Iris

Harry let the shower run over him, one hand pressed against the tile with his head hung low. He shut his eyes—it was another early morning. He usually was always the first one to wake up, since taking over the company, he’d been waking up earlier than normal. 

It wasn’t even light out when he woke up that morning. He didn’t even want to get up either—you had been lying on your side facing him, blanket pulled to your chin. He had been having trouble with balancing his work with his home life, especially now that Charlotte was pregnant too. He didn’t want to put too much stress on Peter, not if he could help it. 

But there were moments where he wished he could go back in time—when things were much simpler and easier. 

He was about to reach for his shampoo when he heard the bathroom door open. Harry looked up and watched your figure come into view. It was steaming inside the shower, fogging up the glass so while he couldn’t see you clearly, he could see your shape just fine. 

He bit his lower lip. Yesterday had been an amazing day, despite the stress he felt at work. And he promised you he’d try to balance work and his relationship with his family. 

A minute or two passed before he heard the door to the shower open. Harry turned around to face you, lips parting at the sight of your bare frame. 

“Morning,” you whispered quietly, letting out a yawn. “I figure maybe I should join you in these early mornings.” 

Harry reached out for you instantly. His hands darted out to grab a hold of your hips, gently and carefully pulling you flush against him. “You spoil me,” he said quietly. 

“Just want to spend as much time as I can with you,” you answered. Harry knew what you meant and he leaned down to capture your lips in a soft kiss. 

“I wouldn’t mind… having you join me in here every morning,” he whispered against your lips. 

“We wouldn’t be showering though, would we?” You smiled, your own arms now looping around his neck as you felt the water cascade down the top of your head and down your body. 

“No, I don’t think we would be,” he chuckled, moving his lips to your cheek lightly. “Did you sleep okay?” 

You nodded, tilting your head to expose more of your neck when you felt his lips brush past your cheek to the shell of your ear and down the side of your neck. “I just don’t like waking up to an empty bed.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, pulling away just slightly to look down at you. Harry reached up to and gently stroked your wet hair back and away from your face. “You know I’ve been getting up earlier than normal.” 

“I know,” you sighed. “But do you need to? I mean, you don’t even head into the office until after we drop the kids off at school.” 

“I do some work before I go in,” Harry reasoned. 

“So, you’re working at home.” 

He nodded. 

“But you’re still coming home late.” 

Harry sighed.

He knew what you were getting at. 

“Baby…” 

Almost like you realized what you were saying, you shook your head and looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you feel bad. I just—I miss you.” 

“I’m right here,” he said quietly. 

“Not all the time,” you sighed. 

“I promised you last night that I’d try,” he whispered, moving his hand from your hair to the side of your neck. “I mean that.” 

“I know,” you nodded. 

“And besides, my mom will be coming by the office today,” Harry reassured you. “I’ll talk to her about everything, okay?” 

“And we’ll still have our scheduled morning walk?” 

Harry smiled. He leaned in and lightly pecked your lips. “We’ll still have our scheduled morning walk,” he confirmed. “Everything will be okay,” he nodded. “I promise. It’s just… hard right now, but it won’t always be.” 

“Okay,” you answered. “I trust you.” 

“Good.” Harry pulled away from you only to retrieve your body wash. “Now, let me take care of you, yeah?” 

You bit your lower lip in anticipation. “I didn’t come in here for you to take care of me. I came in here so that I can take care of you.” 

He chuckled. “Return the favor tonight. Deal?” While one hand held your body wash, the other moved between your legs. Harry watched you gasp in surprise. He smiled and leaned in closer. “I love you, baby,” he said huskily. 

Your eyes fluttered when you felt the pads of his fingers brush against you. Answering with a shaky breath, you replied, “I love you too.” 

Harry watched with a quiet chuckle and a permanent smile on his lips as both Frankie and Sammy were talking amongst one another at the kitchen table. You were helping Stevie get ready for school, having promised last night that you’d curl her hair. 

“Sammy, don’t make a mess, buddy.” He pointed out, grabbing the roll of paper towel to set on the table for him. 

“I won’t, daddy,” he answered. 

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” Frankie giggled. 

“But you make a mess too,” Harry smiled. 

“No, I don’t! I’m cleaner than he is.” 

Sammy widened his eyes. “Nuh uh!” 

“Uh huh!” 

“No!”

“Yes!” 

“Okay,” Harry said, stepping in between the both of them. “How about we all agree that the both of you are messy? Even Stevie.” 

“Lies,” Frankie said, shaking her head.

Sammy agreed. “Yeah, exactly. Lies.” 

Harry let out a quiet snort and leaned down to wipe both their lips from the syrup that also drilled down their chin. “See, messy.”

Frankie and Sammy looked at each other, quietly giggling amongst one another. They finished their plates of pancakes quickly and stood from the table to set their dishes into the sink. Harry watched the with loving eyes and followed them closely, reaching over to run the water over the dirty dishes. 

“Go and get ready for school, okay?” He told them.

Frankie nodded.

Sammy did the same and then hugged his leg as the other girl ran down the hallway and into her room.

“What’s up, buddy?” 

“Nothing,” he said, looking up at Harry. 

Harry set down his cup of coffee on the counter and leaned down to pick Sammy up. “You’re still hungry, aren’t you?” 

Sammy giggled. “Can I just have some fruit?” 

He smiled and walked to the fridge, grabbing the bowl of grapes as he kept Sammy against his hip. “You can have a bit, bud, but you still gotta get ready for school.”

They younger boy nodded. “Okay, daddy. Did you eat too?”

Harry shook his head. “I’ll have some toast before we leave.”

“You don’t eat in the morning? But you’re always awake before everyone.” Sammy scrambled to his feet and walked towards the dining table again, hoisting himself back onto the chair as he reached for a couple of grapes. 

Harry bit his lower lip and sat down next to Sammy, reaching for some grapes too. “How do you know I wake up before everyone, hm?” 

Sammy shrugged, swinging his feet off the edge of the chair. “Well, you’re already dressed by the time we wake up, so…”

“So observant,” he chuckled.

“I just want to make sure you have some yummy breakfast too, daddy. Tomorrow, I’ll try to wake up before you and make you some waffles too!”

Harry looked at him and smiled, leaning forward to kiss his temple. “You’re the sweetest, buddy, but you don’t need to. I’ll make sure to eat beforehand, how’s that?”

Sammy narrowed his eyes up at his father. Harry couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh because it was the same look you’d give him. “Promise?”

“I promise, Sammy.”

“Pinky promise?” Sammy lifted his hand in the air, extending his pinky out for him.

Harry nodded and curled his own pinky with his. “I pinky promise, buddy. You all done eating?”

Sammy took a couple of more grapes before he climbed off the chair. “All done. I’ll go get ready for school now.”

“Love you, Sammy.”

He smiled and wrapped his tiny arms around Harry, kissing his cheek. “Love you too, daddy.” 

Harry watched the younger boy disappear down the hallway and into his room as he stood from the dining table. He went to retrieve his cup of coffee before making his way to Stevie’s room. He could hear the quiet chatter between the both of you, so when he slowly opened the door even further, he couldn’t help but smile at the sight before him.

“Dad!” Stevie said, turning her head to look at him. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled. “You look beautiful, Stevie girl.”

She was wearing a white and black striped long sleeve tucked into a denim skirt. Her hair was curly and framed her face and she looked up at Harry with soft eyes—almost like she was looking for his approval too. 

“Y—You think so?” She asked.

You smiled and stood from the edge of her bed to wrap your arms around Stevie from behind. “Look at him,” you teased. “He’s got tears in his eyes.”

“I do not,” Harry said, blinking back the tears that filled his eyes. “I just—Your mom did a great job on your hair.”

Stevie grinned and leaned back against you. “I’m still wearing my converse though,” she said. 

“Ah, can’t forget about your converse,” he chuckled, walking further into the room and looking down at Stevie. “How are you no longer my little girl?” Harry asked with a sigh. 

“I’m always your little girl,” Stevie answered. “Just… I’m older.”

“I know,” Harry said with a nod. “I look at you and all I see is that same five year old little girl,” he continued. “But now… she’s got a crush that she’s trying to impress and—”

Stevie sighed loudly. “Dad, he’s just a friend.”

“Uh huh,” he replied. “How come you don’t dress up for your other friends then, hm?”

Stevie felt the warmth in her cheeks. “He’s a new friend.” 

You looked up at Harry and smiled, shaking your head as you pulled away from Stevie. “Okay, okay, that’s enough. Make sure to eat breakfast, okay, Stevie?” 

“Yeah, mom,” she nodded. “Thanks for doing my hair. I love it.”

“Taylor better love it too,” Harry muttered under his breath.

Both you and Stevie looked at him, gave him a look that said seriously without saying the words. 

He widened his eyes just slightly and lifted his hand in the air. “Okay, okay, I’ll knock it off.” Then, Harry leaned in and kissed the crown of Stevie’s head. “You do look real pretty, Stevie girl.”

“Thanks, dad,” she smiled, looking up at him. “Still got pancakes?”

Harry nodded. “You know there’s enough left for you, baby.”

“Oh good,” she said, leaving her room to go into the kitchen, leaving both you and Harry standing in the middle of her bedroom.

“She’s—She’s getting so big,” Harry sighed.

You nodded, walking up to him and gently running your hands up and down his chest. “I know, baby, but hey… we’ve got two other babies still.”

“What about… a fourth?” Harry asked.

Your eyes lit up. “Yeah?” 

He smiled. “Yeah.”

“Talk about it tonight?” You asked, hopefully.

Harry nodded and leaned in to lightly peck your lips. “Tonight, baby.” 

Later that morning when both you and Harry parked at the school, Stevie kissed both your cheeks before joining her friends. Sammy held onto your hand and wanted you to walk him to his class, which left Harry and Frankie. 

“Daddy, I think I know what I want to do,” she said, keeping a tight hold on his hand as she led him to his classroom. 

“What’s that, babygirl?” He asked, looking down at her. “Soccer? Gymnastics? Basketball?” 

“Martial arts,” she grinned, looking up at Harry. 

“Martial arts?” Harry repeated, tilting his head. 

Frankie nodded excitedly. “I want to learn how to punch and kick, daddy.”

“You don’t want to do any other sport? What if you get hurt, honey?” 

“Well, I won’t,” Frankie smiled, the dimple on her cheek appearing. 

“You can’t guarantee that, Frankie.”

“No, but I know that I’ll be good at it,” she said with confidence. “Can I at least try it out first?” 

“I’ll talk to mama,” he reasoned, scooping her into his arms and kissing her cheek. “How’s that?”

Frankie smiled, wrapping her arms around him. “Okay, daddy, but I really want to do it.”

“We’ll try it out first, see how you really like it, yeah?” 

“What if mama says no?” She asked quietly. “I think she might say no.”

Harry looked down at her, his lower lip pulled between his teeth. He never realized how much of a soft spot he had for his children. “I’ll—I’ll try to convince her for you to give it a try. I’m not saying that we’ll sign you up—”

Frankie nodded quickly. “Really, daddy? You promise?”

“I’ll do my best, babygirl.” Harry said, kissing her forehead. “But if you can’t do martial arts, what else would you wanna do?” 

“Hmm,” she shrugged. “I haven’t thought that far.” 

“Oh? You think we’ll agree and say yes to you doing martial arts?”

Frankie grinned. “Yes.”

“Confident, aren’t you?”

She giggled. “Yup.”

Harry chuckled and tickled her side, feeling her arms tighten around him as her giggles filtered his ears. He loved that sound—loved hearing every single child of his laugh because of him. “I love you, Frankie.”

“I love you too, daddy,” she smiled, pulling away from him and scrambling to her feet once they got to the door of her classroom. “Don’t work too hard, okay?” 

Harry bit his lower lip. Stevie had said something first, then Sammy, and now Frankie. Guilt filled his chest, so he leaned down and ran his hands down her arms and to her tiny hands to hold in his own. “I won’t, babygirl. Have a great day, okay?” 

Frankie nodded, kissing his cheek. “You too, daddy. See you after school!” 

Harry smiled to himself and watched her walk into her classroom, feeling someone’s arm wrap around him from behind. He turned slightly and noticed you instantly, his smile just growing bigger at the sight of you. 

“Kiddos are all in their classrooms,” you said. 

Harry nodded, turning in your arms and wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you both began walking away from Frankie’s classroom and back towards the car. 

“So… hear me out,” Harry said quietly. 

“What?” You asked, brow arching. 

He bit his lip. “Frankie wants to do martial arts.” 

Your brows lifted upward. “What?” 

“Her words, not mine. She said, I want to learn how to punch and kick, daddy,” he repeated. 

“She could get hurt.” 

“Yes, I told her that.” 

“Harry—”

“I didn’t say yes,” he interjected. “I said… I’d talk to you.” 

“You just can’t say no to our kids, can you?” You teased. 

He chuckled quietly. “I didn’t say yes,” he repeated. 

“But you didn’t say no either.” 

He rolled his eyes playfully and held you closer to his side, turning his head to kiss your temple. “I told her I’d talk to you,” he said again. 

“What if I say no?” 

“Then I’d push back and ask you to reconsider,” he answered. “Let’s just have her try a few lessons. See if she really wants to do it before we commit.” 

You looked up at him, leaning into him. “No sparring.” 

“Baby, she’s six.” 

“No sparring,” you repeated. “Or any physical contact with any other kid.” 

Harry nodded. “Just the foundations,” he agreed. “The basics.” 

“The basics,” you said. “Okay, we can let her know that we can check out some places.”

He smiled. “She’s gonna be so happy.”

Harry got into the office about an hour later. Peter was already there, walking towards his office with a large grin on his face. He always was envious of how easygoing his younger brother was. Harry, on the other hand, was always in his head, always overthinking and worrying. When things were out of his control, it only stressed him out further. 

But Peter was the complete opposite. 

He didn’t mind going with the flow, didn’t spend too much time worrying about one single thing, and he was able to separate his home life with his work. 

“Morning,” Peter said, hands in his pockets. 

“Hey,” Harry answered, holding the door to his office open. “We got a busy day today.”

“Nothing we can’t handle.”

“How’s Charlotte?”

“Good,” Peter answered. “Yours?”

“She’s good too,” Harry said with a nod, his mind drifting to you as he was already counting down the minutes until you got to the office. “Frankie wants to do martial arts.”

Peter chuckled. “You’re gonna have your hands full with that one,” he teased. “I wonder who she got her athleticism from.”

“Me,” Harry answered quickly. “Obviously me.”

“Uh huh,” Peter smiled. “Sure.”

“And Stevie’s got a crush,” Harry added. “Dressed up today. Had her mom curl her hair and everything.”

“Oh,” Peter said softly. “You’ve got a pre-teen on your hands. Good luck.”

Harry laughed quietly. “I know, it’s crazy, isn’t it? How am I gonna survive her teenage years?”

“Well, it’s good thing you won’t be doing it alone,” he answered with a smile.

Harry nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

“You both still trying to get pregnant?” Peter asked.

“We—we haven’t talked about it since we were having a tough time about a year ago,” Harry answered. “But yeah, I think we want to try again.”

“Could’ve been stress,” Peter suggested. “It’s been a year since we both took over for mom and dad, and… well, you almost overworked yourself until you collapsed last year.”

Harry sighed. “I know. Don’t remind me.”

“But… you’re still kind of doing the same thing, Harry. Maybe not to the same extent, but—”

“I’ve got it handled,” Harry interrupted. 

“Is that why mom’s coming today?”

He looked over at him. “How’d you know she was coming today?”

“Well, she called me. Asked me if everything was okay.”

He sighed. “I just—just wanted to talk to her, that’s all.”

Peter walked over to him and reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder. “I hope you know that you can lean on me, Harry. I know Char’s pregnant and everything, but I’m here for you too. We’re both co-CEOs for a reason.”

“I know,” Harry said. “I know.”

“I’ll take the morning meetings, you take the afternoon. Sound good?”

“Peter—”

“Great,” he grinned. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Peter,” Harry repeated. 

“I am capable of doing this job too.”

“I’m not saying you can’t.”

“But you’re not letting me do anything.”

Harry sighed and nodded. He reached up to run a hand over his face. “Okay, fine. You get the morning. I’ll get the afternoon.” 

“Good,” Peter smiled. “I’ll see you later. You know where to find me.”

“Uh huh,” he said, watching his younger brother leave his office with a large grin on his lips. The door shut behind him and he sighed, walking towards his desk and sitting at his desk. Maybe splitting the meetings equally like this would work, but he couldn’t help the lack of control he was feeling. 

Harry felt his phone buzz. He pulled it from his pocket and looked down to see his mother text him that she was on her way. He replied with a thumbs up before turning his laptop on to at least get started on some work before she got here. 

Harry had been walking back to his office after refilling his cup of coffee when he spotted his mother at the end of the hallway, stepping off the elevators. His eyes lit up and he walked over to her, seeing her gaze find him instantly. When he got closer, she pulled him in for a hug and he relaxed instantly, kissing her temple. “Hey, morning.”

“Hey, honey,” she said. 

“Want a cup?” Harry asked.

His mother shook her head. “Already had my fix this morning,” she smiled. “And you? What number cup is this?”

“Two.”

“It’s not even ten in the morning, Harry,” she said.

“Exactly.”

She rolled her eyes and hooked her arm with his, following him towards his office. It didn’t take long for them to get there, so Harry held the door open for her before shutting it behind the both of them once they were inside. 

“How’s dad?” He asked, walking towards his desk to set his mug down. 

“Good,” she answered. “He’s good. Meeting up with Jay, actually.” 

“Oh?” Harry smiled, arms crossing over his chest at the mention of your dad. When your parents moved back to the city to be closer to you, both of them spent a lot of their time with his parents too. It was like they were long lost best friends now finally catching up. 

“At the gym, apparently,” she laughed quietly. “Which is fine. Considering how often they try to sneak in some sweets, it’s nice that they’re out there working out.”

“Good for them,” Harry said with a nod. “Maybe we should have you guys come over this weekend or something.”

Her eyes lit up. “I think we’d love that, honey. How are the kiddos?”

“Good,” he smiled. “Sammy made a new friend yesterday. Frankie wants to do martial arts. And Stevie—she’s got a crush and I don’t know what to do with that,” Harry answered honestly.

His mother laughed quietly and walked towards the couch, taking a seat on it with ease. “Oh, the joy of growing up.”

Harry followed her and sat down next to his mother, biting his lower lip as he looked over at her. 

“What, honey?” She asked, turning to face him. “You texted me for a reason last night. What’s going on? Are you—you having trouble with—”

Harry shook his head and interjected immediately. “No,” he answered. “We’re not having trouble.” 

“Then, what is it?” 

He sighed and looked down at his hands, his thumb grazing over his wedding ring. “Remember how it was like last year? When you and dad retired and me and Peter took over?”

She nodded. “You wouldn’t stop working… and didn’t let Peter do any of the work.”

“I did let him work.”

“Barely.” 

Harry sighed again. “I’m—I’m having trouble with that again,” he admitted. “I’m working a lot and I don’t know how I did it before, how I fixed it. I don’t know how you or dad even did it.”

“You’re not letting Peter help you,” she answered like it was the most simplest answer there was. 

“Char’s pregnant, mom,” he said. “And you know the challenges both she and Peter had just to get pregnant this time around.”

“Harry,” she sighed, taking his hand once she started noticing that he was fidgeting uncomfortably. “I know you want to take care of them, make sure that there isn’t any other added stress, but you can’t do this by yourself. Why else did you think we named both of you as co-CEOs?”

“I just—I know I can handle it myself. I just need to be better at separating my work life with my home life.” 

His mother said your name, causing his gaze to look up at her. “How does she feel about all of this?”

“Well, that’s the thing… it’s starting to affect us. Our kids are also taking notice.”

“That’s a problem, honey.”

“I know,” Harry whispered, guilt slowly crawling up his chest. “I’m trying.”

“What are you doing to try to make things better?” She asked. “If you’re trying… what exactly does that look like?”

Harry tore his gaze away from her. He couldn’t answer that. “Mom—”

“Your father and I didn’t name you both co-CEOs just for the hell of it,” she interjected. “We knew you both were ready, but if it’s causing you this much stress—”

“It’s not.”

“It is,” she sighed. “Why do you think you need to try and control everything, baby?” She said softly, reaching up with one hand to cup his cheek so that he could look at her. “The company’s thriving, Harry. Nothing’s going to happen.”

His eyes softened. “I just don’t want to do a bad job. You and dad worked so hard for it and I don’t—I’m scared that if I don’t keep up with it that it’ll just go under, that I’ll end up disappointing the both of you,” he answered honestly. 

His mother’s eyes softened too. She leaned forward to kiss his forehead and he sighed, leaning into her like he was that same, sensitive little boy who worried about the smallest of things. 

“Nothing you or Peter could ever do would disappoint us,” she reassured. “And this company—it’s just that. Your health matters more to me, Harry. Same with Peter. If it goes under, it goes under. This company isn’t our legacy,” she continued. “You and Peter are, do you hear me, Harry?”

He looked at her and felt tears sting his eyes. He blinked them back, tried to keep his composure. 

“I said, do you hear me, Harry?”

He nodded slowly, biting his lower lip as he looked into her eyes. “Y—yeah, I hear you.”

“Lean on your brother,” she added. “You aren’t the only one running this company.”

“But Charlotte—”

“Harry, it’s not your job to make sure that they are taken care of. You have your own family to think about too. If it’s affecting your marriage, if your kids are seeing it too, then how can you expect to take care of them if your cup is already empty?”

He sighed. “How did you do it? How’d you work when you had me and Peter?”

“I had help,” she smiled. “I didn’t do it alone. I knew I couldn’t do it alone.”

“Dad,” he said. 

“Exactly. I had your father.”

Harry nodded. “Okay, I’ll—I’ll let Peter take on more. Or at least an equal amount of work.”

“Good, that’s a start,” she said. “And make sure to keep your boundaries. Work should only start when you get to the office and when you step foot out of this building. At home, your priority is to be a father—a husband. Once you take work home with you, honey, it’s hard to separate work and home life after that.”

“Okay,” he repeated. “And waking up early?” 

She shrugged. “You can wake up early, sure, but don’t wake up early because you feel like you need to work.”

“Work when I’m at the office,” he said. “Boundaries—okay, I’ll work on that.”

“Won’t be easy,” she said. “But I know you love being a father and husband more than being a CEO, Harry. This company—it’s not everything.”

He nodded again and leaned against her. Harry shut his eyes and didn’t feel like the weight on his shoulders were dragging him down. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For talking to me. For coming here.”

“Of course, honey,” she smiled, arm wrapping around his shoulders as Harry rested his cheek against her. “I’m proud of you, both you and Peter. So, your homework today is?”

“Once I leave the office, work’s done,” Harry answered.

“Good,” she said softly. “Good.”

You were already in bed by the time he finished in the bathroom. Harry smiled to himself, feeling lighter once he left work once he left the office. It wasn’t easy, especially when he wanted to stay a bit longer after work, but this was the first step. 

“Kids went to sleep pretty quickly tonight,” you said, arms coming up to wrap around him once he laid down next to you. 

“Must’ve been because we let them watch a movie during dinner,” he chuckled.

“They do like their movie nights,” you smiled. “Did you see Stevie? She was grinning the entire ride home.”

Harry nodded, arm snaking around your shoulders. “Guess we’ll have to ask her about it tomorrow. See if she’s willing to let us know what happened.” 

“Wanna bet that she won’t tell us?” You teased.

Harry laughed quietly. “I think she’ll give us some details, but not all.” 

“You might be right,” you smiled. “She asked me if I could show her how to curl her hair.”

“Yeah? What’d you say?”

“I didn’t want to say yes,” you admitted. “Guess I’m also feeling like she won’t need me anymore either.” 

Harry nodded in understanding and leaned down to kiss your forehead. “She’s growing up.”

“I know,” you sighed. “Makes me sad too.”

“She’s still our Stevie girl though,” Harry said. 

“Yeah, she is,” you nodded. “How was your talk with your mom today?”

“It was—it was good,” he answered. “It was what I needed actually. Gave me some good advice.”

You smiled. “Yeah?” 

Harry nodded, turning to lie on his side to face you. His arm draped over your midsection, pulling you close to him as he felt your nose gently graze his own. “Did you know your dad and my dad work out together?” 

“My mom did mention something about it,” you laughed quietly. “I’m sure they get some sweet snack afterwards.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” he smiled. 

You brought a hand up to his hair, running your fingers through his dark curls. “So… what’d your mom say?” 

“I need boundaries,” he answered. “Said that I should only focus on work when I’m in the office.”

“Good advice,” you said with a nod. “And how was that? Today after work?”

“Difficult,” he said honestly. “But felt good.”

You smiled and leaned in to peck his lips. “I’m proud of you,” you whispered. “I know it couldn’t have been easy but I—I’m glad that you’re trying, even if it’s hard for you.”

“I’m doing this for—for us, for our family,” Harry said softly. 

“I know, baby.”

“And I want to try again,” he continued. 

You bit your lower lip and sat up slowly, reaching over to turn the light on on your nightstand. Harry sat up as well, looking over at you with soft eyes. 

“If that’s what you want too,” Harry added.

“It is,” you nodded. “I do want to try again too.”

He smiled, reaching out for you and pulling you onto his lap. “And I know last year was a tough time for us. I know we tried and we didn’t have any luck, but I think it was because of stress,” he said, thinking back to what Peter had suggested earlier that day. “I think I was so focused on work that we just—we couldn’t get pregnant.”

You ran your hands down his chest and back up until they rested on his shoulders. “What about this time around?”

“This time around, I’m gonna be better. I’m gonna establish boundaries wth work,” he repeated. “I want another child with you.”

“A shit ton of kids, right?” You smiled, leaning in to brush your lips with his own. 

Harry chuckled, squeezing your hips tightly. “A shit ton of kids, indeed.”

“And maybe we don’t put a lot of pressure around it this time around?” You suggested.

Harry nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. While we wanted to get pregnant when Frankie and Sammy were born, we didn’t really put a lot of focus on it either. We just—weren’t careful.”

“So… we start trying,” you said.

“We start trying,” he repeated. 

“Can we start trying now?” 

Harry’s eyes lit up. He nodded and slowly rolled you onto your back, settling himself between your legs as his hands moved from your hips to slowly pull your shirt over your head. “Hell yeah we can start trying now.”

„Gracie, don’t go too far!” You call as your daughter rushes happily towards the playground.

„Okay, mommy!”

With a quiet sigh you sit on a free bench, setting your bag aside. Today is just for you and her. You already ate breakfast at your favorite waffle place and now you’re in a Central Park. Gracie begged to come here for almost a week. She loves it here and you love watching her having fun.

Pulling out your phone, you record a short video of her playing in the sandbox. She especially asked you to grab her bucket and spade today. Other kids are also around, but it’s quite peaceful at this hour. You didn’t send her to the kindergarten yet, because you wanted to take in the motherhood. You longed for it for so many years that now it would feel wrong to just hand over your daughter to other people. You’re working from home anyways.

„Gracie, wave to daddy!” You say from your place and she looks up at the camera. Harry’s working right now and you send him videos and photos like this every day. He can’t wait for any insight into Gracie’s life when he’s gone. After your four-years-old waves happily and comes back to her play, you stop recording and send him this.

The answer comes immediately.

Harry: God, she’s so adorable.

Harry: Hope you don’t have too much fun without me.

You smile to yourself, imagining him in a stiff suit and signing documents in his boring office. He’s devoted to his work, but he much rather be here in a linen shirt, playing with your daughter. Harry’s priorities changed over the years and as he became a father he sees nothing else, but you and Gracie.

You: Never. But we might go to the toy store later…

Harry: You’re cruel.

A chuckle escapes you as you read the message. Shopping with Grace is one of his favourite activities.

But then another text appears.

Harry: Buy her something nice from me.

You put your phone in your bag and look up at your daughter. She seems already bored of the sandbox, because she stands up and brushes off sand from her leggings. „Mommy.” She approaches you.

„Yes, honey? Come on, let me help.” You go down on your knees to be at her level and get rid of the rest of the sand. „You want some juice?” You ask and she nods.

Gracie crawls onto the bench and patiently waits till you grab the small apple juice box with a straw. You always carry them in your bags. It’s striking that in the past you used to have different types of lipglosses there and now you exchanged them for juice boxes and My Little Pony plasters.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

„Here, baby.” You give her the juice and brush her golden locks from her face. Grace holds it with both of her hands, clearly thirsty. Today it’s quite warm, Spring greeting you with sun and delicate clouds above. A perfect weather for a mommy-daughter date.

„Mommy, I don’t want anymore.” She hands you the box.

„It’s fine, you’ll finish later.” You lay a kiss on her head.

„Excuse me?” Hearing a female voice, you look sideways to find a woman and a little boy standing a bit behind her, clinging shyly to her leg. „Hi. I don’t want to interrupt, but my son, Otis, wonders if your daughter would like to play?”

She looks a bit older than you. Very pretty and seems kind. You can see she tries to help her boy find some friends. And how lucky she is, because you were trying to get Gracie more around people, too.

You turn to your daughter with a soft smile, encouraging her with your calmness. „Huh, Gracie? What do you say? Do you want to play with Otis? He seems nice.”

Grace hesitates, clinging to your side as well. Ever since you adopted her, you try with Harry to deal with her fear of strangers. Your daughter is a very sweet, but shy girl. She opens up slowly. Her time in foster homes did that. And now that she has you, you want her to also have friends her age. And it’s been hard to do.

„I’ll be right here. You can go play.” You add squeezing her small frame gently. Her eyes land on Otis who is also hesitating. His olive skin and brown hair reflect the sun. He seems like a nice boy. You’d like Gracie to befriend him and maybe you could also befriend his mother? It would be so cool having a girlfriend who is also a mom. You didn’t meet anyone yet.

„Okay.” Gracie whispers and hops off the bench.

Your heart swells with pride and love for your little girl. She’s being so brave.

Soon, you watch her play with Otis, while engaging in a conversation with his mom. You discovered her name is Gianna and that they moved in to New York a month ago. You told each other some stories about how the motherhood treats you, you smiled together when Gracie and Otis hugged. You even exchanged numbers and scheduled a playdate, because your kids seemed to have so much fun together. That’s what you wanted for your daughter. You’re so happy she made a friend.

When Grace gets tired, you say goodbye to Otis and Gianna and head outside the park. You still have a toy store to visit. So now you hold her small hand, walking down the lane. She looks so joyful despite the tiredness. You never saw her like that before.

„You had fun with Otis?”

„Yes! Can we see him again? He likes cars like me!” Your daughter can’t help the little jump as you walk. It makes you grin.

„Sure, we can, honey. I bet he can’t wait to see you again.”

You are so focused on Gracie and her infectious happiness that you don’t notice the person that stopped on the way before you. Only her voice finally catches your attention.

„Sweetheart?”

You freeze, looking up.

„Mother?”

All of a sudden your grip on Gracie’s hand tightens. Little girl looks between you and her with curiosity. She doesn’t know her grandma, you made sure of that. To her, the older woman is a complete stranger.

To you? Some could say she’s a stranger to you as well. You haven’t seen Eliza for about… two years? But you had no plan to change it. And seeing her at Central Park by accident is definitely the last thing you expected today.

„Mommy, who is it?” Gracie asks you and finally the weight of what’s happening settles on you. Grace never saw her. And now she’s here…

„Just mommy’s friend, you know?” You fake a smile, saying that in a hidden panic.

„Friend? Are you serious?” Eliza steps closer, clearly disturbed with your words. But you don’t want your daughter to have anything to do with her. Your mother was never a mom to you. You still remember how neglected you felt in your childhood home and you swore to yourself Gracie will have it better.

„Yes. I don’t want you near her. And I don’t think I have to explain why.”

Your mother huffs, but she acts like she didn’t hear what you just said. Like good old times. Eliza takes a better look at Gracie and all you wish for is to pick her up and run away. Your mother never cared enough to check on you, you’re not sure if she was even aware that you became a mom, too.

„When did you have her? She looks like she’s five.”

You want to roll your eyes. Some silly part of you, the little girl that craved attention years ago, still hoped that maybe she at least asked your siblings about your life. But now you have proof it’s not true.

„She’s four and we adopted her.”

„Adopted?” Eliza’s eyes widen.

„Mommy.” Gracie tugs at your hand, because she’s bored. Not even minding the tensed conversation. Just childishly oblivious. And honestly, you’re thankful for that. With a quiet sigh you pick her up into your arms. Your daughter clings to you as always when a stranger is near.

„Listen, I am so much happier when you’re no longer in my life. And I want it to stay that way. Don’t ever get near me, or my daughter.” You say, internally stunned that you found strength to speak the truth that’s been waiting in the back of your mind for so long. Eliza though, stares in shock at you. You wonder is it because she realized she made a mistake, or if, like usually, she can’t accept the tone you’re using against her.

„I have to go.” You say already passing her. „I have a day to spend with my child.”

And just like that, you leave your mother for the last time in your life. No looking back. Just forward. At the future with Gracie and Harry. They are all that matters. And through last couple of years you learnt a lot about your worth. She no longer has any power over you.

„Ready to buy some new toy?” You coo, bouncing Grace in your arms.

For the rest of the day you hid your shaken state the conversation with your mother has left you in. You didn’t want to worry Gracie, she’s too young and you wanted her to have an amazing time. At home you faked, too. When your husband came home, he instantly noticed something is off with you, but he decided to not comment on that. Yet.

Now? Harry enters your bedroom after putting Gracie to sleep. You’re already in bed, with a book in your lap, but you read the same page for the tenth time.

„She’s finally down. You really got her excited with that new Barbie.” He smiles widely, but it softens with every step he takes towards the bed. You’re both in your comfy clothes, basically ready to curl up and fall asleep as well. But not yet… Not until he knows what’s up with his wife.

„Good.” You hum absent-mindedly. That’s when he’s sure something is eating you up.

Without a word, Harry sits next to you. Back against the headboard, but he angles in your direction. His hand rests gently on your thigh.

„Hey… Are you alright?”

His gentle voice and attentive eyes make you soften. At this point of marriage, you’re perfectly aware there is no sense in hiding your feelings, because Harry knows you inside and out. One look at you and he knows.

So, you put your book aside and sigh.

„Today, at the park… We bumped into someone.”

„Someone? Who?” His hand now delicately rubbing your arm.

Your eyes find his. „My mother.”

You tell Harry the whole story. All this while he holds you and listens carefully. He sees how it took its toll on you. He hates that he wasn’t there, but also he’s proud when he hears you stood up for yourself.

„I just… It was the first time I saw her and Gracie in one place together and I just couldn’t let her get closer. I actually never saw clearer. I swore to myself Gracie will never feel the way I did as a child. And I swore to myself I will never beg for her attention ever again. You know how good it felt to say that to her face?”

Harry sees it in your eyes. You seem wired, but also… relieved. Like something cleaned up the mess that remained for years in your head. You’re finally free.

„I’m proud of you, baby.” He says, kissing your forehead. „So proud of you.”

His words mean a lot. Because it’s your husband who first showed you that you deserve more. That you deserve full attention. He showed you you’re lovable and wanted. Since then, with every day you gained more of that confidence. He was with you through it all, even if your relationship was difficult to maintain sometimes. You made it with him.

„I’m finally happy. No remorse, or longing… I am exactly where I want to be. And it’s here with you, guys.”

Then, he pulls you into a warm hug. The one that speaks louder than any words could. The solid form of his body is your anchor, you slip your hand beneath his t-shirt to feel his skin. Your breathing instantly slows, your mind doesn’t swirl with unwanted thoughts. It’s just you and your husband in the comfort of your shared bedroom.

„You belong here. You always did.” He whispers against your head. „I love you.”

You squeeze him tighter. „I love you, too, baby. So much.”

For a while you just remain like that. No awful mothers, or guilt. Harry holds you, making sure you feel comfortable and seen. The emotions settle slowly and you’re able to breathe without the weight on your chest. You glance at him with a soft smile.

„And what do you think about Otis? Gracie couldn’t stop talking about him at dinner.”

Harry huffs with quiet amusement, but he’s glad you feel okay enough to talk about something else. „Well, I’m so happy she made a friend. I just wish he was a girl.”

„Oh, come on, they are kids.”

„I know, I know… But he’s still a boy. I don’t want him to hurt my little girl.”

„Harry, they are four.” You sit up with a giggle. „The worst thing he can do to her is stealing her truck.”

„Exactly. I better not see her crying, because he took it.” The way his face turns into that serious expression makes you almost laugh out loud. Since becoming a father, a new side of his protectiveness awoken in him. You can’t lie… It suits him. But still, it’s adorable to watch him care like that.

„God, you’re such a dad right now.” You grin.

„I’m taking it as a compliment, baby. I’m not taking any chances with our child.”

„As you should. It was very much a compliment.” You scoot closer and press your lips to his. „Being a daddy really suits you.”

„Oh, yeah?” He hums pulling you closer, so you basically straddle his lap. „Am I hot?”

„As hell.” You grin kissing him again.

You love your life. You love how Harry can make your thoughts go quiet and remind you what’s really important. Your mother is no longer on your mind, you don’t think she ever will be again.

All that matters you have here. A husband who makes you feel seen. An adorable daughter who is your whole world.

It feels great.

***************************

A/N: I love it and I hope you guys do, too. I missed this family!

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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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. 

The private beachfront of the Mykonos villa Harry rented is its own secluded haven, tucked away from the lively beaches of Paradise or Super Paradise, with only the gentle lap of waves and the soft tunes of your summer playlist breaking the morning hush.

The Daydreamer bobs gently nearby at the private dock. You’ve gone topless again today, savoring the freedom and the way the breeze kisses your skin as you sunbathe, knowing how much this delights your lover.

Harry sits beside you on his own shaded lounger, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose while he finalizes details on his iPad. The proposal he’s planning for you occupies his focus, but your half-naked figure keeps pulling his attention.

You truly are a breathtaking sight.

After a few more taps, he sets the device aside, slides his glasses onto the top of his head, and crouches beside you. His lips find the warm skin of your neck, trailing kisses downward.

He licks a warm stripe between your breasts, then lavishes attention on each nipple with his tongue and mouth until sweet moans slip from your lips.

“You’re going to hate me, but…” he murmurs, his hand massaging one of your breasts. “I’ve got a meeting today that I can’t miss.”

You pout. “Seriously?”

“I know, baby,” he soothes, sliding his hand down to squeeze your thigh gently. “I tried everything to get out of it, but it’s important. I’ll wrap it up as fast as I can.” In truth, there is no meeting—only final, in-person touches on what he’s orchestrating for you, the proposal he hopes will be everything you deserve. 

Peter had pulled through and managed to help him get the engagement ring—a piece he had specifically designed for you.

“I’ve planned a whole day of pampering for you as an apology,” he adds, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. He slips out his credit card and presses it into your hand.

“Do and get whatever you want. The masseuse will be here in an hour, and the driver’s already been briefed on your day. He’ll take you to the spa inland once you’re ready.”

“I’ll miss you,” you whisper, a genuine ache settling in your chest. The separation gives you the space you crave and dread—time to finally decide how to confront the secret you’ve been carrying.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Harry reassures you, leaning in for one last deep, lingering kiss on your lips. He gathers his things and heads back toward the villa, leaving you sighing heavily against the lounger.

Thoughts swirl as you look out at the gorgeous horizon. You didn’t come clean back in Italy because of how incandescently happy he’d been for the rest of the stay, and every opportunity since has left you chickening out.

You can’t keep dragging this out. The summer romance that has carried you from one enchanting destination to another is nearing its end, and the truth must surface here.

The thought of those beautiful brown eyes filled with hurt instead of adoration makes your stomach churn.

If revealing you’ve been married all along shatters what you’ve built and Harry walks away, then so be it. You’ll return to Texas, face Joel, and accept the consequences of your actions.

Both men deserve honesty after everything.

Truth be told, you should have divorced Joel long ago. You know this. However, he’s been your constant for years—friends turned business partners turned husband and wife—a steady presence in your life. It was hard.

You do love him, but not in the same way anymore.

And Harry. God, Harry. He sees you, the real you, in ways no one ever has. His spontaneity swept you off your feet in a whirlwind of passion and discovery. With him, life feels full of possibility.

But what happens when the fantasy collides with reality? When the season ends and you both return to your everyday lives? Would you remain as compatible as you are now? 

It’s a terrifying risk… yet the feelings you have for him are strong enough that you’re willing to take it.

By the time the driver winds you back along the coastal road, you feel lighter.

The massage Harry arranged was absolute perfection. Skillful hands worked every knot from your shoulders and back, melting away the tension that had been building with your dilemma.

Afterward, you floated through the amenities offered by the luxury spa: soaking in a private hot bath infused with fragrant oils, an expensive facial that left your skin glowing and refreshed, and receiving a pedicure and manicure with shimmery, seashell-colored polish.

Yet as you step into the villa’s airy open living space, with its sweeping views of the private beach and The Daydreamer rocking gently at the dock, there’s still no sign of Harry.

To quell the sudden boredom and the swirl of anxiety, you break your months-long no-screen policy. You switch on your smartphone for the first time since the trip began, and it immediately erupts with a flood of notifications.

You ignore most of them, your thumb scrolling briefly through emails filled with work updates and mundane life back home. Social media offers a quick glance at friends’ posts from summer barbecues and nights out in the city, a world that feels impossibly distant from this Grecian idyll.

You fire off a few reassuring texts to your closest friends: quick updates that you’re okay and anticipating to return soon with one hell of a story to share. 

Miles away, on the other side of the world where the Texas morning stretches long and lonely, Joel’s phone buzzes with a notification. Your location has come back online.

Without hesitation, he taps the alert, his heart giving an unexpected lurch as the map zooms in.

Greece. Mykonos, to be exact. The address of the villa taunts him from the screen.

He doesn’t sit with the decision for long. In a blur of determination, he opens his laptop and starts booking tickets, fingers flying across the keys.

You being gone and treating him like an afterthought has lit a fire under his ass, burning away the fog of the past few years.

He’s been a fucking idiot—blinded by the relentless climb of his career, pushing the most important person in his life to the sidelines while he chased ambition and fleeting successes.

Joel sees it all clearly now, the regret strong and motivating. He loves you (deeply, desperately so) and he’s done taking you for granted.

He’s on a mission now: to fly across the ocean, find you, and win your love back.

THREE DAYS LATER

You’ve spent the day diving off the yacht a few miles out into the water. Your muscles throb with welcomed fatigue as you step out of the shower, stomach rumbling from how hungry you seem to be getting.

As you wrap yourself in a soft towel, Harry appears in the doorway, his eyes darkening with appreciation at the sight of you.

“I have a surprise waiting for you at dinner, baby,” he says. “Get dressed in what I bought for you—it’s waiting on the bed. Take your time.”

You’re a little taken aback by the mention of a surprise, your heart skipping with anticipation even as a shadow of unease crosses your mind.

You share a kiss and he’s off, leaving you to get ready for the night.

The dress he chose is breathtaking: a gorgeous halter-style floral mini that hugs your curves perfectly, the soft fabric accentuating your thicker thighs and flowing with just enough sway to feel playful yet seductive.

You spend time on your makeup—enhancing your features with a glow that mirrors the summer sun and colors that complement the dress’s vibrant blooms. 

When you finally descend the staircase, the sight that greets you stops you in your tracks.

Harry waits at the bottom, handsome in a simple white button-up shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders and olive-colored pants that snugly hug his hips. An expensive watch gleams on his wrist, his curls styled effortlessly, and he smells divine—an intoxicating blend of citrus and spice that makes your mouth literally water.

In his hands, a large bouquet of lush red peonies.

You want to devour him whole right here on the marble steps.

“Gorgrous as always,” he compliments, eyes tracing over you with desire that matches yours.

“You look good enough to eat,” you reply, your leer far more salacious than his, which earns you a playful smirk.

He pulls you close with his free arm and kisses you softly, careful not to smear your lip gloss, his hand resting possessively at the small of your back.

“These are pretty. I’ve never seen a bloom so red,” you note as you take in the beautiful flowers up close.

“It’s exactly why I had to get them for you.” He leads you through the villa until you’re in the kitchen.

The ornate space opens up to breathtaking views of the sea and the twinkling lights beginning to appear along the hilly coastline. Various fresh ingredients and dishes are artfully spread across the counters—ripe tomatoes, olives, herbs still dewy from the market.

“I’m cooking for you tonight,” Harry announces with a proud grin as he sets the flowers down.

The domesticity of it makes your heart soar with happiness even as it aches with guilt.

But you roll with it, letting him pull out your chair at the set table positioned perfectly for you to watch him work.

A bottle of your favorite sweet wine chills in an ice bucket nearby, right next to the peonies. 

Harry had mentioned taking cooking classes back in Manhattan to fill his time away from the office, but you never expected this level of expertise. You watch him with heart eyes as he chops, seasons, and sautés, the two of you conversing easily about everything and nothing. Like always.

Once everything is ready, he plates your dishes with theatrical flourish, describing each element like a server at a high-end restaurant—the seared fish with a herb crust, vibrant roasted vegetables bursting with Mediterranean flavor, and a side of creamy orzo that smells divine.

You giggle, scrunching your nose in delight as he sets the plates down. The first bite draws a deep, appreciative moan from your lips. “Harry, this is absolutely delicious,” you tell him, leaning across the table to give him a sweet peck on the lips.

He looks so incredibly proud of himself as he watches you enjoy the meal he prepared.

Surrounded by the romance of Greece at twilight, you feel the full emotional weight of your impending confession pressing against the joy.

When you’ve finished, Harry takes care of clearing the table. 

You find a quiet pocket in the conversation, steeling yourself to finally speak the truth. Your hands tremble slightly around the stem of your wine glass as you open your mouth to begin.

“Harry—”

But before the words can form, Harry interrupts with enthusiasm. “It’s time for your surprise, baby.”

The surprise. In the domestic bliss of the evening, it had completely slipped your mind. A knot tightens in your throat as he excuses himself, disappearing down the hallway for a few moments.

You sit there, heart hammering, the hem of your dress brushing against your thighs, heels elegantly crossed beneath the table.

When he returns, he carries a bound book in his hands and settles across from you once more, sliding it gently toward you.

“What’s this?” you ask, curiosity sparkling in your gaze despite the rising anxiety.

“Open it. Go through it,” he encourages softly.

Your fingers trace the cover, and as you read the title embossed in elegant lettering, a soft gasp escapes your lips.

It’s a scrapbook of your summer together—a handmade celebration of every moment you’ve shared. 

“You inspired me to create this. Hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your idea,” he jests. “I wanted to capture these beautiful memories you’ve helped me create and, more importantly, how you’ve awakened a peaceful, grounded side of myself I never thought I’d find.”

You’re speechless as you flip through the pages, each one a sweet little time capsule.

Ticket stubs from train rides through the Italian countryside, pressed flowers from Monte-Carlo, candid photos he snapped on his phone and had printed—your laughter caught in golden hour light in Ibiza, the two of you tangled together on the deck of The Daydreamer in Lagos, stolen kisses against the backdrop of ancient ruins in Sicily. Trinkets, handwritten notes, even a small vial of sand from the beach here in Mykonos are beautifully arranged with care and artistry.

Tears well up in your eyes, blurring the delicate details. “Harry… wow, I don’t know what to say. It’s amazing.”

You turn to the final page, and your heart plummets straight into your stomach. There, written in his distinctive cursive handwriting, is a question you never saw coming: Will you marry me?

Before you can fully process it, Harry has moved. He’s no longer across the table but kneeling beside you. In his hands rests a velvet box, opened to reveal a breathtaking, timeless engagement ring that catches the light like a shooting star—elegant, sparkling, and perfect in its design.

The night seems to hold its breath around you, the distant sea and twinkling hillside lights framing this moment like a scene from a fairytale.

“It’s sudden—I know,” he confesses as he looks up at you. “But Sol, you make me so incredibly happy. I’ve never felt this strongly about anyone in my life. You make me want to be a better man every single day. To provide for you, to support your passions and dreams, to be the partner who stands by your side no matter what comes our way. I love you. You’ve brought sunshine into my life, and I don’t want to let you go. Will you marry me?”

The shock and overwhelming rush of feelings leave you frozen. At first, Harry interprets your silence as a positive sign, his smile bright and hopeful.

But then he sees it—the terror blooming in your eyes, the way your breath catches unevenly. His expression slowly begins to falter, the smile dropping as the seconds stretch into an agonizing quiet.

Panic surges through you as if you’ve been struck by lightning, a full-blown attack creeping up your chest and tightening your throat.

The beautiful dress suddenly feels too constricting, the heels too unsteady, the ring too accusing.

“I—I—” you stammer, shaking your head as you push back from the table on shaky legs. “I need fresh air.” The words tumble out in a rush before you can stop them.

Tears you’ve been desperately holding back spill freely down your cheeks as you turn and flee out onto the terrace.

“Sol, wait!” Harry calls after you, the shock finally breaking as he rises to his feet, but you’re already moving down the path toward the private garden.

The proposal scrapbook and ring are left behind.

Alone in the kitchen, Harry stands heartbroken, running a hand through his hair.

“Fuck, this was the wrong move,” he chastises himself harshly for being an idiot, for moving too damn fast. What level-headed woman would agree to marriage after only one whirlwind summer, no matter how magical?

You’ve found solace in the lush garden near the villa’s entrance. 

Moonlight filters through fragrant jasmine and olive branches, casting silvery patterns across the stone paths and the ancient-looking bench where you’ve collapsed.

Tears stream freely down your cheeks as you bury your face in your hands.

What the hell is wrong with you? The question echoes mercilessly in your mind. Did you truly believe you could weave this tangled web of lies and emerge unscathed?

Your shoulders shake with silent sobs as you spiral deeper, replaying every opportunity to tell the truth that you let slip away.

Just as the weight threatens to crush you entirely, the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel path makes your heart seize in terror.

You can’t face Harry right now—not like this.

But the voice that cuts through the night isn’t Harry’s. It’s a raspier one that snaps your head up instantly.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Your eyes widen in pure shock as Joel steps into view, his tall frame silhouetted against the dim outdoor lights. 

He looks exhausted, worry etched deeply into his rugged features, travel-worn clothes looking like he just stepped off the plane and came directly here.

You shoot to your feet, instinctively backing away and putting desperate distance between you. The movement only deepens his confusion.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you choke out. “H-How did you find me?”

This cannot be happening right now. Karma, it seems, has wicked timing.

“Your location,” Joel replies simply, stepping closer with caution. “On your phone. You turned it back on a few days ago.”

“Joel, you can’t be here—you have to go,” you panic, lunging forward to grab his hand and tug him desperately toward the exit. Your pulse thunders in your ears as you imagine Harry emerging any second.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere.” His voice is firm, rooted like an old oak tree. He stands planted, far stronger than your frantic pulls.

“You’re gonna tell me what’s goin’ on and why you’re actin’ like this. It can’t just be because of the problems we’ve got back home, sweetheart.”

The endearment makes you cringe inwardly. 

“Talk to me, please,” Joel continues, words softening with regret. “I know I haven’t been the best husband, but fuck… I love you so much. I’ve been a fool for treatin’ you the way I have been. I’m here to fight for us.”

“Joel…” you whisper, fresh tears spilling as your bottom lip quivers uncontrollably. He closes the gap, cupping your face gently in his calloused hands, forcing you to meet the sincerity blazing in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry. I love you. I want to work on us. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

He leans in, and the world seems to slow as his lips brush yours in a kiss heavy with years of history and desperate hope.

Of course, that is the exact moment Harry steps into the garden.

“What the fuck is this?” Harry’s voice is like a whip, his earlier heartbreak igniting into pure, volcanic fury. He storms forward, eyes blazing as he takes in the scene.

You gasp sharply, shoving Joel away and spinning toward Harry.

“Harry—”

“Who the hell are you?” Joel growls, chest puffing as he sizes up the other man, protective instincts flaring.

“I could ask you the same damn question,” Harry snarls back, ignoring you completely. “Why are you kissing my girl?”

Joel barks out a loud, sarcastic laugh. “Your girl? That’s my wife you’re talkin’ about.”

The truth detonates like a bomb.

You stand frozen in the middle, heart slamming against your ribs as if it might grow legs and run the fuck away.

Harry’s breath comes in rapid, pained bursts, his fists clenching at his sides as he notices the wedding band on Joel’s finger.

His gaze swings to you, betrayal carved into every handsome feature. “Sol… What is he talking about?”

“Sol?” Joel echoes, confusion twisting into anger. “She hasn’t gone by that since college. What the fuck is goin’ on here?”

You close your eyes for a brief second, drawing a shuddering breath before forcing the words out.

“Harry… I was going to tell you tonight, but…” You trail off, the confession ripping from your soul. “Joel’s my husband. I’m married.”

Harry staggers back as if struck, his world visibly collapsing. “No…” he breathes. “After everything—the summer we’ve had, Sol… that can’t be true.”

Joel’s expression shifts as the pieces slam into place. “You’ve been with him this whole time? That’s why you’ve been ignorin’ my calls, hangin’ up on me? Too busy bein’ easy for some rich asshole?”

The unnecessary insult pisses Harry off. “Don’t talk to her like that,” he warns, stepping forward.

“Or what, pretty boy?” Joel retorts, advancing too. “You’ve been fuckin’ my wife and expect me not to beat your ass?”

“Maybe if you had done your job as her husband, as a real man, and kept her satisfied—” 

The fight erupts in a blink of an eye.

Joel throws the first punch, connecting solidly with Harry’s jaw. Harry reels but retaliates with equal force, the two men brawling violently amid the flowers and stone benches.

You scream for them to stop, but your pleas are useless. You don’t dare physically intervene, terrified of catching a stray blow in the chaos.

Finally, they separate, chests heaving, bruises surfacing and lips split. You step boldly between them now, hands raised.

“Please, just stop!”

“Get the hell out before I call someone to throw you out,” Harry growls at Joel, eyes like daggers.

“Ain’t got no reason to be here anymore.” Joel scoffs bitterly, yanking off his wedding band and tossing it at your feet where it clatters accusingly on the stone.

“We’re done. That’s what you wanted, right?” Pain flashes across his face despite his hardened words. He turns and stalks away into the night, though you know this confrontation is far from over once you return to Texas.

The garden falls into a terrible silence once Joel is gone, the moonlight now feeling merciless.

“And here I was prepared to spend the rest of my life with you.” He shakes his head, moving his jaw side to side and flinching from the soreness of Joel’s punch, blood fresh on his bottom lip.

“Was any of it real?” He then asks, voice smaller than you’ve ever heard it.

Your face crumples with fresh agony. “Yes, of course it was—”

“Or was it all about the money?” The accusation strikes like a dagger to your heart.

“It was never about that, Harry,” you insist, stepping closer despite the distance growing between you.

“Then why did you lie?”

“I was being selfish… trying to live a life I never thought I’d experience. It started harmless, but then you were so good to me. I got lost in this fantasy.” Your words break. “Being with you felt like the most real thing I’ve ever had. I’m so sorry.”

Harry doesn’t respond for a long moment.

“You have until the end of the weekend to get your travel plans in order,” he says at last, tone flat and defeated. “I think it’s best if we go our separate ways from here.”

You expected this, yet it actually happening still cuts deep.

Part of you wants to fight this, argue with him and make the case that you love him so much and hurting him was the last thing you ever wanted to do.

But all the emotions are too raw and fresh for any type of rational conversation to occur, so you just nod weakly, wiping away tears you feel you have no right to shed.

“Okay.”

The way he looks at you now—betrayed, heartbroken, and distant—is almost unbearable. He returns back to the villa, leaving you alone in the garden to drown in your own penitence.

You slip away quietly the following afternoon, not needing the full weekend like Harry had suggested, leaving Mykonos behind as the ferry carries you toward the mainland.

Back in the villa, Harry walks slowly into the bedroom you had once shared.

The space feels unnaturally still now fully stripped of your presence. The afternoon light filters through the open windows, but it only deepens the emptiness.

His gaze falls on the bed, neatly made, and the console table nearby. There, folded and arranged, lies every article of clothing, accessory, pair of shoes, and thoughtful gift he bought you throughout the trip.

A single handwritten note rests amidst the items, your writing addressing him simply.

Harry picks it up, reading it slowly, each word carving deeper into the cracks of his already shattered heart:

Harry, No amount of apologizing will ever make up for how much I’ve hurt you. I should have been honest from the beginning. This summer with you has been the most magical experience of my entire life. I meant when I said that you are the most generous person I’ve ever met, and I really hope that life treats you as kindly as you deserve, and that one day you find someone who loves you just as fiercely as you love them. Thank you for everything. For what it’s worth, my answer would have been yes. Sol.

He clenches his teeth, jaw tight as he fights the overwhelming torrent of emotions that hit him. The note blurs slightly in his vision.

The room echoes with ghosts of your laughter. He can almost smell your perfume lingering faintly on the clothes you left behind.

Harry sets the paper down gently and runs his fingers over a silk scarf he’d gotten you in Portugal.

He wonders, standing alone in the golden light of this place that now feels too large and too empty, if he will ever truly get over you.

That bittersweet truth is all that remains as the sun begins its slow descent, blending the sky in hues of rose and lavender.

One last beautiful farewell to the dream you shared.

[ ⤷ previous / ⤷ final chapter ]

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The sun shines over Taormina as you wander hand in hand through the winding streets, the air fragrant with the faint scent of the nearby Ionian Sea.

Sicily is undeniably your favorite stop on this entire trip. You love the rich, layered history that exists in every corner—from the towering theaters where myths were once brought to life, to the mosaics and courtyards and cathedrals that tell stories of conquest and cultural fusion spanning millennia.

It’s inspiring you more than you anticipated. One thing you love about design in general is being able to pull from the cultures that came before, keeping their art alive and appreciated through the decoration of space. You already know you’re going to be a busy bee the second you make it back to your office. 

Harry makes every moment feel impossibly better, transforming the history into something intimate for the two of you.

He arranges exclusive private tours, charming local guides into leading you through parts of the amphitheater where most aren’t usually allowed, then to courtyards filled with blooming bougainvillea, sharing stories of festivals thrown to celebrate gods and goddesses.

Harry walks beside you, listening intently as you marvel at the history and snap photos of everything. 

“You light up when you talk about this stuff. I love how passionate you are.”

You bite down on your lip. “Thanks, baby.” You lift your camera up, directing him to stand right where you want him, next to a bust of a Roman general that favors him greatly.

“Riiiight there. Perfect!” You snap the photo, already knowing you’re going to be swooning over how good he looks in his linen outfit, the top unbuttoned enough to showcase his strong chest, the tanned skin teasing you with every glimpse you get.

As you admire a gemstone necklace (that’s way too pricey) in a shop tucked into a narrow alley, Harry leans in close, his fingers tracing lazily across your back, which is exposed from the halter top you’re wearing.

“Get whatever you want. Seeing you indulge, spending my money—it turns me on more than you could possibly imagine.” His voice is a little hoarse, that charming lilt making your thighs tense together.

Your cheeks heat deeply. The way he treats you as if you truly are the rarest treasure amid historic wonders makes you want to mount him right then and there.

This energy leads Harry to sweep you off for a lavish shopping spree in preparation for the special dinner he has planned tonight.

“We’re heading to Selinunte this evening,” he tells you with an excited grin as you stroll towards the boutique. 

“It’s about a three-hour drive west across the island. I’ve got something perfect lined up. You’re going to love it. But first, you need the perfect outfit to match the occasion.”

He insists on buying you every and any thing, it seems. The dressing room becomes its own dreamy montage as various articles of clothing and accessories are wheeled in by the associates. 

You emerge from behind the curtain in a flowing azure sundress that catches the light beautifully, twirling for Harry’s appreciative gaze.

“Stunning,” he leans back against the small loveseat that’s provided, spreading his thighs wide as he gets himself comfortable for the show you’re putting on.

Next comes a sleek black number that hugs your curves and is extremely short. The tag says it is Versace and you swear it’s the most expensive piece you’ve ever had on your body.

This one makes Harry’s eyes widen, taking in how good your full thighs look. “Turn around,” he orders and you smirk at him, doing so slowly, bending over slightly so he can get a nice view of your ass in the tiny dress, a sliver of your panties tantalizing him.

“You’re getting that one.” He says in such a commanding tone, it makes you wet. “Not for tonight, though, but fuck—you look sexy.”

Satisfied and flustered, you blow him a kiss before disappearing behind the curtain again. He adjusts himself in his shorts, feeling his cock stirring half hard at how gorgeous your body is. No matter what you’re wearing.

Harry loves that you embrace your figure for what it is. You’re thicker, curvier, a lot more to love than his previous partners. Not that it matters to him one bit, but so many women (and men) in his circle focus too much on physical appearance.

He did too, once when he was insecure and his self esteem was at an all time low. However, in order to become the confident man that he is today, he had to learn how to overcome that.

Which he did. It taught him a lot about himself and how much he’s willing to change in order to fit into the box of what everyone else expects of him.

Each time you step out in a different outfit, Harry’s gaze darkens with desire. He pulls you to him between changes, hands sliding greedily over the silk at your waist, stealing fervent kisses. 

You can feel how much he wants you right there, his intensity one of the many things about this man that turns you on.

Your back presses against the mirrored wall as his lips trail down your neck, but you laugh breathlessly and gently push him back, teasing, “Harry... behave. You have to keep those hands to yourself until tonight.”

He groans playfully, but respects your words with a wicked smile, planting one final peck at your lips. 

“You’re killing me.” 

Finally you come out in the showstopper—a deep orange, one shoulder satin dress with blush lace detailing that falls into a softly flared midi hem.

His stomach bottoms out at the sight of you. The hue of the dress compliments your sun kissed skin, hugging your form perfectly, enough skin shown to drive him insane.

“You look…” Harry is at a loss for words, truly. 

“Perfect? Gorgeous? Amazing?” You tease, smoothing the fabric down, admiring yourself in the mirror. You look very, very fucking good.

“Took the words right out of my mouth, sweetheart.”

You try not to cringe as the grand total pops up when the associate rings you up, especially since Harry had implored you to also purchase matching jewelry and shoes.

He is totally indifferent about it, however. He just swipes his black American Express card like all of this costs him nothing.

As if it’s not more than the mortgage on the house you own with Joel.

“How on Earth am I supposed to get all these beautiful things back home? My luggage is going to explode.”

Harry shrugs, a charming grin on his lips, carrying all the bags for you as you walk out into the street “I’ll have them shipped straight to your place. Don’t worry about a single thing. What’s the point of all this if I can’t spoil my girl properly?”

This opens the door to a conversation you’ve both been gently circling. As you take a break from shopping at a shaded café terrace overlooking the ancient theater, sipping sweet limoncello, things turn a little serious.

“Sol,” he gets your attention, “what happens when this trip ends? When we leave all this behind and go back to our real lives?”

The weight of his growing feelings is palpable—holding you tight in bed every night, the quiet ways you’ve softened his once rigid need to control every little detail.

“This... us... it’s become so much more than a summer fling. For me, anyway.”

You don’t say anything at first, blinking slowly as you try to figure out what is the best approach to take here. Is this the out you need to finally come clean about your marriage? 

You reach across the small table, lacing your fingers with his, feeling the warmth of his palm. “I don’t want to think about it yet,” you whisper honestly, your heart thudding rapidly from all the directions it’s being pulled. 

“I want to enjoy every single second here—the beautiful world that surrounds us, the way you make me feel so alive and seen. If I spend it all worrying about the future, I’ll look back and regret not fully living in this moment. And I don’t want any regrets with you, Harry. Not one.”

He isn’t entirely pleased by your answer. You catch the flicker of uncertainty and longing in his gaze. It’s the pull of emotions that have been blooming steadily like the flowers you’ve admired this entire trip.

But he exhales slowly, a small, understanding smile breaking through as he lifts your hand to his lips for a lingering kiss. “You’re right,” he says, his tone softening with genuine resolve. “You’re teaching me that, you know. I’ve spent my life controlling everything… and here you are, showing me how good it feels to just be. It’s a better way. Our way, at least, for this incredible summer.”

Later, as you’re being driven to Selinunte, Harry briefly takes a call with his brother while you nap in his lap, completely wiped from your eventful day.

His voice is low enough to not wake you.

“Yeah... she’s incredible. She’s the most fun I’ve had… ever.” A small smile stretches on his lips as memories of your time together float through his mind. 

“I think I’ve found the one—”

“Bullshit.”

“No, I’m serious—this feels different. Europe with her... it’s like everything makes sense.”

“And to think you almost fucked off back to Manhattan after that meeting in Monte-Carlo.”

Harry chuckles with a shake of his head, eyes tracing over your soft features, his free hand gently rubbing at your hip in a soothing gesture that keeps you comfortable and asleep.

“So if you could look into that for me, I’d really appreciate it. The sooner, the better. The more I think about it, the more I’m sure it’s the right thing to do.”

Peter remains silent momentarily, never having seen or heard his brother behave this way before. Harry Castillo is actually in love—he never thought he’d see the day.

That whole thing with Lucy was not love, it was more of Harry realizing what it really was that he was seeking out of a relationship. He understands now that it’s more than just about a partnership. It’s about devotion, vulnerability, allowing yourself to put all of your trust in someone.

“Okay,” his brother answers finally. “I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something.”

“Thanks.”

With that, the call ends and Harry lets out a deep sigh, looking out the window as the sun almost disappears over the horizon.

You get ready for dinner at the villa you’ll be staying in for the rest of your stay in Italy. It’s grand, way too luxurious for just you, Harry and the staff he’s hired—but he had found it absolutely breathtaking and wanted you to stay somewhere unlike anywhere else you’ve been before. 

He definitely succeeded in that aspect.

When you finally arrive at the archaeological park later that night, the sight before you steals your breath completely.

Harry has rented out the entire Acropolis of Selinunte just for the two of you. Towering temples stand sentinel against the starlit sky, their honey-colored stones whispering of civilizations long past.

The setup is breathtaking: a private table draped in crisp white linen sits amidst the majestic ruins of the temples, surrounded by hundreds of flickering candles that cast a golden, ethereal glow on the weathered columns.

Moonlight spills across the archaeological site while the gentle rhythm of the waves crashes softly against the nearby shore, creating the most picturesque scene you have ever witnessed.

Even more than your first dinner date with him in Monte-Carlo.

You stand frozen for a moment, eyes wide with disbelief, as Harry takes your hand and leads you forward towards your table. 

“This is for you,” he says simply. “If I could give you the whole world, I would.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, blurring the candlelight. No one has ever treated you like this—memorizing every small detail you love, from your fascination with ancient history to your quiet yearning for meaningful gestures.

Not even Joel, with all the years you spent together, ever planned something so grand or romantic. He was simple, never one for sweeping, heartfelt surprises.

Harry does it effortlessly, as naturally as breathing.

The dinner unfolds amazingly. Your server brings course after course of local fare: fresh seafood caught that morning, delicate pasta with wild fennel and sardines, tender lamb prepared with fragrant herbs from the surrounding hills, and crisp wine from a local vineyard that tastes like bottled sunshine. 

You talk and laugh between bites, the conversation flowing easily like it always has as the ruins stand watch like spectators of your summer affair.

The candle flames dance in the breeze, casting warm shadows across Harry’s handsome face as he watches you with open adoration.

Towards the end of the meal, as you finish your decadent dessert of ricotta-filled cannoli dusted with pistachios and orange zest, Harry reaches across the table and takes both your hands in his.

“I need to tell you something,” he begins, his tone so vulnerable in the quiet expanse of the site. “I know this is crazy—I’ve only known you for such a short time—but I’m falling in love with you. Deeply. These weeks traveling Europe, seeing the world through your eyes... it’s changed everything for me. You’ve changed me.”

You are not surprised in the slightest. The strong feelings growing in your own chest mirror his words perfectly—the way your heart races whenever he looks at you, the comfort of his touch, the effortless joy you find in his company.

Yet a persistent shadow lingers over this perfect daydream. Pursuing this fully would only complicate everything because of Joel and the life waiting back home that you haven’t fully untangled.

Your husband hasn’t reached out to you since you hung up on him, and while you should be relieved—it also brought a small sense of anxiety nitpicking at the back of your mind.

Now, the thoughts stab at you deeply. But looking at Harry—his brown eyes glowing with sincerity and surrounded by so much beauty—you don’t have the heart to break his in this fantastical moment. 

Not after everything he has done for you. How he has made you feel loved like never before.

Instead, you squeeze his hands gently, tears slipping down your cheeks as a soft smile curves your lips. 

“Harry... I’m falling for you too,” you whisper, the words dancing on the sea breeze. “Truly. I’m so appreciative of everything you’ve done for me—the gestures, the surprises, the way you spoil me and make me feel like the center of your world. You’re such a generous man with the biggest heart. I’ve never experienced anything like this.”

He leans forward, kissing you tenderly over the table, the taste of sweet cannoli tingling on your lips.

In this moonlit bubble amidst the ancient ruins of Selinunte, your summer romance feels timeless and destined.

You decide then that you will tell him the full truth about your marriage soon. 

When you return to the private villa, Harry holds his hands over your eyes as he guides you to the main bedroom.

“No peeking, it’s a surprise.”

“I’m not peeking, I swear!” Though, you do attempt to sneak a look between the gaps of his fingers… to no avail.  

Once inside, he drops his hands, and for the second time tonight—you’re left breathless. 

Expensive linens drape the oversized four-poster bed, scattered with petals that contrast beautifully against the bedding. Dozens of candles flicker in ornate holders around the room, casting their light across tasteful tapestries.

The large open terrace doors let in the soothing rhythm of the ocean beyond, its breeze blowing against the sheer curtains. 

“This is what I had in mind for our first time together,” he murmurs against your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “Something slow, beautiful, worthy of you. But someone got a little too eager on the yacht in Lagos... so I haven’t been able to do it properly until now.” He smirks, remembering your frantic encounter on the deck, and you laugh breathlessly as you melt into his embrace.

Clothes fall away in a heated trail toward the bed. His hands roam your body, peeling off the designer dress until you stand naked before him.

“I won’t ever tire of seeing you like this.” He whispers against your lips, grabbing a handful of your ass which makes you shudder as he lays you down on the comfortable mattress. 

The foreplay builds languidly and oh so torturously. You kiss like you have all the time in the world, tongues sliding and tangling, breaths shared until you feel like you’re breathing life into the other.

Harry’s large, warm hands caress your curves—squeezing your hips, tracing the dip of your waist, cupping your breasts until your nipples tighten into sensitive peaks.

It feels so fucking amazing. You don’t know what’s better: feeling him touch you like this or seeing how attractive he looks naked. His curls fall over his eyes as his broad figure blankets you entirely, his wide shoulders luring you to leave scratch marks all over them and down his freckled back. 

He pauses his affections, lips brushing your ear, his facial hair tickling your skin. “Is it okay if I blindfold you?” 

The request sends a fresh rush of arousal straight to your core. You are already beyond horny, your pussy aching and throbbing for him to give her some attention… but the idea of surrendering control to him like this turns you on even more than you thought possible.

“Yes,” you breathe out needily, almost whimpering. “Please, Harry. Do whatever you want.”

Your submission makes a sound rumble in his throat and he squeezes one of your breasts before pulling away, his presence missed the second it is gone.

He uses a soft silk scarf from the nightstand, tying it gently but securely over your eyes. Darkness envelops you, heightening every sensation. You cannot anticipate his next move, and the uncertainty makes your skin prickle with welcomed anticipation.

One moment, his hand glides softly down your stomach, fingertips feather-light. The next, his hot mouth closes around one peaked nipple, sucking hard while his tongue swirls, sending intense jolts of pleasure straight to your clit.

You arch and whimper, fingers threading through his hair.

He continues his exquisite torment, kissing a slow path lower with those full lips of his. His stubble grazes your inner thighs as he settles between your legs. His tongue parts your slick folds, licking along your slit with long strokes that have you gasping. 

“Harry, baby…”

He eats your pussy like he’s devoting himself to her, savoring the natural tanginess of you—alternating between broad, flat licks and focused suction on your swollen clit. Two thick fingers slide inside you, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot while his mouth works vehemently.

Your first orgasm crashes over you without warning, thighs trembling around his head as you cry out, slicking his tongue.

Harry pulls back just enough to kiss up your quivering stomach, then claims your mouth in a filthy kiss so you can taste yourself on him.

Then he returns between your legs, devouring you again. Another orgasm builds and shatters through you, then another, until your mind melts into pure euphoric bliss.

All the while, you hear the rhythmic creak of the bed as Harry thrusts his throbbing, leaking cock against the sheets, desperately grinding for friction. He groans against your pussy, clearly on the edge himself, barely holding back from finishing all over the luxurious bedding as he pleasures you.

You babble his name over and over, fingers twisting into his soft hair to keep you from floating out of your body. 

His thicker digits are building the pressure up so intensely against your g-spot. You start to feel like you need to relieve yourself. 

“H-Harry…” you sob, attempting to push his head away. But he’s so lost in sucking on your clit and fingering you zealously that he’s not really taking notice of your weak efforts.

It’s not like you want him to stop for real, but you’re afraid that if you let go then you’ll just make a giant mess and that would be an embarrassment that would ruin the night.

You definitely don’t want that to happen.

But then he twists his wrist in a specific way and his skilled tongue starts to rapidly lick all over your pussy that you manage to dig your nails into his scalp as you finally squirt all over him, the release shuddering throughout your body while you gush everywhere.

“Oh my fucking god!” You yelp loudly, violently shaking in his hold as he just lets it happen, his fingers being pushed out from your core from how tightly you had squeezed around him, his mouth and facial hair drenched from your release.

By the time he finally pulls away, you are a trembling, blissed-out mess, your body humming with the aftershocks.

Harry removes the blindfold. His face hovers above yours, stare shaded with lust and profound love that steals what little breath you have left. The intensity overwhelms you—tears streak down your heated cheeks as the sensations crest.

He moves in a blur, your eyes too bleary to make out the way he swiftly discards the loose sheet that’s been ruined, then climbs over you.

“H-Harry that was…—I-I made a mess—”

“Shh, mi Sol,” he soothes, cupping your cheek affectionately, thumb brushing away the tears that have slipped from your pretty eyes. He leans in, kissing you deeply, pouring every feeling into it, his tongue sliding into your mouth.

The thick, bulbous head of his cock nudges against your oversensitive entrance and you shiver at the feel of it. With a shared groan, he pushes in inch by inch, stretching your tight, warm cunt around his hard length until he is buried to the root.

What follows is hours of hot, slow, passionate sex that is nothing like the frantic, desperate fucking you have indulged in previously.

This is different. Every thrust is given with dedicated purpose, hips rolling in a sensual rhythm that lets you feel all of him, the protruding underside sliding deliciously against your grip.

You wrap your legs around him, heels digging into his ass as he fills you again and again. Candlelight flickers across your joined bodies, highlighting the sheen of sweat on his muscles, the way your heavy breasts bounce with each measured stroke.

He whispers praises against your throat, kissing up your jaw.

“So perfect.”

“I love how you feel around me.”

“You’re mine. I love you.”

All while you mutter his name like it’s a hymn, moaning nonsense as you lose yourself in the lovemaking. 

You come together multiple times, sometimes with him deep inside you, sometimes with his fingers on your clit while he grinds slow circles.

Positions shift languidly: you on top, riding him with lazy rolls of your hips as he watches you with worshipful eyes; him behind you, spooning close as he thrusts deep and kisses your neck.

It feels like you are laying your hearts completely bare, bodies and souls entwined.

Eventually, exhaustion and satisfaction claim you. You fall sound asleep in Harry’s arms, your body curled against his, the sheets tangled around your naked forms and rose petals scattered across the bed.

Harry stays awake a little longer, gently stroking your hair as he watches you.

The depth of his feelings crashes over him overwhelmingly so. In this moment, he knows with absolute certainty that he wants to marry you.

[ ⤷ previous / ⤷ next chapter ]

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You wake to the insistent trill of your phone on the nightstand, its old-school ringtone disrupting the hush of the luxurious bedroom.

You’re cocooned in Harry’s strong arms, his broad chest a solid, heated wall against your back, his breath slow and steady in your hair.

The temptation to ignore everything and melt deeper into him is overwhelming—but after the third ring, you sigh softly and slip free, reaching for the device.

The screen shows your husband’s number. A grimace twists your lips as you silence the intrusion and return into the safety of Harry’s embrace. You nestle your cheek against his chest, listening to the thrum of his heart.

One of the many intimate discoveries you’ve made about Harry Castillo: he’s a gloriously heavy sleeper.

Just as sleep begins to pull you under again, the phone rings once more. Your eyes shoot open and you roll over to decline it. Why is he so persistent? What time is it even in Texas? You glare at the offending device, daring it to ring again.

As if on cue: it does.

With an irritated huff, you flip it over and pop out the battery, tossing the piece aside.

You’re barely settled against Harry’s side again when his alarm blares—jarring you both. You flinch and let out a dramatic groan as he finally stirs awake beneath you.

“Why on Earth do you have your alarm set so early?” you mutter, pressing your body flush to his.

“I’ve got a call with Peter in an hour,” he replies, voice deliciously raspy with sleep. “He’s in Australia this week—that’s about an eight hour time difference from us.” He leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of your head.

You pout, the hazy memories from yesterday flooding back: candlelit dinner on the terrace, sweet wine staining your lips, flirtation dissolving into desperate kisses, clothes torn away in a haste, and the two of you fucking like animals in heat until exhaustion claimed you.

Heat blooms across your body at the recollection. Ever since your first time in Lagos, you two have been insatiable, getting it on whenever you find pockets of privacy during your exploration of Ibiza.

After years in a marriage where passion had quietly withered, Harry reawakens the horny woman that was locked away inside you this entire time. 

Joel was never a bad lover—rough when you craved it, tender when you needed softness—you’ve just been without sex for so long. You don’t want to come down from this cloud just yet.

Gently, you push him onto his back and climb astride him, your thighs bracketing his hips, pinning him beneath you with playful intent.

The pale morning light filtering through the gauzy curtains worships his features: his dark curls tousled from your fingers last night when he buried his face between your legs and devoured you until you were breathless, those kind brown eyes now darkening with lust as your warm, slick pussy presses against his hardening length. 

“What are you up to?” he asks, a knowing smile curving his lips. His large hands settle on your waist, thumbs stroking the sensitive dip there as his gaze devours the sight of your breasts, nipples peaked in the cool breeze.

“Trying to convince you to stay in bed with me just a little longer,” you answer sweetly, rolling your hips in a lazy, teasing glide. A breathy sigh escapes you as his cock parts your swollen folds, the velvety head dragging deliciously against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

Harry grunts, fingers tightening on your hips in warning. “We both know I’ll never leave this bed with you on top of me like this.”

You smirk, leaning down to capture his mouth in a soft kiss, arching your back to increase the pressure. 

He tries to resist—for all of two seconds—then surrenders completely. With effortless strength, he grips your waist and lifts you slightly. “Put me in,” he orders in that deep, gravelly morning voice that sends a fresh rush of desire straight to your core.

You melt, biting your lip as you reach between your bodies. Your fingers wrap around his heavy shaft, giving it a teasing squeeze and it earns you a sharp pinch to your hip that draws a surprised giggle from you.

You run his leaking tip up and down your slit, coating him thoroughly, before notching him at your entrance and sinking down slowly.

The stretch is exquisite—a burning fullness that pulls a shared moan from you both. You settle fully (still a little sore from last night), hands planted on his broad chest, and begin to ride him with his guiding hands on your hips. Each drag is pure bliss.

“Oh, Harry…” you whine, the sound breathy and desperate.

His brows knit in concentration, savoring how perfectly your walls tense around him as the pace quickly turns frantic and needy.

Overwhelmed, you slump forward, burying your face in the crook of his neck, panting hot against his skin as your orgasm coils tight, ass clapping down against his muscular thighs.

“Poor baby,” he teases. “Initiated this and can’t even handle it.” Harry plants his feet on the mattress, using the leverage to fuck up into you harder, deeper, the head of his cock kissing that perfect spot until you shatter—crying out his name, your pussy gushing around him in pulsing waves.

He follows moments later, pulling out to spill across the soft curve of your ass.

You feel exhaustion tugging you back toward the pillows. Harry senses it, catching his own breath before he slips out from under you, leaving you sprawled on your stomach, and retrieves the cloth from last night.

Gently, he wipes his spend from your skin then leans in to kiss your bare shoulder. 

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he whispers against your ear. “I’ll bring you breakfast after my meeting.”

You manage to weakly nod, drifting off with a contented smile, the disassembled phone on the nightstand forgotten. 

Harry’s gaze lingers there a moment, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face about who had called so insistently in the early hours. 

You lie sprawled luxuriously atop Harry as you enjoy the afternoon lounging on the sandy coastline of the beautiful city of Ibiza. 

The light sea breeze carries the scent of distant wildflowers that brings a sense of tranquility you don’t think you’ll tire of.

Below you, Harry’s body serves as your personal chaise—broad, sun-warmed, and utterly relaxed. A portable radio you picked up in town hums softly with upbeat Spanish pop, the melody blending seamlessly with the distant crash of waves and the occasional cry of seabirds.

Your book rests open against his shoulder blades, a riveting tale unfolding in your hands. You’re lost in a particularly charged paragraph when your phone’s ringtone disrupts the idyll.

Reaching down into your woven tote bag, you fish out the device and decline the call—just as you have done repeatedly all day. You only keep the battery in as a precaution, in case a true emergency arises with family or friends, not because you want to entertain your husband’s persistent attempts to tug you back to reality.

Harry hasn’t commented on the calls until now. His voice rumbles low and lazy from beneath you, warm as the sun on your back. “Shouldn’t you get that?”

You sigh, not from his question but from the frustration of Joel inserting himself like a persistent thorn even from across countries. “It’s nothing,” you mutter, shifting slightly to settle more comfortably against the firm planes of his back, your bare thighs brushing his sides.

“What if it’s an emergency?” he reasons gently. He lies on his stomach with his arms crossed, head pillowed on his hands, eyes closed behind expensive sunglasses in blissful repose. The sunlight plays across the sculpted muscles of his shoulders, highlighting every ridge and dip.

“It’s not. Trust me.” Your fingers trace idle patterns along his tanned skin, hoping to distract him back to the moment.

“Then why do they keep calling?”

“Because my friends don’t seem to understand that I’m on vacation and not really in the mood to gossip,” you reply smoothly, the lie slipping out a little too easily. You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his neck, tasting the faint salt of his skin mixed with sunscreen.

Harry falls quiet. He’s noticed how skillfully you dodge anything too personal, how little you reveal about your life beyond the surface level.

Yet he doesn’t press. For a man who has spent decades as the perfect son, the driven boss, the polished socialite in New York’s affluent circles, this summer with you is a rare gift—a chance to turn his mind off completely. 

He chooses the joy of the present, letting the questions drift away on the breeze like forgotten sails.

The afternoon stretches lazily onward. Eventually, as the sun dips lower and paints the horizon, you set your book aside and prop your chin on his shoulder. “We should go clubbing tonight,” you murmur against his ear, lips brushing the sensitive shell. “It’s what the island is famous for—partying until dawn.”

Harry lets out a dramatic groan, though a smile tugs at his lips. “You’re trying to kill an old man. I’m fifty, Sol. My idea of a wild night these days involves good wine and an early bedtime.”

You roll your eyes, laughing as you shift to straddle his lower back more fully, your hands sliding up to massage his shoulders with teasing affection. “Oh, please. You have more stamina than men half your age, Mr. Castillo. I should know.” You lean in closer, voice dropping to a honeyed, coaxing purr.

“Come on… it’ll be fun. I’m dying to see you out of your element.”

He turns his head, sunglasses long gone, catching your gaze with those brown eyes that always seem to put you in a trance. For a moment, something deeper flickers there—affection so intense it borders on love—but he banks it, choosing lightness instead.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he says, a chuckle rumbling through his chest as he turns beneath you so that you’re straddling his front, very reminiscent of your position from earlier this morning.

You shrug with faux coyness. 

“Fine. You win. But if I pull a muscle on the dance floor, you’re nursing me back to health on the yacht.”

“Deal,” you answer giddily, leaning forward and sealing it with a sweet kiss.

You tumble from one exclusive club to the next, the island’s legendary energy coursing through your veins as if it were liquid starlight.

With him by your side, doors that require months on a list swing open instantly. Harry Castillo’s name is currency it seems—wealthy, respected, so effortlessly commanding. Velvet ropes part like magic and you’re ushered into VIP sections dripping with opulence: crystal chandeliers, plush velvet booths, and terraces overlooking the moonlit sea.

The night blurs into a vibrant haze of music and laughter. At the first club, deep house throbs through the floor, bass vibrating up your legs. Harry starts off endearingly stiff on the dance floor, more boardroom than party. You can’t help but tease him, dancing with a playful grin.

“Come on, old man!” you giggle, grabbing his hands and pulling him closer. “Loosen those hips! I know you can move better than this.”

He rolls his eyes, a sheepish smile breaking across his handsome face, but the drinks keep flowing—colorful cocktails garnished with fresh fruit, shots that burn sweetly down your throat—and he gradually loosens up.

By the third club, where sultry techno gives way to Latin rhythms, both of you have released your inhibitions.

His hands find your waist with growing confidence, sliding over the silky fabric of your dress as he pulls you flush against him. The heat of his body radiates through your clothes, strong fingers gripping your hips as you move together.

It feels intoxicating. His broad palms roaming your curves, tracing the dip of your waist, squeezing the swell of your ass while the music shifts from pounding beats to sensual melodies.

You dance beneath swirling lights that paint his curly hair in shades of neon blue and magenta, losing yourself in the way his thigh presses between yours, the pressure sending sparks of desire dancing across your skin.

The world tilts in the most delightful way, every touch amplified as hours slip away in a whirlwind of bass drops, sweaty bodies, and stolen kisses on crowded dance floors. You’ve both drunk more tonight than at any point on this voyage. Any worries about the future drowned in rum and happiness.

In one of the venues, the sexual tension snaps.

Harry has you pressed against the door of a private restroom, the thump of music vibrating through the wood at your back. His larger body cages you in, the scent of his cologne dizzying you.

His mouth crashes down on yours in a breathless, hungry kiss, tongue tasting of sweet liquor and tropical fruit as it tangles with yours. You moan into him, your fingers threading through his damp curls.

Your hips grind shamelessly against the growing bulge straining in his pants, seeking friction.

You don’t care about the crowd outside or the luxury surrounding you—only the lust he stokes in your body, the way his touch slides up your thighs, bunching your dress higher, fingers digging into soft flesh with urgency.

“You’re so beautiful like this. I can’t get enough of you.” He growls against your lips, hips rolling forward to meet your desperate movements. 

The world narrows to the intoxicating pull between you. Nothing else exists but the aching need to have him inside of you.

His fingers hook into the lace of your panties and yank them aside. Two thick fingers drag through your slit, spreading your arousal before he circles your swollen clit and it makes you whine.

“So wet already,” he mutters against your ear. “Dripping down your thighs, baby. You need me that badly?”

You nod frantically, whimpering as he sinks two fingers deep inside you. The wet squelch of him fingering you fills the small space, barely drowned out by the music.

“Please, Harry—” you beg, grinding down on his hand.

He withdraws his fingers, making you pout at the loss. He frees his cock, just as desperate to feel you, hooking one of your legs high around his waist, spreading you better. He lines himself up against your opening.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, swaying slightly from the drinks—from you.

Your eyes lock with his as he thrusts forward in one powerful stroke, all eight delicious inches burying fully inside your body. A broken moan tears from your throat as your walls flutter and clench around the intrusion, mouth falling agape.

You’re so warm and tight and utterly perfect. It makes Harry feel crazy for how much he craves you all the time. “That’s it, sweet girl… taking me so well. You feel incredible.”

He starts to move, rolling thrusts that press you harder against the door. Each stroke is deliberate, savoring the way your body sucks him in. One hand grips your thigh firmly as he fucks you, the other braced beside your head, his taut forearm flexing.

“You’re so perfect,” he praises, voice strained with pleasure when your pussy tenses around him. “So soft… so wet… you make me lose my mind. I’ve never felt anything like this.”

He angles his hips, hitting that overwhelming spot inside you with every press. Your cries of his name grow louder, sweeter, and Harry drinks them in like fine wine. 

He wants to give you everything. Money, security, a house to call a home. Is he delusional for falling so fast? He thought love was supposed to be the most difficult thing in the world. 

How come it feels so easy to love you?

The pleasure builds intensely. Harry’s pace quickens, but his touch remains devout, eyes locked on your face as if he’s memorizing every expression of your ecstasy.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” The hand at your thigh slips between you to circle your clit with enough pressure to make tears well in your eyes. “Come for me, sweetheart. I want to feel my beautiful girl come all over me.”

Your orgasm washes over you in powerful waves. You sob out his name, digging your freshly manicured nails into his back, clenching wetly around his shaft. 

Harry follows right behind you with a heavy sigh, burying himself as deep as possible as he comes. Thick, hot ropes of his release fill you completely. 

You both tremble through the aftershocks, breathing ragged, bodies slick with sweat from all the dancing and fucking. Harry presses kisses along your jaw and neck, murmuring sweet praises while the distant party continues to thrive beyond the door.

Neither of you speaks about the fact that he just finished inside you—the warm, slick evidence of it already beginning to trickle down where you connect. 

He pulls out, grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser, helping you clean up and straighten your dress with gentle hands, a soft smile playing on his lips. 

“Don’t look so proud of yourself,” you scold playfully.

“I just enjoy having sex with you baby, that’s all.”

After a quick refresh, he calls for the driver, then tucks you against his side. Your legs feel like jelly beneath you, the combination of mind-blowing sex and endless cocktails, leaving you unsteady.

You cling to him, arm wrapped tightly around his waist, face pressed into his chest as the scent of his cologne fills your senses.

Harry keeps you upright, that competency of his kicking in as he sobers up enough to weave through the bustling crowd and out into the summer night air. The breeze caresses your flushed skin while you wait for the car. He presses occasional kisses to your temple, murmuring words that make your heart flutter.

The driver arrives quickly and the ride back to The Daydreamer passes in a warm, drunken blur of city lights reflecting off the dark sea. Once aboard the yacht, Harry disappears briefly to get the shower running and preparing the bed, giving you a moment alone in the softly lit cabin.

You bend to slip off your heels, peeling your ruined underwear off too. Suddenly, your phone—left charging earlier—lights up and rings. Fueled by alcohol and frustration, you snatch it up and answer.

“What the hell, Joel?” you snap. “I told you to stop calling. I’m on vacation. Leave. Me. Alone.”

He can hear it immediately—the slur in your words, how inebriated you are. “Are you drunk?” he demands, anger sharpening his voice. “Christ, where are you? Why haven’t you been answerin’ any of my calls?”

“Because I don’t owe you anything—not after all you’ve put me through.”

“So ignorin’ me and pretendin’ like we aren’t still married is how you decide to deal with it?”

“That’s none of your business!”

His frustration boils over when you fire back.

“What the hell are you talking about? Of course it’s my business. You’re my wife.” 

You let out a sarcastic laugh. “You don’t get to suddenly act like you give a shit about this marriage. Not after you prioritized everything else above it. I became an afterthought to you. Even at fucking work!”

Silence. Of course. That’s his go to.

“The way you’ve been acting…” he trails off, not acknowledging your truth, which further proves the point of the whole reason why you two have failed as a couple. “This isn’t you—”

You hear Harry’s footsteps returning. Without another word, you hang up and toss the phone aside. You’re not going to deal with his bullshit tonight.

Harry had lingered just outside the room, fighting the urge to eavesdrop. It took everything in him not to listen—he respects your boundaries too much. If you don’t want to share who keeps calling and frustrating you, then so be it.

He steps back in just as you hang up. “Everything okay, sweetheart?” he asks, concern softening his brown eyes.

You nod, the motion making you sway on drunk legs. Closing the distance, you reach for him, pulling him into a wet, needy kiss. Your hands push the straps of your dress down until the fabric pools at your feet, leaving you beautifully, completely naked before him.

Harry’s breath catches. Tipsy as he is, he can’t resist. His hands roam hungrily over your bare skin, worshipping every curve as he devours you with deep, open-mouthed kisses. “You’re stunning,” he murmurs between kisses, voice husky with renewed desire. “My beautiful girl.”

He walks you backward toward the luxurious bathroom where steam curls invitingly from the large shower.

This time the sex is slower. He fucks you against the wall again, your wet chest pressed against the tile as he thrusts into you from behind, his lips at your ear continuing to say all the right things.

The argument with Joel fades into nothing. The longer you spend wrapped up in this fantasy with Harry, the more you’re beginning to dread what’ll happen when the summer ends.

Will you come clean about your husband? Stay and try to make things work with the billionaire? Or will you see this as the summer fling that it is all the way until the end, disappearing from Harry’s life as easily as you had entered it?

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

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

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

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

“Harry,” you whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

One more day left and everything would change forever. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed. 

Harry’s eyes softened. 

Then, he pleaded once more. “Please.” 

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t. 

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

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

“Peter,” Harry said, shutting the door. 

Peter looked around. He didn’t see you. 

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

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

“How are you doing?” Peter asked. 

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

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

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

“Thanks,” he sighed. 

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

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

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

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

“Did you even love her?” Peter asked. 

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

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

“Right.” 

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

“You did.” 

“I got lucky,” Peter said. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” 

He shrugged. “It’s what she wants.” 

“But what do you want?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

“And you both just…” 

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

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

“Long enough,” he answered. 

“Even during Lucy?” 

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

“So, what was different about this trip?” 

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

“But?” 

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

“Do you really believe that?” 

“You didn’t see her face.” 

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

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

Not until you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t—I don’t know.” 

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

“I didn’t think she’d care.” 

“And now that you know she does…” 

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

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

Why would you still want to push him away?

“Just… talk to her.” 

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

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

“And if I can’t?”

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

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

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

Harry nodded once. 

“I’m serious.” 

“Right.” 

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

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

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

All you could think about was Harry. 

Last night. 

The sex. 

The falling asleep in his arms. 

The fact that he came inside of you. 

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

You both established rules. 

Agreed that you both would follow them. 

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

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

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

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

Because you slipped into your role so easily. 

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” She asked softly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mrs. Castillo—”

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

You felt your breath catch in your throat. 

Tears began to pool at your eyes.

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

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

Right? 

“I don’t know,” you mumbled.

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

“Love—it’s scary, isn’t it?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Were you afraid? Of loving your husband?” 

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

You inhaled sharply.

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

“What?” You asked.

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

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

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

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

“Then be honest with Harry.” 

You nodded. 

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

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

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

“Always, sweetheart.”

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

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” you answered. 

“You’re back early.” 

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” you repeated.

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

“Can we talk?” 

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

“Right.”

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

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

“What?”

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

You sighed. “What did he say?” 

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

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

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

You nodded and looked away from him. 

Slowly, Harry leaned forward. “Baby…”

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

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

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

“Yes, and I think we should—”

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

“Things change,” Harry said. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

“I canceled Adore,” he blurted out. 

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have.”

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

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

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

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

“Baby,” Harry pleaded. 

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

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

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

Even if it was breaking his fucking heart.

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

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

“You okay?” She asked.

“Fine,” he answered. “Drinks?” 

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

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

How could you act like nothing was wrong? 

How could you act normal when his heart was breaking? 

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

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

Peter furrowed a brow. “What?”

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

“Harry, I—”

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

“Y—Yeah,” Peter replied. “Got it.” 

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

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

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

Harry shook his head. “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Baby, I’m so sorry—”

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

You stood from the deck and Harry did too.

He took a step closer.

You took one step back.

“Harry?” His mother said. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love is all about taking risks. 

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

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

Why did everyone else notice this but you and Harry? 

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

It was the day before everything changed. 

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

The day that everything shifted. 

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

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

“Nothing!” 

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

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

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

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

“Harry! Join me in the water!” 

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

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

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

“Harry!” 

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

Then, the video ended. 

You gasped.

You could feel your heart beating out of your chest.

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

He was sure about you. 

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

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

It was you.

It had always been you.

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

Because you said you were done. 

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

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

But you didn’t. 

You kept to yourself. 

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

It was like he didn’t even exist. 

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

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

“Hey—”

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

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

You didn’t look at him. 

And that hurt Harry more. 

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

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

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

Harry nodded. “Fine.” 

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

Go back to what it was before yesterday. 

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

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

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

“Hey,” he smiled. “Where’s Harry?” 

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

“Mind if I join you?”

You bit your lower lip. “Sure.” 

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

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

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

“They were good,” you reasoned. 

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

“About yesterday…” Peter began. 

“What about it?” 

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

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

Peter nodded slowly. “Really?” 

“Yes.” 

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

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

“But you’re still together?” 

“Exactly.” 

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

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

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

“It works for us,” you repeated. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Peter answered. “She is.” 

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

Away from Harry. 

“Harry, hey,” Peter said, waving. 

“Hey.” 

“You look like shit,” he chuckled. 

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

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

“Uh huh.” 

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, no—”

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

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

Peter stared at Harry. 

He did the same. 

“You’re sure—”

“Leave it alone,” Harry interjected. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry nodded. “Yeah.” 

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

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

“And you’re happy?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know that.” 

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

“What? Nothing,” he answered. 

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

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

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

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

“Hm.” 

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

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

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

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

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

And that hurt just as much. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He took a step closer to you. 

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

Because you meant it. 

You meant every word. 

This was done. 

You were done with him. 

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

“There’s nothing to fix.” 

Harry sighed. 

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

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

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

“What does that mean?” 

You sighed. “Nothing.”

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

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

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

“It was a fucking mistake.”

He inhaled sharply. 

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

Harry turned and gripped your arm.

“Let go,” you muttered.

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

“You didn’t.”

“You’re lying.”

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

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

“And after?”

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

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

“Baby—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” He asked.

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

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

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

“Really?” His mother asked. 

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

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

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

You forced a smile.

His mother furrowed a brow in confusion.

Harry clenched his jaw.

Peter cleared his throat. 

“What does that mean?” His mother asked.

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

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

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

His mother started noticing. 

His father did too. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“What’s going on?” She asked.

“Nothing,” Peter answered.

“You’re lying.”

“Mom…”

“What happened?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighed. “I’m distracted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you lied.

He sighed. 

Then, Harry nodded. 

“Fine.” 

“Good.”

He ran a hand over his face. 

“If that’s what you really want—”

“It is,” you lied again. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey you,” she said.

You grinned in her direction. “Hi.”

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

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

“I am. Are you?” 

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

“Honey, are you—are you alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She laughed. “I don’t believe that.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head. “He’s not.”

“He is.”

“I don’t believe it.”

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

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

“I think you do.” 

“I don’t.” 

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

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

“What are you doing?” Peter asked.

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

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

“What does it look like?”

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

“Nothing.”

“You’re a fucking liar.”

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

“Then help me understand.”

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

“She didn’t.”

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

“She thought you were cheating.”

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

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

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

“Then, you were cheating?”

“No,” he sighed. “I wouldn’t ever.” 

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

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

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

“I canceled it yesterday.” Harry sighed. 

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

“Because I’m not.” 

“You’re not what?”

“In a relationship,” Harry confessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry—”

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

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

“Leave me alone.”

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

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

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

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

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

You laughed.

Harry’s jaw clenched. 

“You’re drunk,” he pointed out.

“And seems like you are too.”

“I’m thinking more clearly than you.”

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

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

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

Harry’s straightened up. “What?”

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

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

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

“It isn’t.”

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

“Stop.”

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

“Carlos is family.”

“Sure.”

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

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

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

“That’s funny. You’re funny.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re mine,” he growled. “Say it.”

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

“Please what?”

“God, just fuck me already!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you kept thinking about what his mother said earlier. 

Harry was in love with you. 

And you were in love with him too. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it felt right. 

With you, it always did. 

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

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

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

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

Another rule fucking broken. 

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

“Harry—”

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

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

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

Harry sighed. “I know.” 

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

“Baby…” he whispered. 

“Good night, Harry.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did something happen?” 

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

“I know that,” she sighed. 

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

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

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

Charlotte nodded. “That’s fine.” 

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

Charlotte sighed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It rang a few more times before Lucy picked up. 

“Hello?”

“Lucy, it’s Peter.” 

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

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

“I’m sorry?” 

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

Lucy sighed. “I didn’t mean to—”

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

“Peter, I’m sorry—”

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

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

“Good.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had been crying. 

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

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

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

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

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

“Good night, baby,” he whispered. 

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

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

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

Harry has extended his stay, which makes the rest of your time in Monte-Carlo wonderful. 

Your days are filled with his amazing company, and you take full advantage of all the amenities offered by the luxury resort.

At night you’re taking walks along the promenade where Harry buys you gelato and feeds you bites between kisses.

For the first time in years, his calendar bends to someone else’s whim—yours.

He watches you from across the table at the sprawling garden where you’re having brunch, the scent of blooming flowers and fresh pastries drifting on the breeze.

You laugh at something he said, head tilted back, sunlight catching the necklace resting against your collarbone.

“You and this whole staring thing. If you weren’t so attractive, it’d be kind of creepy,” you tease, popping a blackberry into your mouth. Your bare foot brushes his ankle under the table, innocent… and not.

He reaches across to wipe some of the powdered sugar from the french toast at the corner of your mouth, letting his thumb linger. “I keep thinking I’ll wake up back in my office, realizing this was all a daydream.”

Your eyes trace over his sincere expression. “Then let’s stay in the daydream a little longer, Harry.”

He’s never wanted anything more.

That evening at the renowned Casino de Monte-Carlo, you stand beside him at the roulette table in a silky slip of a dress, your shoulder brushing his arm every time you lean in to place a bet.

He teaches you the rhythm of baccarat, his hand covering yours on the cards, voice low against your ear.

“Feeling lucky?”

“Always.” Your smile is wicked, making him want to pull you into a shadowed alcove and kiss you breathless. So he does just that. 

You haven’t slept together, and somehow that makes every touch and shared glance feel so thrilling.

The wait is its own kind of foreplay.

He’s falling for you and it’s only been what, a couple of days? It’s ridiculous, he reminds himself of that any time he’s alone and you’re not there to distract him from being logical. 

You both have lives to get back to once this is all said and done, so all he can do is push whatever he’s feeling to the side and continue to enjoy the time he does have with you.

You do the same, keeping the real you tucked away along with the ever-growing sentiments he elicits.

This is an escape meant to be free any stress or drama. Nothing but beautiful views, amazing food, and this charming, generous man who looks at you like you painted the stars.

One lazy afternoon, Harry finds you by the resort pool again, film camera in hand as you snap photos of the landscape and architecture that surrounds you.

“Hello gorgeous,” he greets, leaning down to place a kiss at the crown of your head, dropping into the lounger beside yours.

His linen shirt is unbuttoned just enough to show a tempting glimpse of his broad, tanned chest. “I bought something. For us.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “For us? Okay, you’ve got my attention. What is it?”

He chuckles, that rich, warm sound you’re quickly becoming addicted to. “A yacht.” He says it so casually, like purchasing a luxury vessel on a whim is nothing. Your jaw drops.

“Harry… you can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious.” His brown eyes sparkle with mischief and affection. “What do you say? Come out with me this afternoon so you can see it. We can sail along the coast, swim, have lunch on deck…”

The idea is ridiculous. Extravagant. Perfect.

You bite your lip. He’s truly pulling out all the stops, which you don’t mind at all, but you hope that he knows he doesn’t have to flaunt his money like this just to impress you. 

Maybe you should express that to him later, when you’re not buzzing with excitement to actually be out on the water today, and very curious to see what the hell he just bought.

 “I’d love that.”

He loves the way your eyes light up when The Daydreamer comes into view at the marina—a beautiful pearl color with sleek navy lining, polished teak decks, the name painted in elegant golden script.

You practically bounce on your toes as you board, fingers trailing along the railings in awe.

“Harry… this is yours? For real? You just… bought it?” you stop short once you make it to the deck, jaw dropping in pure delight at the view it offers.

This thing must have cost him a fucking fortune.

“For us. For right now.” Seeing you like this makes every penny spent worth it.

“I can’t believe it. She’s absolutely beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he steps closer, hands settling lightly on your waist from behind as you both face the open sea.

“I’d be a fool not to.”

You’re so soft and warm pressed up against him, the breeze sending your perfume straight into his brain like the sweetest aphrodisiac. 

The sexual tension is slowly killing him. He could take you right here, nice and deep, your cries of pleasure swallowed by the sound of waves crashing into each other.

Instead he savors the lead up, not making any moves until you’re comfortable enough to take that next step. If it’s even something you want to do. 

Regardless, he’s content with having you any way in which you’ll let him.

After giving you a tour of the yacht and introducing you to the small crew that’s on board, you set sail.

The sea sparkles under the afternoon sun as you both change into swimwear. He’s taken aback every time he sees you, but when you’re in your pretty little bikinis—Harry has to blink away the lustful visions he has of fucking you while the fabric barely clings to your body.

This time is no different.

“My eyes are up here.”

“I’m not necessarily trying to look at your eyes right now.”

You can’t help but playfully roll your eyes, a flirty smile on your lips as you take his hand in yours and pull him up the stairs and onto the deck where the crew is finishing up anchoring where you’ll be swimming for the afternoon.

Harry watches you dive gracefully off the side, your laughter ringing out as you surface.

He follows, the cool water a shock against heated skin. When you swim to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, legs brushing his underwater, he feels something settle deep in his chest.

This is what he’s been missing. What he was fruitlessly looking for with Lucy. 

Back on deck after being in the beautiful ocean for a few hours, you towel off and slip into a light cover-up, the fabric clinging slightly to your still-damp skin.

Harry looks effortlessly handsome in his swim trunks and unbuttoned shirt, his curly hair tousled by the sea breeze.

The staff has set a beautiful table on the shaded aft deck: chilled prosecco, platters of fresh seafood and bowls of ripe summer fruits.

He feeds you a slice of orange, its juice dripping down his fingers. You catch his wrist gently and lick it clean, eyes trained on him.

“You’re playing a dangerous game here.”

You smile, slow and knowing. “I know.”

As the sun dips lower, painting the horizon in golds and pinks, he feels the words rising—stay with me longer, let me follow you to the next city.

Harry pours more wine into your glass. “So, tell me more about the rest of your trip,” he leans back, looking at you with that warm, attentive gaze that makes your stomach flutter. “Where are you headed after Monaco? What’s the grand plan?”

You take a sip of the crisp beverage, savoring the way it fizzes on your tongue.

“It’s pretty loose,” you admit with a soft laugh, spearing a prawn with your fork. “I’m thinking Portugal next—Lagos, specifically. Those dramatic cliffs and hidden beaches are too beautiful to not experience. Then Ibiza to see if clubbing there is as fun as everyone claims it is.”

His brows raise at that. Harry can already picture you drunk and in a beautiful dress, dancing the night away under colorful strobe lights.

“Sicily for its rich history, and Mykonos to end on something… dreamy. There’s no strict itinerary. Just… chasing the sun, collecting experiences along the way… figuring out what I really want.”

Harry listens intently, a small smile playing on his lips as he watches how charmingly expressive you are.

It stirs something protective and eager in his chest. These past days with you have been a revelation—a lightness he hasn’t felt in years.

He doesn’t want this to end when the weekend does.

“That sounds incredible,” he drains the last of his prosecco as the words from earlier dance on the tip of his tongue again. 

Harry takes your hand in his, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“I like you. A lot. More than I probably should after such a short time.” He chuckles softly, a touch self-deprecating, but his brown eyes hold yours steadily. “I’d love nothing more than to fund the summer trip of your dreams. Flights, hotels, excursions—whatever you need. Regardless if I join you or not. It doesn’t matter to me. No complicated nonsense. I just… I want to make sure you get every bit of joy you’re chasing.”

Your heart skips at his words, warmth blooming across your chest that has nothing to do with the setting sun.

He’s offering the world so casually, like it’s the most natural thing.

Part of you—the careful, guarded part still tangled in a failed marriage back in Texas—knows the risk that comes from this.

But the other part? The one that’s been starved for spontaneity, for real connection, for him… that part wants so much more. 

No expectations except for a good time. You are capable of enjoying the fantasy and slipping away when summer ends.

“Harry… that’s incredibly generous. More than I could ever ask for.” You squeeze his hand. “I don’t want you to think that you need to do all of this to keep me interested.”

“I like spending my money on you.”

Is it materialistic of you for the butterflies in your stomach to go into a frenzy?

This kind of chance—with a man like Harry, on yachts and private adventures—won’t come again.

“These last few days have been so perfect. I can’t imagine chasing the rest of this summer alone now. Not when you make it so much better.”

Relief and joy flood through him as you agree to his proposal.

He stands, pulling you up with him into a slow, deep kiss right there on the deck, the taste of orange citrus and wine lingering between your lips.

His arms wrap around you, holding you close.

“Then it’s settled,” he murmurs against your lips. “We’re doing this. Portugal, Spain, Italy, Greece—all of it. Together.”

The private jet touches down in Faro the following afternoon.

Harry’s hand rests warmly on your thigh the entire flight, his thumb tracing lazy circles that send little sparks dancing across your skin.

You’ve never traveled like this—the private jet is somehow just as ridiculously luxurious as the yacht.

A beautiful antique car waits on the tarmac when you arrive. The driver loads your bags while Harry helps you into the back seat, stealing a quick kiss once the door closes.

Your head rests on his shoulder as you ride to your destination, the scent of his cologne mixing with the salty breeze slipping through the cracked window.

The car winds down a lone coastal road, the rugged cliffs giving way to a hidden stretch of paradise. 

When you finally reach the private beach he’s secured for the stay, your breath catches.

It’s a secluded cove of soft golden sand curving gently into the sea, framed by dramatic ochre cliffs draped in wildflowers and fragrant pines. Waves lap lazily at the shore, the water so clear you can see the pebbles beneath.

A few discreet workers have set up shaded loungers and a cabana with expensive white linens. It feels like your own private slice of heaven—far from the bustling main beaches. 

The Daydreamer waits at the edge of the cove like an old friend, anchored in the gentle shallows, her white hull gleaming against the vivid blue.

You’ll be staying aboard her instead of in a hotel—sailing straight from Lagos to Ibiza at the end of the week.