Her peach-tinted lips reveal her intentions before she speaks, and I learn something else, this girl is stubborn. That’s even more alluring than her bravery. “It’s no trouble. And besides, you might need help.”
The realization hits me like a freight train. Two hundred thousand pounds going at the speed of sound. She’s trying to protect me. Homeless and battered. She’s trying to protect me.
I’m humbled in front of her. Destroyed. “Sure,” I manage to say without choking on the word. Sure, I’m going to see the woman I love. Sure, I’m bringing the woman I throat fucked last night. Everything is upside down and broken, but sure sure sure. “Come, then.”
Blue directs us to a narrow spiral staircase tucked into the northwest corner. The metal rail groans when I climb the steps. It doesn’t want to hold my weight. In contrast it’s almost silent when Ashleigh follows behind. She’s light as a goddamn butterfly.
When I get to the top of the stairs, I find the door wedged open. Through the slit in the door I see a woman in a puffy white dress. She has her back turned to me, her feet slung over the edge of what must be the bell tower. I’m half-surprised she didn’t do a fireman’s slide down the rope into the congregation. She could play some rock-amped version of the wedding march. Everything about this wedding screams traditional, which isn’t Harper—is it? Or maybe I didn’t really know her. Maybe I never walked through her metaphorical house, touching the statues and the books.
Harper doesn’t move as I step into the small space. We’re alone here. I glance back. Ashleigh stops at the threshold, leaning against the doorframe—either reluctant to intrude or wanting to give us privacy. “Hey,” I murmur, shoving my hands into my pockets.
She doesn’t look at me, but I can see her pretty lips twist in some unnamable emotion—regret? Anger? Guilt? “I’m surprised you came. I thought you wouldn’t want to.”
“There’s a rule about brides. You can’t say no to them on their wedding day.”
Her hazel eyes are beautiful. Mysterious. “So I should ask for the moon?”
Part of me knows she’s goading me. The other part’s ready to be goaded. “I gave you the moon, Harper. You didn’t want it. Not from me, anyway.”
A sad twist of her lips. “You hate me.”
Three words, and I’m undone. “Of course I don’t hate you.”
Then what’s your excuse for fucking Ashleigh like that? A dark voice in my head sounds like my father. Hating Harper wouldn’t have been an excuse, but it would have been something. I have no reason for using her like that, no way to redeem myself.
I gently push aside the lace of her wedding train so I can sit on the hand-scraped bench. “And even if I did, that would say more about me than you. You’re allowed to love someone else. You’re allowed to choose someone else. You deserve to be happy, Harper.”
A notch forms between her eyes. “Could I have been happy with you?”
“No.” A note of surprise coloring my voice.
It’s not the realization that she wouldn’t be happy with me that’s a surprise. It’s the realization that I couldn’t have been happy with her. Harper’s gorgeous and glamorous and complex. Everything I thought I wanted in a woman. But she didn’t know me. She’d never run her fingers over the metal mane of a horse. She’d never stretched hard enough to shiver in my bed.
That’s the woman waiting on the stairs.
I glance back and find her leaning on the railing, a look of sympathy in her liquid brown eyes. God, she’s pitying me. I fucked her mouth raw, and she’s standing there feeling bad because I love another woman. I really am a bastard.
“Why did you want to see me?” I ask, without breaking eye contact with Ashleigh.
Harper gives a huff of laughter. “I suppose I didn’t want to start my marriage with something dark at the core. That’s what I told myself. But maybe I thought you would… be with us. Weren’t we good together, all three? I was surprised when you didn’t join us last night.”
Ashleigh’s eyes widen in shock. Weren’t we good together, all three? Yes, that’s right. I fucked a woman. I fucked a man. A big part of me wants to do it again. Forever and ever, amen. Except I wouldn’t be the one standing in front of the altar. It would be Christopher and Harper, the real couple. And me, the dirty little secret in their bed.
Harper turns and goes still. “You… brought a date.”
She doesn’t just mean I brought a date to the wedding. I brought a date to the steeple. I brought this woman, whether shield or comfort or both, when facing the woman I lost. “Yes.”
“She’s very pretty.” The words sound assessing. “No wonder you didn’t want to play last night. Why didn’t you bring her with you? We could have shared.”
Fuck no. The response rips through me, primal and violent. No one touches Ashleigh, not even Christopher. Not even Harper. “Be nice.”
That earns me a small smile. “I thought you had to say yes to the bride on her wedding day. What if I want a little kiss? It would be a nice present for Christopher.”
“No.”
Her expression turns speculative. “How long have you been together?”
“A few weeks,” Ashleigh says, which is a lie. She’s saying it to spare me, so I don’t have to explain that I picked her up on the street sixteen hours ago. Or maybe she’s saying it to spare herself. Either way, she looks convincing. “It was love at first sight.”
Harper blinks, taken aback for a moment. Then she looks at me—searching, searching. For what? Whatever she finds makes her grin, lopsided and unrepentant. “I have a wedding to get to, you guys. What are we waiting for?”
She hops up, almost tripping over her white frothy gown. I lean down to yank lace out of a splintery clutch. On her way out of the steeple, she gives me a sly glance. Then she leans to whisper something to Ashleigh. A second later she’s whooshing down the rickety stairs.
I frown at Ashleigh. “What did she say to you?”
“Nothing.”
“Ashleigh…”
She pushes up on her toes and gives me a kiss on my cheek, the warm brush of her lips unbearably soft. It feels impulsive and caring. Affectionate, when there should only be filthy sex between us. “Don’t worry,” she says, her mouth an inch from mine. “I’m not going anywhere. For I have promises to keep.”
“And miles to go before I sleep,” I say, reciting the poem.
“And miles to go before I sleep.”
That’s when I realize I’m grasping her wrist. Only intense willpower forces me to let go of her, finger by finger. Then she’s skipping down the stairs. I follow her, bemused and hungry, wondering why I’m more focused on getting Ashleigh naked again than the woman I love walking down the aisle. She’s like some addictive substance. The more I have her, the more I want her. The more I need her.
Chapter Eleven
Ashleigh
Sutton leads me back to his friend Hugo, the charming man who’s now holding a small child. A woman with pale skin and a wild spray of red hair leans against him. She looks like a fairy sprite with a dark satyr. “Hugo told me we had a guest,” she says to me, smiling.