I straighten my shoulders as Emily rings the doorbell of the Harper family home. The massive wooden door swings open, revealing Ethan's grinning face—a smile far too wide and cheerful for someone who's been a dick almost the whole trip.
"Ladies! And Sebastian. Welcome!" He steps aside with an exaggerated flourish that makes my skin crawl. Something about his demeanor feels off.
We step into the grand foyer with its soaring ceilings and antler chandelier. The Harper’s mountain home is all rustic luxury—stone floors, exposed timber beams, and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the snow-covered mountains just like ours. A massive fireplace dominates one wall, crackling with flames that cast dancing shadows across the space. Expensive art depicting Western landscapes hangs on every wall, and the air smells of pine, cinnamon, and something savory cooking.
Laughter echoes from another room—presumably the kitchen or dining area—and Ethan gestures for us to follow the sound.
"Let me take your coats, ladies." Ethan reaches for my jacket first, his fingers lingering on my shoulders a beat too long. He does the same for Emily, but when Bash moves to hand over his coat, Ethan simply points to a nearby rack.
"You can put it there."
The slight is unmistakable. I glance at Bash, whose jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Our eyes meet, and protectiveness flares inside me. Without hesitation, I reach for his hand, lacing my fingers through his. The warmth of his palm against mine feels like a lifeline.
I squeeze his hand, trying to ease the muscle ticking in his jaw.
Look happy, be happy.
I heard Tyler's words through the bathroom door last night. The way he told Bash not to waste what was happening between us.
Bash looks down at our joined hands, then back at me, surprise evident on his face.
"Is this okay?" I whisper.
"Yes," he replies, but the smile that follows doesn't reach his eyes. It's tinged with something that looks too much like resignation for my comfort.
We follow Ethan into a great room that opens to a dining area, where both our families are gathered around a massive oak table. Mrs. Harper is setting down a steaming dish of her delicious lasagna, while my mother tosses some fresh salad. Mr. Harper and my dad are deep in conversation about something that's making them both laugh.
"Look who's here!" Ethan announces.
Everyone turns, offering greetings and smiles that range from genuine to something I can't quite read from Olivia. I'm still trying to interpret her expression when she springs from her chair and beelines toward me.
"Charlie!" she exclaims, throwing her arms around me in a hug that forces me to drop Bash's hand. "I'm so glad to see you"
I freeze, stunned by this unexpected display of affection from a woman who's spent the entire trip making passive-aggressive comments about my relationship history. I awkwardly pat her back, meeting Emily's equally confused gaze over Olivia's shoulder.
"Come let's sit," she insists, pulling away and tugging me toward the table. "I saved you a spot."
Before I can protest, I'm being steered to a chair. The seating arrangement feels deliberate.
"So, Charlie," Olivia leans in close, her voice hushed with artificial intimacy. "I've been dying to ask about your marketing firm. Do you handle any beauty clients? Because I've been thinking about launching a skincare line."
I take a sip of wine, buying time. This sudden interest in my career after days of thinly veiled insults feels like walking into a trap.
"We have a few," I answer vaguely.
"Well, I'd love your professional opinion on my business plan sometime," she continues, her smile tight. "Maybe we could do lunch when we're back in the city?"
"Maybe," I reply.
My mother catches my eye and mouths ‘be nice,’ clearly thrilled at this apparent olive branch between us.
I force a smile that feels like a grimace, wondering what game she's playing—and how quickly I can extract myself from it.
"So anyway, I was thinking something organic and sustainable, but luxurious," she continues, gesturing with perfectly manicured nails. "Like Goop, but accessible. Does that make sense as a brand identity?"
I nod vaguely.
"I mean, I already have thousands of Instagram followers." She says, touching my arm to reclaim my attention. "That's organic reach, you know? No paid promotion."
