Page 27 of Bride on the Dotted Line (Blackstone Center #1)

Sienna

Sienna, I don’t know what my dad told you, but don’t listen.

Where are you?

I’m coming to get you.

I stare at the notifications, a sweater clutched in both hands as I stand over my open suitcase. It would be cruel not to reply. I should text back and tell him I’m fine.

I’m not fine.

Clothes scatter the floor around me. Not the fluffy, now-familiar carpet of Nick’s guest room, but the weathered hardwood of my basement suite.

I’m standing by my double bed, trying to find the motivation to put clothes into my empty closet.

It took me less than two hours to pack up my life at Nick’s and bring it home to Mrs. Martin’s house.

I wasn’t really in Nick’s life. Not in any real way.

But it felt real.

My phone call with Alvin and Victor this morning was short and to the point.

Thank you for everything you’ve done, but due to the nature of your father’s past, we’ve concluded that Mr. Harwood is unable to risk the family name further.

You will leave Nicholas’s residence as soon as possible, and any further correspondence will proceed through Victor’s office.

Please contact your lawyer and start the divorce proceedings by the end of the week.

Alvin’s tone was flat and cold, as if he were reading off a script. Victor said nothing, though he was there, apparently, in the room. I could feel the ice in his gaze frosting the edges of my phone.

Last night feels like a dream. The whole last month and a half feels like a dream. That thirty-second phone call was all I needed to shake me back to reality.

“I feel so stupid,” I told Lena and Mason earlier, putting them on speakerphone as I packed my things at the penthouse. “I can’t believe I got so involved.”

“What does Nick have to say about this?” Mason had asked.

“I don’t think he knows yet. I heard him leave earlier, probably to go see his dad.”

Lena made a huffing noise. “Well, does he feel the same way as you? Because Victor Harwood might be the richest, most powerful man in the city, but he can’t just?—”

“He can.” I stuffed my laundry into my suitcase, folding the lid closed and zipping it up.

“He’s about to pass his company to his son, and our marriage agreement was part of that.

Technically, what Nick and I feel for each other puts the contract in jeopardy anyway. Victor can do whatever he wants.”

“He’s a prick,” Mason said indignantly. “A real piece of work.”

“Charters will still get paid, at least.”

“Oh, yeah?” Lena had deadpanned. “And what about you? You just spent a whole month working around the clock, going above and beyond for the Harwood family, and they’re just going to leave you out to dry? Because of the false rumors about your dad?”

“They offered to let me keep the first payment, so my dad’s legal debts are settled. I’m not back where I started.”

“But you’re still leaps and bounds from where they promised you’d be.”

“Lena, there’s no way to?—”

“I don’t get it,” Mason cut in. He sounded genuinely puzzled.

I packed my shampoo and conditioner from my ensuite into a tote bag, nausea squeezing my stomach.

“You’re falling for this guy. He likes you, too.

But his shit family is trying to screw you and keep you apart.

The Sienna I know wouldn’t let this happen. ”

“There’s nothing I can do,” I told him.

“You can fight. You can refuse to roll over.”

“I’m not rolling over.”

“Yes, you are. You’re letting them push you out. The Harwoods have no business?—”

“I’m scared, Mason.” The words had flown out so unexpectedly that I clapped a hand over my mouth. Mason fell silent as a sob wracked through me, finally emerging from the place it had been brewing all morning.

“Sienna?”

“Last night …” I sniffed, holding my palm to my chest. “It felt like—like my whole life had been leading up to that moment with Nick, where we finally told each other how we felt. But it was also like standing on the edge of a cliff.”

“A cliff?” Lena said.

“Yes. And I don’t know long a fall I can survive. Maybe it’s best …” I scrubbed my palms over my damp cheeks, looking at my wedding ring sitting on the bedside table. “Maybe it’s best that this happened now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe it’s best that I don’t jump.”

Silence on the other end. Tears spilled through my fingers, and finally Lena spoke up.

“Well, shit,” she said. “She really is in love.”

Mason hummed. “What is that, a hundred dollars for me?”

“Fifty.”

“Pretty sure it was at least seventy-five.”

I giggled wetly. “You two have to start writing this stuff down.”

“Why?” I could hear the smile in Mason’s voice. “Arguing about it is half the fun.”

“We love you, Sienna,” Lena said, and my chest warmed despite the tears wetting my shirt. “Whatever you decide to do, we’ve got your back.”

“I love you, too.”

Now, in my basement suite, I sink onto my lumpy couch with my head in my hands. There are pillows on the floor, clothes thrown everywhere. I’ve been home for half an hour, and I’ve already made a mess of the place.

There’s a metaphor there, somewhere.

My mind flashes to the morning before I met Nick. I’d gotten ready in the bathroom over there, picked an outfit from my closet. Listened to my Bad Bitch playlist, scrunched curl cream into the ends of my hair. Looked at myself in the mirror and smiled, sure I’d be securing ten million dollars.

I can still feel the woman I was then; the woman that lived here, in this basement. She had desperation, and drive, and the sharpest teeth in the business. She went to Café de Mario to meet Nick with hope and confidence. She didn’t care what any billionaire playboy thought of her.

I’m sure I can find that Sienna again. But something will always be changed after Nick, after losing him. Something will always be broken.

My phone buzzes.

Nick

If I hypothetically showed up at your house, how would I get to the door of your suite without getting my leg bitten off?

The words stare at me. I raise an eyebrow. I haven’t answered any of his previous texts—I should answer at least one, so he knows I’m alive, even if this message is completely baffling.

What would it hurt, at this point? I type a reply with numb thumbs.

Sienna

What are you talking about?

Nick

The monster standing on your doormat. It’s orange and tiny and looks like it wants to pick the flesh off my bones.

Lightning jolts down my spine. Orange monster. Mrs. Martin’s cat. Henry had been prowling around when I brought my suitcases in earlier. Which means that Nick …

I jump to my feet, pulse pounding. I’m almost afraid of my heart’s reaction to the possibility of Nick being here , at my home, only a few steps away. Rushing to the window, I pull the curtain aside and peer out.

He isn’t standing at the top of the steps, like I thought he’d be. He’s crouched near the entrance of my suite, petting the cat weaving between his feet. Henry bumps Nick’s ankles with the top of his head. The sound of purring floats through the cracked-open window, as well as Nick’s soft voice.

“You’re not a bad cat, are you?” he says, ruffling the fur at the base of Henry’s chin. Henry closes his eyes in cat bliss. “You’re just misunderstood.”

I step back from the window and take a shaky breath.

Does Nick know what coming here means? It’s a direct violation of Victor Harwood’s orders. If there were a contract left to destroy, this would send everything up in smoke. It still could. What about Harwood Restaurant Group?

I’m still fighting with myself when he knocks at the door.

“Sienna?”

Panicking, I smooth the front of my hoodie with one hand and fluff the roots of my hair with the other. As if that’s going to help.

“I know you’re in there. You—um—you left one of your shoes in the guest room.”

Bracing myself, I open the door, letting in a gust of spring air and Nick’s rosemary smell. He’s standing with one hand in his pocket, mouth curved in that soft smile I love so much, holding a drawstring bag.

“Which shoe?” I ask.

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a red stiletto with a pearl sewn into the toe.

My broken heel from the charity gala. “I fixed it as best I could,” he says.

His bronze hair is mussed on one side, and he isn’t wearing a coat over his white t-shirt and jeans.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was just a normal, mega-hot, mega-successful guy. “It needed some superglue.”

“Okay.” My voice is thick as I take it from him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

We look at each other, the moment stretching long.

Sunlight plays at the ends of his lashes.

His beautiful eyes survey me, my hair, my mouth.

I’ve been imagining looking into those eyes since last night, since I finally admitted to him how I feel.

Now I can barely stand the agony in my bones at the sight of him. Joy and torture at once.

Joy, because, as impossible as it seems, I’m in love with Nick Harwood.

Torture, because, as impossible as it seems, I’m in love with Nick Harwood.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I tell him. “We’re not supposed to see each other.”

His smile doesn’t fall the way I expect it to. Instead, his voice gets deeper, sending tingles up my arms. “Who says?”

“Your father, Nick. Your—your future.”

Nick mmms , never taking his eyes off me. “Can I tell you something?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t really care about either of those things.”

His words from last night repeat in my head for the hundredth time this morning.

The contract— my contract—isn’t about the company anymore. It’s about making sure you’re good, baby.

“You …” Words fail me. I must have taken a step beyond the threshold of my suite, because suddenly the soles of my feet are on the doormat, and we’re close to each other.

I can feel warmth radiating from him, melting into the kiss of the springtime breeze.

“What are you saying? Your dad and Alvin called this morning?—”

“I know.” His smile falls. “I’m sorry they did that.”

“Me, too.”

“You deserve better,” he says. “Your family deserves better.”

“I know.” I swallow hard. “But we knew this could happen. We knew they could find out about my dad.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then he reaches up and caresses my cheek with his thumb. It’s the most intimate physical contact we’ve had since the night of the charity gala. Fire crackles through me.

“I said no,” he tells me.

“To what?”

“To the company. To the CEO position. To all of it.”

There’s a bird singing in the tree next door. I search for a lie in Nick’s face and, finding none, the world goes very bright, like someone pried open the lid of a tightly closed box and let light in.

“You did?”

Nick nods gently, his hand moving from my face to the upper part of my arm, where his fingertips skate over my sleeve. The touch is so hesitant and tender I might melt.

“But … you can’t say no,” I say. Tears are threatening, but I gulp them down. Do not cry, Sienna. “Not for me. I won’t put you in that position.”

He shakes his head. “This isn’t on you. It’s my choice. My father’s ego, the shareholders’ opinions, the whole fucking company … they don’t matter to me. I still mean what I said last night. I—I didn’t realize it before, but you showed me. I’m meant for something more.”

“Nick.”

“Sienna.” I watch him swallow. Inhale. “None of it matters to me as much as you do.”

“I …” My fingers flex at my side. I want to reach for him, but I need to know what’s going to happen next. I need to know he’ll be okay. “What will you do?”

Nick shrugs, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Open my restaurant. Spend every day doing something I love. Ask my wife out on our first date.” He grins at the face I make. “Not exactly in that order.”

My wife. “You don’t want to get divorced?”

He shrugs again, but his eyes are intent on me. “Seems like a lot of unnecessary paperwork. I’d just ask you to marry me again.” Warmth surges inside me as his fingers glide down my arm. He holds my left hand between us. “You forgot this, too, by the way.”

Nick presses something into my palm. My wedding ring. It glints in the sun, diamond sparkling.

“I’ll love you for the rest of our lives,” he says quietly, “if you’ll let me.”

I gulp, my vision blurring. Tears drip off my chin—there’s no stopping them, this time. Love. He’s offering to love me. Not for the sake of a contract; not for only a moment, or a day, or a month. A steady love, something unshakeable. A bridge we build together.

A bridge we build for real.

I’m buzzing all over. From fear, excitement, and everything that comes with giving up hope, then opening a door to find a new path laid before you.

“Okay,” I say, stepping closer. For the first time, when I do something impulsive with Nick Harwood, I’m going to know exactly why I’m doing it. “I’ll let you. I want you to.”

I stand up on my tiptoes. The world moves with me as I close the space between us, fingers tight around my wedding ring, and bring my mouth up to his.

The kiss is hot and lingering, a slow, unspoken promise.

We stay like that a moment, suspended in each other.

Then, shoulders rounding, Nick crushes my body against his, moving his lips over mine like he’s been famished.

His tongue flicks into my mouth, caressing me as if he’s been waiting centuries to memorize my taste.

His hands run up my back. He whispers my name.

I think of the wedding, of the feeling of his mouth on my neck after the charity gala, and revel in the sweetness of this kiss finally being ours. It’s more than just allowed. It belongs to us.

“I love you too,” I tell him. It’s easy.

The sound he makes is pure relief, and he kisses me again, lifting me from the ground. When he sets me down, I can barely speak for needing more.

“What do you want to do now?” I ask him.

Nick slides my ring back on my finger. He’s still wearing his. I wonder if he ever took it off.

“Well, I might not currently have a long chain of restaurants attached to my name, but …” His mouth quirks, and he glances behind me, into my basement suite. “I can make you lunch. You got a kitchen in there?”

I roll my eyes at him, my heart practically glowing in my chest. “Are you seriously asking me if I have a kitchen? I’ve never heard you sound more out of touch with the common people, Mr. Harwood.”

His eyes glint. “Keep calling me that, and I’ll do anything you want, Ms. Hayes.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“How about entering a fake marriage, falling in love with your PR person, and giving up a billion-dollar company that’s been yours since birth?”

“Again?” He laughs, and before I know what’s happening, he leans down and sweeps me off my feet, holding me against his chest in the wedding carry we’re both familiar with.

I nuzzle my face into his neck— home , I’m finally home—as he carries me over the threshold of my basement suite. “Can we eat first, at least?”