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I head for the stairs. “I need to talk to Harlow.”
“She’s here?” My brother seems taken aback by that.
“Yeah. She lives here, has for a while. Long story. I’ll explain later. I need a rain check on the workout. I’ll call you when I can.”
Now Trace hesitates. “Maybe you should just walk away, bro. She sounds like she’s been through a lot. And you don’t need drama now.”
“No one ever does. But I think Harlow needs someone to…” What? Soothe her, reassure her, hold her? “At the very least, she needs someone to listen.”
“That someone doesn’t have to be you. She has family or girlfriends, right? Or there’s plenty of other fish in her sea, bro.”
He’s not wrong, but I can’t leave her. “I’ve got this. Seriously, I’ll call you once I’ve talked to her.”
Trace shrugs. He doesn’t like it, but he’s backing off. “Sure. I’ll scram and grab some coffee at that great little diner. Um, can I borrow a ball cap? I lost mine and was followed by two reporters who thought I was you yesterday while I ran errands.”
It happens. We both look so much like our dad. When I glance in the mirror now, I swear I’m looking at a darker-skinned version of the man from my baby photos.
“Sure.” I bound up the stairs to find one. The sooner I get rid of Trace, the sooner I can confront Harlow. Once I pluck one from my suitcase, I toss it his way over the railing. “That work?”
He settles the new cap I picked up at the airport on his head, tags and all. It simply readsHawaii. “Perfect. Thanks. Catch you later.”
“Take it easy, man.”
With a nod, my brother is gone. I turn around and head back up the stairs, directly to Harlow’s door, trying to get my questions—and my shit—under control. It’s not working. I know this conversation will probably be long and ugly. But I push my way into her bedroom, refusing to put it off for another moment.
As the door squeaks open, I step into shadow. Sunlight is beginning to seep under the blinds in the room, enough to see Harlow splayed on her back across her bed, one hand over her chest, one dainty foot peeking out from the covers. She’s wearing a simple cotton nightgown in a maroon color that readsI’m not always sarcastic. Sometimes I’m asleep.
Even when she’s at her most vulnerable, Harlow still has her defenses up.
I hate to wake her. I don’t know what to say, if I even have the right to demand answers. After thirty-six hours in the sack, I’m not entitled to much, but I think she deserves to know that her name is all over the press and the video of her wedding has gone viral.
Sitting on the edge of the bed next to her, I have to resist the urge to touch her—cup her soft cheek, cradle the intriguing curve of her hip—something. But I don’t. I have to wonder if the fact she’s sleeping alone is supposed to tell me that she only wants to be touched when there’s sex involved. Of course I’ll challenge that later. But now I just want answers.
“Harlow?”
She groans and blinks, pushing thick curls off her shoulder as she slowly sits up with a frown. “Noah? What time is it? What’s going on?”
“The press ran with those pictures they snapped of us last night. I started getting phone calls a half hour ago.” I pause, try to decide how best to get answers without becoming the enemy. “They figured out who you are and—”
“They’re talking about what happened last weekend, aren’t they?” She shakes her head with a bitter smile, looking wide awake. “So of course you know, too.”
“Yeah.”
She crosses her arms over her chest protectively. “I had my reasons for breaking things off with him.”
“Absolutely. Any particular reason you didn’t mention Simon to me at all?”
“He’s a dick, and the whole wedding was a fiasco. I don’t want to talk about him. Besides, you have problems of your own. I didn’t see why you’d care.”
Of course she didn’t. But I do care…though I doubt she’d believe me. “He is a dick, and I do have my own problems but not so many that I can’t give you an ear or a shoulder or a hand to hold if you want it.”
Her face relaxes a fraction. “You’re not going to call me a heinous bitch?”
“Your ex is the one who fucked around on you, and he deserved everything you dished out and more.”
“Not everyone thinks so. When I announced to friends and acquaintances on social media that I hadn’t gone through with the marriage, some were both creative and vicious in finding new ways to tell me I’m self-centered and immature.”
“Social media gives a voice to that small but vocal minority of mean people who have nothing better to do than assert their unsolicited opinions. I’m sure the people who truly know you are behind you.”
