“It doesn’t always have to be all or nothing with the three of us.I love you just as much as Rhys does. As long as you’re happy, safe, and taken care of, that’s all that matters to me.”
I blink, water stinging my eyes as overwhelming joy settles low in my stomach. Leaning into him, I catch Rhys watching us, his expression mirroring the same quiet certainty, the same unspoken promise.
Firstly, wow, someone has been practicing his signing. Secondly, how on earth have we ended up here? The road has been long and brutal, entwined with twists I never saw coming and pain I never thought I’d survive. However, standing between them now with the water washing away all of the distractions, I finally let myself breathe because the truth couldn’t be simpler. I’m one hell of a lucky girl.
Chapter Thirty Four
If I told myself six months ago that I would be sitting in Rhys’ frat house living room, in a monkey suit with a half-empty pizza box and our shared girlfriend twirling around in a white gown, I'd have insisted that I’d lost my damn mind. Yet here we are, worlds away from the simple academy life I was seeking.
“Are you sure about this?” Harper pauses mid-turn, the skirt of the dress still swaying around her calves as she frowns at Rhys. “It’s all so…sudden.” He sighs, rolling his shoulders as if loosening a weight only he can feel, fingers tugging absently at the cuffs of his shirt. Then, deliberately, he drops to one knee beside the coffee table and lifts the open box that’s been sitting there untouched for the past half hour.
“Harper,” he breathes almost sternly. “I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m just asking that you pick a dress to match this tie.” She exhales through her nose, lips twisting as she steps closer, her fingers drifting to trace the edge of the fabric.
“It’s a big decision considering that the tie costs more than some people make in a year. Do I match the black backdrop, or the ivory of the paisley pattern? Or, if you tilt it toward the light,you can see hints of silver. I’ve never had to worry about fitting into an exclusive gala before.”
She blinks at him with genuine concern. On the face of it, anyone would think Harper is being either shallow, awkward or both. What they wouldn’t know is that we’re gearing up for war, and the smart clothes lining the racks that have taken over the living room are our armor.
“Whatever you choose will look beautiful,” Rhys drawls, an edge of impatience to his tone, “as long as it’s one of those dresses on that rack that I’ve already shortlisted.” His inked finger points to the rail blocking the fireplace.
Right on cue, the front door swings open and shuts again, boots thudding against the floorboards as Addy bobs in. Her pink hair flickers as she stops short, taking in the sight of Rhys on one knee, Harper in white and the racks of dresses like some unholy bridal boutique exploded in the living room. She pulls the sucker from her mouth with a loud pop and grins.
“What alternative reality show have I just stepped into? Love is Blind, Deaf and Stupid?”
“Oh ha, ha,” Harper drawls sarcastically, but there’s a glint of humor in her eyes as she rolls them. Rhys huffs, snapping the tie box shut and almost taking Harper’s fingers with it. Shrugging, Addy throws herself over the back of the sofa rather than just walking around it. I swear she does everything in her power to piss Rhys off, and she succeeds every time.
Harper retreats to the rack, chewing on her lip as she slides hangers back and forth, while Rhys follows her like a storm cloud, grunting and vetoing choices under his breath. Watching them, I feel the same tight pull in my chest, the same awareness that everything we’re doing right now matters more than any of us is willing to say out loud. The difference is, I’ve learned how to keep mine buried.
In a couple of days, Arthur will be here. Right here on campus, parading around as his brother and charming money from investors. It’s the perfect opportunity to expose him, but if we get it wrong, if he’s somehow tipped off beforehand, if he finds out we’re squatting on site illegally, who knows when our next chance will be. If there is another chance. Knowing what we do now for his power, influence, and knack for separating loved ones, I refuse to think about how he’d retaliate. All I know is, Rhys’ plan to catch Arthur unawares is the best shot we have.
Leaning forward, Addy jerks her head to get my attention, then gestures to the private shopping session happening across the room.
“I thought you guys were supposed to be lying low?” I give her a side glance and purse my lips.
“You and me both. Apparently, Rhys didn’t get the memo that he’s been disinherited, because I woke to a van parked outside and two sales reps carrying in hordes of dresses.”
She snorts, then glances back at Rhys. “Must be nice.” Rhys doesn’t look at us as he replies, holding up a dark green gown like he’s weighing its worth.
“Look, bitch all you want, but I know my…Arthur. If he senses anything out of the ordinary, he’ll shut down. It’ll be expected that I wear the finest suit, Harper is dripping in luxury, and you’re wearing a rented tux that doesn’t fit your shoulders properly.” I flip him off without even looking up as I reach for the abandoned pizza box. Addy’s eyes light up, and she’s at my side in half a second, grabbing the slice I was going for.
“Huh,” she says around a mouthful, eyeing Rhys with mock curiosity. “Seeing you in your element, it’s a wonder this Arthur guy gave you any money at all. He could’ve just slung you into a locked room and left you to rot.”
Rhys’ mouth twitches into something between a sneer and a poisoned smile. It’s Harper who comes to his defense, shrugging out of the dress straps and holding the material over her bust.
“To be fair, I suppose there were some appearances Arthur literally couldn’t afford to lose. The media would’ve been watching.” Softening slightly, Rhys nods, his fingers toying with his cuff again.
“They always are.” Something dull and bitter creeps into his voice, resentment bleeding through before he locks his indifferent mask in place by the next breath. Reaching for Harper’s hand and plucking two hangers from the rack, he tugs her toward the stairs. “Out of that. Into the next one.”
At his order, they disappear upstairs with Harper laughing despite herself. Exhaling, I lean back into the sofa cushions and chew the piece of pizza I was permitted, probably because it’s lacking any toppings.
Addy doesn’t say anything at first. She just watches the stairwell where Rhys and Harper disappeared, her chewing slowing until she eventually drops the crust back into the box, appetite fading as whatever joke she was about to make withers on her tongue.
As always, the frat house feels too big in their absence, the echo of Harper’s laugh already thinning out like it never belonged here in the first place. I suppose it didn’t. This is Rhys’ domain. The house he allowed to be trashed and abused by drunks and jocks, a place he never really cared about. Now we’re using it as a hideout and hoping it provides the cover we need.
For a long moment, the only sounds are the distant creak of floorboards above us and the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. I sink further into the cushions, stretching my legs out and crossing them at the ankles in an attempt to look relaxed. Addy doesn’t buy it.
“You’re quiet,” she remarks, wiping her fingers on a napkin that looks like it’s been reused at least three times. Her tone is casual, but her brown eyes aren’t. They’re shrewd and assessing, reminding me exactly why she’s head of her debate club.
“I’m always quiet,” I shrug, because most of the time, swerving the truth is simply easier. It’s how I’ve kept people at bay for so long, if I answer them at all. Addy snorts, unimpressed by my attempts to evade her suggestion.
