Page 23 of Accidental Groom
The tension from lunch has seeped back into everything, but this time, it's laced heavily with something that feels a lot like disappointment. I shouldn’t care, I should be happy to get some time to myself in a place I don’t hate, but the idea of beingaloneagain puts me on edge. I should want space, distance, time to wrap my head around everything that’s happened.
But I just feel like I’m being abandoned again.
Someone by the door, dressed in a black suit, waves at him. He nods back.
“Take care of yourself, Elena. Call me if you need anything.”
He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek, and I blink harder in confusion, everything feeling like it’s moving at two-times speed. We didn’ttalkabout this?—
He takes a step back, and then another, and another, turning on his heel as his long strides carry him toward the revolving doors. I stand there watching him go, frozen in the middle of themarble floor on top of a gilded H, something hollow opening up in my chest.
Fuck. Fuck, I don’t want this.
This is temporary, though, a business arrangement. He’s doing the right thing by giving me space, surely. But watching his broad shoulders disappear through the revolving door makes me feel more isolated than I have in years, more alone than I felt yesterday walking down the aisle to a different man than I’d been expecting.
He disappears around the side of the building, the door still spinning lazily, people flowing around me — guests checking out and staff moving with purpose, life continuing on as though mine hadn’t been tilted completely off axis yesterday. I know I should go upstairs, should pack my things, should call Matthew about arrangements to go to Manhattan. I should start pretending this is all manageable, that I can compartmentalize being married to Harald Highcourt into neat little boxes that won’t mess with my head.
But I can’t move.
I close my eyes, trying to recenter myself, trying to find a version of myself that knows how to handle this situation with the grace and dignity that’ve been hammered into me before I could walk. But I can’t reach her, and my pulse is pounding, and my breathing is shot, and I’m spiraling again, just like Sarah said,just like Sarah said?—
Something warm wraps around the back of my head and pulls me forward, pressing my face back into warmth and the scent of wood and cinnamon, a hand wrapping around the small of my back and splaying wide.
My breathing stops.
Chapter 8
Harry
Imake it exactly three steps toward the car before I stop.
What the hell am I doing?
The driver motions me toward the car, but I take a step back, my thoughts assaulting me in a whirlwind. I can’t do this to her. I can’t treat her like this, like everyone else seems to.
George abandoned her at the altar. Her father treats her like a commodity to be transferred, and based on the way her mother was looking at her at the reception, she can’t be much better. And now I’m adding to that list, shipping her off to be alone in Manhattan so I can pretend this situation is manageable, so I can pretend I don’t want to strip her dress off her body and remind her that she’s far more than whatever she thinks of her body.
I take another step back, and my breath leaves my lungs.
She stands there in the middle of the lobby, her palms pressing into her eyes like she’s trying to ground herself, and I move before I can think better of it.
I push back through the revolving door, my steps too quick, my carefully curated façade left behind. I don’t second-guess — my hand wraps around the back of her head, my other aroundthe small of her waist, and I pull her in, pressing her against my chest as I scan the lobby for somewhere somewhat secluded.
“Breathe,” I murmur, feeling her still against me.
My walls are too far down.
There.By where she’d sat with her sister this morning, behind the fountain, behind the plants.
I move her before she can protest, lifting her up just enough to warn her that I’m walking. She doesn’t fight it. Eyes trail us, a mixture of previous guests and people checking in for the day, but I do my best to shield her from sight.
The second their line of sight is broken, I lower her back down, take her face in my hands, and gently pry her off my jacket. Her eyes are wide, but unfocused, staring either at something on my shirt or right through me.
“Hey,” I say softly, my thumbs rubbing gently back and forth across her cheeks. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”
Her lashes flutter, her chest rising slowly but jaggedly. The release is just as shaky.
“Atta girl. Another one.”
