Page 64 of One Wrong Move

She’d been on Dean’s arm at our college buddy’s wedding three years ago. It was shortly after she moved in with Dean, and she looked at him like he was her entire world. Like it would be the two of them standing next at that altar.

I saw them hold hands during the ceremony, saw Harper brush away the tears from her eyes. And that’s when I decided to start pushing my brother. Whenever I could, I told him over and over that we needed a person we could trust in London. And then I conveniently volunteered for the position.

But she doesn’t know any of that.

“They’re just flowers,” I say gruffly. But we’re still standing too close, her hands tight around the stems, and her eyes on mine.

“Nate,” she murmurs. “I feel like I have to?—”

The vendor beside us shouts at another, breaking the moment, and we both take a step back. She clears her throat. “Thank you. For all of this.”

I give her a broad smile, the one that gets me past lines at venues and events and charms our clients. “Anytime, Harp.”

She smiles back, but there’s a thoughtfulness in her eyes that makes me wonder if she’s disappointed somehow. Like my response was the wrong one.

But still, she clutches the peonies tight for the rest of our visit.

Harper

I’ve started noticing it. The mask he puts on to be what he thinks other people expect of him. The smile he makes to charm his way. I used to find it easy to be around. That wide smile used to put me at ease. But now…

I question if that’s his true smile.

Because I’ve seen how he smiles when he’s unguarded. The small, crooked ones when he’s amused despite himself. How those smiles reach his eyes and make them look warm. Those are the smiles I want.

He gave me peonies. Beautiful, giant buds that will open fully in the coming days. Become bold, showy blooms.

Odd. That’s the word. It feels odd to have—through some kind of magic—gotten to know Nate Connovan this way. Unexpectedly.

To want to get to know him even better.

The sun hasn’t yet begun to rise when we leave the flower market. It’s hovering just below the horizon, but the sky is already brighter than it was an hour ago. The dark has given way to a deep blue tone that will only keep brightening.

There isn’t a cloud over our heads.

“Are you hungry?” I turn to him, where he’s leaning against a lamppost. “I am. It would be the perfect end to this all-night adventure if we can go home and order in, and?—”

“We’re not ordering in.” He runs a hand along his jaw and looks out at the Thames. “How do you feel about watching the sunrise?”

“I feel like that’s an infinitely better suggestion than mine.”

His eyes gleam with a smile. “Don’t beat yourself too bad about it.”

“I’ll try not to. Where should we go?”

“Oh, I know a perfect place.” He pulls up his phone, and his fingers fly across the screen. “I’m getting us a cab. This one’s too far to walk.”

A car arrives a few minutes later, and then we’re on the road again. Tiredness makes my eyelids heavy, and it takes effort to avoid falling asleep in the backseat of a London cab. The rocking motion makes it nearly impossible, until a hand brushes against my arm.

“Harper?”

“I’m awake.”

“Good,” he says. His deep voice is amused. “We’re here.”

We emerge onto the nearly deserted sidewalk in front of a skyscraper. The exterior is practically all-glass exterior, tinted and clean. A bouncer is at the entrance, and a few people mill around beside him; a couple of them having a smoke.

Everyone is dressed to the nines.

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