He's a cynic. She's a romantic. One deal, one wedding, and one gigantic secret stand between them.
**
Harper Lane wants to believe in true love. After her parents split, she began photographing evidence of it. Couples holding hands. Valentine's Day...
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Harper wasn't usually a fan of running. But, given the circumstances, she was willing to make an exception.
She took a hard left. Her lungs burned, fire tearing through her chest with fanged teeth. Muscles in her legs screamed in protest. Battersea Park was quiet at six o'clock in the morning — a sleepy haven of shuffling ducks and dogs lapping from fountains — but she liked the silence. It helped empty her mind.
And her mind needed a lot of emptying these days.
Harper sucked in a sharp breath, hurtling down a set of stone steps. She used to complain when Jake made her go running with him, but now, she was... well, not grateful. But at least she could make it down a set of steps without tripping and falling on her ass.
She winced.
Jake freaking Parker.
He seemed to be everywhere these days. Like some sort of insidious fruit fly infestation. Or tile grout. At this point, she wouldn't be surprised if Jake showed up at the goddamn wedding.
Harper doubled her pace.
The wedding, she thought grimly, where she'd be date-less. Notthat it mattered; it was merely an observation. She was fine.
So fine.
Andthen there was Lawson, Harper thought, leaping over a stray bit of paper. Lawson would certainly be at the wedding. Lawson, who she'd kissed. Lawson, who'd she'd enjoyed kissing. What on earth was wrong with her?
Harper sprinted for a large fountain. In a few hours, she'd leave for Nottinghamshire with Lawson. She'd have to sit in a car for three-hours with him, and then eat dinner with him, and go to bed—
Well, not with him.
But it was still a terrible idea, Harper thought, her throat dry. A horrendous, implosive idea. Thank god Griffin and the other boys were joining them on Sunday; she just had to survive for one night.
She could do that, right?
Harper fetched up next to the fountain, doubling over. Her breath came in harsh gasps. When she no longer felt like she was on the verge of an asthma attack, she rose on shaky legs, backtracking to where the stray bit of a paper was lodged in a wrought iron fence. No sense in littering.
No, Harper realized, picking it up — not a stray piece of paper.
A receipt.
Harper smiled. It was for a pear-cut emerald engagement ring — and a damn good one, looking at the price tag. Someone had purchased it a few years ago. She held up the slip of paper, taking out her phone to snap a picture for the scrapbook.
