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He pulls my hand away from his mouth and lowers it, giving it a tight squeeze before letting go.
“I should go check on the laundry,” he says, his gaze leaving mine and staring across the harbor.
I’m certain that the laundry isn’t dry yet, but he obviously wants out of this situation. He gets to his feet and stares down at me. “Are you staying here?”
I shake my head. It’s so nice on the dock, but I have groceries to put away.
He puts his hand out and I put my hand in his, and he effortlessly lifts me to my feet.
With the dock slanted and unsteady to begin with, I rock a little on my feet, and his other hand shoots around to the small of my back, holding me in place.
Holding me against him.
His other hand lets go of mine and then slides into my hair, fingers gently working in through my strands, cupping the back of my head.
Friday night plays through my mind again, except this time we’re not in the dark of my bedroom in the middle of the night and he’s not disoriented and drunk. We’re on the dock, in the bright open sunshine, and judging by the searing clarity in his eyes, he’s sober as anything.
“I don’t know what to do about you,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting across my face, settling on my cheekbones, my nose, my mouth.
I have a hard time swallowing. “What do you mean?” I whisper, afraid that if I talk anymore, any louder, that I’ll break this spell.
He presses his lips together, as if to keep the words inside. He shakes his head slightly, his brow crinkled. “If I were a lesser man, I’d kiss you right now.”
I blink at him, my lips burning at the suggestion, my stomach doing flips.
My god.
“If I were a lesser man, I’d gladly lose control,” he goes on, his voice low and rough and aching. “I would throw all caution to the wind, and I would give in and never look back.” He gives me a faint smile. “But I don’t want to be that man. That’s not who I am; that’s not who I’ve worked all my life to be. You deserve the best, Piper, but I can’t give you the best, can’t give you what you really need. It’s better if I stay away.”
Wait. Wait, what?
“Stay away?” I whisper, his fingers making a light fist in my hair, and oh god, it’s impossible to keep steady.
“I like you a lot,” he says, closing his eyes, still pressing me against him. “I like you more than I can come to terms with right now. It’s . . . a foreign feeling. But it’s not one that I can afford to feel. Especially when it comes to you.”
He leans in and kisses my cheek, slow and lingering, and then pulls back.
Lets go of me.
I am bereft without his touch.
“What if it’s not up to you?” I say quickly as he turns around, feeling panic claw through me. “What if I feel something for you too? Doesn’t that make a difference? Don’t I make a difference?”
He stops and glances at me over his shoulder. “It makes all the difference, Piper. And that’s the problem.”
Then he walks over to the stairs, leaving me on the dock with my heart at my feet and an aching emptiness in my chest.
Fifteen
Harrison wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to stay away.
It’s been nearly two weeks since I’ve seen him.
In that time, I’ve hung out on the boat with Monica twice (and it’s always James who fetches me), I’ve been to Victoria to see my therapist, I’ve gone into town nearly every day, just to be there and take up space and enjoy the summer (my therapist agrees that it’s something worth doing just to get more confidence).
And my mother has come back around.
At least, we’re on speaking terms again, and her mood is steadily improving each day. My therapist gave me some helpful reminders about how to deal with her, and those have been working so far. There’s a thin line between being supportive and being aggressive to my mother, and I know it’s a line I cross too often when I get impatient. Even if it comes from a good place, my mother doesn’t see it that way.
I like that I feel closer to Monica, and she seems to want me around (though I remind myself it probably has something to do with my being the only friend she has here), and I’m grateful for that. It’s a slow-building friendship, but I’m in no hurry, and I often forget at times just who she is. We have a lot in common regarding our families, and even though I’ll never understand what it’s like to be a royal, let alone famous, I can still relate to her.
