Page 13 of Accidental Groom
The bass of the music from the main function room still pounds.
But the bride and groom are gone.
Whether my parents like it or not.
The doors close behind us, sealing us into polished mahogany, glass, and brass. He holds a keycard to the scanner, the light blinking green, and we begin our slow, smooth ascent in silence.
We’re alone again.
But this feels like more than it was in those brief few minutes earlier. There are no murmuring guests in pews outside a wooden door to the church, no George playing on his phone beside me, no parents breathing down my neck.
The weight of it crashes over me — what they all expect, whatDadexpects, and my stomach turns, bile creeping up my throat.
Harry stands beside me, his fingers deftly working at his tie to loosen it, and I can’t help but notice how the motion draws mygaze to the strong column of his neck and the veins on the back of his palm.
Stop, Elena.
But the words tumble out anyway. “I’m not having sex with you.”
His fingers pause as his gaze locks with mine.
The silence stretches, the only sound is the soft hum of the elevator.
I brace myself for anger, for demands, for entitlement — but instead, his expression softens. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”
…What?
That catches me entirely off guard.
It isn’t necessarily that I thought Harry was the type to pressure, but two people spearheaded that contract—my father and Harald Highcourt—and at least one of them has already insisted tonight. It’s…easy toloop them together.
I blink at him. “You wouldn’t?”
I can’t tell if it’s irritation or hurt that flashes across his features for a fraction of a second before he manages to rein it in.
“Elena,” he says, turning to face me fully, the tie finally pulling free. All at once, the spacious elevator feels too intimate, the space charged with something that makes my skin prickle. “What your father said was ridiculous, and if I’m being entirely honest, disgusting. What we do—” he gestures between us, “—ordon’tdo is for no one to decide but us. If that’s not on the table for you, then it isn’t. You’ve already made it clear that neither of us has to be fully in with this marriage. It’s your choice. End of story.”
Just the way he’s looking at me, intense and unwavering, makes heat pool in places it definitely shouldn’t be. “Thank you,” I say, but my voice comes out breathier than I meant it to.
I smooth the skirt of my dress with only slightly shaking hands, desperate for something to do with them, but I don’t missthe way his gaze drifts as I do it. Dark green eyes trail my body, and it takes every bit of fight I have not to wrap my arms around my stomach just to hide. The second one of them twitches toward my waist, his gaze snaps back up to my face.
I can’t decide if I want to run from it or see just how much heat is behind it.
Stop. You’re being insane.
This man was supposed to be my goddamn father-in-law, and now he’s my husband, and my brain keeps wanting to drift to picture what his shoulders look like beneath that stupidly nice charcoal suit, the way his hands would flex if he gripped my thigh.
“Why do you think he did it?” I ask, desperate for a distraction. “George, I mean.”
Harry’s jaw ticks again, more obvious now in the confines of the elevator, less hidden. “My son has always been selfish. But abandoning you at the altar…” He shakes his head as the ding rings out, the doors opening to a private hallway. “There’s no excuse for that cruelty.”
Neither of us moves to exit the elevator.
I swallow. “I think I know why he ran,” I murmur.
Harry’s attention sharpens, the intensity of it making my breath catch. “Tell me, then.”
“I’ve seen the women George prefers,” I say, forcing my voice to steady. Heat creeps up my neck, Harry’s eyes darkening as he notices just how much I hate saying it. “The ones he’s been photographed with, the ones he hides with during events. They’re… thin. Model-thin.”
