Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
The countess smiles approvingly at Harper before turning back to me. “We heard rumors you might not show,” she says. “But New York society enjoys inventing stories.”
“Usually bad ones,” I reply dryly.
They laugh.
The conversation drifts easily after that—Rome, development projects in Milan, the upcoming auction season at Sotheby’s. The count speaks with animated hands while the countess occasionally corrects details with the grace of a woman who has spent decades refining wealthy men publicly.
Outwardly, Harper handles it beautifully.
She smiles when appropriate, responds politely when included, even laughs at one of the count’s dramatic stories about Venetian politics.
But I feel it beside me. The subtle withdrawal, a bit of tension.
By the time the Italians finally excuse themselves toward the bar, Harper looks more uneasy.
“You all right?” I ask quietly.
She gives a small nod too quickly to be convincing. “Yeah.” Finally, she glances down at her drink. “I’m a little awkward here.”
I lean closer so she can hear me over the orchestra beginning another jazz tune across the room. “Why?”
She gives me a look that practically says Are you serious?
“Julian,” she says, “I just got introduced to actual Italian royalty.”
“They’re not actual royalty anymore.”
“That doesn’t help.”
I laugh beneath my breath.
Harper shakes her head and looks out across the glittering room. “Everyone here seems so… aristocratic… like they were born understanding rooms like this.”
“And you think you weren’t?”
“You and I both know I wasn’t.”
I take the champagne glass gently from her hand and set it on a passing server’s tray before turning fully toward her.
“Harper,” I say evenly, “you need to stop caring what other people think.”
She stares at me for a beat before letting out a soft incredulous laugh. “Easy for you to say.”
“You belong as much as anyone. Anyone here making you uncomfortable is just insecure.”
I slide my hand lightly along her bare back beneath the open line of her dress, drawing her closer instinctively.
“For what it’s worth,” I murmur, “you’re the most interesting person in this room by a significant margin.”
And because I can tell she’s still untethered, I spend the next half hour keeping her close, weaving us through conversations without abandoning her inside them, quietly translating the rhythms of rooms like this the same way I once explained hockey to her.
By the time the orchestra shifts into “Fly Me to the Moon,” she’s relaxed again, laughing and at ease.
Then midnight approaches.
The energy in the Rainbow Room changes all at once as people migrate toward the windows for the countdown and fireworks over the city.
I take Harper’s hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“The best view in Manhattan.”
She laughs softly. “Modest.”
“I’m serious.”
I guide her through the crowd toward the western side of the room where the windows stretch floor to ceiling above the glittering skyline.
Harper steps beside the glass and her breath catches as she takes it in. “Oh my God.”
I smile, satisfied. “Told you.”
And then another voice arrives to interrupt us. “Julian.”
I turn.
Giselle Von Enck moves toward us, tall and impossibly elegant in a black satin dress. Dutch by birth, educated at the Sorbonne, and yes, gorgeous.
She reaches me and kisses both my cheeks lightly. “Happy New Year, darling,” she murmurs.
“Giselle.”
Her eyes drift briefly toward Harper, assessing quickly before returning entirely to me. “You disappeared after I saw you in Milan last fall,” she says. “I was beginning to think you’d become boring.”
“That would be a first.”
She smiles slowly at that.
I place a hand lightly against Harper’s back. “Harper, this is Giselle Von Enck.”
Giselle offers a graceful smile. “Lovely to meet you.”
“You too,” Harper replies politely.
But the interaction already seems off balance. Because Giselle barely engages with her at all afterward, her attention sliding back toward me like Harper is incidental to the conversation.
“You still owe me dinner,” Giselle says.
Before I can answer, the room erupts around us.
“TWENTY!”
The countdown thunders across the Rainbow Room, voices joining together beneath the chandeliers.
“NINETEEN!”
Giselle smiles up at me beneath the roar of the crowd. “Well, I need to go find my friend, but I look forward to our date next Saturday,” she says.
And then she’s gone.
Around us, the countdown continues.
“EIGHTEEN!”
“SEVENTEEN!”
But Harper has gone completely still beside me. I turn toward her and find her staring at me like she’s just been slapped.
“What?” she says faintly.
Realization crashes into me all at once.
Christ.
“Harper—”
“You have a date with her? Have you been sleeping with her too?”
“Sixteen!”
“No,” I say. “Not an actual—”
She lets out a short disbelieving laugh and steps backward away from me.
“Harper.”
“I can’t believe this,” she says, shaking her head now.
“Fifteen!”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it?”
The crowd around us keeps roaring through the countdown, oblivious to the fact that my entire evening is collapsing in real time. I reach for her arm, but she steps away before I can touch her.
“Ten!”
“Harper, listen to me.”
She’s disappearing into the crowd.
“Harper, wait—”
“THREE!”
I chase her through the room as she spots the elevator bank.