“Harr—”
“Mr. Davenport.” An unfamiliar voice calls, causing me to jump.
Where the heck did he come from?
A man around my age is standing there off to the other side of the rooftop, holding a tray with two glasses of champagne.
And then I see candles…a lot of candles.
I’m not even sure what is going on yet, but the tears start welling up in my eyes. “Harrison,” I whisper and lean into him, burying my head into his muscular chest. “What is this?” I squeeze his hand tightly.
“Come and see for yourself.”
He leads the way toward the waiter, who passes Harrison and me another glass of champagne.
“Thank you,” I say shyly. I’m feeling very overwhelmed right now.
Harrison hands him something, which I presume is a tip. “I know you were hired for the night, but you may go. I’ll take it from here.”
We both smile and thank the waiter. Then, as he leaves, neither of us misses it when he looks me up and down. Harrison stiffens in my arms and starts to turn us. “Harrison,” I beg through clenched teeth. “Don’t.”
He doesn’t listen.
Instead, he lets me go and walks toward the guy. Standing right in his face, he lowers his voice to a deathly level. “Word of advice if you want jobs like this again, you keep your fucking eyes to yourself.”
I can tell by the waiter’s shocked, wide eyes that he can’t believe he got caught. I’m also shocked that was all Harrison said.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.” He scurries away while Harrison walks back to me.
I love this side of him too much to scold him; he’s what I want—possessive and jealous, and Harrison knows it.
He runs his hand down the length of my spine, then presses my lower back to gently guide me forward toward the glowing light, where more candles and flowers come into view.
Thousands of peonies fill the entire side of the rooftop.
My heart beats wildly as I stand there, shocked to the core.
Oh no.
When I barely start to wrap my head around the idea of us never having a future, he does this.
What does it mean?
Harrison has made it clear, on many occasions, that he’s never had feelings for someone enough to do anything romantic for them. Yet, this is the most thoughtful, over-the-top, romantic thing anyone could do, especially because he remembered my favorite flower.
Becks might tell me I romanticize my life, but how can I not when there is a man who makes me feel like a princess?No, a queen.
I continue my inspection, taking in the rest of the space. There’s a small bar in the corner, with bottles of champagne lined up. Next to that is a table for two, with silver platters, surrounded by more candles.
My breathing is coming out in fast succession through my nose as I try to calm my nerves. I’m afraid if I speak, I’ll burst.
“Beautiful?”
I look up into those dazzling turquoise eyes, and I’m done for. “Harrison,” I choke, not able to get anything else out.
He spins me around so he can hold me close to his body. I turn into him, then lift my arms so he’ll pick me up. I need to be as close as possible.
As he lifts me, I kick off my shoes, then wrap my legs around him and bury my face into his neck.
