Page 140 of One Wrong Move

Dean’s eyes land on her. “Didn’t waste any time, did you?”

“Dean,” I say sharply. “I get that this is a surprise, but don’t say things you’ll regret.”

“Things I’ll regret?” he asks and shoots me a hateful glare. “You’re the one doing things you’ll regret. Harper, man?”

“You know just how amazing she is, or you wouldn’t be here.”

He shakes his head in disbelief and looks back at this ex-fiancée. Seeing them together again, standing here… it makes my stomach turn. I don’t know how I managed it for so many years.

I hate how he glares at her.

“I came to London to see you,” he says. His hands come out of his pockets, and form fists at his sides. “To convince you that your leaving was a mistake. I wanted to talk about the wedding cancellation fees and see if we could come to some kind of… settlement. I even have a goodie bag from your mom with me. She put together your favorite American foods, and fuck you, Harper. My best friend?!”

“He’s not your best friend,” Harper says with a vehemence that surprises me. Judging by the look in Dean’s eyes, he’s shocked, too. “Be honest about that for once, Dean. You think he’s just a great contact to have and maintain.”

Dean’s lips turn into a snarl. “What do you know? He and I went to college together. And now he’s done this… fuck. I had no idea you two were involved. Was this happening before, Harper? Is this the real reason you called off the wedding?”

“Cool it,” I tell Dean.

He glares at me.

Harper takes a step forward, leaning in like she’s ready to strike. “Nate had nothing to do with calling off the wedding. That was all me.” Her voice is sharp, dripping with anger. “I hated the way you treated me the last two years we were together, and you refused to listen to me about it. The only one to blame for our breakup is you. Not Nate.”

A flash of genuine hurt passes through Dean’s eyes, there and gone again in a blink, his face returning to a sneer. “Right. I’m to blame? Our friends and families were just as surprised as me. That doesn’t tell you something?”

“Yes,” she says, voice fierce. “It tells me that we were great at putting up a facade.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “I had to talk to the wedding dress designer yesterday. She called my mother in tears, upset that the gown she worked on for months would go to waste.”

“You’re lying,” Harper says. “I spoke to her myself weeks ago.”

“Then, why did my mother tell me that? You’re saying she’s lying, too?”

“Because the wedding designer is her best friend’s daughter! Because you control everything!” Harper’s voice turns exasperated, and she shakes her head so sharply, making her curls bounce. “Dean, why did you really come to London? Don’t tell me you came here to see me.”

“Why the fuck else would I be here?” he says. “Now that I know my friend is a backstabbing snake.”

“I never lied to you about Harper,” I say.

Dean gives me a withering look. “Right. Just conveniently avoided mentioning… this, you two, when we spoke on the phone.”

“You weren’t ready to hear it,” I say simply.

Harper’s voice has steadied. “Did you come here to try to convince me to go back to New York? To coerce me with the wedding costs?”

“Coerce,” Dean scoffs. “I came because this misguided little plan of yours has been going on for far too long. You’re across the fucking ocean, doing an internship? At twenty-eight?”

“It’s a junior trainee position,” she says. “Not that you’d know. You never listened when I spoke about my goals and ambitions.”

“So now it’s my fault that you had a quarter-life crisis?” He shakes his head and looks over at me. “Where does Nate factor into this? Was he your little savior when you needed money? You traded me for him?”

Harper makes a tiny, pained sound, and it pierces through me like an arrow. I step forward. “Shut up, Dean,” I order. “Just shut up about things you know nothing about.”

“So I’m correct,” he says.

“No, you’re wrong, and hurt, and angry. And you’re saying shit that’s only going to make things worse. You won’t be happy you reacted this way when you’ve calmed down.”

“And you’d know that how?” he asks me, cocking his head with the sneer still in place. “Because you never do things you regret? No, you never do anything at all. The perfect Connovan boy—rich since birth, with everything handed to him.”

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