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“I guess technically, but you know divorce does exist.” Not sure if that’s a helpful answer.
“I love Kitty,” he says unconvincingly.
“Are you sure I shouldn’t go back and grab Felix? This seems like something you should be talking to him about,” I tell him.
“They won’t be honest with me,” he says.
“You think I’m going to be honest?” I ask him.
“Yes.”
I think that is the nicest thing he’s ever said to me. “Look, I think it’s normal to get jitters before you get married. Answer me this; if for some reason the wedding was canceled, would you be relieved or sad that you couldn’t marry your soulmate?” Pierre gives me a look. “Oh shit,” I blurt out.
“Right?”
“This isn’t good.”
“No shit, Harper. How do you think I feel? My brain is telling me to run and so is my heart,” he confesses.
Shit. Shit. Shit. This isn’t good.
“Are you sure you don’t need someone from your family to talk you off the ledge because I still feel like I’m not qualified for this bullshit,” I tell him.
“I wish the universe would give me a fucking sigh to tell me what to do.” He curses.
“Not sure if that is how the universe works, but I guess we have nothing else to guide us at the moment,” I tell him.
We hear giggles and both stop and stare at each other.
“Yes, Daddy,” Kitty’s baby voice echoes through the garden as a male’s voice mumbles after her.
No fucking way, universe, you can’t be serious. That was fast.
“Pull out your phone and start filming,” Pierre tells me. I do as he asks, pull out my phone, and hit video. We start to creep toward the sound.
“Harder Daddy, harder.” Kitty moans. My face is turning bright red, but I keep filming.
We turn around the corner of the garden and hide behind the bush. I zoom in on the man in the suit who is fucking Kitty, his face turns, and that’s when you get a glimpse of it.
“Fuck,” Pierre curses.
“What? Who is it?” I ask him.
“We have to go,” he says and storms off. I stop filming and run after him.
“Pierre, who the hell was that?” I yell after him.
He whirls around, and his hazel eyes, so much like Felix’s, look like wildfire. “That is the fucking owner of my hockey team, Bill Reeves, he’s a fucking billionaire. And he’s sixty and married. He has fucking grandkids closer in age to Kitty than him.”
“Fuck.” We stare at each other.
“What the hell am I going to do? I can’t marry her. And of all the people … he could end my career,” Pierre states.
Think, Harper, think. “My plane is waiting for me at Florence Airport, let me text my pilot and put him on standby,” I tell him.
“You would do that for me?”
“Yeah. I would,” I answer him honestly. The next thing I know Pierre is hugging me.