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“Come!” Cormac called.
Harper’s eyebrows rose sharply, until Cormac’s dog trotted up the stairs and she realised the command had not been for her.
Cormac and dog disappeared inside the double front doors as if they’d done so a thousand times before. Which they likely had.
Rumour had it that Cormac had moved into the Chadwicks’ pool house right after high school. Then he and Grayson had gone on to take law together at Melbourne University before Grayson had taken his place on the board of his family’s behemoth company, while Cormac opened up his own firm, servicing one client: the Chadwick family.
By the look of things, insinuating himself had been a smart move. As Harper made her way up the front steps, she wondered how much of his soul he’d had to give up to do it.
None of which made Harper feel any better about the fact that her little sister was about to marry into that world, that family, for good.
Well, she’d see about that.
Through the impressive two-storey foyer, walls unexpectedly lined with some pretty fabulous modern art, Harper kept eyes front as she followed Cormac up one side of a curling double staircase.
She found him in a large bedroom suite, leaning against a chest of drawers as he played with his dog’s ear.
Her bags had been placed by a padded bench at the end of a plush king-sized bed. Sunshine poured through large windows draped with fine muslin, picking out shabby-chic furnishings and duck-egg-blue trim. A vase of fresh gardenias sent out the most glorious scent.
The room was elegant and cool. It suited her to a T.
Lola, she thought, her chest tightening, knowing Cormac hadn’t been kidding. Her little sister had decorated the room with her in mind.
Harper slowly unwrapped the tie around her waist and hung her coat over the back of a padded chair, leaving her in a neat cream shift with a kick at the hem and her ubiquitous heels.
Cormac cleared his throat. She looked his way to find him watching her, his deep, rich brown eyes still holding the glint of affection he held for his hound.
“So,” she managed, “am I meant to stay in here until Lola arrives, or have you been given further instruction as to what to do with me?”
Something flickered across his eyes, but was gone before she could take its measure. His hands slid into the front pockets of his jeans, framing all he had going on down there. Not that she looked. Then he pointed a thumb over his shoulder towards the door. “You hungry?”
“I’m fine,” Harper lied, for she was starved. Sharing a meal was a tactic she often used mid-negotiation to soften up the combatants. And she would not be softened. Not by him.
“Then I guess we could stand here making awkward conversation till someone gets home.”
Harper glanced deliberately at her watch. It was two in the afternoon. On a Monday. “I vote no.”
“Hmm. Big shock.” He took a step towards the door. “If we’re up to our throats in my famous ham and mustard sandwiches there’ll be no need to make small talk. Let me make you something. Let me feed you.”
She wondered how often that line worked. By the gleam in his eye, probably every time. She actually found herself wavering towards his suggestion when a bang, a crash, a flurry of voices preceded the thunder of feet taking the stairs two at a time.
Then a whirlwind of blonde hair, yoga gear and running shoes rushed through the door and launched itself at her.
Harper’s knees hit the back of her bed as she fell, laughing despite herself.
While Lola hung on tight and cried, “You’re here! You’re really here!”
After a quick mental scan to make sure nothing was broken, Harper hugged Lola back. Hard. Drinking in the feel of her little sister, the hitch of her voice, the scent of her skin.
She squeezed her eyes shut tight when she felt the sting of tears. Not now. Not here. Not with an audience. Their story had always been a personal one. The two of them against the world.
“Of course I’m here,” Harper said through the tight clutch at her throat. “Now get off me before I crumple. Or before you bruise yourself. You are getting married this weekend, you know.”
Lola rolled away, landing on her back. “I’m getting married this weekend.”
Harper hauled herself to sitting, fixed her dress and swiped both hands over her hair. “So the rumour goes.”
