Page 3 of Wilde Secrets

Harper watched her leave in horror, frozen in place. Then the door to the ballroom opened, the sound of the crowd beyond moving her into action.

“Oh god,” Harper groaned, dropping her head into her hands, not caring if her carefully curled hair was messed up. “Oh, fuck.”

What was she going to do? Ten years of work down the drain. And not just her work, but that of her sister. Her father. She’d just ruined their family.

What will Isla think? What would their dad say?

Harper swallowed past a lump in her throat. She might have crippling anxiety when it came to crowds, but she was no coward. She pushed to her feet and gritted her teeth. With every second, the looming confrontation with her father drew closer.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” She asked herself. This time, the answer was not reassuring.

She couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever. She grabbed the handle with one hand, yanked it open, and strode into the ballroom.

ChapterTwo

Harper

The sound of what felt like thousands of people talking washed over her, and her heart pounded in her chest. She imagined all their heads swiveled toward her, their eyes following her as she made her way toward the table where her sister and their father waited.

They’re not looking at you.

The ballroom felt large when they arrived at the fundraiser, but now it felt absolutely mammoth. The stage at the front of the room had a podium, and a gray-haired man in a suit was giving a speech that nobody was paying attention to. His voice droned over the sounds of people laughing as they sipped champagne.

Guests were seated at round tables with stunning floral centerpieces in hues of pink and white. But Harper paid no attention as she focused on weaving her way through the sea of guests in their finery. The closer she got to her table near the front of the room, the faster she breathed.

Isla spied her, smiled widely, and lifted a hand in greeting.

Harper stopped. How could she have admitted the one thing she’d sworn she’d never tell a soul? Isla’s smile slowly fell, her brown eyes filling with confusion as she looked questioningly at Harper.

Suddenly unable to take the last few steps, the distance between Harper and her sister—her best friend—felt immense.

Her eyes darted from Isla to their father. His suit, as usual, was immaculate but simple. His graying hair was cut in the same no-nonsense style he had worn for as long as she could remember; the short sides a shock of white. While his daughters’ hair was naturally honey-blonde, his hair was black. But they all shared the same brown eyes.

In their home back in LA, pictures of them with their mother showed that once upon a time he laughed and smiled.

But Harper had only vague memories of that version of Jay Holden.

The man in front of her was as far from her memories of the loving father and husband of her childhood as you could get.

She chewed on her bottom lip and barely stopped herself from lifting her finger to her mouth to bite her nails. A habit she’d thought long since broken.

Huffing in annoyance at her lack of discipline, she made it the final few steps to the table, barely sitting before the MC’s voice drifted over the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please,” he said. This time, the crowd quieted and turned in their seats to face the stage. “It’s time for the silent auction. We have a number of wonderful donations this evening?—”

Harper stopped paying attention, her thoughts racing, until the MC said, “An especially big thank you to the wonderful Isla Holden, who has donated her time for a private performance.”

Isla stood and waved, and Harper wanted to grab her and yank her back down to her seat but instead focused on slowing her breathing and relaxing her shoulders. Not everyone in the room was looking at their table. What would she say?

Sit down, your career is about to end and it’s all my fault?

Harper groaned, drawing a sharp look from her father. His phone was in his hand, and he was staring daggers at her. Her stomach flipped, and she knew—without a doubt—that the news had broken.

When Isla sat down again, Jay typed something into his phone and then placed it face down on the table. He steepled his fingers and stared intently at Harper, barely shaking his head.

Harper couldn’t meet his eyes. Sweat beaded on her forehead. The lights were too bright, the sounds were too loud, the laughter of the women at the table next to them suddenly grating in a way it hadn’t earlier in the evening.

Her heart thundered in her chest, her breathing so fast she was in danger of hyperventilating. Thank goodness she was sitting down, because her legs couldn’t hold her up.

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