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But our differences didn’t make me like him any less. And of course it wasn’t just because he was attractive, even though that helped. Harry was attentive and sweet, even down to coming out here to check on me. He was funny, goofy, flirty—I’d never met another person like him. Unique.
In a world full of gold cufflinks and diamond bracelets, he was a breath of fresh air.
Harry still held on to my hands, and when I looked closer at him, I noticed the goosebumps on his arms, dotting his skin.
“I should get going,” I murmured, even though I wanted to do the very opposite. I wanted to stay with them and chat the day away. “Thank you for inviting me, even though I couldn’t stay. I…I had a nice time.”
And that was true, even though I’d been a little intimidated by Natasha at first.
“I’m happy I could see you. Even though you coerced me into trying that goo nastiness.”
I watched him for a moment, debating on following through with what I wanted to do. Ultimately, I did.
I pulled my hands from his and wrapped them around his waist, settling into a goodbye hug. His heartbeat thumped unevenly in his chest, right underneath my ear. For a moment, we just held each other. It felt sogoodto be held like this, a simple hug goodbye feeling like so much more. Iwantedit to be so much more.
When I pulled back, our faces were so, so close. Maybe it was what Margot had said at Gilfman, but suddenly I could only think about what it’d be like to kiss him.
His bottom lip wasn’t as full as his top, but both were perfectly rosy. They matched his cheek color, redness shading them from either the cold or something else. These were the lips that brushed the microphone when he sang. The lips that stretched into every smile that made my stomach flutter. The lips that were so, so close to mine.
Of course Margot had to talk about kissing earlier. I couldn’t think about anything else.
Wait, my brain ordered frantically, and more thoughts rushed in.
Even though Margot told me to, I couldn’t kiss him without telling him the truth. What if he freaked out about Destelle and Stella? What if he thought it was weird and not worth the trouble and never wanted to see me again? Kissing him and then having him decide I’m not worth it would be…horrible.
Without warning, I jerked back from him so severely that my shoes tripped over an uneven patch of sidewalk, nearly sending me stumbling.
“I like you,” he all but blurted out, a slight chuckle coming after that. His hand rose to touch his throat then, following the outline of his tattoo. “I think you’re fun and sweet and beautiful, and I don’t want to screw anything up.”
Okay, my breath? Totally gone now. Totally evaporated from my lungs.Beautiful, he’d said, straightforward and sure.Fun.
Maybe kissing him was worth the risk.
But following the flood of happiness came a sweep of sadness. He wasn’t calling me fun and beautiful. He was sayingStellawas.
“Harry, I…” What would I say?Harry, I’m actually two different people. Or, according to Margot, I’m one person who sometimes dresses in black. And wears a wig. It sounds like I’m crazy, but I swear I’m not. I needed to come out and tell him about it, but I couldn’t. The idea terrified me almost as much as the thought of telling Mom and Dad.
Something like understanding flashed across Harry’s eyes then, soft and genuine, but I couldn’t figure out why. Had he been able to guess? But then he spoke, words gentle. “Stella, it’s okay. Really. If you don’t feel the same—”
“Your ice cream is melting.” Natasha hopped out onto the sidewalk with both my and Harry’s ice cream cups in her hands, unknowingly interrupting a moment. When she noted our serious expressions, she froze. “All good?”
“All’s good,” I said quickly, taking my cup from her grip. My face had to be a wave of red—it definitely felt like it. “I have to go. Can you tell Addy and Vincent goodbye for me?”
Natasha nodded slowly, trying to read my expression. “Yeah, sure.”
Harry looked at me as if he wanted to say more, but ultimately decided against it. “Drive safe.”
And it was like a door closing, effectively ending the conversation.
Margot was wrong. I couldn’t carry on dating Harry without telling him the truth. Maybe he wouldn’t care less about Destelle and Stella and all that, but all the what ifs made me hesitate. And besides, even if I told him everything, what would that change? He’d said before that he hadn’t been looking to date.
What if he found out the truth and thought I was too much effort?
I hurried toward my car, mind racing. I needed to come clean about the whole dual personality thing before we went any further.
And before he moved on.
