𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐒 two years ago, my life changed forever. All it took was one night to alter the rest of my life. I wasn't sure about a lot of things however, there are two things that I was absolutely certain on: what I wanted to wear and who...
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I slide up on the barstool beside Harper. "Wanna another drink?"
She jumps, her back to me and her finger tracing the rim of her cocktail glass. When she turns around and sees it's me her face brightens then drops in a matter of seconds. "Well, considering the last time I got drunk I ended up in your bed, no, I don't want another drink."
My lips lift up in a smile. Fuck, I've missed her. "I broke things off with Romy," I tell her which is true. After Saturday I decided she was best gone. She was only adding fuel to the already blazing fire.
Harper raises her eyebrows, gasps, "no way! Did she find out you were a big, bad gangster?"
"You look fucking amazing tonight," I tell her. Ignore the other thing she said. I can tell by just the look on her face she likes what I'm wearing as well-- Smoking James Bond suit from Tom Ford, Saint Laurent classic bow tie, Santoni leather Oxford shoes and Audemars Piguet Royal Oak 39mm watch.
She scrunches up her lips in an attempt to hide her smile and instead flicks her ponytail over her shoulder. "I know. Doesn't your brother's gift go so nicely with my earrings?" Harper shoved her wrist in my face and I take the opportunity to hold her hand and 'admire' the bracelet.
"Yeah, very nice. Was this a sorry for leaving you hammered the other night?" Fuck my brother and his fucking gifts.
"Yes, it was, treated myself to the earrings as well. Figured I deserved it." She sips her espresso martini, looks over the rim at me and snatches her hand back.
"You deserve everything," I flag down a bar tender and feel my dick harden when she rolls her eyes, hating the way I'm buttering her up.
When I get my bourbon, the two of us just sit in silence at the bar while the rest of the gala carries on around us. It sort of feels like it's only us and no matter how much I drink, I can't get the feel of her soft hand out of my hand. I've touched her most intimate places and yet that—touching her fucking hand has me—one of the most dangerous men in the country ready to drop on my knees and crawl to her.
"You doing anything tomorrow, Haysie?" I nudge her shoulder with mine, she snaps out of her trance, looks tired, sad. Fucking kills me.
She shrugs, "might be." She's not. Her schedule is always clear because she does nothing but shop and lunch all day. Don't blame her, would love a life as simple as that.
"You're not, though, are you?" I tease, ordering another drink.
"Why? What do you want?"
It's clear there's still shit we need to talk about but there's one thing that I really want to do. Feel myself getting choked up just thinking about it but it's gotta be done. "Can I visit her grave?" I have to loosen the bowtie around my neck because I genuinely feel like I can't breathe.
Harper looks at me with, dead, droopy eyes. "You haven't deserved that, yet." She downs the rest of her cocktail and walks away from the bar.
Feel like pure fucking shit after that. It's the one thing I've had on my mind since getting out. I wasn't expecting her to jump up and down at the suggestion but Jesus, if that didn't hurt more than getting stabbed in the stomach.
