He adjusts his tie, loosening it slightly as he looks in the mirror. Methodically checking every strand of hair is in place, no whisps escaping tonight. His lily pinned to the suit jacket, still perfect, white against the black. The little dimple just above his smile? Stunning. Harry is more than a unicorn. He’s charming, sweet, kind, & wants the best for everyone in life.

That’s when you appear in the mirror’s reflection, walking casually past to talk to a family member, one who will surely ask the same questions you always get at weddings: “When’s it going to be you?” “Are you settled down?” “Time’s running out.” All tedious. & frankly, nobody’s business but your own.

But as you walk past, something shifts. Harry’s eyes light up.

You’re the groom’s younger sister, heading off to face the usual interrogation from the boomers & beyond. Your light blue dress flows just enough to catch the eye. Your hair is swept into an elegant bun, a few strands escaping. Simple. Stunning.

Harry is best friends with the other groom. They met in school at age ten & have been thick as thieves ever since. He takes one last glance in the hallway mirror, picks his whiskey glass up off the shelf, & heads across the room a few minutes later, following the same path you took.

Sure enough, as he approaches the bar for a top-up, he hears them.

“So, who can we match you up with, darling?” It’s a great aunt you only see at these events. Your grandma is hovering nearby, too.

“Oh, if it happens, it happens,” you say, trying to make it sound trivial. But inside, you’re squirming. Your hands twitch nervously. You’d rather talk about literally anything else, or at least have a drink in hand.

“Well, we just want you to be happy,” the aunt offers.

“Oh yes,” your grandma adds, “my poor little flower. Bless her, maybe you’ll find happiness one day.”

“Who says she isn’t happy?” You turn your head. It’s Harry, smiling, a whiskey in one hand, a glass of Prosecco for you in the other. “Who says you’re only happy if you have a partner? Or a family?” You take the glass from him.

“Well…” your great aunt begins, faltering, “doesn’t everyone want that?”

“Happiness isn’t just one box you tick,” Harry says, offering you the glass. You sip silently, watching him. He’s calm, firm, a gentleman putting outdated views in their place. “Why has no one asked me if I’m happy? I’m in the same boat. But when a woman’s single at a wedding & over thirty, suddenly everyone’s desperate to match her up.”

“Well, you can provide for yourself as a man,” your grandma replies.

“& she can’t?” That line hits you like a shiver. Without thinking, your free hand gently rests on his lower back. “It’s harder for her than it is for a man to succeed alone. You should be bloody proud of her, her salary, her apartment, her car. Everything she’s built on her own.” He nods to you, & you nearly choke on your Prosecco.

The older women panic, clearly flustered, & mumble excuses before heading off toward the grandparents’ table. Harry takes another sip of his whiskey. You start to giggle.

“Guessing you enjoyed that performance?” he asks.

“More than enough, Harry,” you say with a smile.

You’ve known Harry for three years. You met at your brother’s birthday, the night his now husband proposed. “I owe you,” you say.

“No, you don’t,” he replies, smirking.

“Please. As an independent woman, you know I hate being in debt.”

He leans in slightly. “Well… if they knew how little independence you’ve had these past 14 months, they’d be asking us both why there’s no wedding date.”

It all started with a drunken couch make-out at his best friend’s place. You both regretted it the next morning, until a week later, when you found yourself in his king-size bed, wrapped in silk sheets, feeling valued & adored. Only a select few people know you’re a couple. Harry didn’t want to pressure you & you wanted to be sure he was the one. You’ve all but moved in with him now. Your apartment lease expires in two months. That’s when you plan to tell everyone.

Harry gently places his hand around your waist. “Maybe we should cause a little stir,” he says, setting his empty glass down beside him. “Let them whisper a bit.” He takes your hand “Dance with me.”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised & smiling.

“I thought you didn’t dance.” You take the last sip of your drink.

“I don’t,” he says. “But if I don’t hold you close soon, I might combust.”

He leads you gently toward the dance floor, where only a few couples sway, newlyweds, long-time lovers, the odd tipsy uncle & his saint of a wife. The music slows, something soft & golden playing in the background. You barely notice the song, you only feel the way Harry’s hand rests lightly against your back, how your fingers thread into his, the way he leaves just enough space between your bodies to be polite.

Well that’s at first. You move slowly together, small steps, cautious to begin, like pretending it’s just for show. Just for the relatives. Just for the whispers.

But with every turn, every soft sway, the space between you disappears. His touch becomes firmer, more certain. Your head shifts a little closer to his. He leans in now & then to say something quiet things. You barely catch them over the music, but you don’t really need to. They sound like kindness, like safety. Like the version of love you’d almost stopped believing in. Comfort & love.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmurs at one point.

“I knew you’d say that,” you reply, trying to sound breezy, but your voice is softer now too.

“Because it’s true. & because I mean it.”

There’s a pause. The kind that says more than conversation ever could.

“You look handsome too”

“I know” he sniggers.

“No Harry, you’re more than just the grooms best friend to me” you say softly. You inhale his scent & sigh.

By the end of the song, there’s barely a breath between your bodies. His hand rests just above the small of your back. Your forehead nearly touches his. You can feel his breath when he whispers your name.

Your lips almost brush. The world around you blurs, the clinking of glasses, the chatter of cousins, the shrieks of toddlers doing laps in sparkly shoes. It all fades. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, suspended. You’re sure people are talking about the two of you but it’s just white noise.

Then you pull back half an inch, just enough to say it. Quietly. Clearly.

“I know where we can go.” Harry looks into your eyes, eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “Where we can just be… more than two random people at a wedding. Away from all these eyes.”

His smile is slow, warm, unmistakably full of love.

“Lead the way beautiful.” It’s barely audible. Your souls ignites.

Harry’s smile deepens, a quiet flicker of mischief in his eyes now he can see that you are both on the same page.

“Lead the way,” he says again, more softly now almost like a dare.

You take his hand, fingers laced tightly, & together you slip off the dance floor. Nobody really notices. Or maybe they do, but no one says anything. Let them whisper.

The corridor off the main hall is dim, lined with flickering fairy lights & soft carpet that hushes your steps. You pass the gift table, a glamour photo booth, & a pair of older cousins arguing gently about cake. Then you tug him left, away from all the celebration. Toward the rooms upstairs.

The hotel suite is quiet when you enter. The door clicks shut behind you. The hum of the hallway fades, & now it’s just the two of you, hearts racing, fingers still tangled, eyes locked like you might not survive the next few seconds if one of you lets go. You booked the room in your name Harry was “staying at a friend’s” well that’s what he told those who didn’t know.

You both pause. It hangs there. That moment between the moment. The space where decision turns into action.

Finally after being careful all day, he’s kissing you. Not gently. Not hesitantly. Like he’s been holding it in for days, despite the fact that he kissed you in bed this morning. Like he’s tired of pretending you’re just the groom’s sister & he’s just the best friend. His hands find your waist, then your back, then your jaw. You lean into him with a soft, breathless gasp that turns into a moan against his mouth. You break only for air. Barely. You need him more than oxygen.

He presses you back toward the bed, or maybe you pull him, neither of you quite sure who’s leading anymore. You don’t care. His tie is already loose, & your dress has shifted slightly at the shoulder. His jacket hits the floor, the Lilly now crumpled. Your heels come off. Nothing’s rushed, but it’s all urgent, every kiss a little deeper, every touch a little firmer, like the two of you have been pretending for far too long & now, finally, you don’t have to.

“Been dying to do this all night,” he murmurs against your neck.

“All night?” you tease, tugging at his shirt.

He laughs, low & hoarse. “Fine. Since the day we met. I think I say that to you every time we have a moment, it’s not changed though.”

You kiss him again. Longer this time. Slower. Like you believe him because you do.

The rest of the world can wait, the reception, the gossip, the relatives & the irritating questions. Right now, it’s just you & Harry, in your own private celebration, wrapped in each other & the honesty of it all. The sounds of the wedding are distant now, muffled laughter, faraway music. None of it reaches you here.

Harry’s hands move slower now. He’s no longer kissing you with urgency, but with purpose. Like he’s savoring every second, like he’s learning you all over again. You’re lying back on the bed, dress slipped off your shoulders, bunched at your waist. His fingers trace your collarbone, your arm, the curve of your waist , reverent & unhurried.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, like it’s a secret he’s finally allowed to say out loud. “Every inch of you. I hope you know that.” His next kiss delicate “& im going to reminds you of that every single day” each word punctuated with another kiss.

Your breath hitches. You’ve heard those words before, from others. But with Harry, it doesn’t feel like flattery. It feels like fact. Like he’s not trying to convince you, just remind you.

You reach up & run your fingers through his hair, pulling him down to kiss you again, slow, soft, deep. His weight settles gently over you, his hands roaming only when invited, his mouth pressing kisses to your shoulder, your jaw, your chest. Every touch is a question, you answer by pulling him closer.

Clothes continue to fall away. No rush, no fumbling. Just the quiet peeling back of everything that isn’t essential. Soon your legs part. Micro moans escaping your lips. A dampness between your thighs. His penis rubbing against your exposed skin. You can feel the thud of his heart as you run your hands over his chest. It’s more than racing, it’s like this every time. & when he finally slides into you, he pauses, just for a second, eyes locked with yours, like he’s anchoring himself in the moment. Like this means as much to him as it does to you.

“Oooh Harry” you gasp when your filled to the brim. Eyes wide with desire, your body automatically remembering the next movement, the next spike of pleasure.

“God baby” he moans catching his breath from the anticipation always feeling you clamp around him. “What did I ever do to deserve this each night”

He moves slowly. Intimately. His hand finds yours, fingers interlocking above your head. His other hand cradles your cheek, & when he leans down to kiss you, it’s so tender you feel it everywhere, like he’s kissing more than your mouth. Like he’s kissing your tired heart, your loneliness, all the parts of you that didn’t believe love like this was real.

“Harry please…”You whisper his name. Wanting more, you always want more with him.

He kisses your temple. “I’ve got you,” he breathes. “Always.”

You slowly open your eyes & look at him, a really deep look. & then you ask the question that’s been living in your chest all evening.

“Are you happy?”

He stills for a beat, his forehead resting against yours. “With you?” His voice is soft, but sure.

“With everything”

“I’ve never been happier in my life.”

You close your eyes, & a tear slips free, not from sadness, but from the terrifying relief of being truly seen. He brushes it away with his thumb & kisses you again.

“What about you beautiful, you happy?”

“Always, why would I settle for anything less” you run your fingers through his hair & his pace picks up. Slowly building, kisses that mean more than anything, passion that’s a slow burn as your body’s mould as one.

You make love like that, slow, quiet, honest. There’s no performance, no noise, just the two of you breathing each other in, skin to skin, soul to soul. The occasional moan or swear word but tonight is about being loved. Each thrust is felt, he is rather endowed after all, but the way he runs his fingers over your body, no inch neglected & the way your hands don’t know if they want to hold him & make deep intense eye contact with each grind or grasp the silk sheets as you close your eyes in pleasure. Both are beautiful. Much like the orgasm that makes you bolt your eyes open, panting desperately for air as he shudders through his own. Making you both feel incredibly.

When it’s over, he stays inside you for a moment, holding your face, his eyes full of something wordless & huge. Then he kisses you like a promise. You lie there eventually resting your head on his chest, caressing his torso once he’s rolled off you. You feel at one. How could anyone not be happy doing this as you both succumb to sleep. No need to head back to the reception.

Sunlight is already warming the room when you wake. It falls in golden strips across the sheets, catching the bare skin of your shoulder & the curve of Harry’s back. He’s still in bed beside you, propped against the headboard, scrolling absently on his phone, not out of distraction, but habit. He’s already showered. You watch him for a second before he notices.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he says, not looking up at first, like he’s said it a hundred times. Then he glances over & grins. “God, look at you.”

You squint at him sleepily. Breasts exposed as you sit up “You’re way too smug for someone who didn’t even set an alarm.”

“We’re at a wedding, not a conference.” He tosses his phone to the side & rolls toward you, dragging the sheet with him. “Besides… I think we earned the lie-in.”

You stretch, the motion tugging the sheets down a little more anymore & he will see the sticky mess that dried onto you as you slept last night, you didn’t clean yourself up. His eyes flick down, then up again, & he exhales softly, like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

He kisses your shoulder, then your jaw, then your temple. Not rushed. Just affectionate.

“You’re staring,” you murmur.

“You’re glowing.” He brushes your hair back, the messy bun that you never took out now more chaos. “You look like sex & sun & smug satisfaction. It’s honestly a lot to take in before coffee.”

You let out a sleepy laugh & roll onto your side to face him. “You look…” You pause to take him in, hair still damp from his shower, still in his robe soft but sexy “Like the guy I’m going to keep waking up next to.”

Something flickers across his face, that look he gives when he’s trying not to get emotional. He leans forward &kisses you gently, one hand sliding along your bare hip beneath the sheet.

“You okay?” you whisper.

He nods, brushing his nose against yours. “Better than. You?”

“I am… actually.” You pause. “Are you happy?”

His reply is immediate, & solid. “Yeah. With you? I’m so stupidly happy it’s almost embarrassing.”

You grin. “Good. I just… you know… needed to hear it out loud.”

“Well, I’ll say it as many times as you need.” He kisses you again, slower this time. “Though I may need breakfast first if I’m expected to string sentences together all day.”

You groan & roll back against the pillows. “We have to face the family circus.”

“Let them stare,” Harry says, standing & pulling on his shirt. “We look too good for them to judge us anyway.”

You drag yourself out of bed & slip into the soft yellow day dress you packed, the easy one that makes you look like you tried, even when you didn’t. Your hair’s still a mess, you’ve brushed it out but it’s still a little wavy, in a romantic way. Harry watches you from across the room, adjusting his cuffs in the mirror. Even casual he looks like a gent.

“You look like summer,” he says, grabbing his watch. “& like maybe you ruined me a little last night.”

You shoot him a teasing look. “Only a little?”

He grins and shrugs. “There’s still time to finish the job.”

“Maybe I need a different appetite quenched” you say as you slip on your shoes.

“You’re irresistible when you say stuff like that” he says. Harry offers his hand again. Just like the night before. “Let’s go make a scene. They’re not ready to face us.”

The breakfast room is already buzzing when you arrive, cutlery clinking, coffee being poured, guests slowly recovering from the night before. A few kids are running barefoot, someone’s gran is hoarding croissants, & somewhere, a groomsman is wearing sunglasses indoors. But the second you two step into the room, time slows. The grooms spot you from across the buffet table. One nudges the other & points. Their matching smirks say everything. One of them mouths, “About time.” Harry doesn’t blush often but that moment has him turning as red as the strawberry jam.

& then there are the oldies.

The same great aunt from the night before cranes her neck, adjusting her bifocals for confirmation. Your grandma lowers her toast & stares, no gawps. You hear whispers begin to ripple, things like “That’s her with him?” & “Well, I never…” & “Did he stay here thought he was at a friends?”

Harry doesn’t hesitate. With his blushing over he walks you right into the middle of it all, your hand tucked confidently in his. He pulls out a chair for you at the long family table, like this isn’t your relationship reveal, it’s your coronation.

You sit, smoothing your dress, smiling just enough to make them all wonder how long you’ve been smiling like that. Then Harry leans down, presses a soft kiss to your forehead, warm & sure, before he says, clear enough for half the room to hear, “Love you, babes.”

Then he sits beside you, pours himself a cup of coffee, & passes you the butter like it’s just another perfect morning in a life you’ve been quietly building together. Which if it was a Sunday morning at his it would be just like this, just less clothes.

You glance around the room. Some people are gawking. Others pretend not to. The two grooms toast you with their mugs from across the table.

Harry leans over and whispers, “How long do you think before someone pretends they always knew?”

You nudge his foot under the table. “Let them try. We’ve got stories they don’t.” You both start to laugh. The mischief in his face alluring.

At this hotel for breakfast they serve eggs & toast & endless pots of coffee, & somehow you & Harry manage to ignore the noise around you. The sideways glances, the pretend not to look, the gleam in your brother’s eyes across the table that says finally. Even though he’s been helping you keep the secret. You sit close, not pressed together but comfortably near, sharing butter, stealing glances. No fireworks. No performance. Just… breakfast.

“I don’t want to make a big deal out of all this,” Harry says eventually, stirring his coffee, voice low. “No announcements. No spotlight. Just… you & me. That okay?”

You glance at him over your mug, lips curling.

“Then just hold my hand.” He doesn’t even hesitate. His fingers slide into yours under the table, like he’s been waiting his whole life to get permission. You never intended this to be a secret kts just how this has kind of happened. You squeeze once. He squeezes back. Neither of you let go until breakfast is over & it’s time to check out.

Down at reception, the two of you roll your weekend bags through the quiet lobby. A few of the older family members from breakfast are loitering by the sofas with styrofoam cups & smug speculation in their eyes. All waiting for their taxis home.

You catch a few whispered phrases “… in the same room, I heard…” & “…well, about time really…” & “…those hotel sheets, the poor staff…”

Harry clocks it too, & just sighs & smirks.

You step up to the counter, already pulling out your purse.

“Room 318,” you tell the receptionist, handing over your card before Harry can blink. He raises an eyebrow.

“I could’ve done that, babes.”

You turn toward him, lifting your chin a little, not defensively, just solid.

“I know. But I can look after myself.”

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t make a joke or push the point. He just steps closer, looks at you like it’s the first time he’s really seeing that part of you, the independence, the quiet power. He knows what you’re doing, the point you are making to all these people.

“I love that about you,” he murmurs, brushing your hair behind your ear. You smile, slip your card back in your purse, & lean in to kiss him, not dramatic, not rushed, just soft & sure, like you’re choosing him again. & again.

As you pull away, you hear one of the aunties gasp, like she’s just seen something slightly scandalous. You turn toward the exit with your suitcase, Harry’s hand finding yours again without a word.

You walk out together, side by side, calm in the face of it all. Not a secret anymore. Not a whisper. Just a woman who can pay for her own room, & the man who would’ve happily paid twice over, as long as it meant waking up next to her.

“Think they got the message?” You ask Harry as you load your bags into your car in the car park.

“Oooh loud & clear” he says as he opens the passenger door for you.

“Oooh still being a gentleman I see…”

“Just for now…” he says as he shuts your door & walks around & gets in the drivers side. “But I know that when I get you home I’m going to make you more than happy” he grips your thigh before putting the car into gear.

“Hmmmm happy & glorious” you stretch out.