Lifting our joined hands, he releases mine to turn it palm-up, his brows knitting together in concentration as he folds my third and fourth fingers down, leaving my index, pinky, and thumb extended.
“I think this is the sign for it.” His cheeks flush faintly, his fingers trembling as they hold mine with such sincerity, my chest cracks open. Something warm and earnest rips straight through my ribs. For a second, I can’t breathe. Can’t think. The sheer shock of what I’m seeing from the man who keeps every emotion barricaded behind his incredibly high walls nearly knocks me to my knees.
He loves me. And he tried to communicate it to me in a language special to my heart. And he loves me. Holy shit.
A sound escapes me, stuck somewhere between a laugh and a sob, as I launch forward to fling my arms around his shoulders. He catches me instantly, hands clamping around my waist with a desperate kind of reverence, fingers curling in as though he’s terrified I might disappear if he loosens his grip. I press my mouth to his in a rush of need and disbelief, kissing him with everything that’s been building in my chest. Every hope, every fear, every moment I thought he’d never let me in, it’s palpable between the clashing of our lips.
Rhys answers with a low, guttural groan that vibrates straight through me, a sound that says he’s done fighting this, done fightingus. For the first time, he isn’t holding himself back.He’s finally let himself want this as much as I do. He’s finally accepted love into his hardened heart.
His arms cinch tighter, lifting me just enough that my toes leave the floor, pulling me flush against the heat of him. He pours himself into the kiss like he’s starving, baring his soul to me in a way I never thought he would. When I finally break away for air, our chests heave in time with one another.
“I love you too,” I whisper against his lips. Rhys’ exhale shivers through both of us, and he presses one more soft kiss to my mouth before resting his forehead against mine.
“Come on,” he murmurs, voice rough with too many feelings he’s still learning how to handle. “Before they break something expensive.” A giggle escapes me, and as we step into the hallway together, the air suddenly feels different, lighter in the way that only a woman who is loved can understand.
A bubble of uncontainable laughter slips out of me, and as we step into the hallway side by side, something subtle shifts in the air. The kind of shift that settles in my body, bolstering me in a way that only being chosen, loved, and cherished can.
Chapter Twenty Three
Addy throws her head back and cackles, the kind of laugh that fills a whole room and makes it impossible not to join her. She’s just potted a third snooker ball in a row, and she’s not being quiet about it. Rhys rolls his eyes, snatches the cue from her, and lines up for a powerful strike that sends the remaining balls scattering. None quite make it into the side pockets, but he isn’t focused anyway. Between shots, he drifts back to Harper, visibly drawing comfort from her soft touches.
From the armchair I’m settled in, I drink from the beer bottle in my hand. Before Fiona left for the evening, all of the staff retreating to their on-site accommodation, she stopped by to let me know there’s beer in the refrigerator for us. I reckon it was a ploy to keep us out of Phillip’s cellar, but Rhys isn’t inclined to care. He’s throwing back shots of vintage cognac.
Watching on with rapt interest, Harper’s hand slides up Rhys’ arm to squeeze his bicep, then settles between his shoulder blades. It doesn’t take a genius to notice the shift between them, but unlike Addy, I’m not going to comment on it.
“You might start winning if you can leave Harper alone for five seconds,” Addy wiggles her brows at me over the table,spinning the cue between her fingers. Rhys grunts something under his breath, but Harper just smiles. My chest tightens at the sight, not with jealousy, but with a strange ache that comes from watching something fragile take shape in front of me.
I’d never have believed Rhys could be tamed if I weren’t here to witness it, and that opens all realms of possibilities for the future. If he’s not the asshole I’m always fighting against, I can focus on being what Harper needs. Or rather, what I bring to this trio that Harper can’t find elsewhere. What he can’t give her.
Thanks to Addy’s skill for the game, the last few balls disappear in quick succession. She celebrates by using her cue as an air guitar, complete with a soundtrack she makes up on the spot. It’s only when a yawn fights its way through that she stops and drops the cue onto the table.
“Okay, I’m officially beat. I haven’t slept in a real bed since yesterday morning, and the buses I rode here had too many crying babies to count. Rhys, be a dear and show me where I’ll be staying.”
Rhys huffs, draining the last of his cognac and setting the glass down with a little more force than necessary. He looks torn between pretending he didn’t hear her and equally wanting to be rid of her so he can get back to Harper. After a beat, the thought of ditching her in a guest room for the night wins out.
“Fine,” he mutters. “Follow me.” Addy grins like she’s just won something, trotting after him as he heads for the door. Just before she disappears into the hallway, Addy turns back and quickly flashes her hands at Harper, fingers flying in words that I can’t catch. Harper does though, her lips pressing together as she fails to hold back a laugh.
“Do I even want to know?” I ask, placing my beer down on a table beside my armchair. Harper’s green eyes sparkle with mischief as she makes her way over and lowers into my lap.
“Probably not. Just Addy being mischievous.” Harper’s arms curl around my neck, her fingers slipping into my hair, and I reckon I could give Addy’s message a logical guess. Something like, attend to Clayton whilst I keep Rhys occupied. I’ll have to remember to thank her later.
For now, my attention is on the way Harper curls into me like a perfect fit, her head fitting into the crook of my neck, her hair brushing my jaw. I breathe her in without thinking, grounding myself in something that feels real in a house that seems built to swallow people whole. My arms band around her, wrapping us in a cocoon of warmth that’s solely ours.
In the space around the snooker table, which has an overhead light intended to only illuminate the green felt, the lounge is dim. Shadows stretch across carpet and velvet, the furniture arranged like a showroom instead of a living space. I rest my chin lightly against the crown of her head, my arm tightening around her as if to say, you are safe, and I am not going anywhere. There is something in the way she exhales that tells me she’s holding onto something, and I give her the time to turn the words over in her mind.
“Rhys told me he loves me,” she finally whispers, the words pressed into my chest rather than thrown into the air. I consider this for a moment, the information settling between my ribs with a strange sense of relief. Sure, I figured I’d be first to say it out loud, but being in the manor has no doubt spurred Rhys to face the truths he’s been trying to outrun.
“Well,” I murmur, tipping my head back just enough to look down at her face. “He finally found his balls then.” Harper snorts despite herself, the tension easing a fraction as her fingers curl into my shirt. I know what’s swirling in the depth of her green eyes, the weight of uncertainty swirling overhead. However, that familiar ache that has nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with inevitability.
“So…where does that leave us?” Harper asks, her gaze searching mine. Her grip on my T-shirt tightens further, and it all starts to make sense. She’s expecting me to run, to set her aside and leave. Had this been even a month ago, she would have been right. I couldn’t see a way forward with Rhys being…well, Rhys. But everything is different now, I’m different.
“Exactly where we should be,” I answer without hesitation, my thumb tracing a slow, absent circle against her hip. “If my feelings for you aren’t clear already, I’m doing something very wrong.”
“They are clear,” Harper is quick to reassure me, and the knot in my chest loosens in response. Then her expression shifts, the softness giving way to worry as her brows knit together. “That being said, I am worried about Rhys. He’s tiptoeing into new territory, and it’s leaving him even more exposed than usual. When he’s raw like that, he doesn’t shy away from being vulnerable. He lashes out in spite of it.”
I nod because I have been thinking the same thing. Watching Rhys’ moods sway between tenderness and barely restrained fury is one thing. Being on the receiving end is another situation entirely. Now he’s said the big L word, he’s likely to be even more on edge. Love seems to scare him more than any threat ever could.
“I’ve been considering the same thing,” I admit quietly. “His father will return in a few days, and Rhys is barely holding himself together as it is.”
