Page 47 of The Wedding Hoax

But maybe I wasn’t really upset with Harry.

Maybe I was just upset because my conversation with Ruby had reminded me of how much I’d wanted to be a mother, and how impossible it was. I hadn’t expected it to still hurt me as much as it did, but not being able to have kids still stung me in ways I never saw coming.

But the subject of kids seemed to sting Harry, too.

Did he really not want children? Or was he just reluctant to bring more kids into his family?

Maybe he just didn’t want his kids growing up and feeling like he did, like outsiders in their own home.

Or maybe he was so deeply allergic to commitment that kids represented the ultimate kind of failure. After all, parenthood was the biggest commitment anyone could make.

Whatever it was, it was weighing on me. I was also feeling a strange disappointment at the idea that whatever Harry and I shared was built on a foundation of lies, that there wasn’t anything real between us.

Because it meant we couldn’t ever have a real conversation about anything, either.

Not about how we were feeling. Or weren’t feeling.

Not even about the sting.

* * *

After dinner, I settled into bed with a good book.

I’d managed to avoid any awkward dinner table conversation by simply ordering takeout. My mom seemed grateful for the crab Rangoon while I was happy enough with black pepper chicken. I didn’t see what Harry had ordered, mostly because I’d already headed back to my room with my dinner before he had a chance to say anything to me.

I still wasn’t in the mood to speak to him.

Which is why it was so frustrating that I could hear him knocking on my bedroom door right now.

“Simone?” Harry asked as he stepped into the room. “You still awake?”

“What happens if I say no?”

“I feel like a jerk for waking you up.” Harry smirked. “But I had a feeling you’d still be up. I saw the light on underneath your door.”

I held up my book. “Good catch. I was going to read for a bit before bed.”

“Cool. Reading sounds fun.” It was all Harry said as he stared at me, his eyes fixed on mine.

A few seconds passed before he took a step toward my bed. And then another.

And another.

He didn’t stop until he was inches away from my mattress, his gaze still locked on mine. The look in his eye was familiar, the same way he’d look at me in the middle of the night when moonlight was spilling across my naked frame.

The same way he’d look at me when he was moving inside of me, his hips pressed against mine.

“Harry? Did you need something?” I asked as I looked up at him.

I didn’t move a muscle, not inviting him into my bed but not discouraging it, either. I was still annoyed with him, but I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t want him.

All he had to do was ask, and I would’ve given him every inch of me.

He hesitated, still wordless as he watched me.

I reached for him then, gently pulling him toward the bed. His knee sank into the mattress, his face inches away from mine.

Our lips gently brushed against each other’s, almost like a kiss but not quite.

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