Then I hear. "Victor, I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute."
"Harper. Let me in."
"This is the women's room?—"
"I don't care. Let me in."
More silence. Then the lock clicks.
I push open the door to find Harper sitting on the small velvet bench near the vanity, her face in her hands.
I lock the door behind me.
"Talk to me," I say.
"I'm fine."
"You're clearly not fine. You've been gone for fifteen minutes. What's wrong?"
She looks up, and her eyes are red-rimmed. "I just—the pressure of tonight. All those people watching. Judging. Waiting for me to prove I'm not a disaster."
"You're not a disaster."
"Aren't I? I'm behind on rent, drowning in my father's medical bills, and the board thinks I'm a distraction who's going to cost you your job."
"The board doesn't know shit.”
"They know enough." She stands, pacing the small space. "Patricia Franklin cornered me earlier. Asked about my employment history. Made pointed comments about how 'convenient' it was that I got hired at StreamEats."
"She's fishing. Trying to rattle you."
"Well, it worked."
I cross to her, taking her shoulders. "Harper. Look at me."
She does, reluctantly.
"I don't care what Patricia Franklin thinks. I don't care what the board thinks. I care about you. And I need you to tell me the truth—what is that I should know? What on earth is this thing that you're still not telling me?"
The question hangs between us.
I can see her warring with herself, see the fear and the guilt and the desperation all playing across her face.
Her hazel gaze lowers before flicking back up. “I don’t know. I just?—“
"Whatever it is, just tell me. Because the not knowing is worse than anything you could actually say."
She sighs, her chest rising and falling fast.
"I need more time," she says finally. "I promised I'd tell you everything. And I will. Soon. I just?—“
I notice she’s shaking—literally shaking, and I can’t help myself. I reach for her. Pulling her against me, I cradle her head, as she sinks into my chest.
She exhales, and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. Her face tilts up to look at me, and the air between us starts to shift—morph from comfort into something else entirely.
Her hands rise, sliding slowly into my hair, and on my end, my fingers lower to her waist, wrapping around her body and pulling her even closer.
"Victor," she breathes. "We should—we should get back to the gala."
