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“Let’s give him some space,” I suggest, my gaze drifting back to Harper.
“So, what are your plans for tomorrow?” Hudson asks, breaking the silence and attempting to lighten the mood.
Harper hesitates before answering. “I was planning to visit my mother.”
“Ah,” I say, understanding the reluctance in her voice. Her relationship with her mother isn’t exactly smooth sailing. “Do you want some company? I’d be happy to go with you.”
She shakes her head, smiling weakly. “Thanks, Benedict, but it’s something I need to handle alone.”
“Come on, Harper,” Hudson interjects, standing up and brushing off his pants. “We’re not going to let you face that alone. Besides, I’ve got nothing else planned for tomorrow.”
“Actually, me neither,” I chime in, seizing the opportunity to pull Harper close. My fingers trace over the curve of her cheek as I shower her with gentle kisses. “Please, let us come with you. We’ll behave, I promise.”
Her breath hitches, and I can feel the temptation pulling at her resolve. But she hesitates, torn between wanting our support and fearing what might happen if we accompany her.
“Harper,” Hudson says softly, moving closer and placing his hand on her shoulder, “we’re here for you, no matter what. And we want to be there when things get tough.”
I can see her wavering, the desire for companionship battling against her instinct to protect us from the potential fallout of her strained family dynamic. In the end, it’s the raw need for support that wins out.
“Okay,” she relents, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “But I’m warning you, it won’t be pleasant.”
“Nothing we can’t handle,” I assure her, pressing one last kiss to her cheek before releasing her from my embrace.
18
HARPER
The soft yet insistent knocking makes me rub my eyes and sit up in bed. The late hour causes a knot of anxiety to form in my stomach, but I quickly brush it off and make my way over to the door, my bare feet padding against the cold hardwood floor.
I take a deep breath and open the door, my heart skipping a beat as I find Antonio standing there. He looks different than he usually does, darker and more stoic. His dark hair is disheveled, as if he’s run his fingers through it multiple times out of frustration, and his eyes hold an intensity that both frightens and excites me.
“Antonio?” I ask hesitantly, my voice wavering slightly. “What are you doing here?”
“Let me in, Harper,” he urges, not bothering with pleasantries. Despite the roughness in his voice, I can’t help but notice how my name rolls off his tongue like silk, sending shivers down my spine.
I turn around to look at the clock with a frown on my face. “Antonio, it’s four in the morning, and I?—”
“This isn’t a conversation you want to have in the hallway, trust me.” His words make it clear that he’s not giving me a choice.
“Um…okay,” I stammer, stepping aside to let him in. I close the door behind him, trying to steady my racing heart. As I turn around to face him, I’m struck by just how attractive he is, even with the worry etched into his features. The memory of our passionate encounter flashes through my mind, causing heat to rise in my cheeks.
“Harper, we need to talk,” Antonio says, his voice carrying a weight that makes my stomach clench.
That doesn’t sound like the start to a good conversation.
As I stand facing Antonio in the dimly lit room, my worries begin to race uncontrollably. Does he regret our scorching-hot threesome? Worse still, what if he’s planning to kick me out because of it? My chest tightens at the thought.
“Antonio…I’m sorry,” I stammer, the words spilling from my lips before I can stop them. “Maybe we shouldn’t have…you know, in the boutique dressing room.” My voice is thick with uncertainty and fear. “If you regret it, or if it changes things between us, I understand.”
He looks at me for a moment, his eyes searching mine as though trying to decipher my thoughts. “Harper, that’s not why I’m here.”
I let out a shaky breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Relief floods through me, making my legs wobble slightly. Still, I can’t shake the nagging feeling that something else is wrong.
“Then, what is it?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’re scaring me, Antonio.” I hate the vulnerability in my tone, but I can’t help it. He’s never acted like this before.
He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a plastic bag, holding it between us like a fragile secret. Inside, I see charred remains of fabric, blackened and twisted.
I frown. “What is that?”
