Page 29 of Accidental Groom
The door clicks shut behind him.
Chapter 10
Harry
The kitchen at Highcourt Hall has always been something of a sanctuary to me. Dark granite counters, professional-grade appliances that gleam under warm, pendant lights, and enough space to feed an army if I needed to. It’s where I come when I need to think, when I need adrink, when I need space — usually with a cup of coffee.
This morning, though, even the familiar ritual of grinding beans and measuring water hasn’t quieted the noise in my head.
Matthew sits across from me at the breakfast bar, his laptop closed, a boarding pass for his flight to Split visible on the counter beside his coffee mug. He’s been my assistant for eight years, my right-hand man for seven of them. Assistant in title but confidant in reality.
If anyone can track down my wayward son, it’s him.
“The festival runs through the weekend,” he says, tapping the printed itinerary. “Ultra Europe.If George is there, it won’t be hard to find him. He’s never really been subtle about his partying habits.”
I nod, taking another sip of coffee, but it just tastes like ash to me right now. “Have you checked his credit card?”
Matthew nods, his glasses slipping down his nose slightly. He pushes them back up. “Last transaction was in Dubrovnik two days ago. High-end hotel, the kind that rich kids go to and then claim they stayed at a hostel. The one before that was the same day, he took cash out.”
At thirty-five, Matthew has more sense of responsibility than my twenty-eight-year-old miscreant ever has. He seems just as annoyed by George’s behavior as I am. “Good. That’s… something.” I set my mug down harder than necessary. “If you find him?—”
“When.”
I roll my eyes. “When,” I repeat. “When you find him, make it clear that there will be consequences. Real ones this time. No more fucking warnings, no more chances to ‘find himself’ or whatever excuse he’s using now. I’m done. I’ll cut him off if I have to.”
Matthew studies me over the rim of his coffee cup. We’ve worked together long enough that he can read my moods better than most people, and I can tell he’s cataloging the tension in my shoulders, the way I keep clenching and unclenching my jaw.
It’s annoying.
“You’re wound tighter than I’ve seen you in years,” he says quietly. “This all because of George? Or her?”
Her.Elena. The woman who’s been living fifty yards away for two days, close enough that I can see the lights in her windows from my study, far enough that I can pretend I’m maintaining appropriate boundaries. “It’s about fixing the mess my son created,” I say, but the words feel hollow.
Matthew raises an eyebrow. “Harry.”
I run a hand through my hair, knowing damn well he’s calling me out, suddenly feeling every single one of my forty-eight years. “I just never expected to be married again. Happy?”
The admission hangs between us. Matthew doesn’t push, just waits, and somehow that makes it easier to continue.
“After Geraldine, I told myself that was it. One great love per lifetime or whatever, you know? Focus on George, maintain the business, leave relationships to younger men.” I laugh, but it’s bitter, empty. “And now I’m somehow married to a woman who was supposed to be mydaughter-in-law.A woman who’s closer to George’s age than mine.”
“Elena’s thirty,” Matthew says. “Hardly a child.”
“She’s only two years older than George, and he’s practically an infant,” I huff. “She’s young enough that this whole situation feels… off.”
“She asked for this arrangement, Harry. And from what I’ve observed, she’s nothing like George. She’s strong, got a solid head on her shoulders, and opinions, apparently.”
That’s an understatement. The argument two days ago in her bedroom still plays on repeat in my mind, the fire in her eyes blazing when she’d called me out for treating her like property, the way she’d stood her ground even while naked and vulnerable.
Christ, especially while naked and vulnerable.
“She only asked for it because of her father. And none of that makes it right,” I mutter.
“What would? Letting her marry George when he gets back?”
The question hits like a slap. The thought of her with my son, of George begrudgingly touching her the way I did the first night, makes my stomach twist. “That’s the plan,” I say, but even I can hear the lack of conviction in my voice.
Matthew sets down his coffee and leans forward. “Can I ask you something?”
