Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Damian

Richard’s challenge to the venue contract fell apart within a week, exactly as Mason predicted. There had been no real loophole, only the appearance of one, enough to cause delay without actually causing damage. My father’s games were becoming smaller, more desperate, less effective each time he played them.

I should have felt victorious. Instead I felt tired.

“You’re distracted,” Harper said one evening, watching me stare at the same page of a contract for several minutes without actually reading it.

“I’m thinking.”

“About Richard?”

“About everything.” I set the papers down. “Sometimes I wonder if he’ll ever stop.”

“Would it matter if he didn’t?”

I considered the question seriously. A year ago, it would have mattered enormously. Richard’s approval, or lack of it, had shaped most of my adult decisions in ways I hadn’t fully recognized until Harper arrived and started asking uncomfortable questions about why.

“No,” I said finally. “I don’t think it would.”

Harper smiled, something proud flickering behind her expression. “Good.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“I’ve always been wise. You’re just finally paying attention.”

I laughed, pulling her down onto the couch beside me, papers forgotten entirely. She curled against my side easily now, the motion familiar in a way that still occasionally caught me off guard. Six months ago, this woman had walked into my life planning my destruction. Now she fit against me like she’d always belonged there.

“Lily wants to know if she can invite her hamster to the wedding,” Harper said after a moment.

“Absolutely not.”

“That’s what I told her. She’s drafting an appeal.”

“Of course she is.”

“She’s very committed to this hamster’s social calendar.”

I shook my head, smiling despite myself. Our daughter’s determination rivaled Victoria’s, though at least Lily’s schemes involved rodents rather than corporate sabotage.

“Speaking of Victoria,” Harper said, tone shifting slightly. “She invited us to dinner this weekend.”

“That’s never good.”

“She said it’s a peace offering.”

“Victoria doesn’t offer peace. She offers strategic retreats.”

Harper laughed, though something wary lingered underneath it. “Should we go?”

“Probably. Ignoring her invitations only makes things worse.”

“Fine. But if she brings up the tablecloth colors again, I’m leaving.”

“Fair.”

The dinner, held two nights later at Victoria’s penthouse, proceeded with surprising civility. Victoria, dressed in sharp navy, greeted us both with something almost resembling warmth, though I remained cautious throughout the entire meal, waiting for whatever agenda lurked beneath the surface.

“I owe you an apology,” Victoria said eventually, once dessert had been served. “For the magazine. Lily mentioned you found it presumptuous.”

Harper glanced at me briefly before answering. “It was thoughtful. We just have a different vision.”

“Clearly.” Victoria’s mouth twitched, something almost like amusement. “The beach setting. Very unconventional for this family.”

“We’re not exactly a conventional family,” I said.

“No,” Victoria agreed slowly. “I suppose we’re not.”

Something shifted in her expression, brief and unguarded, gone before I could examine it fully. For a moment, I saw something almost like vulnerability underneath the composed exterior she’d perfected over decades.

“I never got a wedding like that,” she said quietly. “Something simple. Something meant, rather than performed.”

Harper’s expression softened. “You still could.”

Victoria laughed, sharp and dismissive, though something sad lingered underneath it. “That ship sailed long ago, dear. I made my choices.”

The comment hung in the air, heavier than the conversation warranted, and I found myself studying my sister the way I hadn’t in years. Victoria’s marriage, arranged decades earlier for business reasons rather than affection, had never been anything close to what Harper and I had built. I’d never considered what that might have cost her, watching from the sidelines while everyone around her found something she’d never allowed herself to want.

“Victoria—”

“Don’t,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “I don’t need pity, Damian. I need another glass of wine and a subject change.”

Harper obliged smoothly, steering the conversation toward safer territory, and the rest of the evening passed without further incident. By the time we left, something had shifted slightly between us and Victoria, subtle but real, the beginning of something that might eventually resemble peace.

“That was strange,” Harper said in the car afterward.

“Very.”

“Do you think she meant it? About the wedding?”

“I think Victoria’s spent so long protecting an image that she forgot to ask herself what she actually wanted,” I said. “I think tonight was the first time in years she let herself admit that.”

Harper reached for my hand across the seat. “That’s sad.”

“It is.”

“Do you think it’s too late for her?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I think tonight matters, regardless. Sometimes just admitting something out loud is the first step toward changing it.”

Harper studied me for a long moment, something thoughtful behind her eyes. “Is that what we’re doing? Admitting things slowly?”

The question landed with more weight than the casual tone suggested. I glanced at her, meeting her eyes fully despite the darkness of the car.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “I think that’s exactly what we’re doing.”

“How much longer?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Until slow becomes something else?”

My heart pounded steadily against my ribs, the same restrained urgency I’d felt at the venue creeping back into my chest. “However long you need.”

“And if I don’t need much longer?”

The question hung between us, charged and significant, neither of us quite brave enough yet to close the distance completely. But something had shifted tonight, watching Victoria’s rare vulnerability, recognizing exactly how easily patience could curdle into regret if given too much time.

“Then we won’t wait much longer,” I said.

Harper’s breath caught, the same reaction I’d grown to recognize and adore over these past months. She didn’t respond immediately, just studied me with something warm and certain settling behind her eyes.

We arrived home shortly after, the mansion quiet and dark except for the porch light Lily insisted on leaving on for us. Harper paused at the base of the stairs, turning back to look at me.

“Goodnight, Damian.”

“Goodnight, Harper.”

She lingered a moment longer than necessary before heading upstairs, and I stood there watching her go, patience wearing thinner with every step she took away from me. Soon, she’d said at the venue. Soon, I’d agreed.

Standing there in the quiet hallway, I finally allowed myself to admit exactly how close soon had actually become.