Page 170 of One Wrong Move

“I have never once tried to control her. I don’t want to control her.”

“Then make her understand that,” Connie says. “You have to reassure her that she can be with you and still have her independence. Make her feel safe.”

I nod, fire bursting to life inside my chest. Fuck. It all makes sense when they put it like that. It wasn’t just about the money for her. It never was.

But now, it’s there, hanging between us.

“I need to solve the issue of debt first,” I say. “She’ll always be uncomfortable if we start out with her feeling somehow… indebted to me. It’s fucking ridiculous, we’re talking about a mere few thousand dollars here, but I get it. It’s not ridiculous to her.”

“Don’t use that word when you talk to her,” Alec says. “Just a tip.”

“Oh, I won’t. But I need to solve it…”

“You could always take her to Vegas,” Gabriel calls from across the backyard where he’s being pelted with a water gun by a shrieking Willa. “Get drunk, and let one thing lead to another. Bring a ring!”

“Charming!” I tell him, the eavesdropping Thompson who has managed to make my sister happier than I’ve ever seen her.

He grins at me for a second before his gaze falls on Connie. “It worked wonders for me.”

She says something back to him, but I’m no longer listening. Connie’s previous words are bouncing through my head instead. Independence. That’s it. My eyes travel to the kids, the French doors, and the facade of my townhouse. Stop at the half-open window of my bedroom on the top floor. The room that’s filled with art I know she loves.

And I think there’s a way.

Harper

Nerves make it hard to think straight. Excitement is there, too, living alongside the jitters in my stomach. I can’t deny that I’m not looking forward to seeing him again.

Even if that eagerness is tinged with ache. Even if I don’t feel like I know anything for certain anymore, and as unmoored as I did upon first landing in this country months ago.

I walk to Clarence Square on light feet. It’s a beautiful day in a summery London, and the tall oak trees in the little park sway softly in the warm breeze. I’d forgotten my sunglasses at Nate’s, along with most other things I own. My journal. My running shoes. My watch.

Seeing the townhouse feels bittersweet. It looks the same. Tall, beautiful, white bricks, and the glossy black door with the gold number eight on it.

I texted Nate an hour ago. Can I come by at noon? He replied immediately and said yes, the door is always open to me.

I take a deep breath. Knock on the door; the door I used to unlock with my own key.

It takes a while, but then I hear the lock turn on the other side. The door swings open, and my breath catches. It’s not him.

Disappointment sweeps through me.

It’s a woman. She’s my height and around the same age, and has auburn hair pulled into a side ponytail. Curvy, with broad hips that make the simple blue summer dress she’s wearing look like a million bucks. Narrow chin, freckles over the bridge of her nose, and bright eyes.

Her face lights up with a smile.

“You must be Harper,” she says. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“I am, yes. Hi. You must be… Nate’s sister? Or his sister-in-law?”

“His sister—Connie,” she says, stepping back and pushing the door fully open. “Come in, come in. I’m sorry, but Nate isn’t in at the moment.”

“Oh.”

“He wanted to be here when you came,” she says, her voice soft and kind, “but he had to put out a fire across town.”

“Ah. Contron?”

“Something like that.” Connie steps through the large foyer, and I follow her into the space where I used to live. The house I’d fallen in love with, right along with its owner. The beautiful garden and the large living room and the giant kitchen where I loved cooking dinners and watching TV shows.

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