn’t look at you. When he entered the kitchen with the bags, you quietly moved to the sink to do your dishes, before making your way toward the shared bathroom. 

"You good?" he asked suddenly, his voice low, still without looking at you. 

"Never been better," you said coldly, keeping your eyes forward as you walked past him and into the bathroom. 

You felt genuinely disgusted with yourself as you took off your clothes. After everything that had happened by the lake, you had completely skipped taking a shower last night, so this one was desperately needed. You turned on the hot water and stepped into the heavy, suffocating cloud of steam. 

As the heat hit your skin, you felt your body relax, and you began to wash your hair. But the moment your hands moved to your nape, you couldn’t help but vividly remember Joel’s large hand grabbing you there so hard. When you started lathering the soap over your body, your palms felt like his—remembering his tight, bruising grip on your hips... and something inside you completely broke. You had experienced quick, rough sex before; it wasn’t new. But this had a massive factor that changed everything. This wasn't some random guy from New York, and this wasn’t just any sex. You couldn't even explain to yourself why he was so damn special to you, but he was, and now the entire situation was becoming deeply painful. 

You dried your hair with a towel and moved to the bedroom you shared with Lisa. Just as you were finishing getting ready, a heavy knock sounded at your door. You waited a tense second, your heart hammering, not knowing what to do, but you finally opened it. You just stared at him, your arms crossed, waiting for him to speak first. 

"I'm going downtown with the guys," Joel said, his eyes scanning your face. "Want to come?"

"I'm not good company today," you replied flatly, leaving absolutely no room for him to insist. 

He nodded silently and started to walk away. Seeing his retreating back triggered something in you. You had only come to this town for a few days; you weren't going to waste them locking yourself in a bedroom just to cry over some man. 

"Wait," you called out just as he was reaching the beginning of the hallway. "Just give me five minutes."

Joel paused, nodded again, and turned around, heading straight for the living room couch instead of his truck. ----------------------------------------------------------------

The truck's air was cool from the AC. You rested your hands on your lap while Joel silently drove next to you. You couldn’t help but notice, once again, the way his arms flexed against the steering wheel. Even now, you couldn’t stop looking at his body, thinking about how gorgeous he was—especially now that you knew exactly what it felt like to be held by him. 

Joel was usually incredible at maintaining his stoic demeanor, but right now, with you sitting in the passenger seat wearing that blue light summer dress, he felt completely exposed. Knowing how badly he had handled things last night, he was certain you could see straight through his walls. 

The silence in the cab was suffocating him, so he reached out and turned the radio on. Instantly, the vulnerable, aching pain in Gwen’s voice filled the truck as she sang 'Don't Speak':

"Don't speak, no

I know what you're thinkin'

And I don't need your reasons

I know you're good, I know you're good"

He quickly switched the station to something less dramatic, his jaw clenching as he stared straight at the road ahead. But the change came too late; you had already absorbed every single word of the song. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, the leather suddenly feeling too hot against your skin. He saw your movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Lisa asked me if somethin' happened last night" he finally said, his deep, Texan drawl cutting through the new radio station's music.

"What did you tell her?" you asked, not looking at him.

"Nothin'” Joel replied. A heavy pause stretched between you before he added, "She was worried 'cause you got drunk out of nowhere."

"It wasn't out of nowhere."

He took a deep breath, his chest expanding against the steering wheel. "I know. But she don't." He glanced at you fast, his dark eyes lingering on your face for a split second before snapping back to the road. "You didn’t need to go and drink all that." he said, a genuine note of worry slipping through his rough tone.

"Yes, I did."

"Come on, sweetie—"

"Don’t," you stopped him, your voice sharp, cutting him off before he could use that pet name to soften you up. "We don’t need to talk. And you don’t need to pretend you care now. You got what you wanted."

"That’s not—" Joel bit his tongue, his knuckles turning white as his grip tightened on the wheel. He swallowed whatever defense he had left, his jaw tight. "Okay. I ain't sayin' nothin'." ----------------------------------------------------------------

The town field was full of people having fun, drinking beers, and kids playing around. You suddenly saw your friends laughing and joking about some absurd thing you didn't quite catch. 

Lisa ran over to hug you the second she saw you. "My wife is here!" 

You hugged her back tightly, finally feeling your body lose a little of the suffocating tension you had been carrying all morning. 

"You two look tense" Paul said, joking with you and Joel as you both approached. 

"Nah," Joel dismissed him, his Texan drawl low and flat. "Just tired."

"Man, did you sleep in your truck or somethin'?" Paul asked in front of everyone, letting out a chuckle. 

Your stomach did a violent flip. You looked straight at Joel, completely unable to suppress your shock, your eyes wide as you prayed your face wouldn't betray you. 

"I had a headache," Joel lied smoothly, staring back at Paul without flinching. 

"You? Your head is made of steel, man" Tommy joked, punching his brother's shoulder. 

Joel faked a low laugh—a hollow, dry sound that you were completely certain you were the only one to catch. Lisa held your hand and pulled you away toward a street bar to grab some drinks, leaving the guys behind. 

"Is everything okay?" she asked privately, leaning closer so no one else could hear. 

"Yeah, it is." you said, forcing a fake smile onto your face. 

"You never drink that much."

"Well... I don't know what to tell you, Lis."

"That’s 'cause you don’t know how to lie to me." she countered, raising an eyebrow.

You let out a soft laugh because it was completely true; you had absolutely no idea what to say to sound convincing right now. 

"I don't know if I should even tell you." you finally admitted, looking down at your cup. 

"Does it have something to do with that big man over there?" Lisa asked, glancing quickly over her shoulder at Joel, who was still chatting with the guys in the distance. 

You nodded, your expression turning much more serious, instantly affected by the heavy weight of what you were about to confess. 

"Did you guys fight?" 

"Worse," you corrected her in a sharp whisper. "We screwed."

"WHAT?" Lisa gasped, her voice hitting a shocked, high-pitched tone that made a few bypassers look over. 

"Shhh!" You aggressively grabbed her by the arm and pulled her further into the crowd to get more privacy. "Yes. And then everything went completely south. Don’t worry, and please, don’t say a single word, okay?"

"Hun... that is not just some random man."

"I know!" you said, your voice dripping with frustration. "Just promise me."

"Okay, okay, yes. I promise, I won't say a word."

A few minutes later you come back grabbing some beers for everyone and just a soda for you. 

The day went smoothly—or kinda. You all had lunch there while listening to the local band that was playing, which, to your own surprise, was actually pretty good. You laughed and told stories about your recent work in New York, leaving everyone impressed by how successful you were at your marketing company. For a moment, you finally felt comfortable after so much suffocating tension, but that didn’t last long. Every now and then, you could feel Joel’s unreadable eyes on you. Even when you weren’t even sitting close, your eyes would wander around the crowd, easily finding him or his gaze every single time.

Later, the group moved around the whole town, exploring like little kids, but you were too tired to follow them. You just leaned against a brick wall and lit a cigarette to wait for them to finish. You looked at your phone for the first time in hours; it was already 5 PM, which meant you only had one full day left here. You looked up from the screen and froze when you saw Joel smiling. Joel smiling? you thought to yourself. He was clearly alone since everyone else had walked ahead, but then you noticed her—a pretty blonde girl, clearly flirting with him. And he was smiling back at her like some infatuated teenager. 

Your brain moved too fast for you to protect yourself from the heavy scenario it was creating. Your thoughts raced, thinking about how easy it would be for you to just stay in New York or completely ignore his presence like you had done last summer. How easy it would be if you were different. Maybe you just needed to push him a little, try a different tactic... or maybe you just needed to be a random blonde girl from a small town for him to smile at you like that.

Your feet moved faster than your thoughts, and in just a couple of seconds, you were standing right next to him. 

"Do you know where Kristin is?" you asked, acting as if you didn’t know the whole group had just gone for a walk. 

He looked at you, instantly suppressing the warm smile he had been giving to the girl in front of him. 

"Taking a walk" he said, his voice not quite as cold as it had been earlier in the truck. 

"Oh." You looked up at him, your posture defensive. "I forgot to tell her I brought her her birthday gift." It was completely true, but it felt incredibly weird and forced to say right now. 

"You can tell her that later," Joel replied. Then, he turned his head to look back at the girl, who was clearly still very much into him. 

"What are you doing?" you asked bluntly, your voice cutting through the space between you. 

He stared at you, visibly taken aback by your boldness. But you couldn’t control yourself anymore. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly; it was pure desperation. It was a suffocating confusion that you couldn't keep inside. 

"Just chatting with Pearl" he said, gesturing faintly toward the girl. 

You nodded once, then reached out and firmly grabbed his hand, your fingers locking around his wrist. "I need your help. Come with me." Before he could even utter a response, you were dragging him back across the dirt lot to where his truck was parked. You threw a quick goodbye over your shoulder to Pearl, and Joel just followed you, his compliance feeling like second nature. 

"What do you need?" he asked, the moment you both reached the side of his truck. 

You aggressively rubbed a hand through your hair, suddenly not knowing what had just happened. You never, ever acted like this. 

"Are you flirting now?" you asked, your voice dropping to a quiet, fragile whisper that felt way too loud in the small space between you. 

"I wasn’t flirting," Joel replied smoothly, though he didn't look at you, his thumb aimlessly tracing the edge of his pocket. 

"You clearly were, Joel." 

"No, I wasn’t." 

"Well, she certainly was." 

"And? I’m single," he said softly. His jaw tightened just a fraction, a defense mechanism you knew all too well. 

"Yes, I know that. But I'm not talking about your relationship status and you fucking know it," you murmured, your throat burning as you fought to keep your voice steady. 

Joel let out a long, rough breath, rubbing his face hard with one hand as if he could physically wipe away the exhaustion. When he pulled his hand down, his eyes looked incredibly heavy. 

"So you're just nice to every single girl but me now?" you asked, the raw rejection finally bleeding into your tone. 

"That’s not true," he whispered, his deep voice cracking slightly. 

"You keep saying that, but you do absolutely nothing to prove me wrong." 

"Why can’t you just stop pushing?" Joel pleaded, his voice laced with a quiet, desperate tiredness. He stepped a single inch closer, his large frame casting a shadow over you. 

"I’m not pushing! But even if I was, I have every damn right to do so." A heavy, suffocating silence fell between you. The noise of the distant festival faded into nothing as you dropped your shield completely, looking up at him with wide, aching eyes. "Why did you sleep in your truck last night, Joel?" 

Joel closed his eyes for a second, his chest rising and falling in a slow, ragged breath. When he opened them, they were guarded. "Why did you go and get drunk?" 

"Because you used me!" you shot back, the words flying out of you fast, raw, and completely unbidden, a sudden tear escaping and rolling down your cheek. 

"I didn’t use you," Joel said softly, his voice dropping into a deep, desperate rumble, completely frozen by the sight of your tears. 

"Well, I feel pretty much used and tossed aside! Especially when some random pretty girl is flirting with you right in front of my face and you act like everything is completely normal." 

This right here was one of the main reasons Joel always stayed away from you. Because you were too honest. You were never ashamed to be vulnerable, raw, and real. You were always asking questions, always wondering out loud, while a man like him needed months just to process his own chaotic feelings—months just to collect his thoughts about something as deeply terrifying as having a massive crush on his little brother’s best friend.

"I’m not like you, okay?" he finally said, his deep voice barely a whisper as he looked down at his boots. "You’ve always been this bold woman who just takes everything in her path with her honesty. For me... it’s complicated."

You looked up at him with soft, aching eyes, the anger completely draining out of you, leaving only raw exhaustion. 

"I’m not asking for too much, Joel," you pleaded softly, the words catching in your throat. "I’m just asking you not to be mean to me. Especially when you know how much you mean to me." 

He let out a long, ragged sigh, his shoulders slumping as if a heavy weight had just settled on them. "You're right. I’m not being fair to you... but God, it’s so damn hard."

"Why?" you whispered, stepping just a fraction closer, searching his guarded face. "Why does it have to be hard?"

"'Cause... 'cause I don’t know how to do this," he confessed, his voice cracking with a vulnerability he had never shown anyone before. He finally looked into your eyes, his gaze desperate. "And you... you're you. And I feel like I would never fit into your world."

"That’s some bullshit, Joel." 

"Is it?" he asked quietly, a bitter, humorless smile touching his lips. 

"We are nothing, Joel," you said, the cold truth of the words stinging your own chest as you blinked away a fresh tear. "But I’m pretty sure that if we were... I wouldn’t ruin it like this."

"You're right. I’m an asshole," he finally muttered, his shoulders dropping in complete defeat. 

You looked down, feeling utterly devastated, the heavy realization crashing over you that this was going absolutely nowhere. This was over before it had even started, and he didn't even know how badly you had wanted it to work. You had never been scared of rejection, nor had you ever feared a relationship failing. But this man... this man had just completely shook the ground beneath your feet. With nothing but his guarded actions and those big, brown puppy-dog eyes, he had made you feel things that no other man had ever been able to do.

You forced yourself to swallow the painful knot tightening in your throat. 

"Pearl must be waiting for you," you whispered, gesturing faintly back toward the festival crowd. 

"I don’t care about Pearl," Joel said, his deep voice thick and laced with genuine hurt. 

"You don’t care about me either," you said, your voice cracking completely.

"Don't say that," he whispered softly, his eyes searching yours with a sudden, desperate vulnerability as he tries to close the space between you.

"Stay away" you said, the tears finally spilling over your eyelashes as you spun around, walking away and leaving him standing completely alone by his truck. ----------------------------------------------------------------

Darkness came as you arrived back at the cabin. This time, you had gotten into David’s car to relax a little on the ride home, and it had actually helped. David was so handsome and charming; you loved being around him. His aura was always positive, the kind of friend who would give you a hug without even asking, and that’s exactly what he had done when he found you crying in the street earlier. He hadn’t asked for a single explanation; he had just held you tightly until you finally felt better. 

The guys started preparing a barbecue while you got the outdoor table ready. Lisa and Gigi were inside checking why the music wasn’t playing outside yet, and Kristin was helping the men with whatever they needed. 

The mouth-watering smell of the meat quickly worked up your appetite and everyone else’s. Soon, you all sat around the table in the backyard, sharing food, loud stories, and old memories. That was when you remembered the conversation from earlier and stood up to go get Kristin’s birthday gift. 

It was a medium-sized bag with a pretty lace bow. She definitely hadn’t expected anything from you since her birthday had been a week ago, but you could see the pure excitement in her eyes. 

Her hands opened the bag carefully, and inside she found a small leather case. It contained a vintage pair of sunglasses she had been dreaming about for years.

"OMG! No way!" she squealed.

"Do you like them?" you asked excitedly. 

"Of course I do! They are absolutely perfect!" she cried, moving over to wrap her arms around you in a tight hug. "Where did you find them?"

"In some local vintage store near my place. I thought of you the exact second I saw them."

"OMG, I love you so much," she said, squeezing you in another warm hug.

The interaction made everyone smile. Everyone in the group knew how much Kristin loved fashion and how much she loved collecting special, unique pieces, and now you were sharing that passion with her too.

Later into the evening, Paul and Gigi went to bed early, leaving the rest of you sitting around the outdoor table. Tommy immediately started complaining about Paul, whining about what a total dork he was. Everyone laughed because Paul hadn’t actually done anything wrong, but Tommy just couldn’t handle the fact that a beautiful girl he had let slip away was now seeing his silly friend from college.

"Don’t be so hard on him," Joel said, taking a slow sip of his beer. 

"I’m just being honest," Tommy defended himself, crossing his arms.

"No, you're not. You're acting like some hurt teenager," you said, laughing softly. 

"Well... I am a hurt adult."

"Did you even care about her after you two slept together?" Lisa asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Well… I kept buying my stuff at her store."

"You're the dork then," Kristin said firmly, shaking her head. "She is way too much of a woman for you, Tommy."

"Hey! I have my charm!" Tommy snapped back quickly. 

"Yeah... buried under a rock," Joel muttered, his deep voice dry as bone, making everyone burst out laughing. Even you couldn't help but let out a genuine chuckle.

As the laughter died down, Joel met your eyes across the table. There was a faint, unmistakable spark in them—a sudden warmth replacing the cold stone from earlier. Was it just the alcohol? The loose, comfortable conversation? Or was he actually changing?

After everyone left for bed, you stayed behind to clean up the backyard. David had insisted on doing it tomorrow, but you didn’t feel like leaving a mess, so you grabbed a trash bag and started moving around alone in the heavy silence. 

You felt Joel’s eyes on you before you even saw him, his large frame leaning casually against the doorframe of the cabin. 

"Go to bed. I’ll finish up out here," his deep voice cut through the night. 

You didn’t look at him, keeping your focus on the trash as you kept moving. "No. I’m almost done."

He walked down the porch steps, moving toward you. "Don’t be so stubborn."

You finally turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "You’re the stubborn one here, Miller."

"For wanting to help you?"

"No. For giving me orders."

He let out a low, rough chuckle. "I’m not doing that. You just look tired as fuck."

"Have you always been this good with compliments?" you shot back, a sarcastic smile tugging at your lips.

"It’s just natural in me," he shrugged, his Texan drawl thick and easy. 

"Mhm." You lifted your eyebrows, stepping closer. "A total charmer."

"Watch it now. Tommy may hear you and start yapping about Paul and Gigi all over again."

"Oh no, please. I’m so done with that topic," you laughed, the lingering anger from earlier finally beginning to melt away. 

"Good to know I’m not the only one," he murmured. 

You looked up at his face, and God, he looked incredibly handsome under the dim patio lights. "Are you drunk, Joel?"

"Me? Nah, I only had three beers."

You nodded slowly, deliberately closing the space between you until you were standing right in his perimeter. "Only three? I swear I saw you holding a few more than that." 

He chuckled softly, his dark eyes looking down at you, trapped by your sudden closeness. "Counting my beers now?"

"No. Just noticed you."

"Nah, I just had three. Well... maybe four. What about you, sweetie?"

The pet name makes you blush "Just two."

"So you’re not drunk either."

You shook your head, your eyes locked onto his lips. "Not at all."

Your hand moved instinctively, your palm finding the solid, warm muscle of his bicep. He didn’t flinch, and you didn’t flinch, but the sudden contact made your entire body start warming up. You were standing so close you could feel the natural, heavy heat radiating from his chest, mixed with that familiar, woodsy fragrance he always wore. 

"What if we start over?" you finally asked, your voice dropping into a mesmerizing, silky purr. 

"Start over?" he asked, visibly confused, his breath hitching slightly. 

You nodded. For a split second, you were completely lost in him. You knew this could be a mistake, that you shouldn't be letting your walls down so easily after how badly he had hurt your feelings, but no one wins a war without fighting. Right now, every single inch of your body was screaming for that tall, tanned man.

He held your gaze, his eyes darkening as he saw exactly how much you wanted him, a raw reflection of his own desperate desires. But the overwhelming closeness felt too dangerous for his guarded heart. He took a sharp step back, breaking the touch, and cleared his throat roughly. 

"I don’t think that's a good idea."

"You need to stop thinking about me leaving you, Joel."

"It’s not just that," he said, his voice dropping into a soft but incredibly firm tone. 

"Then what is it? What the fuck aren’t you telling me?"

"I can’t tell you. It’s... it's embarrassin’," he confessed, aggressively rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing slightly under his stubble. 

"Joel. It’s me," you pleaded, your voice softening as you stepped back into his space. "I won’t judge you. But if you keep pushing me away like this..." You didn’t finish the sentence, letting the threat of your permanent distance hang heavily in the air. 

He knew exactly what you meant. This was dangerous territory—not just because of the raw feelings involved, but because he knew that if he kept treating you with that cold armor, he would permanently lose the one person he actually cared about. 

He dragged a hand over his face and sat down on one of the patio chairs, his large frame looking suddenly heavy as he debated whether he should finally share the one thing he had been hiding from you for some time, terrified that you would reject him the second it left his mouth. 

You moved a chair, pulling it up until you were sitting right in front of him, your knees almost brushing against his thick thighs. 

"How do I even start?" he muttered, his rough fingers nervously rubbing his chin. 

You shrugged softly, refusing to let him retreat into his shell again. "However you feel like it, Joel." ----------------------------------------------------------------

You were used to Austin’s winter weather, but it was still hard for your body to adapt when you moved from the freezing cold of New York to the heavy warmth of your hometown. 

Tommy had picked you up from the airport because your parents were still in the middle of renovating their house. The plan was for you to stay a few days at Tommy’s place until you could finally head over to your parents' to spend the rest of the holidays with them. 

The moment Tommy saw you walking through the terminal, he held you tight, lifting you slightly and swaying you from side to side out of pure excitement.

"Missed you like crazy," he said, still wrapping you tightly in his arms. 

"I can see that. You're squeezing the life out of me," you complained between laughs. 

He laughed too and finally let you go, grabbing your heavy suitcases instead. 

"Two bags?" he judged, lifting them up with a groan. 

"What? I need my clothes, Tommy!"

"Such a city girl..." he sighed, rolling his eyes at you affectionately. 

You smacked his bicep hard. "Shut up," you laughed, shoving him lightly. 

The ride to his house was full of inside jokes and non-stop laughter, just like old times. You two ended up doing full car karaoke, blasting songs like "Everybody" by the Backstreet Boys and "Oops!... I Did It Again" by Britney Spears. Silence was never an option whenever the two of you got together.

When Tommy parked his car, he handed you his house keys so you could head inside while he grabbed your bags. You moved fast toward the front door, eager to get out of the warm air. You were still looking for the exact key on the ring when the door suddenly opened. 

"I knew I heard you coming," Joel said, opening the door wide with a big, warm smile on his face. 

"Joel!" you said, happily surprised. You instantly closed the space between you and threw your arms around him. "I didn’t know you were going to be here."

"Tommy needed me to fix his kitchen sink," he explained, hugging you back tightly.

"So he got his big brother to do his dirty work for him."

"Not for free, though. He's buying me some pizza for the trouble."

You reached up and gently caressed his cheek, your thumb brushing over his stubble, and he softly leaned into your touch, his smile turning fond. 

"Tommy doesn’t deserve you," you smiled, looking up at him. 

The moment you heard Tommy’s heavy footsteps approaching behind you, Joel stepped to the side for you to come in, breaking the quiet bubble. He moved back to the kitchen sink as he asked you how your flight back home had been and if you had anything interesting to share about your life in the big city. 

"Joel got promoted," Tommy announced proudly while you were all eating pizza at the kitchen table. 

"You did?!" you asked, turning your head quickly to look at Joel. 

"It’s nothin’” he muttered, brushing it off with a humble smile. 

"Don't play humble, man," Tommy said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "He is now the head boss of his entire team," Tommy added, looking over at you. 

"That’s amazing! I'm so incredibly happy for you," you said genuinely, reaching out to rub Joel’s forearm. "Oh man, you deserve this more than anyone, Joel." 

He didn't pull away; instead, his large palm moved to trap your hand in place, responding to your warm touch with a gentle squeeze. 

"You're gonna make him blush," Tommy made fun, pointing a slice of pizza at his brother. 

Joel just rolled his eyes at Tommy, but he didn't let go, keeping your hand resting comfortably on him. 

"By the way... is Liam coming down for the holidays?" Tommy asked genuinely, completely oblivious to the shift in the air. 

You instantly cleared your throat, gently but quickly moving your hand away from Joel's grip. "No. I didn’t invite him." 

"Liam?" Joel asked, his voice dropping slightly, his eyes narrowing as he noticed your sudden distance. 

"Her boyfriend," Tommy supplied. 

"Not my boyfriend," you corrected him quickly, your eyes locking onto Joel's, desperate to clear the air. Joel lifted his eyebrows in silent curiosity. "Not my boyfriend," you repeated firmly. "He was just some dude I was seeing for a bit, but it turned out monogamy was completely one-sided with him. He was seeing other women too." 

Joel nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "A suited asshole?" he asked, his tone laced with a hint of disgust. 

"Pretty much," you confirmed with a bitter sigh. 

"An asshole, but with a Ferrari," Tommy laughed loudly, taking a bite of his pizza. "Whatever. You're way too much of a woman for him anyway. Just find yourself a rich man next time, one who can spoil us too." Tommy joked, completely unaware of how heavy his words hit the table. 

"Right... a rich guy," Joel murmured. The warm spark in his eyes instantly died out. He looked away from you, staring down at his plate as he took a slow, silent sip of his beer.

You gave Joel a soft smile and kept eating even though for some reason you weren’t hungry anymore. 

—

You had to leave at 10:00 PM for David’s pre-Christmas party. He had decided to throw it the second he found out you were coming back and staying at Tommy's. "We haven't been together in too long," he’d said, and of course, the whole group immediately agreed.

You put on a nice little black dress that hugged your curves perfectly, making you look like you were straight out of a magazine. Tommy looked you up and down the moment you met him in the living room.

"Girl, where are you going?" he teased, a grin spreading across his face.

"You don't like it?" You checked your outfit, smoothing down the fabric.

"I do, but... are you trying to get laid tonight?" he joked, nudging your shoulder.

"With who?" you joked back, rolling your eyes.

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe someone is bringing someone you'll like."

You rolled your eyes again at the memory, but deep down, time had proved Tommy was right. It was supposed to be a small gathering with only the seven of you, but of course, everyone had brought their plus-ones, and a few other random friends had tagged along too. 

You arrived with a bottle of wine in hand, heading straight to the kitchen to grab a glass for yourself. The house had this warm, yellow lighting you loved, especially for this type of festive occasion. The welcome back home was as warm as always, and you quickly fell into the comforting feeling that no time had passed at all. 

A lot of alcohol and some gift exchanges made the evening even more entertaining. You casually sat down next to Joel on the couch when Kristin had the great idea to play a game of truth or dare, just like you used to do when you were younger. 

Everyone eagerly agreed, and the game began. 

Since it was her idea, Kristin was the one to start. She sat up straight and let the person to her left, Tommy, ask her the question. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," she said fast. 

"Who is the hottest person in the group?" Tommy smirked. 

"David," she answered without thinking twice. 

"He is your stepbrother!" Tommy’s dramatic reaction made everyone burst out laughing. 

"I didn’t say anything beyond the fact that he's hot!" she defended herself, laughing along. 

"OMG, you are sick." Tommy moved fast, turning his attention to you, since you were sitting right next to Kristin. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," you said, smiling boldly. 

"I dare you to..." Tommy paused, tapping his chin with one finger as he thought it over. "...to down your glass in one go!"

"Gotcha," you said. You brought the glass to your lips and drank it fast, never one to be scared of a little alcohol. 

"Oh, please, Tommy. What are you, fifteen?" Joel suddenly complained from next to you, his voice deep and laced with sudden irritation. 

"It’s just your turn next!" Tommy said, laughing it off. 

"No. I’m not playing. I need a break from you already," Joel muttered, standing up abruptly. He didn't look at you as he walked away, heading straight out to the porch to get some air. 

Tommy just laughed at his brother's attitude, completely used to his serious demeanor. You kept playing for a few more rounds, but then you excused yourself to go to the kitchen and grab another glass of wine. On your way back, you glanced at the screen door and decided to join Joel outside on the porch to see how he was doing.

"Hey, stranger," you said to him as you stepped out into the cool night air. 

He was leaning against the porch railing, quietly holding a beer. He was wearing a nice black button-up shirt and some dark blue jeans. Looking at your own clothes, you thought about how you two happened to be matching outfits tonight. 

He looked you up and down thinking how beautiful you were tonight, his dark eyes lingering on your frame. "Hey," he smiled, his deep, Texan drawl warm as he met your eyes. 

"Tired of Tommy already?" you teased him, stepping closer. 

"Can you blame me, darlin'?" 

"Never," you laughed. "But to be fair, we were all playing."

"I know," he breathed, taking a slow sip of his beer. "But he was bein' a freakin' teenager." 

"Yeah, he was," you agreed. You took another step into his perimeter, your hand reaching out instinctively to touch the fabric of his chest. "New shirt?"

He nodded once, his eyes tracking your fingers against his chest. "Got it for tonight."

"Oh, really?" You smirked, looking up at him through your eyelashes. "Somethin' special happenin'?"

"You were comin' back." he says smirking.

Your heart skipped a beat. You looked down, smiling softly as you bit your lower lip. "I do that twice a year at least, Joel."

"And when are you stayin'?" 

"You mean... for good?" 

He nodded once, his gaze locking onto yours, dead serious now. 

"Don't think I ever will," you admitted softly. 

"What? You lookin' for your rich man out there in the city?" he teased, though his voice dropped a little too low. 

"Not rich, but stable, you know?" 

Joel's posture shifted, a heavy stiffness settling into his broad shoulders right after that confirmation. You didn’t catch his discomfort—it was way too subtle, and besides, why would you have noticed? Back then, he was just your best friend's older brother. 

"What about you?" you asked, leaning your back against the railing next to him. 

"I ain't lookin' for nothin'. Not my type of thing," he said, taking another slow gulp of his beer. 

"So you plan to be alone forever?" 

He looked out at the dark yard for a quiet second, his profile sharp against the porch light, before turning his eyes back to you. "Just waitin' for the right person."

You nodded, a soft smile on your face as you processed his words. "A romantic."

"I ain't romantic," he laughed softly, the low rumble of his voice vibrating in his chest. "No, no," he shook his head, looking away with a bashful smirk. "I'm just focused on work, you know?"

"I bet. You haven't changed that a bit," you smiled, remembering that forever-responsible version of Joel who always put his duties first. 

"You judgin' me now?" he teased, his Texan drawl dripping with a playful warmth as he leaned slightly closer to you. 

You shook your head, holding his gaze. "Never."

You wrapped your arm around his for balance as you took another sip of your wine. His heavy, warm body made your blood run faster through your veins. For a single moment, you felt like this was right—way too right, maybe. 

"Oh," Joel muttered, shifting his weight as he remembered somethin'. "Did David show you his new office?"

"You fixed that up too?" 

"Of course I did," he smirked, his Texan drawl thick. "But he actually paid."

"Finally someone pays you!" you laughed, your face lighting up. 

Joel gently held your hand and dragged you away from the living room, heading down the hallway. No one paid any attention to the two of you; by that time, everyone else was already making out, dancing, or completely drunk. 

The office was perfect, very David’s style. It was a modern yet elegant room, perfect for his economist brain to work long hours in. Joel showed you every little detail he had worked on, his eyes shining with pride as he made you smile. 

He sat down on the large armchair, leaning back and enjoying the view of his craft. "I’m proud of this one," he murmured. You looked where his eyes were focusing. 

"Of course you are. You did a truly great job, Joel." 

He smiled up at you, a soft, genuine look. You walked closer toward him, looking down at his face. "Would you fix my house?"

"Only if it’s in Austin."

"Oh, come on. I’ll pay you whatever you want to do it in New York."

"I don’t like New York," he said flatly, his jaw tightening just a bit. 

"What about me?" you teased, tilting your head. 

"What about you?" he asked, his throat moving as he swallowed hard. 

"You like me enough to go out there?" 

He reached out and held your hand, his dark eyes locking onto yours, refusing to answer just yet. 

"I don’t like New York," he repeated, his voice dropping an octave, low and raspy. 

You shifted your weight and sat right down on his left leg, your skirt riding up slightly. "You said that already." 

Joel looked down at your legs and then tracked a slow path up your body, his breath catching in his throat. He honestly couldn’t believe how incredible you looked sitting right there on him, the proximity driving him insane. His large, rough hand moved up to gently cup your jaw, his thumb smoothing over your skin with a sudden, desperate tenderness. For a split second, time completely stopped, the noise of the party outside fading into nothing as he stared at you through those heavy, hooded eyes.

"I’ll pay for your craft," you whispered, your heart beating fast and heavy against your ribs. 

"I don’t care about your money," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips. 

You smiled softly and looked down to where your knee was rubbing against his thick thigh. "Playin' hard to get hired, Miller?"

"No," he whispered, his thumb tilting your face back up so you had to look at him through those heavy, hooded eyes. "Just stay in Austin. I’ll build your house myself."

"You won’t let me win this one, right?" you teased, looking down at him.

He shook his head, a small, stubborn smirk playing on his lips. "No way."

You stood up, smoothing down the fabric of your dress as you stepped back. "Then I think I’ll have to convince you."

"Convince me?" he asked, his voice dropping slightly, already missin' the warm weight of your body on his leg. 

"Come with me to New York," you proposed, tilting your head. 

"What? No," he said fast, his Texan drawl turnin' sharp and defensive. 

"Lisa and Tommy have already been there, Joel."

"I know, but I just don’t like big cities. Ain't my scene," he muttered, crossin' his arms over his chest. 

"Joel, you would love it. I promise."

"Doubt it, darlin'."

"Just for a weekend," you insisted softly, steppin' back into his space and lockin' your eyes with his. "Just one weekend."

Joel stared at you for a long, heavy second, lookin' at your face under the dim light of the office, completely defenseless against your softness. 

"When?" he finally growled out, his voice thick and low. 

CHAPTER INDEX

WE MEASURE IN “SHADRIPU” (षड्-रिपु) ⁂ Sanskrit, meaning “six enemies” of the soul.

LOBHA — greed — prologue

MADHA — arrogance

MOHA — attachment

KĀMA — lust

MĀTSARYA — jealousy

KRODHA — rage

MOKSHA — peace — epilogue

VOCABULARY (subject to addition as the story progresses; translations of the Hindi language dialogue will be indicated beside every line.)

Rani -> queen (honorific)

Rajkumari -> princess (honorific)

Devi -> lady (honorific)

Pitaji -> father (honorific)

Bhai / Bhaiya-> brother

Beti / Beta -> dear daughter / dear son

murti -> idol of a deity

Navratri -> nine nights, a festival that symbolises the victory of good over evil.

diya -> oil lamp

mandir -> temple

agni -> fire

puja -> daily worship, prayers

Saptapadi -> seven steps made by bride and groom to bind them for seven lives

tilak / sindhoor -> a mark on the forehead made with vermilion to signify marriage.

MY INSPO PLAYLIST

TAGS SITA is pronounced SEE-THA, written as a historic retelling, I turn into a wannabe Sanjay Leela Bhansali, Hinduism, Indian culture and traditions, Roman culture and traditions, enemies-to-lovers, outsider queen manipulating court politics, palace intrigue, power-hungry OC, I-will-burn-the-world-to-keep-you-trope, arranged political marriage, slow trust, complicated loyalty.

His smile widened. “I’m worried about you.”

You sighed without opening your eyes. “So, worry later.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t think that’s how worrying works.”

“Mmmm…” You nuzzled closer until your forehead rested beneath his chin. “Five more minutes.”

He looked down at you with amusement and tenderness, a soft laugh vibrating against your ear.

“You have no idea how cute you are.”

A tiny smile tugged at your lips. “I know.”

“Oh, so you know.”

“Mhmm.” You yawned. “And I like my pillow.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You nodded lazily on his chest. “This warm one.”

His heart melted. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your hair. “You know,” he whispered, “I’m beginning to think you’re only using me because I’m comfortable for your sleep.”

You finally cracked one eye open, a sleepy smile spreading across your face. “Maybe.”

“Coco, did you hear that?” Harry gasped.

The puppy lifted one ear and decided the conversation wasn’t important enough, so he went right back to sleep.

Harry looked back down, meeting your eyes as your smile widened. Without thinking, you reached up and cupped his cheek. “Good morning.”

Harry’s teasing expression melted. “Good morning, baby.”

He leaned into your touch for a brief second, but the reminder of the heat made him pull back a bit. He brushed his thumb over your forehead again. “You feel a little warm.”

You frowned sleepily. “Do I?”

“A little.” He nodded, no erasing the smile from his face.

You hummed, completely unconcerned.

Harry, however, wasn’t letting go. “I think breakfast in bed might be today’s plan.”

You groaned into his chest. “I have to work.”

“Take the day off.”

“I have responsibilities.”

“Yes, but if you go, you’re only going to get sicker,” he said. He kept stroking your hair, his fingers slipping among the soft strands while you stayed tucked against him.

Neither of you spoke for a few minutes. There was no need to, not when the silence felt this comfortable. Harry looked down at you again, noticing your eyelids were still heavy.

His thumb brushed over your temple. “Are you hungry?”

You hummed quietly. “Maybe.”

Harry teased, “Maybe?”

“I’m still deciding,” you murmured. “It depends on what you have to offer.”

He chuckled, leaning down slightly. “Well, I can help you decide. What are you craving?”

It was such an ordinary question, but it carried the quiet weight of the secret language two lovers learned to speak before falling. It caught you completely off guard because you had never had this before. This man had stumbled into your life and turned everything bright, completely driving away the cold gloom of your bluest days. And now, here he was, kissing your temple in the morning and asking you what you wanted for breakfast.

You searched his face for a moment.

Harry notices the way your expression softened. “What?”

You shook your head faintly. “Nothing.”

He raised an eyebrow, his fingers tucking another strand of hair behind your ear. “What would you like?”

You pretended to think very seriously. “Hmmm…”

Harry waited patiently. “Pancakes?”

You looked guilty. “Asking me like that makes me think you’re expecting me to say no. I don’t even know how stocked your kitchen is.”

Harry smiled, playfully. “I’ll make pancakes.”

“Can you even make pancakes?” you asked, skeptical of his cooking abilities.

“Cooking happens to be one of my talents, gorgeous,” he replied, flashing a smile that felt as bright as the sun.

You laughed quietly. Harry felt a sudden, sharp tug in his chest at the sound. “There she is.”

You groaned. “You really need a new line.”

“It keeps working.” Harry smiled to himself, brushing his knuckles lightly across your cheek. “But first…I want you to stay right here.”

“I’m not five.”

“I know.”

“But you keep talking to me like I am.”

“I’m talking to you like someone who spent hours wandering around in the rain yesterday and is a bit sick now.”

You opened your mouth to protest.

“Don’t.” Harry interrupted, pointing a warning finger at you.

“I wasn’t going to argue.” You said, faking innocence.

He laughed, leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

As Harry carefully slipped out the bed, you reached for his hand before he could get too far. He stopped, looking back at you.

Your fingers curled gently around his. “Thank you.”

Harry’s chest tightened, a sudden warmth blooming inside him. “For what?”

“For taking care of me.”

He looked at you as if the answer were completely obvious. “As long as you’ll let me,” he murmured, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing your knuckles gently. “I don’t think I’ll get tired of it.”

Then, with a smile that reached all the way to his eyes, he disappeared toward the kitchen. He left you wrapped in the warm sheets beside a sleepy Coco, feeling cared for in a way you never were.

The days passed with agonizing speed. The kind that makes you homesick for a moment ever when you’re still living it, watching it slip through your fingers like sand. You didn’t want it to end. These days were happy; they gave your life meaning again, turning everything, you had experienced into memories that would echo in your mind for years.

Ever since Harry knocked on your door that night, your world had shifted. It was as if your life had been painted over in shades of crimson and gold, like a beach sunset you couldn’t quire define but desperately wanted to look at every single evening. It became something you looked forward to, something so stable and present it was easy to take for granted.

For years your life had been a comfortable, predictable routine under a dull, gray sky. You woke you, worked and went to bed that the fierce, fiery love people wrote about in books was just a myth. Something you would never be able to touch. But this new warmth wrapping around you had become the very reality of your routine, starting every time you looked into the kitchen and found Harry making coffee and quiet.

Your ordinary quiet life flooded with colors, each shifting into your routine.  

They were in the pigments of afternoons spent walking along the shore, with Coco sprinting ahead to chase the seagulls. They were the shades of those evenings when the café closed and Harry was already waiting outside, leaning against the wooden railing with his hands in his pockets, his face lighting up the second you stepped through the door.

You were falling.

The was the exact moment you realized it. For the first time in your life, the sky was bleeding into shades of rose and gold, but this time, the brightness didn’t hurt. You were standing right in the middle of your ordinary life, breathless, watching a new world bloom around you.

All because of him.

Because of Harry.

Yes, you were completely falling.

Some days he worked from your house, his laptop balance on the dining table while he kept himself busy with conference calls filling his days. Other days, he abandoned his job because you convinced him the sunset was too beautiful to miss.

He would complain at first, but seeing you smile was enough for him to follow you anyway.

Anywhere.

Always.

As long as you allowed him.

You had found out Harry loved to sing under his breath whenever he cooked and that he had started to love stealing bites from your plate after insisting he wasn’t hungry, shrugging shamelessly every time you shot him a look.

“It tastes better from yours.”

Everything he was, and everything he had done ever since he came to this place, had blended seamlessly into your own.

A few days later, as you walked towards Harry’s house, your phone suddenly rang with a notification.

Harry:

Don’t come for Coco. I’ll bring him to you.

Your eyebrows furrowed. You knew you didn’t have to worry about Coco if he was with him because at this point, they had become thick as thieves.

You:

Is he behaving?

Harry:

What do you mean?He is the best boy ever.

You:

????I have a suspicion this is actually Coco typing.

Harry:

Oh, shut up.

You:

Dog.

Harry:

Go home.

You stepped inside your house as you kept the smile on your face. You walked towards the kitchen, leaving a bouquet of flowers you had bought from the sweet florist selling on your way home and place them on the counter. You were hungry, so you went to the fridge studying at the food inside as if you could develop a new recipe by taking a look of them. You were about to prepare a sandwich with a knock on your door stopped your actions. Followed by your phone ringing.

You frowned, looking at the door as you ran to grab your phone from the table.

“I’m coming!” you shouted, grabbing your phone and pressing it against your ear.

“Just open the door already,” harry spoke through the phone, by the tone you could picture the smile on his face.

At the other side of the door, there was Harry standing there, and in fact wearing that deadly smile on his face.

You unlocked the door and swung it open. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, and your smile froze in pure shock. Harry looked breathtaking, gorgeous, and effortlessly pulling off a classic black suit and tie matching his own. But that wasn’t all; he was also holding Coco. Your small dog looked like a gentleman in a tiny matching tie of his own.

Harry looked down at Coco, then back up at you with a smirk. “Can I take you on a date now? We both dressed up just for you.”

You let out a gasp, hands flying to your mouth.

“What’s all of this?” You asked, your cheeks hurt from all the smiling.

“I’ve been thinking about the perfect moment to ask you out,” he began, smiling timidly at you. “But then, I realized any moment would be perfect as long as you would be there.”

You beamed at his words; your eyes wrinkled. Harry smiled back with the same intensity. You felt your eyes watering as they drifted to Coco in his arms, wagging his tail at you from his position.

You stepped forward, cradling his face in your hands. “Oh my God, my baby.” You exclaimed.

“How did you do this, Harry?”

“Well…he likes me, what can I say?” she laughed, meeting your gaze when you lifted your gaze.

“So?” he wondered, “Would you go out with me?

You straighten up, not breaking your contact with Coco, but looking at Harry deep in the eyes.

“I’ll wait for you at my boring house with a surprise for you and Coco,” he added.

“Right now?” you asked.

“Right now.” He smiled, looking up and down your body, at your white sneakers and the long denim dress you wore. “You can absolutely keep this dress; you look beautiful.”

 “No,” you said, smiling at him, “I want to change into a nice dress for you.” You lifted your hand to grab his free one, squeezing it.

“And just so you know, I’d love to go on a date with you.” You confessed, pulling your hand away.

A wide smile broke across his face. “I’ll wait for you, then, darling.”

The moment you stepped through his front door, Harry turned around; the words he wanted to say died on his lips. He eyed you up and down; his gaze burned you. For a fleeting moment, he was left speechless. His lips parted in shock as he couldn’t fully process how stunning you looked. A smile broke across his face, as a faint flush crept up his neck, reaching his cheeks.

He stepped closer; his hand reached for you to rest it on your waist, his thumb swept over your skin above the dress.

“Wow,” he breathed out, his raspy tone sending a shiver down your spine. “You look wonderful.”

“It’s just an old dress,” you teased, looking away from his burning gaze.

“Well, you look breathtaking,” he reassured, a wide smile adorning his face.

Your eyes moved past his figure as he stepped behind away to led you up to the terrace, your breath caught in your throat. He had built a scene straight out of a dream. A dozen of candles flickered along, casting a romantic setting as the light casted on the glass. A few delicate fairy lights hung overhead like stars casting glimmer over the space.

Coco also trotted ahead of you, his tiny bow perfectly in place, while Harry stepped up right behind you, his hands rested on your waist as he leaned down.

“Do you like it?” he whispered in your ear. “I want tonight to be magical for you.”

His breath fanning over the skin of your neck caught your breath. “When…when did you make all of this?” you asked, clearly speechless.  

Harry let out a soft chuckle; the sound vibrated on your back as he tightened his hold on your waist. He leaned his chin on your shoulder, looking down at the sky next to you.

“I had a bit of help, I have to admit,” he smiled, his voice warm. “I’ve been planning this since yesterday, and I begged Sophie to help me to set up the fairy lights and candles before you arrived.”

You turned around in his embrace, resting your hands against his chest as you looked up into his brown eyes. “You did all this just for our first date?”

“Just a first date?” He mocked, offended. “You’re not just any first date,” Harry murmured, his expression softened. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You deserve this and more. Tonight is just for us.”

He led you to the middle as soft music played in the background, filling the space that just the waves used to claim. He held out his hand with a smile. You took it without hesitation, letting him pull you gently to his chest as he wrapped his other arm around your waist. You swayed together, a slow rhythm beneath the fairy lights. You shifted closer, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“You are a really good dancer,” you teased, looking up at him.

“I have my moments. I want to impress you.” He said, “I’m holding you.”

Instead of words, you just beamed at him as the song died in the background.

Harry led you to the comfortable cushioned area he had built over a blanket on the ground. You sat down close together. You leaned back, resting your head on his shoulder as you both looked up at sky. Away from the bright glow of the fairy lights, the stars above shone with intensity. Harry’s fingers intertwined with yours, as his thumb traced his path on the back of your hand.

 “I love sitting outside and seeing the stars every night,” you said, lifting the piece of sushi to your lips. “It brings me peace.”

“I believe you,” Harry said, pouring the wine into both of your glasses, “Now you have my company for it.”

You smiled. A quiet wave of happiness washed over you, knowing his words were entirely true and that his presence had truly become part of your daily life.

Harry smiled back at you. He already knew that kind of smile on your face. He was familiar with every single curve in your lips and the thousand words they could speak just by the shape of them. He brought the glass of wine and took a small sip, letting the warmth of it settle in the back of his throat.

“It’s good.”

“It is,” you replied, meeting his gaze from the narrow gap between both of you.

Harry’s eyes dipped down, noticing how your lips glistened from the wine. They looked completely inviting. You tried desperately to focus on the stars above you, praying in silence that he would do the same. You let out a light sigh of relief when Harry looked away from your lips.

But suddenly, you felt his fingertips on your chin, tilting your head up. You yielded when your lips met. Harry kept his hand cupping your face, deepening the kiss as his tongue brushed your bottom lip, making you feel you were drowning.

Harry slid one of his hands down your back, pulling you close. Shivers ran down your spine as it arched, chasing the spark of fire Harry had ignited with his touch.

Your bodies blurred into each other, burning just one flame.

Harry caught your bottom lip, feeling the kiss with an agonizing need. You gasped, parting your lips, letting him slide his tongue past your teeth and having the first real taste of you.

You leaned forward, completely out of focus, and melted into all the sensations, sparking with his tongue intertwined with yours and his hands travelling up and down your body, making you crave the friction your body ached to reach. He tasted like the glass of wine you both had shared.

The innocent nature of the kiss grew heated. His hand slid up, interlocking his fingers through the strands of your hair to gently pull your head back.  

“You’re a dream,” he whispered, his lips stained by the burgundy from the mix of the wine and kiss.

Your face flushed. Your blood rushed into your cheeks as you felt a sudden, intense heat radiating through every inch of your body.

You leaned forward, capturing his lips in yours once again. You didn’t know if it was because of the wine, but you had become addicted to the taste in them and how they felt over yours. You interlocked your fingers between the curls on his hair, gently pulling him to you until you melted into him.

Harry’s mouth felt warm on yours, as his fingertips sent sparks down your spine all over again as matches striking to light a fire. His lips left a path of heated kisses on your skin down the crook of your neck.

His gaze lifted to take a look at your face, and you tried to move. You pressed your hands against his chest to push him away.

“Harry,” you whimpered, completely breathless.

“Don’t talk now,” he replied, voice vibrating against the skin of your collarbone where his lips pressed down.  

A part of you craved him so much it physically hurt. Whatever the spark between both of you was called, you knew you were breaking the rules of it. You shut your eyes, pressing your forehead on the fabric of his white shirt, now stained by the burgundy of your own lips.

The fire burst, and you were willing to get burned.

Harry pulled you closer, his mouth captured your lips in a breathless kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as the rest of the world faded away. There was no hesitation left in him now.

Then, a wet nose nudged your elbow. Coco had wandered over from his rug, licking your bare arm and ruining the moment. A breathless laugh escaped your lips, breaking the tension.

“No,” Harry complained against your skin, refusing to let go. He looked down at the dog with a playful scowl. “No, tonight, buddy. She’s mine.”

Those words left you speechless, your heart clenched in your chest.

Harry pulled away, looking at you with lustful eyes you had never seen before. He slowly ran his tongue over his lower lip, biting it gently as he took in the sight of your flushed skin. Standing up without breaking eye contact, he reached down and offered you his hand. You took it without hesitation.

As Harry led you towards his room, the frantic beating of his heart perfectly matched your own.

Harry stopped just before crossing the door of his room. The moonlight mixed with the dim light from the living room made his eyes catch yours with intensity. He held your hands, but he noticed the tremble in your fingers. He tilted his head, searching your eyes.

“Harry…” you whispered, your voice wavering. “Wait. It’s…it’s been a really long time since I’ve been with anyone like this.”

For a moment you feared you might see disappointment in his expression, but Harry’s gaze only softened. He took a step closer, closing the distance until you could feel the heat radiating from his chest.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice raspy.

Instead of using words, he let his fingers talk, sliding his hands up from your fingers to your shoulders, gently brushing a strand of hair out of the way. He leaned down and pressed his lips on the curve of your neck. The kiss was slow, firm, and filled with an adoration that took your nerves away. Feeling you relax against him, he trailed a line of soft kisses up your jawline until his lips reached and brushed your ear.

“There’s no rush,” he whispered on your skin; his warm breath sent shivers down your spine. “It’s you and me. We’ll go exactly at your pace.”

Those words made every bit of hesitation vanish, replaced by the safety of his hands caressing your skin.  

With delicacy, Harry slid the fabric of your dress down your back until it pooled around your feet. As you stood bare before him, his gaze darkened with intense appreciation. He took your hand, pressing your palm flat against his chest, right over his racing heart.

“This is what you do to me,” he whispered.

His hands began to travel along your skin, his fingertips tracing every curve of your body. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, trailed his lips down your cheek, and finally found your mouth once more. The kiss was incredibly soft, so tender that a quiet moan escaped your lips.

Goosebumps rippled across your skin. You felt so drunk on his love that dying in his arms felt like a beautiful fate you could meet, if only he would hold you forever. Time slowed as his hand slid up your stomach. When his fingers brushed your breast, you gasped at the sensation.

He held your hand, his fingers laced through yours as he led you to his bed. The urgency of the kiss grew more desperate as it turned into soft moans escaping your lips. As the back of your knees touched the edge of the mattress, you sat on it. Harry looked at you with an intensity in his eyes you had never seen in there before. Your breath caught in the middle of your throat, his hands moving to cradle your neck with his fingertips.

As your eyes met, the lust consuming you both grew. He looked at you with those longing eyes of a man craving to taste an unusual flavor for the first time. When you held his gaze all the hesitation upon his shoulders lifted because he knew you would stay here with him. He claimed your lips once again; his touch suffocated you as you gasped for air at all the sensations tickling in your skin as his kisses travelled down your neck, sending a rush of adrenaline within you.

In a swift, yet gentle movement, he parted your legs, hovering over you. A low moan escaped your lips, pulling Harry closer, and he sank all his weight on you. He let out a low growl, pinning your wrists above your head as he began to move against you in a slow rhythm that set your skin on fire.

You arched your back in desperation for more friction, so your fingers found their way to his shirt, unbuttoning it with faster movements, refusing to break the kiss. You were desperate to feel his skin against yours; your hand reached for his belt, your finger worked on unbuttoning his pants as his lips seemed hungrier on you. Harry caught his breath as he felt your hand over his cock.

He opened his eyes to look down at you with surprise and absolute devotion in there; his chest rose.

“God,” he whispered, his voice completely raspy as your fingers stroked his cock up and down.

He buried his face back into your neck with desperation. Your breath hitched, and your moans grew heavier as his lips and tongue trailed down your chest, sending a jolt of electricity to your core.

“Oh god, Harry,” you whimpered, arching your back against him, consumed by the sensation.

He pressed more kisses down between your breasts, his mouth lowered with a torturous trail of kisses until it reached your stomach. You let out a soft gasp as his hands gripped your hips to hold you in place. He kept pressing kisses on your skin, his warm breath on your lower stomach, but your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him away.

“Harry, wait. I don’t…I—”

“You don’t want me to taste you?” he asked softly, pausing his actions.”

“I…I just want to feel you inside me tonight,” you confessed, your voice trembled.

You feared you had ruined the moment, but Harry jus nodded, planting a last kiss on your stomach to relax you before sliding back up you body, claiming your lips again. He didn’t make you wait any longer, his eyes locked onto yours. Holding your hips, Harry positioned himself and pushed forward, filling you in slowly. You let out a gasp as your eyes flutter shut.

“Look at me,” he breathed against your lips, his pace still slow but setting the room on fire.

You opened your eyes, meeting his intense darkened gaze as he started to move, sending waves of intense pleasure straight to your core.

Arching your back, you raised your hips to meet his thrusts. You felt desperate to feel all of him in you. Every touch of his fingers on your skin awakened sensations you had long forgotten, setting your entire world on fire.  

His ragged moans filled in your ear. “That’s it, baby…you feel so good.”

Harry fastened his thrusts with heavenly deep thrusts. A broken gasp left your lips at the sensation. He pinned your hands up your head, intertwining his fingers with yours. He didn’t let you to rush him anymore. He wanted to give you all of him.

Your body trembled under his weight as the pace fastened and the room filled with moans and sweet.

“Harry, please…don’t stop,” you begged, your eyes blurred as you tried to look up at him as your hips chased the friction.

“I’m not,” he whimpered against your lips as he continued rocking his hips against yours, matching the rhythm with the friction that made you lose your mind.

“Harry, please,” you cried out, your fingers dug on his shoulders as the pleasure coiled down in your stomach.

“Do you want to come baby?” he broke down in a low raspy voice.

He fastened his movement, grabbing you by the hips and lifting you to positioned himself against you as he started to slam into you. You clung to him, fingernails digging into the muscle of his back. All the pleasure coiling together inside you turned into a rush of heat.

Your breath came in ragged breaths as the only sensation left was the friction of his skin against yours.

“Harry, I’m gonna—" you choked out, your vision blurred.

“With me,” he replied, his voice seemed strained.

And with a last deep push against you, a loud, breathless cry left your lips. Your muscles tightened around his cock as he buried himself inside you, letting out a groan against your neck.

There was nothing left but the sound of your ragged breaths filling the room and mixing with the smell of sweet and sloppy sex. Harry collapsed softly on your body, his forehead resting in the crook of your neck, still trembling from the aftermath. He stayed buried inside you, letting his cock fill you up with his warmth.

After a few minutes of no speaking, he rolled onto his side, pulling you along with him, so you rested your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around your waist. The skin of his chest was still hot and slick with the sweat from before, but the desperate hunger from before had vanished and turned into vulnerability. He buried his face in your disheveled hair, inhaling your scent and pressing a lingering kiss on your head.

“I—”

“I—”

You both let out a small chuckle, the fear melting.

“You go first,” he said, smiling.

“No, you.”

“Okay,” he accepted. “I…I think I’m falling in love with you in the most stupid way,” he confessed, pressing more kisses to the top of your head.

You froze for a second; your heart skipped a short beat at the confession. Those same tainted words in the back of your mind suddenly turned out into the most beautiful sound you had ever heard.

Your throat tightened. You shifted in his arms, turning your head to meet those brown eyes you had gotten so used to looking into.

A shy smile broke across your lips.

“I’m pretty sure I’m falling for you in that same stupid way.”

A smile broke on Harry’s face. His entire body relaxed under your gaze, and all the doubts melted away because he was meeting the sincerest eyes he had ever had the chance to know. He pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck, as if he finally had the world in his arms.

“Please, never break my heart,” he begged, “I don’t want to live a life without you in mine.”

You planted a kiss on his chest, closing your eyes at his words. “I would never do that.” You promised.

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You didn't even see him approaching at first, but his voice was the first part of him your senses registered. That gentle, and soothing voice.

"You've been staring at this one for quite a while."

Your head slowly turned to find a man in full white. The sleeves of a cashmere sweater with black stripes hung intentionally over his broad shoulders. It took you a second to realise he was talking to you.

Your eyes did a quick once over from his head to toe. Each part of him—his curls, mustache, plain white t-shirt that exposes his toned arms, white trousers, and black oxford—screamed perfection. A thought flashed through your mind,

He could replace the painting you were staring at, and you wouldn't complain.

"Mademoiselle?" His little head tilt and soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. He is not French. You knew that much, now.

"Sorry. You were saying?"

A tiny smile tugged at his lips and you were forced to witness those perfectly sculpted dips of his dimples and the creases around his eyes appear on his angelic face—all the while acting like he's not the most beautiful piece of art you had seen all day.

"This particular painting seems to have caught your eye. May I know what's in that beautiful mind of yours?" He raised his eyebrows hopefully.

"Well," You turned to look back at the painting. You had no idea who this stranger was, but he seemed just as passionate as you about art, so you decided to let him into your thoughts.

You talked, and talked, and you noticed the way he looked intently at you the whole time. It felt unnerving at first; until you understood that he was genuinely interested in what you were saying. That's when all hell broke loose, and you let your mouth run free.

"—though, I do think that it's a strange choice of colour."

You catch the raise of his eyebrows at your last statement, and for a second, you thought you had personally offended him.

"You think so?" He queried.

You stilled, mentally kicking yourself for talking too much. The expression on your face, however, wrote out your thoughts; and it brought a small chuckle out of the stranger.

"Don't worry. You can say it." He leaned closer, breath faintly brushing over your ear. "It'll be our little secret."

Heat crept up your cheeks and you timidly nodded. At the same time, a whiff of his cologne painted your sense of smell.

Gosh, he smells so good.

"I just think that.. a contrasting colour would do even better. Makes the little details pop." You said. "But I'm not a professional painter, so what do I know—"

"You're not wrong." He quickly said. You looked at him in surprise; but from the look of his face, you could tell that he was being genuine.

He smiled at you before looking at the painting again. "It would look nice with a contrasting colour." You took in the way his eyes roam over the delicate art. "but if I were to make a guess, I think the artist might have wanted to highlight the subject alone—hence the blend of complimenting colours and abstract details."

"Don't you think so?" He turned to you again, eyes twinkling with excitement. You had never seen someone get so excited over a painting in an art gallery. It usually ranges between taking mandatory pictures to show off that one had seen a piece of classics, and sketching a painting they admire.

"Sure." You nodded. For some strange reason, you didn't want your conversation with this stranger to end.

He straightened up and reached down the pocket of his pristine white trousers. It still amazed you that he hadn't gotten a fleck of stain on it.

"Hey. If you're free tomorrow, maybe you can come to his reception." He handed you a piece of rectangular card with an identical painting adorning the background.

"I got an extra. You'll get to meet him in person. Maybe then you can talk to him about your suggestion." He winked.

You hesitantly accepted the ticket, thanking him.

"Unfortunately, I have to go now. Lovely meeting you." He extended his hand and you took it with a smile.

"Likewise." You said as you shook his hand. "What's your name?"

"Reed Richards; but call me Reed." He said with a little polite bow. "Hope to see you again, mademoiselle."

You watched him leave, unaware of the huge smile carved on your face and the intense pounding of your heart. But as you looked down at the ticket in your hand, your smile gradually faded.

Meet the Artist

REED RICHARDS

Oh.

So his voice wasn't the first part of him that you knew. You glanced at the painting hung against the plain white wall.

It was his mind.

Thank you for reading!! Hope this made your day/night :) reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I would love to know your thoughts <3

You didn’t set out to hire a contractor with the sole purpose of cheating on your husband. It just happened.

In all fairness, he cheated first. Consistently and repeatedly. His ongoing affairs are the reason you’ve found yourself in this situation in the first place. 

In truth, it started long before his infidelity had. You knew marrying him was a mistake the moment he showed just how little he cared for you and your needs, miniscule as they may be, in your opinion. 

You married Jeremy straight out of college, which was your first miscalculation. Guys your age never quite met your standards of what a healthy and loving relationship should be. But you married him anyway because you thought it’s what you had to do.

His job in finance allowed you to buy the house of your dreams, though it definitely needed some work. He promised you – insisted – that he could take care of the repairs himself despite having the financial means to hire someone else to do it and zero experience doing any sort of manual labor. Your career was just as lucrative as his, so between the two of you, there was no reason you couldn’t afford to hire someone to do the job. You lost track of the amount of times you’d fought him on the topic.

Just hire someone! No, I can do it myself! When? I’ll start soon, I swear!

He never started soon. And now, it’s been five years

The home itself was perfect – full of mid-century modern charm, large, bright windows, sleek, low-pitched roof, open floor plan. You loved it. You did not love the orange shag carpet or the lime green cabinets in the kitchen, nor were you a fan of the square teal tiling covering every inch of both bathrooms. But those problems could be easily resolved. 

Your husband, cheating, vile, misogynistic scumbag that he is, was considerably less simple to deal with.

When you discovered his habitual adultery, you were surprised to feel nothing but anger. Not hurt. Not betrayal. Just pure, unbridled anger.  You hadn’t been happy in years, and quite frankly, you weren’t sure you ever were. 

It sparked a thirst for retaliation in you that couldn’t be quenched without taking full and total control of your life again. 

First on your to-do list was filing for a divorce. You had all the proof you needed to back up your claims of his infidelity – texts, phone calls, receipts for motels – Jeremy was not smart, nor was he careful, which made the task incredibly simple. Seeing as he fucked anything with a pulse, you had plenty of evidence to go on. Your lawyer was astonished, either at his stupidity or the sheer amount of women Jeremy has been caught with, you weren’t sure.

Next, you gathered the funds you needed in order to complete the renovation to your home, and luckily, you’d been saving for that specific task. You wanted him to be dumbstruck when he saw the final product, and then you would hand him the divorce papers and tell him to get the hell out.

Finally, you had to hire the right contractors to get the job done. This proved to be your most ardent task yet. 

It took you weeks to find a suitable contractor to take on your project. You vetted and price checked and examined their work with a scrutiny that would impress even the most seasoned detectives. You took recommendations, avoided certain ones entirely, and finally landed on Miller & Miller Construction.

Their website had no flair. No pizazz. No gimmicks. It was plain, clean, and it showcased their work in stunning clarity. You were impressed. The custom cabinetry was just what you’d been looking for, the craftsmanship simple, but precise. Their eye for design, their workmanship, everything spoke to you. You set up a consultation and met with them as soon as you could.

Joel and Tommy were two completely opposing entities that you weren’t quite sure how to read. Tommy did most of the talking, his smile easy and bright, immediately likable, while Joel sat quietly, eyes trained on you, not exactly frowning, but there was no smile to be had on his face either. You liked them, despite how quiet the elder Miller was, grizzled hair, trimmed scruff on his jaw and chin, mustache flecked with grey.

Something about him made you squirm. 

You could tell immediately how their dynamic worked. Tommy was the salesman, the entrepreneur, the frontman. And Joel was the brawn, the craftsman – it showed in the rough edges of his features, his hands, his discerning eyes. Though, you’re sure they both put in their fair share of hard labor.

Tommy had a tablet in front of him, typing out the details of your project. Joel paced the kitchen, measuring, examining, testing. You watched him, admiring the slope of his broad shoulders, the sharp line of his jaw, the faint hints of grey in his beard, rippling muscles hidden under a flannel and a t-shirt.

You blinked out of your haze when Tommy spoke.

“Full-scale kitchen remodel. Custom cabinetry. Updated appliances. Marble counters – that won’t be cheap,” Tommy muttered, but you waved your hand.

“It’s covered. I’ve been saving for years.”

His grin flashed, warm and friendly, “Don’t worry, we won’t drain it all.” He types something else out, muttering, “Hardwood floors, new trim, drywalling, tiling..” he trailed off, listing out everything the two of you had discussed for the entirety of the house. When he was done, he looked across at you with a smile, “I’ll get you an estimate in about a week or so.”

You almost bounced in your seat, giddy with the prospect of your home finally coming to life. You were so ecstatic you almost forgot about the wreckage of your marriage.

“We’ll have our design team set up a consultation, pick materials, colors and such, and then we can get you a fixed timeline. Do you have any questions for us?”

Your eyes darted between him and his stoic older brother before shaking your head, “No, thank you so much.”

In all of your searches and meetings with various contractors in the area, it was the first time you felt seen. They didn’t ask if you needed your husband’s approval. They didn’t ask if he wanted input in the project. Didn’t even ask if you had a husband. But it was clear in your surroundings – the framed picture of you two on your wedding day situated right behind you on the china cabinet, the men’s tennis shoes discarded by the door, the ugly recliner just visible in the living room. Your wedding ring.

Your meeting with their design team went even better – though team was a bit of an overstatement. A woman your age, friendly, bright, excited to help you design your kitchen. Her name was Winona, and she was bubbly without being obnoxious, smart without being a knowitall. And best of all, she took your design ideas and turned them into something spectacular. You loved her.

Jeremy was on a business trip, probably fucking anything that moved, when you signed the final contract to get the house started. And the progress was swift. Efficient for two guys who did all the work themselves. You wondered, briefly, how many projects they normally took on. If they had a crew doing work elsewhere. But it didn’t matter. They were working on your house. 

And Tommy was right. The estimate he provided didn’t drain all you’d saved for the project. You had just enough left over to tuck away for your lawyer fees for your inevitable divorce. Something you were wildly ecstatic about.

Over the course of two weeks, Tommy and Joel arrived at seven am on the dot, ripping apart your house piece by piece, hauling things away, cleaning up the site, and working at a scarily efficient tempo.

By the end of the first week, they’d had the upper level of your home completely bare, painted in the soft, off-white color you’d chosen for the hallways, and the corresponding colors you’d chosen for your office, bedroom, and guest room. You slept on the couch while the upstairs was under construction, and by the end of the second week, you were back in your bedroom, adding the decorative touches you’d been working on while they did the hard labor.

Now that your primary living space was completed, they’d moved on to the rest of the house, spending two weeks alone on the bathrooms, and another full day hauling debris from your house.

You enjoyed seeing them bright and early every day. Tommy’s friendly smile, Joel’s gruff nod. After just under a month, you’d grown accustomed to them. You offered them coffee, brewed in your home office instead of the kitchen, and had bagels and fruit out on the kitchen table for them to enjoy at their leisure. Tommy ate the bagels and fruit. Joel guzzled coffee like it would cure whatever had him looking so grumpy all the time. 

You chatted with Tommy during your lunch breaks, and you were surprised to find that you enjoyed his company. He was charming and friendly and sweet and nothing like his quietly cantankerous brother. You were lucky if you got more than two words out of Joel in a day, but Tommy was quickly becoming the highlight of the entire project.

You learned a lot about him, and incidentally Joel, every time the two of you sat down for lunch. He told you about their construction company, the scale of their work, and how business has really picked up over the last couple of months. He told you about his wife, Maria, and how she was due to give birth any day now. He expressed his excitement, his trepidation, and joy at becoming a father. He’d had a lot of practice with Joel’s daughter, but she was grown now. That surprised you.

You couldn’t picture Joel getting close enough to someone to have a child with them.

While Joel cut lumber on your back patio, you lowered your voice and asked, “He’s married?”

Tommy took a heaping bite of his sandwich and shook his head, “Nah, wife ran off a couple months after Sarah was born. ‘S just him now that Sarah’s gone off to school in Washington.”

You could see Joel through the patio door, hunched over a piece of lumber, marking it with a pencil, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes focused. You hadn’t let yourself examine him very closely, but watching him work, you were struck by how handsome he was. You’d thought so when you first met the pair of them, but you were so focused on getting the project off the ground, you paid little attention.

His green flannel drew tight over his shoulders and biceps, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He tucked the pencil behind his ear as he maneuvered the piece of wood into place and ripped it through the saw. His forearms tensed, fingers deft and precise as he pulled the wood through. His jaw clenched as he examined it, flicked away the sawdust, eyes singularly focused on his task. 

“Easy, sugar,” Tommy drawled, snapping you out of your trance, “He’s a surly old bastard. Don’t wanna get mixed up with that.”

You gaped at him, cheeks coloring, pressing a hand to your chest, “Excuse me? That would be highly inappropriate.” You tried to sound glib, but Tommy was right. You were attracted to Joel. And you were aching for someone to touch you. 

You hadn’t had sex in nearly a year thanks to Jeremy’s exploits. You were not interested in contracting an STD from him, and you were so disgusted by him, the thought of having sex with him turned your stomach.

In the month since the project began, Jeremy had only been home twice, complaining about the mess and the dust and screaming at you for going through with the renovation when he’s perfectly capable of doing it all himself.

“Who’s paying for all of this anyway?” He asked derisively. You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him. Joel and Tommy were downstairs, completing the tile work for the guest bathroom, and you knew they could hear every word. “I bet they’re taking you for a ride. Women always get scammed by contractors, are you stupid?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jeremy!” You shouted at him, unable to contain your fury. “Why don’t you just go back to fucking your assistant and keep your shitty opinions to yourself!” You stormed out of the room, slamming the door in his face and retreating to the back patio where Joel was hunched over a wet saw, lining up a tile to cut with with the precision you’d come to expect from him.

He looked up at you, his face neutral, lips set in a firm line, dark eyes assessing.

“Everying alright?”

Stunned by his gentle voice, you’d been unable to speak, simply nodding your head and watching as he nodded back and hunched over the saw again.

Jeremy left, and hadn’t been back since.

Between your frustration at your husband, and Tommy’s comment about Joel, a spark of determination lit inside you like dry shrub in a wild fire. Your previously controlled, distant admiration of Joel transformed into a cloying, desperate urge, and he was the one and only thing on your mind.

But that didn’t mean anything would happen. Not with Joel’s sour disposition and gruff exterior. Talking to Tommy was easy. Talking to Joel – well, there was very little that came out of his mouth, so you weren’t sure it could be qualified as talking. Which is why it was so shocking to you that he’d spoken to you in the first place.

You tried. You really did. Every time he came to your office for a coffee refill, you immediately dropped what you were doing in order to strike up a conversation with him. But he never budged. Just grunted, gave one word answers, sometimes even just stared at you like you hadn’t spoken at all. You wondered why he even bothered coming into your office in the first place. Why not just send Tommy to get his refills if it was such a burden to talk to you?

His silence perturbed you. And you were determined to get his attention. 

You were so desperate, you started wearing less. Instead of yoga pants and a conservative pull over sweater, you switched to shorts and loose t-shirts that hung off your shoulder. It was an easy switch to make as the last remnants of chilly spring weather finally succumbed to the prickling heat of summer.

If Joel noticed your slowly deteriorating selection of moderate clothing, he didn’t let on. And the more he ignored you, the more you wanted him.

Instead of letting him come to you for coffee, you brought the pot out to him, low cut, form fitting, spaghetti strap top displaying your perky breasts. Your shorts barely covered your ass. And he didn’t even blink.

“Coffee?” You ask coquettishly, lifting your chest just a touch. His eyes stayed on yours, steadfast, hard, and determined, as he held his mug out for you to fill.

“Thanks,” he grunted, taking a large gulp. 

“Hot today,” you point out, the beginning of summer making its presence known. “You sure you don’t wanna come inside? Take a break?”

His eyes never strayed. Not once. He shook his head, “Tommy should be back with more lumber any minute.”

It’s the most words you've heard leave his mouth in a consecutive string. It emboldens you.

You nod at the comfortable, air conditioned living room just on the other side of the French doors, “Just a quick break. I can get you something cold to drink. Lemonade? A beer?”

You were pushing, and he wasn’t conceding, turning back to the makeshift work table he had set up under the shade of your patio; three saw horses with a large piece of plywood acting as the tabletop, “‘M alright, darlin’. Why don’t you go cool off?”

Darlin’. That subtle Texas drawl, syrupy smooth, deep and rich like honey. He’d called you Darlin’. 

You shouldn’t devote too much thought to it. Tommy calls you ‘Sugar’ all the time. Even goes as far as ‘Sweetheart’ on some occasions. But it was natural coming from him. Harmless and utterly platonic. He’s a smooth talker and a schmoozer. From Joel, it was so foreign, so out of character, you didn’t know what to do. He’d hardly said two words to you in the past, and now he’s giving you sweet nicknames. Calling you Darlin’ was just as harmless as Tommy calling you Sugar, but it did something to you.

You left him on the patio and shuffled back to your office, dazed. 

You liked it, you realized, skin flushed and heat simmering low in your belly. You wanted him to do it again. Call you by more endearing pet names. Even in your five years of marriage to Jeremy, he’d only ever addressed you by your name or a condescending ‘babe’. You hadn’t realized how pathetically you’d been yearning for more. Something softer, sweeter, kinder. Not until Joel.

But he didn’t seem interested. Should you be more direct? Ask him, outright, if he was attracted to you? Should you strip naked and throw yourself at him? No, no. That was too direct. You had more self respect than that. Maybe. Probably not.

Jeremy had neglected you for so long, your mind was spinning out of control. You want to be wanted. You want to be touched. And you want Joel.

When Tommy returned with the lumber, you watched them unload it from his pickup truck. Joel shed his flannel and was now clad in a white t-shirt that hugged his biceps, his back spotted with sweat and his muscles bulging with the effort of lugging wood into your home. Fuck, you couldn’t stand it.

You have to do something about this ache between your legs. The sudden, unquenchable thirst you feel for him. If skimpy outfits and shy invitations to join you for coffee don’t do it, you know what will. And it’s just about as close to stripping naked as you could get.

When Joel arrives the next day, without Tommy, you greet him with a smile, a fresh pot of coffee, and a question in your gaze that asks where his brother is.

“Wife went into labor late last night. I’ll be finishin’ up without him,” he grunts, though without any of the typical irritability that comes with the need to socialize. Maybe the birth of his nephew had softened him.

You’re a little sad you won’t get to see Tommy, but thrilled to have Joel all to yourself.

As you step aside to let him in, you don’t miss the way his eyes flit down your bare legs. You hadn’t bothered getting dressed, still clad in your oversized sleep shirt that barely hangs down past your ass. 

As he sets about getting his bearings from where he left off the previous day, you pour him a cup of coffee and toast and butter a bagel for him, knowing he doesn’t much care for the indulgence of cream cheese or jelly. He thanks you with a grunt and shuffles his way onto the patio to get started. Your eyes linger on the way his navy t-shirt stretches across his broad, muscular back.

After you change into a revealing tank top and the shortest shorts you own, you coop yourself up in your office to get some work done. But when you’re done for the day, you can’t help yourself. You check in on him, peering through the back doors and asking if he wants something to eat. You expect him to decline, but when he graciously accepts, you bounce giddily to the kitchen to make him a sandwich. 

Today is different. You can feel it. 

When you present him with the sandwich, he dusts his hands on his jeans and nods at you in thanks, but doesn’t say anything. He only watches you, eyes flitting to your cleavage so quickly, you think you imagine it. But then he looks you dead in the eyes as he takes a bite of the sandwich and chews it slowly.

Something in you snaps and your blood heats, making your skin flush. You rush away from him, and as you retreat inside, you swear you hear him chuckle.

With your heart racing and an idea bubbling to life in your mind, you race upstairs and start digging through your closet until you find exactly what you’re searching for. If he wants to tease you, you’re going to tease him right back.

You pull on a white and blue bikini with strings that tie at the hips, around the base of your neck, and at the middle of your back. After applying a nude gloss to your lips and dabbing a light amount of makeup across your cheeks, you pull on a black sheer coverup, that flows down past your ankles, leaving it open. It does little to hide your scantily clad body as you tiptoe back downstairs with a book and a bottle of tanning oil in your grip.

You walk past the back door as deliberately as you can, making sure to catch his attention as you carefully maneuver your way through your deconstructed kitchen to fill a glass with ice water and lemon slices. With your sunglasses perched on the bridge of your nose, you finally step onto the patio, your tits on display, legs bare and gleaming, and smile coy and searching.

”I’m going to lay out by the pool for a bit. If you get hungry or thirsty, help yourself to anything you like,” you tell him, feigning disinterest. Acting like you don’t see the way his throat bobs and his eyes greedily drink you in. He doesn’t say anything to you as you take the three short steps down to your yard and traipse over to your pool.

The early summer sun is blazing hot, and sweat prickles your skin the moment you lay out on your teakwood lounger, the white cushion comfortable but warm from the heat of the day. Your eyes dart toward Joel to make sure he’s watching, and you slowly slip out of your coverup, intentionally dropping it and bending at the waist to pluck it off the stone pavers surrounding your pool.

It feels almost comically pornographic to resort to this type of temptation, but with the blatant way he watches you, it’s worth it.

You lean back on the lounger, snatching up your book and flipping to the page you’d left off on. It’s some tawdry romance novel with a shirtless cowboy on the front. Painfully transparent with little to no plot, but you’re not reading it for the plot, anyway.

Your skin prickles with awareness, your eyes darting toward Joel every few minutes to catch him watching you for the briefest moment before he returns to the meticulous work of assembling your cabinetry. 

When your ice water is half gone and too warm to enjoy, you decide to take a brief dip into the pool. You stand, adjusting your bottoms, pulling them up just a touch, before wading slowly into the rippling water. The effect is instant, the water immediately cooling you and making goosebumps pebble across your skin, tightening your nipples. 

You’re careful not to get your hair wet, brushing it aside as you drift further in, then back toward the shallow end. A quick glance in his direction makes you frown. His back is to you, broad shoulders leaned over his plywood table. 

The power saw buzzes to life, then quiets. He blows away the sawdust, t-shirt damp with sweat. Biceps straining as he joins two pieces of wood together, fastening them with a clamp. You’re enraptured by his focus. Envious of your very own cabinets and wishing he’d look at you with such deliberate intent and concentration. House be damned.

When you can tell he’s about to turn in your direction, you climb out of the pool, allowing the water to trickle off your frame and slick down your body. You run a hand down your stomach, briefly toying with the pink jewel at your naval, then adjust your bottoms again as you strut back to the lounger.

Under the dark, impenetrable lenses of your sunglasses, your eyes dart to him. He’s staring, his throat bobbing, hands tight around the clamps he’s using to fasten the cabinets together. 

You hide your smile, laying out on your towel to let the sun soak up the water from your skin. You feel his eyes on you more prominently than the moisture coating your body. With a sly smile, you push your sunglasses down your nose to look at him.

“Hey, Joel?” Voice dripping with honey and mischief.

“Yeah, darlin’?” He calls back, still watching. Not even bothering to pretend anymore. And he calls you that name again. Darlin’. Your core clenches.

Biting your lip, you give him a coquettish look that’s all sin and wicked intention, “Will you help me put on some sunscreen?”

Straight out of a porno. The oldest trick in the book. Painfully, achingly transparent. You’re inviting him to touch you. And even from afar, you can see his resolve snap. Eyes darkening, posture going rigid.

“You sure about that?” He asks, voice tight and rough.

You nod, biting your lip for good measure, “Uh huh.”

He shakes his head like he can’t believe what he’s about to do, and a devilish smile spreads across your face, triumphant. Joel dusts his hands off on his jeans, trudges down the patio steps, and prowls over to your lounger. His tall, broad frame eclipses the sun, casting shade over you. You grin and roll onto your stomach, acutely aware of the way your ass looks in your tiny bikini.

“Sunscreen, there,” you point to the bottle of tanning lotion on the teakwood table next to you. It’s more of an oil with UV protection, but the idea is the same: you want him to rub it all over your body, and then fuck you senseless.

The scent of pine and leather wraps around you as he sits on the edge of the lounger, careful not to touch you. He grabs the oil and huffs a laugh, “This ain’t sunscreen.”

“It has UV protection!” You argue.

“This is nothin’ more than body oil.”

“Still. Please?” You ask, looking back at him and resting your cheek on your arms. He shakes his head, cheeks dimpling against the smile he’s trying to fight off.

“Ain’t payin’ me to lather you up, honey,” he says under his breath, flicking the cap of the oil open and drizzling it along your back.

“That’s okay. You need a break.”

He hums, setting the bottle aside. Your entire body tingles with anticipation, waiting for his skin on yours. You wait and wait, feeling the oil drip along your spine, your shoulders. Then, finally, the coarse surface of his work roughed hand meets your skin and you shiver.

“S’it okay if I untie this?” He asks, voice so low, so smooth, you’re sure you imagined it. But then you feel his fingers playing with the ties at your neck and you nod, frantically, too eager. “Of course it is.”

You almost giggle. He knows what you’re doing and he’s still placating you. You wiggle a little when he unties the neck, then the back, leaving you bare from the waist up. The moment his hands are back on you, you gasp. Pressure firm, but gentle. Sure and thorough as he spreads the oil around your skin. Brushing your hair aside, he massages the oil into your neck. You peek at him to see that concentrated look on his face. Like tearing him away from his task would undo him.

Then, both of his palms press into your back, eliciting a moan straight from your lips. You clamp your mouth shut, but the pressure is so divine, you almost do it again. 

“Feels okay?” He mutters, hands skimming down your body, your waist, your lower back, and then up again. His fingers graze the sides of your breasts and you nod again. God, if he stopped now, you think you’d cry.

Every pass of his hands turns you to jelly, and soon, he moves down to your legs, first starting at your ankles, then up your calves, careful not to go much further than the bend in your knee. You’re soaked. Skin humming with the effects of his firm, soothing touch, heated by the sun, and glowing faintly with the sheen of oil.

When you feel his hand inch up the inside of your thigh, you suck in a breath.

”Relax,” he coaxes, moving from the top of your thigh down to your knee and back up again. Over and over and over, pressing a little firmer on the way up, and stopping just short of the gusset of your skimpy bikini. “You told me to help myself to anything I liked.”

You did say that. And then you called him over to you to touch you freely. You grin, peeking up at him, cheek resting against your arms, “And you like me?”

His cheeks dimple, his smile so soft, so sexy, you almost say to hell with your little ruse. Something between a grunt and a laugh escapes him, “Darlin’, you got no idea.”

Darlin’. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of it. You feel yourself grow damp as he moves his hands to your other thigh, repeating the same, torturous ministrations. But this time, he goes so much higher, you think he’s going to graze the covered, soaked apex of your desperately neglected pussy. He never does. Massages right below it. There’s no reason to put oil there, but he does it anyway. His thumbs get closer, massaging circles into your skin, very nearly grazing you, teasing, refusing to give you what you want.

When his hands leave you, you almost cry out in protest, but then he’s nudging your hip, “Turn over for me, sweetheart.”

As you lift up to turn, you toss your bikini top aside, having no desire to feign modesty any longer. He knows it, and you know it. You want him to fuck you.

His eyes spark with interest as they land on your breasts, perky and waiting, nipples tight from your dip in the pool. You lie back, making yourself comfortable as he stares. 

He chuckles, deep and smooth, “Not bein’ shy no more, are you?”

You grin in response as he grabs the oil and drizzles it over your chest, your stomach, and along your arms. He starts at your hands, making sure you’re fully covered, his large ones engulfing them completely in his grasp. The texture of his fingers is rough, but you like it as he moves his way up your wrists, your forearms, and then toward your shoulders, massaging along the way.

“Mm, Joel,” you sigh, his hands rubbing the oil into you completely before moving on. He presses his thumbs into your shoulders, then your collar bones, then the tops of your breasts. He still doesn’t touch you there, but then one hand wraps around your throat, resting, thumbing your pulse point where it hammers rapidly against your skin.

“Lookin’ so pretty,” he says quietly, keeping one hand on your neck while the other finally finally covers your breast. The initial touch is feather light, thumb grazing your nipple. Then, he presses firmer, his entire hand covering you with his palm while he kneads and massages. His hand leaves your neck only to cover your other breast, and you’re giddy with need as he works you into a whimpering, keening mess. “That feel good, darlin’?”

“So good,” you nod, grabbing his wrist to keep him there, demanding more.

He hums, keeping the hand you’ve now possessed on your breast, while the other moves down to rub oil into your tummy. His hands are a work of art, skilled in so many ways. You’re trembling by the time he reaches the top of your bikini bottoms. His pinky slips under the hem, making you gasp. He withdraws and does it again, rubbing back and forth until your hips move up to seek his touch.

“Want me to take these off?” He asks, tugging at the strings, already knowing your answer before you nod rapidly.

“Off, please. Take them off.”

His reply is a deep grunt, and you think that must be his grumpy little way of teasing you, “Needy little thing.”

The bottoms come off, and you’re bared to him, your center slick with need and ready to be fucked. But you just know he’s going to take his time. Simultaneously, you can’t stand it, but you also yearn for it. Being teased and molded into a whimpering mess, desperate for his touch. Your husband has never made you feel like this. Sexy. Desirable. Loved.

“Fuck, look at that pussy, baby,” he groans, still not touching you where you really, really need it. He’s massaging your hips now, leaning over you in a way that’s almost obscene as he gets closer to your slick heat. His thumbs press into your hips, then down your thighs until he’s rubbing oil into your legs, still neglecting you, even though every pretense of professionalism has all but burned up in the wake of your arousal.

“Joel,” you whine, arching your hips.

“Patience,” he answers sternly. And that’s that. Nothing more. 

Every stroke up and down your leg is torture as he repeats the same teasing he’d done to the backs of your legs. Getting closer and closer to your pussy, but never fully touching. You’re so eager, your slick coats your thighs, and on a final pass, he rubs it into your skin before his fingers finally graze your clit. You suck in a sharp breath, your hand shooting out to grab him again. To keep him there. Because if he stops now, you think you’ll actually die.

You look up at him, his eyes dark, his grin wide. You’ve never seen him smile like that, and it’s blinding, warm, and teasing. He rubs circles over your clit delicately, not pressing too hard, not too light. It’s so perfect and you’re so on edge that it has you on the precipice of your orgasm faster than you can blink.

And then he eases up, halting your peak so quickly, your hips buck, making you moan in protest, “No, no, no, don’t stop, please, Joel.”

“Ain’t plannin’ on stoppin’, baby,” he says softly, “Just need to get a better look at you.”

And then he shifts, gently lowering himself to the ground, knees probably screaming in protest, and grabbing you by the hips to pull you to the edge of the lounger, slightly askew on the cushion, but still comfortable. He lowers his head, making you squirm, lips brushing against your hip, across your tummy, briefly pausing to kiss around the pink belly button piercing. You arch your hips, enticing him.

“So eager,” he grumbles, one hand spreading your thigh, hooking it onto his shoulder, the other running up your opposite leg, kneading and massaging you into a puddle.

“I need — I need—“ you breathe, one hand clutching the teakwood, the other reaching for him, digging into the muscles of his shoulder.

“What do you need, baby?”

Your chest is heaving as he plants another kiss below your bellybutton, still massaging your leg while his other hand keeps your thigh firmly planted over his shoulder. 

“Fuck, you smell so sweet,” he sighs, inching down. It’s torture. It’s pure, unbridled torture — waiting for him. You’re a slick mess, oiled up, pussy wet, walls fluttering around nothing. “Tell me what you need,” he repeats.

“I need your tongue,” you gasp, the prickle of his beard on your skin driving you insane. You never would have guessed this. That Joel Miller is a fucking tease. That he’s slow and methodical. That he enjoys making you squirm. But here he is, peppering kisses all across your body, everywhere except your aching core, “Please, make me cum. Please, Joel.”

His chuckle is deep, a hint of red coloring his cheeks and neck, either from the sun or arousal, you don’t care.

“Since you asked nicely.”

And then his mouth is on you, hands spreading your thighs wide, keeping you open for him as he drags his tongue from your weeping cunt to your clit where he sucks, teasing you, making you gasp for air, arching your back off the lounger.

Your burrow a hand into his hair — it’s damp with sweat, but that doesn’t bother you in the slightest. 

His mouth is devastating against you, licking stripe after stripe up your slit, pausing briefly to suck and nibble at your clit until you’re sobbing with need. And then, just when you think it can’t get any better, he pushes one, thick finger into you, stretching you. The burn makes you cry out, the slow drag sending prickles of lightning up your spine.

“This is what you wanted, right, darlin’?” He asks, voice rough with arousal, eyes nearly black as he slowly pumps his finger into you. “It’s why you’ve been walkin’ around lookin’ like that. No pants on. Shorts barely coverin’ you, askin’ me to touch you. Askin’ to get fucked.”

You can’t answer. Your voice stalls in your throat. You can only nod, frantically. He adds a second finger and it almost undoes you. You’re so fucking close. He pushes them deep, leaning down to tease your clit again with his mouth, sucking hard, groaning.

“How do you think your husband would feel if he knew his pretty little wife was gettin’ fucked by the help?” 

He twists his fingers, curling them just so. He prods at the sensitive, soft spot inside you, making your arch.

“Ex. Ex — husband. Soon.”

He hums, “Judging by that ring, he’s no ex.”

It takes every ounce of will power you have to rip your hand away from him and tear the ring off your finger. It glints in the sun and clatters on the table next to you when you slam it down. Then your hand is back in his hair, urging him back to your cunt where he grins and licks you again, this time not pausing, not slowing.

Your orgasm is volcanic, blinding. You think you scream. You know your fingers clench around his hair so tight, you’re in danger of pulling it out of his scalp. And he just keeps going. Finger fucking you into oblivion, tasting your release on his tongue, moaning against you as you ride the waves of your climax into bliss.

You’re trembling when he lifts himself off the ground, fingers still probing deep, hunting for another orgasm. He leans over you, bracing his other hand next to your head, and kisses you. You whimper into his mouth, tasting yourself on his lips, tongues stroking and breaths mingling.

“Joel,” you moan when he removes his fingers, leaving you empty and limp. But he’s not pulling away. He’s kissing down your neck, sucking a spot just below your ear that drives you crazy that your husband always neglects, and undoing his belt.

“Tell me what you need,” he says into your neck. But he already knows. You know he knows. You’ve been begging for it this entire time.

“Fuck me, Joel,” you whine, hands searching for the end of his shirt. They slip underneath, and you moan at the way his muscles feel under your fingertips. He’s warm and rough and you want to see him. “Off.”

He hums, leaning up to pull his shirt over his head and toss it somewhere among your discarded bikini. He comes back to you, lips hot on yours while you concentrate your efforts on getting his jeans undone. He’s hard against your hand as you pull the zipper down, aching and needy.

Once his cock is freed, you break away to take him in, and you almost shrink. He is huge, leaking from the tip, resting heavy against your thigh. Even with how wet you are, you don’t know if he’ll fit. But God you want to try. 

“Don’t worry, baby, I got you,” he grunts, shoving his jeans and boxers off. He straightens you on the lounger, making room for himself as he climbs over you. He’s golden and glistening in the sun, slick with sweat and your arousal shimmering on his chin. 

The sight of his broad, hard form over you almost makes you cum again. 

He catches you gawking and you could swear he’s trying to fight off a smug smile, but his lips only twitch in amusement instead. Taking his cock in hand, he drags the tip through your folds, making you shudder and reach for his hips, holding him as he hovers, nails pressing a little harder than you intend. He doesn’t seem to mind.

As his tip catches your entrance, he groans, “Nice and wet for me, aren’t you?”

You can only nod, speech evading you as he slowly, cautiously sinks into you. The stretch is everything. You’re so full, so wet, and inconsolable, it makes you mewl in delight. 

“What’s that, darlin’?”

”So — so big. Your cock is so big, Joel,” you sigh, shifting your hips, taking him deeper. The burn is exquisite, but you need him to move. Need him to fuck you into another reality. ”Please..”

”Such pretty little manners,” he tells you, withdrawing slowly.

The first thrust is devastating. The second is mind numbing. And after the third, you’re holding onto him for dear life. It doesn’t take long for you to melt underneath him, arching your hips so he hits at just the right angle. 

“Tightest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had, baby,” he pants, leaning down to mutter profanities into your ear, nibbling and kissing your neck, “That husband doesn’t take care of you at all does he?”

”No, no, no, never,” you chant, every part of you ready to snap.

“Bet he hasn’t fucked you proper in years,” he grunts, the sound of your skin slapping together downright obscene. “That’s all you needed, huh, darlin’?”

“Uh huh,” you yelp, almost a broken sob leaving you as he drives into you, “Fuck me, Joel..”

“Nothin’ to worry about now, I’ll take real good care of you.”

You could cry from the relief of it. The way his hips slam into you, how deep he is, how attentive. Even at the strongest point in your marriage, it’s never been like this, and it’s ecstasy.

Pleasure pools low in your belly, his cock hitting that sweet, sensitive spot inside you so perfectly, the precipice of your orgasm is on you in an instant. Just as you’re about to cum, he stills, breath heaving, your walls trembling, clenching around him.

“Joel,” you whine, breathless and wanting.

“Not yet, baby,” he tells you, voice syrupy and thick. Pressing a kiss to your neck, then your lips, he sits up on his knees, takes you by the thighs and lifts your hips to grind against him. The position is utterly indecent, back arched, him holding your thighs for leverage while he begins snapping his hips against you. And it’s like he never stopped in the first place.

Your orgasm crashes into you, hands reaching for his wrists to hold on as he towers over you, giving you everything he’s got. The power of his thrusts knocks the breath out of you.

“Take it, baby, fuck, you’re such a good girl,” he grounds out, sweat slicking his muscled chest, dripping down his temple. “You got me so wound up, darlin’, prancin’ around looking sexy as sin. Now I’ve got you all to myself.”

“Don’t stop, please,” you keen, desperately grasping for air, your climax driving away all rational thought and composure. “It’s so good, please, don’t stop.”

“Gonna make me cum, sayin’ things like that.”

You think, then, that you’d be fine with it. Letting him cum inside you, or paint your oiled up body with his seed. Mark you, stake his claim on you. He can cum wherever he wants, you decide, as long as he promises to do it again.

“Ain’t gonna let that piece of shit husband touch you again,” he declares, pinning you with a solid, steady stare, “You’re mine now, darlin’.”

You tell him, then, “Cum inside me, Joel,” nearly sobbing as his powerful thrusts drive you toward another orgasm with blinding speed. His movements are precise and deliberate, his eyes going dark at your words.

You know he wants to do it, that he can’t stop himself even if he wanted to. Even if you weren’t begging for it.

“Yeah?” He huffs, hooking his arms a little higher around your thighs to gain better leverage. You shift your hips, cry out as his cock goes deeper, spearing into you so completely you never want him to leave.

You’re almost sobbing with the approach of another orgasm, one that will undo you and wreck you for the rest of your life. All you can do is nod and gasp and hold onto him as he fucks you deeper. Your neighbors are going to hate you.

“Shit, darlin’,” he grunts, the buck of his hips frantic as he chases his release. When your nails bite into his forearm, the tight coil of his control snaps like a cable and you feel warm ropes of cum fill you. A final orgasm paints stars across your vision, and you faintly hear a guttural moan leave him as you tighten around him once more. He doesn’t stop fucking you until you’re both spent, your muscles aching and fingers sore from how tightly you have them wound around his wrists.

He collapses on top of you in a heap, your bodies slippery with sweat and oil. His hot breath fans over your neck, the weight of him both grounding and comforting. The scruff of his beard prickles your skin as he peppers kisses along your chin, down the column of your throat.

”Ain’t gonna be able to finish those cabinets today,” he grunts.

A slow smile spreads across your lips, ”Why not?”

He lifts his head to gift you with a warm smile of his own, captivated, even after the way he’d fucked you. Surprised that he gives it so willingly now that you’ve had each other in the most physical and intimate manner possible.

”Wanna take you out. Dinner. Will you let me?”

His offer stuns you into silence. 

Yes, you’d practically begged for him to fuck you. Asked him to cum inside you. Told him you were as good as divorced. And yeah, you have every intention of having sex with him again.

But a date? That says something. It speaks volumes to his intentions. Which both frightens and thrills you.

Despite you throwing yourself at him for weeks on end and finally getting what you want, he wants more. And not just your body. 

Your hesitation draws his eyebrows down, “We don’t have to ––“

”I want to,” you answer quickly. But there’s still that lingering sense of doubt. Of trusting someone with yourself only to be stabbed in the back. Betrayed in the most visceral sense. You didn’t have sex with him because you wanted to move on from Jeremy right into another twisted, sickly excuse for a relationship. You just needed attention. And Joel gave it.

He lifts himself off of you and pulls on his jeans, “It’s fine if you don’t wanna ––“

”Joel.”

”I’m too old to be playin’ games, darlin’. If I wasn’t clear before — I like you. More than I should. And I know you’re married, but that didn’t stop us, did it? So if you want this, I’m here. If not, no hard feelin’s.”

He’s half dressed now, jeans buttoned, belt still hanging loose, t-shirt hanging over his broad shoulder. His wide frame blocks the sun, allowing you to see him clearly. No man has ever been as direct and straightforward with his needs. Not like that. It’s… different. Refreshing. Almost unheard of.

You almost want to pull him back down and let him have his way with you again, but you’re a woman of control and poise. You can articulate your needs just as clearly as he has. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little bit interested in seeing what manifests.

”Dinner would be lovely,” you begin, keeping your expression controlled, “When Jeremy gets back from whatever trip he’s on, I’m serving him the divorce papers.”

You can see the moment when your words sink in, the pleasant twitch of his lips, the way he leans over you and brushes his lips against yours. This kiss is tender and sweet in a way you haven’t experienced from your own husband in years. But it’s what he says next that turns your body into mush and your mind pliant and docile.

“Good girl.”

I apologize for the length of this

You don’t know what drove you to do it. Or rather, you do know. All too well.

You snuck out at night, like a thief, leaving your husband in bed.

How ironic. Until recently, you were responsible, a devoted wife, someone who tried her best to make the relationship work.

Of course, that was before you found out your husband was systematically cheating on you. Every sudden meeting, every urgent deadline, every project he had to work on late into the night—it was actually his boss secretary riding his cock in a seedy motel.

So what was the point of struggling to hold together the shards of something that was shattering right before your eyes?

What was the point of settling for your vibrator, masturbating silently in the bathroom, biting your lips and stifling your desperate need for someone to make you come the way your husband hadn’t even dreamed of doing for so long—far too long—while he had no qualms about shoving his cock into another woman’s pussy?

One day you stopped by the construction site where you thought you’d find your husband to bring him his favorite sandwich.

You didn’t find him. But you found Joel, his boss.

He was nice. He told you your husband was out to lunch. “Actually, he’s running late—he was supposed to be back half an hour ago.”

You looked at him. You looked at the desk next to his, and then back at him.

“Where’s Joanne?”

“At lunch,” he told you.

“They always disappear at the same time, right?”

You saw the exact moment when something clicked in his brain, when he connected the dots and his eyebrows furrowed, his lower lip trembling.

“Shit,” he whispered, his hands on his hips.

He didn’t dare look at you anymore, his eyes fixed on Joanne’s empty chair.

You didn’t want to cry, but you felt your cheeks streaked and wet.

Joel looked embarrassed, sorry, still confused as to how something like that had slipped his mind.

“I had no idea, I’m sorry,” he tried to explain.

“It’s not your fault, you know. A wife notices that kind of thing…” you said, quickly wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand.

Joel hugged you.

Driving home, you spent the whole time thinking about why you’d chosen a man like your husband instead of someone like Joel.

Why did you always fall in love with jerks? Why did you always let them treat you that way?

Your husband was late again. By now, you’d given up hope that he’d change. You pretended to be asleep, waited for him to get into bed and hear him snoring, and then you slipped out from under the covers.

Fuck it. Fuck him and the way he never knew how to satisfy you. Or take you into consideration. He’d been taking you for granted for at least a year.

At that point, you’d had enough of having dinner ready for him, the house clean, and his clothes washed and perfectly ironed.

Fuck it.

You threw on a dress in a hurry, fixed your hair, grabbed your bike, and started pedaling into the night. You weren’t even thinking about where you were going as the wind whipped against your face and your bike’s light cut through the darkness.

You arrived in front of Joel’s house. You left your bike in his driveway and knocked on the door.

The light was on in his bedroom. You heard his footsteps approaching as you waited under his porch in total silence.

The neighborhood was asleep.

“What are you doing here? Did something happen?” Joel asked you. He seemed surprised but stepped aside to let you in.

“Sorry for showing up here at this hour,” you mumbled, suddenly feeling the weight of what you were doing. “Joel, he…”

“Did he do it again?” he interrupted, looking at you with concern.

You instinctively buried your face in his chest. Joel didn’t touch you, but he let you do it.

“I’m so tired, so tired,” you cried, soaking his shirt.

You looked at him through your tears, asking the one question you were truly afraid to ask.

“I have to file for divorce, don’t I?”

“I mean…not my business but he’s a jerk. He doesn’t deserve you,” Joel nodded.

You knew that.

Joel had become your confidant by chance, but he’d been a good friend.

You’d been talking for a few weeks, ever since the first time he’d comforted you.

It was nice. He was nice. 

You didn't have the courage, and you'd never been the vengeful type, but a few times you were on the verge of asking him to fire your husband.

Joel’s hands rested on your shoulders, then on your back, holding you close. “Cry,” he said simply, in a gentle voice, “let it all out.”

Joel was warm. He was gentle, reassuring, affectionate. And you needed that.

Your tear-filled eyes met his again, his knuckles brushed your cheek in a barely perceptible caress.

You took his hand. Clasping it tightly in yours, you pressed your lips to the back of his hand, whispering, “Thank you, Joel.”

“Don’t worry,” he replied, smiling at you “You can stay here for a while if you want. I'll go to my room, but call me if you need anything.”

“No, please, don’t leave me alone…” you begged him, unable to let go of his hand.

You hadn’t held a man’s hand in a long time, and Joel’s fingers intertwined with yours felt wonderful.

A feeling you’d been missing.

“What can I do for you?” he asked you. No one had asked you anything like that in years.

No one had paid you any attention in months. 

Your husband fucked you lazily a couple of times recently, just quick thrusts, without any care or feeling, just out of marital duty. It was as if he were having sex with an inflatable doll. 

It made you feel stupid and inadequate, without any charm or allure.

You didn’t know what to say.

“I…” You were afraid. Afraid to express what you were feeling, to say what you were going through, to put a name to what Joel was making you feel.

You realized you were trembling in his arms. It wasn’t cold, it wasn’t fear—it was desire.

And when your brain registered it, sending the message to the lower part of your body, you felt a warmth rising from your stomach. A sensation similar to when you let yourself go in the privacy of your bathroom, slipping the vibrator into your panties.

So screw it.

“I just want to feel alive again, I want passion… I want…”

“Sex?” He interrupted you. Straight to the point.

“I…yeah” you lowered your gaze, looking at the tips of your shoes.

“With me?” He asked, gently taking your chin with two fingers and bringing your gaze back to his.

“P-Please…” you muttered.

You couldn't have thought of anyone else. No one who made you feel as safe as Joel.

“Take my hand where you want it,” he invited you. He was calm, reading your eyes, sensing your need.

“Take my hand where you want it”

Holding him by the wrist, you lifted your dress with your other hand, placing Joel’s hand on your hip, just above the waistband of your panties. Joel’s hand was relaxed; he let you guide it.

That was all it took.

You were standing in his living room, and the way Joel’s eyes were looking at you made you think you deserved more. You deserved someone who would look at you as intensely as he was. You deserved him.

Joel held you gently, respectfully; his fingers lingered at the hem of your panties, waiting for your consent. He didn’t go any further, letting you enjoy the weight of his hand on you, his warmth, and his long, calloused fingers resting on your bare skin.

You basked in that sensation, feeling your body come back to life, ignite, and burn.

Joel had never allowed himself to cross the line; he’d always acted like a friend up until that moment—never an inappropriate joke, never a mean remark, never trying to dominate you or force you to do anything you weren’t ready for.

But now, this unexpected closeness was telling you everything you needed to know. His gaze spoke for him, as did his hands and his hips, which moved involuntarily against yours, like a reflex he couldn’t control. He lowered his gaze, you even thought you saw him blush.

You were ready to allow yourself to think about yourself—and only yourself—as you hadn't done in far too long.

You let his hand slide down onto your panties.

His fingers moved cautiously, sliding down at the side, as if he were afraid to get too close to your center.

“Joel…”

“What do you want, baby?”

“I want you” you hesitated for a second before adding, “I want you to remind me what it feels like… touch me, Joel.” Your voice was shaky as you looked into his eyes. But you were certain, more certain than you’d ever been about anything.

“Guide me, then. Use your words, sweetheart, tell me exactly how you want me to touch you.”

And you did. 

His hand slid down over your mound, while his mouth was on your neck, kissing and sucking on you tender skin. 

His index and middle fingers found your wetness, plunging into it, gathering it up, and guiding it toward your clit.

You moaned, and when he began to trace tight concentric circles on your nerve bundle, you praised him, “Like that… just like that, don’t stop.”

Joel tried to take it slow and steady; whenever he applied too much pressure, you gently corrected him, and he caught on immediately, learning to read your body’s reactions.

His other hand clasped your breast again, and you found enough strength to whisper, “Play with my nipples.”

Two of his fingers closed around it, twisting it, pulling gently, making it harden. A shiver ran down your spine, and a guttural sound escaped your throat: “God… yes.”

He was completely focused on you; his clothed erection was pressing against your thigh, but he didn't seem bothered by it. 

Your dress slipped over your head shortly after, he pulled down your bra, and his fingers were around your button again.

He leaned down, his fingers still tracing circles over your clit as your nipple slipped between his lips. He began to suck slowly, his tongue darting over the tip, his hand cupping the underside of your breast, testing your softness.

“Bite it…” you moaned, your hand tugging his hair at the base of his neck. 

He did it, softly, holding his bite ever so gently but squeezing enough to make your knees buckle.

He smiled on your skin, watching you slowly fall apart for him. 

“You like that, huh? Want more?” 

“Yes” you replied under your breath, clutching your other hand on his bicep. 

“This pussy’s been neglected for too long, babe, you want me to take care of her?” He whispered.

“Please…that’s all I want” you whined.

“Table, couch, bed… choose” he growled. 

“Table” You didn't know how long it had been since your husband had slammed you onto your kitchen table to fuck you. He'd done it when you were newlyweds. Now it was a faint memory.

God, you missed that type of passion so badly. 

Joel took you in his arms, your legs around his waist. He pushed you on the table, took off your shoes and slid your panties down. 

“Taking this a little souvenir, okay?” He said, pushed them down the pocket of his jeans. 

You giggled “yeah, why not” 

He looked at you, all spread and open for him. 

“You look amazing like that” 

You felt your cheeks heat up as you begged him, “Fuck me, Joel, please.”

“How do you want it?” he asked. He was calm and composed, waiting for your instructions, despite the bulge growing in his pants. 

“Rough,” you replied, “and raw.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, Joel.” You smiled at him. You had a IUD and you trusted him more than any man you knew.

Joel wasn’t a womanizer. He raised his daughter on his own, built a company from scratch, he didn't have time to screw around. 

But boy, he fucked you like crazy that night. 

He leaned down over you, kissed a trail down your neck, along your collarbone, and down your arm until he took your fingers into his mouth. 

He coated them with his saliva, his tongue gliding skillfully over them. He released them, smirking. 

“Do me a favor, okay? Use them on your clit while I fuck you. I'd really love to see it”

You nodded, feeling your whole body aching for him..

He took off his shirt, revealing his freckled, tanned chest. Your mouth watered at the sight. He was so handsome. Muscular, but not too much. Your eyes took in his broad shoulders, his biceps, and drifted down to the happy trail that disappeared into his jeans. He pulled them down, kicking them off.  When his boxers joined his jeans on the floor, you were left breathless. 

He was huge. He wrapped one hand around it, moving closer. 

“I know what you’re thinking. It’s okay, it’ll fit.”

You were soaking wet. With every centimeter he entered you, you felt his veins sliding against your walls, his girth stretching you, as you eagerly sucked his cocked in. 

Joel was praising you, whispering in your ear, “Good girl. All nice and wet for me. You’re taking it so well.”

Every word that slipped into your ears sounded like honey—or perhaps like a poison that was hypnotizing you. You liked it. You wanted more. Moans rose from your throat uncontrollably. 

“All the w-way in,” you managed to stammer, “give it to m-me. . . all of it, Joel.”

When he reached the bottom, you felt his balls press against your butt. 

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” You were filled to the brim. Craig, your husband, couldn't even come close to competing. He had a nice cock, sure, but Joel...

He grabbed your legs, holding them slightly raised with his arms, and started moving.

You were bouncing on the table as if you weighed nothing, while he thrust into you. 

One of his hands reached for your breast, the other held you by the hips.

“That's what you needed, right? For me to stuff you like this? To stretch out this pretty little pussy, huh?” He grunted. 

“Yes. Yes Joel”

He lifted you up to sit on the table, sliding you along the edge—still inside you—while holding one of your legs. 

The change in position allowed him to reach that special spot inside you. 

You slid your hand down between the two of you, reaching your clit.

“Yeah, baby, touch yourself.”

It was intoxicating. As soon as you started drawing circles on your bundle of nerves, you started moaning his name, over and over. So loud that you thought the whole neighborhood would hear you. 

Your breasts were pressed against his sweat-beaded chest, your nipples rubbing against it with every thrust.

Your other hand slid through his hair, tugging at his curls. 

“That’s it, gorgeous, Don’t stop stroking that pretty clit for me”

That idiot Craig never let you do it, every time you tried, he complained that he wasn't enough for you.

Joel was urging you on, “Come on, baby, I know you’re close, I can feel the way you’re clenching around me” speeding up the pace.

You did, your cunt was literally spasming around the huge thickness of his cock, crying all over, juices dripping on your inner thighs. 

You came, quivering in his arms, your whole body shaking, overstimulated and exhausted. 

He came right after you with a convulsive thrust of his hips, unloading his cum inside you in long, thick spurts. 

“Everything okay?” he asked you, as soon as he caught his breath. 

He gently kissed your lips, cupping your cheek. 

You smiled. You hadn't smiled like that in so long you couldn't even remember when.

“It was amazing. Everything I could have wanted, and more.” You returned his kiss, lingering on the taste of him. 

Craig was no longer even in the back of your mind. He and his lover could have a happy life—you didn't care.

His smile widened. “I’m worried about you.”

You sighed without opening your eyes. “So, worry later.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t think that’s how worrying works.”

“Mmmm…” You nuzzled closer until your forehead rested beneath his chin. “Five more minutes.”

He looked down at you with amusement and tenderness, a soft laugh vibrating against your ear.

“You have no idea how cute you are.”

A tiny smile tugged at your lips. “I know.”

“Oh, so you know.”

“Mhmm.” You yawned. “And I like my pillow.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You nodded lazily on his chest. “This warm one.”

His heart melted. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your hair. “You know,” he whispered, “I’m beginning to think you’re only using me because I’m comfortable for your sleep.”

You finally cracked one eye open, a sleepy smile spreading across your face. “Maybe.”

“Coco, did you hear that?” Harry gasped.

The puppy lifted one ear and decided the conversation wasn’t important enough, so he went right back to sleep.

Harry looked back down, meeting your eyes as your smile widened. Without thinking, you reached up and cupped his cheek. “Good morning.”

Harry’s teasing expression melted. “Good morning, baby.”

He leaned into your touch for a brief second, but the reminder of the heat made him pull back a bit. He brushed his thumb over your forehead again. “You feel a little warm.”

You frowned sleepily. “Do I?”

“A little.” He nodded, no erasing the smile from his face.

You hummed, completely unconcerned.

Harry, however, wasn’t letting go. “I think breakfast in bed might be today’s plan.”

You groaned into his chest. “I have to work.”

“Take the day off.”

“I have responsibilities.”

“Yes, but if you go, you’re only going to get sicker,” he said. He kept stroking your hair, his fingers slipping among the soft strands while you stayed tucked against him.

Neither of you spoke for a few minutes. There was no need to, not when the silence felt this comfortable. Harry looked down at you again, noticing your eyelids were still heavy.

His thumb brushed over your temple. “Are you hungry?”

You hummed quietly. “Maybe.”

Harry teased, “Maybe?”

“I’m still deciding,” you murmured. “It depends on what you have to offer.”

He chuckled, leaning down slightly. “Well, I can help you decide. What are you craving?”

It was such an ordinary question, but it carried the quiet weight of the secret language two lovers learned to speak before falling. It caught you completely off guard because you had never had this before. This man had stumbled into your life and turned everything bright, completely driving away the cold gloom of your bluest days. And now, here he was, kissing your temple in the morning and asking you what you wanted for breakfast.

You searched his face for a moment.

Harry notices the way your expression softened. “What?”

You shook your head faintly. “Nothing.”

He raised an eyebrow, his fingers tucking another strand of hair behind your ear. “What would you like?”

You pretended to think very seriously. “Hmmm…”

Harry waited patiently. “Pancakes?”

You looked guilty. “Asking me like that makes me think you’re expecting me to say no. I don’t even know how stocked your kitchen is.”

Harry smiled, playfully. “I’ll make pancakes.”

“Can you even make pancakes?” you asked, skeptical of his cooking abilities.

“Cooking happens to be one of my talents, gorgeous,” he replied, flashing a smile that felt as bright as the sun.

You laughed quietly. Harry felt a sudden, sharp tug in his chest at the sound. “There she is.”

You groaned. “You really need a new line.”

“It keeps working.” Harry smiled to himself, brushing his knuckles lightly across your cheek. “But first…I want you to stay right here.”

“I’m not five.”

“I know.”

“But you keep talking to me like I am.”

“I’m talking to you like someone who spent hours wandering around in the rain yesterday and is a bit sick now.”

You opened your mouth to protest.

“Don’t.” Harry interrupted, pointing a warning finger at you.

“I wasn’t going to argue.” You said, faking innocence.

He laughed, leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

As Harry carefully slipped out the bed, you reached for his hand before he could get too far. He stopped, looking back at you.

Your fingers curled gently around his. “Thank you.”

Harry’s chest tightened, a sudden warmth blooming inside him. “For what?”

“For taking care of me.”

He looked at you as if the answer were completely obvious. “As long as you’ll let me,” he murmured, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing your knuckles gently. “I don’t think I’ll get tired of it.”

Then, with a smile that reached all the way to his eyes, he disappeared toward the kitchen. He left you wrapped in the warm sheets beside a sleepy Coco, feeling cared for in a way you never were.

The days passed with agonizing speed. The kind that makes you homesick for a moment ever when you’re still living it, watching it slip through your fingers like sand. You didn’t want it to end. These days were happy; they gave your life meaning again, turning everything, you had experienced into memories that would echo in your mind for years.

Ever since Harry knocked on your door that night, your world had shifted. It was as if your life had been painted over in shades of crimson and gold, like a beach sunset you couldn’t quire define but desperately wanted to look at every single evening. It became something you looked forward to, something so stable and present it was easy to take for granted.

For years your life had been a comfortable, predictable routine under a dull, gray sky. You woke you, worked and went to bed that the fierce, fiery love people wrote about in books was just a myth. Something you would never be able to touch. But this new warmth wrapping around you had become the very reality of your routine, starting every time you looked into the kitchen and found Harry making coffee and quiet.

Your ordinary quiet life flooded with colors, each shifting into your routine.  

They were in the pigments of afternoons spent walking along the shore, with Coco sprinting ahead to chase the seagulls. They were the shades of those evenings when the café closed and Harry was already waiting outside, leaning against the wooden railing with his hands in his pockets, his face lighting up the second you stepped through the door.

You were falling.

The was the exact moment you realized it. For the first time in your life, the sky was bleeding into shades of rose and gold, but this time, the brightness didn’t hurt. You were standing right in the middle of your ordinary life, breathless, watching a new world bloom around you.

All because of him.

Because of Harry.

Yes, you were completely falling.

Some days he worked from your house, his laptop balance on the dining table while he kept himself busy with conference calls filling his days. Other days, he abandoned his job because you convinced him the sunset was too beautiful to miss.

He would complain at first, but seeing you smile was enough for him to follow you anyway.

Anywhere.

Always.

As long as you allowed him.

You had found out Harry loved to sing under his breath whenever he cooked and that he had started to love stealing bites from your plate after insisting he wasn’t hungry, shrugging shamelessly every time you shot him a look.

“It tastes better from yours.”

Everything he was, and everything he had done ever since he came to this place, had blended seamlessly into your own.

A few days later, as you walked towards Harry’s house, your phone suddenly rang with a notification.

Harry:

Don’t come for Coco. I’ll bring him to you.

Your eyebrows furrowed. You knew you didn’t have to worry about Coco if he was with him because at this point, they had become thick as thieves.

You:

Is he behaving?

Harry:

What do you mean?He is the best boy ever.

You:

????I have a suspicion this is actually Coco typing.

Harry:

Oh, shut up.

You:

Dog.

Harry:

Go home.

You stepped inside your house as you kept the smile on your face. You walked towards the kitchen, leaving a bouquet of flowers you had bought from the sweet florist selling on your way home and place them on the counter. You were hungry, so you went to the fridge studying at the food inside as if you could develop a new recipe by taking a look of them. You were about to prepare a sandwich with a knock on your door stopped your actions. Followed by your phone ringing.

You frowned, looking at the door as you ran to grab your phone from the table.

“I’m coming!” you shouted, grabbing your phone and pressing it against your ear.

“Just open the door already,” harry spoke through the phone, by the tone you could picture the smile on his face.

At the other side of the door, there was Harry standing there, and in fact wearing that deadly smile on his face.

You unlocked the door and swung it open. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, and your smile froze in pure shock. Harry looked breathtaking, gorgeous, and effortlessly pulling off a classic black suit and tie matching his own. But that wasn’t all; he was also holding Coco. Your small dog looked like a gentleman in a tiny matching tie of his own.

Harry looked down at Coco, then back up at you with a smirk. “Can I take you on a date now? We both dressed up just for you.”

You let out a gasp, hands flying to your mouth.

“What’s all of this?” You asked, your cheeks hurt from all the smiling.

“I’ve been thinking about the perfect moment to ask you out,” he began, smiling timidly at you. “But then, I realized any moment would be perfect as long as you would be there.”

You beamed at his words; your eyes wrinkled. Harry smiled back with the same intensity. You felt your eyes watering as they drifted to Coco in his arms, wagging his tail at you from his position.

You stepped forward, cradling his face in your hands. “Oh my God, my baby.” You exclaimed.

“How did you do this, Harry?”

“Well…he likes me, what can I say?” she laughed, meeting your gaze when you lifted your gaze.

“So?” he wondered, “Would you go out with me?

You straighten up, not breaking your contact with Coco, but looking at Harry deep in the eyes.

“I’ll wait for you at my boring house with a surprise for you and Coco,” he added.

“Right now?” you asked.

“Right now.” He smiled, looking up and down your body, at your white sneakers and the long denim dress you wore. “You can absolutely keep this dress; you look beautiful.”

 “No,” you said, smiling at him, “I want to change into a nice dress for you.” You lifted your hand to grab his free one, squeezing it.

“And just so you know, I’d love to go on a date with you.” You confessed, pulling your hand away.

A wide smile broke across his face. “I’ll wait for you, then, darling.”

The moment you stepped through his front door, Harry turned around; the words he wanted to say died on his lips. He eyed you up and down; his gaze burned you. For a fleeting moment, he was left speechless. His lips parted in shock as he couldn’t fully process how stunning you looked. A smile broke across his face, as a faint flush crept up his neck, reaching his cheeks.

He stepped closer; his hand reached for you to rest it on your waist, his thumb swept over your skin above the dress.

“Wow,” he breathed out, his raspy tone sending a shiver down your spine. “You look wonderful.”

“It’s just an old dress,” you teased, looking away from his burning gaze.

“Well, you look breathtaking,” he reassured, a wide smile adorning his face.

Your eyes moved past his figure as he stepped behind away to led you up to the terrace, your breath caught in your throat. He had built a scene straight out of a dream. A dozen of candles flickered along, casting a romantic setting as the light casted on the glass. A few delicate fairy lights hung overhead like stars casting glimmer over the space.

Coco also trotted ahead of you, his tiny bow perfectly in place, while Harry stepped up right behind you, his hands rested on your waist as he leaned down.

“Do you like it?” he whispered in your ear. “I want tonight to be magical for you.”

His breath fanning over the skin of your neck caught your breath. “When…when did you make all of this?” you asked, clearly speechless.  

Harry let out a soft chuckle; the sound vibrated on your back as he tightened his hold on your waist. He leaned his chin on your shoulder, looking down at the sky next to you.

“I had a bit of help, I have to admit,” he smiled, his voice warm. “I’ve been planning this since yesterday, and I begged Sophie to help me to set up the fairy lights and candles before you arrived.”

You turned around in his embrace, resting your hands against his chest as you looked up into his brown eyes. “You did all this just for our first date?”

“Just a first date?” He mocked, offended. “You’re not just any first date,” Harry murmured, his expression softened. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You deserve this and more. Tonight is just for us.”

He led you to the middle as soft music played in the background, filling the space that just the waves used to claim. He held out his hand with a smile. You took it without hesitation, letting him pull you gently to his chest as he wrapped his other arm around your waist. You swayed together, a slow rhythm beneath the fairy lights. You shifted closer, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“You are a really good dancer,” you teased, looking up at him.

“I have my moments. I want to impress you.” He said, “I’m holding you.”

Instead of words, you just beamed at him as the song died in the background.

Harry led you to the comfortable cushioned area he had built over a blanket on the ground. You sat down close together. You leaned back, resting your head on his shoulder as you both looked up at sky. Away from the bright glow of the fairy lights, the stars above shone with intensity. Harry’s fingers intertwined with yours, as his thumb traced his path on the back of your hand.

 “I love sitting outside and seeing the stars every night,” you said, lifting the piece of sushi to your lips. “It brings me peace.”

“I believe you,” Harry said, pouring the wine into both of your glasses, “Now you have my company for it.”

You smiled. A quiet wave of happiness washed over you, knowing his words were entirely true and that his presence had truly become part of your daily life.

Harry smiled back at you. He already knew that kind of smile on your face. He was familiar with every single curve in your lips and the thousand words they could speak just by the shape of them. He brought the glass of wine and took a small sip, letting the warmth of it settle in the back of his throat.

“It’s good.”

“It is,” you replied, meeting his gaze from the narrow gap between both of you.

Harry’s eyes dipped down, noticing how your lips glistened from the wine. They looked completely inviting. You tried desperately to focus on the stars above you, praying in silence that he would do the same. You let out a light sigh of relief when Harry looked away from your lips.

But suddenly, you felt his fingertips on your chin, tilting your head up. You yielded when your lips met. Harry kept his hand cupping your face, deepening the kiss as his tongue brushed your bottom lip, making you feel you were drowning.

Harry slid one of his hands down your back, pulling you close. Shivers ran down your spine as it arched, chasing the spark of fire Harry had ignited with his touch.

Your bodies blurred into each other, burning just one flame.

Harry caught your bottom lip, feeling the kiss with an agonizing need. You gasped, parting your lips, letting him slide his tongue past your teeth and having the first real taste of you.

You leaned forward, completely out of focus, and melted into all the sensations, sparking with his tongue intertwined with yours and his hands travelling up and down your body, making you crave the friction your body ached to reach. He tasted like the glass of wine you both had shared.

The innocent nature of the kiss grew heated. His hand slid up, interlocking his fingers through the strands of your hair to gently pull your head back.  

“You’re a dream,” he whispered, his lips stained by the burgundy from the mix of the wine and kiss.

Your face flushed. Your blood rushed into your cheeks as you felt a sudden, intense heat radiating through every inch of your body.

You leaned forward, capturing his lips in yours once again. You didn’t know if it was because of the wine, but you had become addicted to the taste in them and how they felt over yours. You interlocked your fingers between the curls on his hair, gently pulling him to you until you melted into him.

Harry’s mouth felt warm on yours, as his fingertips sent sparks down your spine all over again as matches striking to light a fire. His lips left a path of heated kisses on your skin down the crook of your neck.

His gaze lifted to take a look at your face, and you tried to move. You pressed your hands against his chest to push him away.

“Harry,” you whimpered, completely breathless.

“Don’t talk now,” he replied, voice vibrating against the skin of your collarbone where his lips pressed down.  

A part of you craved him so much it physically hurt. Whatever the spark between both of you was called, you knew you were breaking the rules of it. You shut your eyes, pressing your forehead on the fabric of his white shirt, now stained by the burgundy of your own lips.

The fire burst, and you were willing to get burned.

Harry pulled you closer, his mouth captured your lips in a breathless kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as the rest of the world faded away. There was no hesitation left in him now.

Then, a wet nose nudged your elbow. Coco had wandered over from his rug, licking your bare arm and ruining the moment. A breathless laugh escaped your lips, breaking the tension.

“No,” Harry complained against your skin, refusing to let go. He looked down at the dog with a playful scowl. “No, tonight, buddy. She’s mine.”

Those words left you speechless, your heart clenched in your chest.

Harry pulled away, looking at you with lustful eyes you had never seen before. He slowly ran his tongue over his lower lip, biting it gently as he took in the sight of your flushed skin. Standing up without breaking eye contact, he reached down and offered you his hand. You took it without hesitation.

As Harry led you towards his room, the frantic beating of his heart perfectly matched your own.

Harry stopped just before crossing the door of his room. The moonlight mixed with the dim light from the living room made his eyes catch yours with intensity. He held your hands, but he noticed the tremble in your fingers. He tilted his head, searching your eyes.

“Harry…” you whispered, your voice wavering. “Wait. It’s…it’s been a really long time since I’ve been with anyone like this.”

For a moment you feared you might see disappointment in his expression, but Harry’s gaze only softened. He took a step closer, closing the distance until you could feel the heat radiating from his chest.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice raspy.

Instead of using words, he let his fingers talk, sliding his hands up from your fingers to your shoulders, gently brushing a strand of hair out of the way. He leaned down and pressed his lips on the curve of your neck. The kiss was slow, firm, and filled with an adoration that took your nerves away. Feeling you relax against him, he trailed a line of soft kisses up your jawline until his lips reached and brushed your ear.

“There’s no rush,” he whispered on your skin; his warm breath sent shivers down your spine. “It’s you and me. We’ll go exactly at your pace.”

Those words made every bit of hesitation vanish, replaced by the safety of his hands caressing your skin.  

With delicacy, Harry slid the fabric of your dress down your back until it pooled around your feet. As you stood bare before him, his gaze darkened with intense appreciation. He took your hand, pressing your palm flat against his chest, right over his racing heart.

“This is what you do to me,” he whispered.

His hands began to travel along your skin, his fingertips tracing every curve of your body. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, trailed his lips down your cheek, and finally found your mouth once more. The kiss was incredibly soft, so tender that a quiet moan escaped your lips.

Goosebumps rippled across your skin. You felt so drunk on his love that dying in his arms felt like a beautiful fate you could meet, if only he would hold you forever. Time slowed as his hand slid up your stomach. When his fingers brushed your breast, you gasped at the sensation.

He held your hand, his fingers laced through yours as he led you to his bed. The urgency of the kiss grew more desperate as it turned into soft moans escaping your lips. As the back of your knees touched the edge of the mattress, you sat on it. Harry looked at you with an intensity in his eyes you had never seen in there before. Your breath caught in the middle of your throat, his hands moving to cradle your neck with his fingertips.

As your eyes met, the lust consuming you both grew. He looked at you with those longing eyes of a man craving to taste an unusual flavor for the first time. When you held his gaze all the hesitation upon his shoulders lifted because he knew you would stay here with him. He claimed your lips once again; his touch suffocated you as you gasped for air at all the sensations tickling in your skin as his kisses travelled down your neck, sending a rush of adrenaline within you.

In a swift, yet gentle movement, he parted your legs, hovering over you. A low moan escaped your lips, pulling Harry closer, and he sank all his weight on you. He let out a low growl, pinning your wrists above your head as he began to move against you in a slow rhythm that set your skin on fire.

You arched your back in desperation for more friction, so your fingers found their way to his shirt, unbuttoning it with faster movements, refusing to break the kiss. You were desperate to feel his skin against yours; your hand reached for his belt, your finger worked on unbuttoning his pants as his lips seemed hungrier on you. Harry caught his breath as he felt your hand over his cock.

He opened his eyes to look down at you with surprise and absolute devotion in there; his chest rose.

“God,” he whispered, his voice completely raspy as your fingers stroked his cock up and down.

He buried his face back into your neck with desperation. Your breath hitched, and your moans grew heavier as his lips and tongue trailed down your chest, sending a jolt of electricity to your core.

“Oh god, Harry,” you whimpered, arching your back against him, consumed by the sensation.

He pressed more kisses down between your breasts, his mouth lowered with a torturous trail of kisses until it reached your stomach. You let out a soft gasp as his hands gripped your hips to hold you in place. He kept pressing kisses on your skin, his warm breath on your lower stomach, but your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him away.

“Harry, wait. I don’t…I—”

“You don’t want me to taste you?” he asked softly, pausing his actions.”

“I…I just want to feel you inside me tonight,” you confessed, your voice trembled.

You feared you had ruined the moment, but Harry jus nodded, planting a last kiss on your stomach to relax you before sliding back up you body, claiming your lips again. He didn’t make you wait any longer, his eyes locked onto yours. Holding your hips, Harry positioned himself and pushed forward, filling you in slowly. You let out a gasp as your eyes flutter shut.

“Look at me,” he breathed against your lips, his pace still slow but setting the room on fire.

You opened your eyes, meeting his intense darkened gaze as he started to move, sending waves of intense pleasure straight to your core.

Arching your back, you raised your hips to meet his thrusts. You felt desperate to feel all of him in you. Every touch of his fingers on your skin awakened sensations you had long forgotten, setting your entire world on fire.  

His ragged moans filled in your ear. “That’s it, baby…you feel so good.”

Harry fastened his thrusts with heavenly deep thrusts. A broken gasp left your lips at the sensation. He pinned your hands up your head, intertwining his fingers with yours. He didn’t let you to rush him anymore. He wanted to give you all of him.

Your body trembled under his weight as the pace fastened and the room filled with moans and sweet.

“Harry, please…don’t stop,” you begged, your eyes blurred as you tried to look up at him as your hips chased the friction.

“I’m not,” he whimpered against your lips as he continued rocking his hips against yours, matching the rhythm with the friction that made you lose your mind.

“Harry, please,” you cried out, your fingers dug on his shoulders as the pleasure coiled down in your stomach.

“Do you want to come baby?” he broke down in a low raspy voice.

He fastened his movement, grabbing you by the hips and lifting you to positioned himself against you as he started to slam into you. You clung to him, fingernails digging into the muscle of his back. All the pleasure coiling together inside you turned into a rush of heat.

Your breath came in ragged breaths as the only sensation left was the friction of his skin against yours.

“Harry, I’m gonna—" you choked out, your vision blurred.

“With me,” he replied, his voice seemed strained.

And with a last deep push against you, a loud, breathless cry left your lips. Your muscles tightened around his cock as he buried himself inside you, letting out a groan against your neck.

There was nothing left but the sound of your ragged breaths filling the room and mixing with the smell of sweet and sloppy sex. Harry collapsed softly on your body, his forehead resting in the crook of your neck, still trembling from the aftermath. He stayed buried inside you, letting his cock fill you up with his warmth.

After a few minutes of no speaking, he rolled onto his side, pulling you along with him, so you rested your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around your waist. The skin of his chest was still hot and slick with the sweat from before, but the desperate hunger from before had vanished and turned into vulnerability. He buried his face in your disheveled hair, inhaling your scent and pressing a lingering kiss on your head.

“I—”

“I—”

You both let out a small chuckle, the fear melting.

“You go first,” he said, smiling.

“No, you.”

“Okay,” he accepted. “I…I think I’m falling in love with you in the most stupid way,” he confessed, pressing more kisses to the top of your head.

You froze for a second; your heart skipped a short beat at the confession. Those same tainted words in the back of your mind suddenly turned out into the most beautiful sound you had ever heard.

Your throat tightened. You shifted in his arms, turning your head to meet those brown eyes you had gotten so used to looking into.

A shy smile broke across your lips.

“I’m pretty sure I’m falling for you in that same stupid way.”

A smile broke on Harry’s face. His entire body relaxed under your gaze, and all the doubts melted away because he was meeting the sincerest eyes he had ever had the chance to know. He pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck, as if he finally had the world in his arms.

“Please, never break my heart,” he begged, “I don’t want to live a life without you in mine.”

You planted a kiss on his chest, closing your eyes at his words. “I would never do that.” You promised.

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