Page 14 of Accidental Groom
The silence sits heavy between us, charged.
The elevator doors slides out of their pocket before Harry’s hand stops them.
But he doesn’t move.
He doesn’t speak.
“I’m not naive. I know what I look like,” I continue, mostly to fill the silence. “I’m not exactly what most men consider?—”
“Elena.” His voice is rougher than before, like silk over gravel. I can’t tell if he’s insisting I stop talking or if he’s trying to get me to leave the elevator.
Either way, both work.
I step out into the lowly lit private hall, eyeing the locked double doors opposite the elevator.
The wedding suite.
Harry follows me, hovers the keycard again, and pushes against the polished wood, gesturing stiffly for me to go in first.
The penthouse suite is breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the expanse of Saratoga Springs, all light marble and deep wood, a bottle of champagne sitting in a wine cooler on the coffee table between two flutes. Through the open door to the bedroom, rose petals sit scattered across the floor and the king-size bed, and I cringe internally at the thought of walking into this with George.
But it’s not George.
It’s Harry.
And I can’t decide if that’s better or worse.
Behind me, I hear the telltale click of the door closing and the electric whirr of the lock. Silence stretches between us, heavy and thick, and I don’t know what to do — don’t know if I should move, should look at him, should react in any way. I know how to handle events with hundreds, if not thousands, of people, butthisandhim… I have no idea what I’m doing.
“You’re wrong, you know.” His voice cuts through the quiet.
I turn to face him, my pulse pounding through my veins as I find him already staring at me. “About what?”
“About George running because of how you look.” The tie hanging open around his neck slips free, his fingers depositing it on the table by the door. “That wasn’t the problem.”
My cheeks heat. “How would you know?”
He levels me with a look that says he’s not playing with me. “Because I have eyes, Elena,” he says, his gaze traveling over me with intention this time, slow and deliberate. “And because my son is an idiot, but notthatmuch of an idiot.”
Harry moves closer, crossing the space, his cologne invading my senses again as he stops just short of me.
“Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?”
I should step back.
Should remember that this is likely temporary.
Should remember that he’s almost twenty years older than me and he absolutely wasn’t supposed to end up as my husband.
Instead, I find myself rooted to the spot, nodding so weakly I’m almost embarrassed by it.
“A woman who clearly has no idea how beautiful she is.” His hand lifts, and a faint pressure pushes against the underside of my chin, forcing my head up just a hair. “Something my son was too immature to appreciate.”
The touch alone sends electricity through my body. My heart slams against my ribs, violent enough that I’m worried he’ll notice.
But I clock the way his eyelids lower halfway.
Oh, god.“Harry?—”
