A knot in my stomach deepens. Regardless of what I thought at the bar—and let’s be honest, when Liam’s involved, I’mnotthinking much these days—it’d be selfish of me to cockblock him with my problems if he really were interested. “I appreciate your dedication to our situation, but you didn’t have to say no if you wanted to go—I mean, she’s totally your type, and I shouldn’t have tried to get in the way.”
Liam slides his amber eyes on me, pulling his attention off the tower. “You thinkthat’smy type?”
“Maybe not to a T, but come on, it’sHarmony.She’s gorgeous.”
“That’s not really where my attention was, so I’ll take your word for it.”
“That’s fair. You were probably too busy focusing on getting out of the situation as fast as possible, huh?”
He snorts. “No, Peaches, that wasn’t where it was either.”
“Where exactly was your attention, then?” A nervous, chaotic energy whirls through me, and I’m surprised I summoned the courage to ask that question out loud.
In a perfect, romantic mirror of this world, he’d grab my hand, swing me into him, bring his hand up to my cheek, and with a desperate softness, whisper “on you.”
A shiver flashes through his soft gaze resting on my face. Like he knows what I want, and he can’t provide me with that kind of satisfaction because this is the real world where dreams go to die.
“Why would you ask that?” He glances over my shoulder, unable to meet my eyes, and I chide myself for making this even more awkward.
Any response halts with a firm tug on my hand that pulls me into his orbit. His right hand softly caresses my cheek, and I blink back to reality. Nothing changes. My cheek still rests delicately in the palm of his hand. Shimmers stream down my spine. Butterflies flutter around in a free-for-all.
“It’s always right here,” he says.
My heart stops dead. Cause of death, impossible swooning.
“I don’t get it—” A familiar voice carries over the chatter around us, and my shoulders deflate.
This is an act.
This is an act for Harmony.
He’sacting.
Maybe if I repeat that enough times I’ll actually remember.
“She used to be cute, I guess. But now it’s like if Shrek and Strawberry Shortcake had a baby, and he’s gorgeous,” Harmony practically shouts. She was never great with voice modulation and lost in the crowd, there’s no way she knows how close she is.
“She probably gives good head,” the second voice supplies with a cackle.
I glance over my shoulder. Oh holy Jean Hagen, no.
Standing five feet behind me, clad in a champagne sequins dress, hitting just above the knee, is a familiar face that’s haunted my dreams, murdering both me and the French language on several occasions in the past week.
Harmony 2.0.
The Métro rider less affectionately known as Red Beret. Hell, I can’t deal with two Harmonies tonight.
They’re still searching for us. We have time.
“Hide me,” I whisper, regretting this entire escapade.
Liam tugs on my hand, pulling me toward the platform’s edge lined with statues on towering pedestals. He cages me with his body against one of the bases as I fight back the tears burning inside my lids. I can’t hold them back much longer. I’m too tired, overwhelmed, and frankly, still in pain. So I’m going to have to accept that sometimes crying happens.
“Ignore them.” He wipes a tear away with his thumb.
“They’re not wrong.” I laugh, trying to regain my composure. I’ve cried more in front of Liam in the past week than I ever let myself in the past.
“Seriously, Peaches. You’re beautiful.”
