Chapter 5

~Harper~

We barely make it out of the elevator before the cameras hit us like a wall. I forgot Elias is a hot shot Billionaire. 

One second Elias is holding my hand, thumb rubbing over my knuckles like he can’t stop touching me now that I finally admitted I’m in this, and the next second there’s shouting and flashing and people shoving microphones in our faces.

“Mr. Voss! Is this your new wife?”

“Harper, over here! Smile!”

“Who’s the girl, Elias?”

Elias goes stiff beside me. His hand tightens on mine so hard it hurts and then he’s moving, pulling me into his side, arm locking around my waist like a steel band. He turns his body so I’m half-hidden behind him, shoulder blocking most of the lenses.

“Back off,” he snaps, voice low and mean enough that a couple photographers actually stumble.

But they don’t back off. They swarm closer. Questions flying over each other.

“Is it true you got married in secret?”

“How long have you been together?”

“Harper, are the rumors true? Did he pay you?”

I laugh. Can’t help it. It comes out sharp and bitchy. “Yeah, he paid me in threats and kidnapping. Real romantic.”

Elias shoots me a look shut up, Harper but there’s a tiny twitch at his mouth like he wants to laugh too.

He starts walking, dragging me with him toward the waiting car. The crowd moves with us, cameras clicking like machine guns. Someone grabs my arm and Elias loses it.

He whirls around, shoves the guy hard enough the camera goes flying. “Touch her again and I’ll break your fucking hand.”

The guy scrambles back, hands up. The rest hesitate but keep shooting.

Elias opens the car door, basically throws me inside, climbs in after me, slams it shut. The driver pulls away before the door’s even fully closed.

I’m breathing hard, heart racing. Elias is staring out the window, jaw clenched so tight I can hear his teeth grinding.

“Hey,” I say, poking his thigh. “You okay?”

He turns his head slow. Eyes dark. “No one touches you. Ever.”

“Possessive much?”

He grabs my face, pulls me into a hard kiss. Quick but bruising. “Yes.”

I pull back, wipe my mouth even though there’s nothing there. “They got pictures. It’s gonna be everywhere tomorrow.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should. You’re the reclusive one, remember?”

He snorts. “Was.”

We’re supposed to be heading to some gallery opening my first public thing since the wedding, some artist friend of his or whatever but now I’m wired and pissed and kind of want to go home and hide under the covers.

The car stops outside the gallery anyway. More cameras. Less than before but still enough to make my stomach drop.

Elias looks at me. “We can skip it.”

“No,” I say, because fuck that. “I’m not letting them ruin this night.”

He nods once, gets out first, comes around to my side. Opens the door and holds out his hand like a shield. I take it and step out into the flashes again.

He keeps me glued to his side the whole way in, arm around my shoulders now, hand splayed across my collarbone like he’s claiming territory. Inside it’s better, dim lights, pretentious art on the walls, people in expensive clothes pretending they understand it.

We make it ten minutes. Ten whole minutes of sipping champagne and Elias introducing me as “my wife” with this proud edge in his voice that makes my chest tight.

Then she shows up.

Aurora.

Tall, blonde, legs for days, red dress that screams look at me. She spots Elias across the room and makes a beeline, smile sharp as a knife.

“Elias, darling,” she says, loud enough half the room turns. She leans in and kisses him on the cheek. Lingering. Lipstick and everything.

I feel it like a slap.

Elias pulls back fast, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. “Aurora.”

She ignores me completely at first, eyes only on him. “You look good. Married life agrees with you.”

Her gaze finally flicks to me. Fake smile. “And this must be the child bride I’ve read so much about.”

I smile back, all teeth. “And you must be the ex who can’t take a hint.”

She laughs, high and fake. “Feisty. Cute.”

Elias steps half in front of me. “We’re leaving.”

“No,” Aurora says, grabbing his arm. “We need to talk. Privately.”

He shakes her off. “Nothing to talk about.”

I’ve had enough. Champagne glass hits a passing tray hard enough it sloshes. I turn and walk. Fast. 

I hear him call my name but I don’t stop. Push through the crowd, out the side door, into the street. More cameras but I keep moving, ducking into the alley beside the building because I need air and space and to not punch someone.

Footsteps behind me. Fast.

“Harper!”

I spin around. He’s there, breathing hard, eyes wild.

“What the fuck was that?” I yell.

“She’s nothing,” he says, stepping closer. “You know that.”

“Do I? Because she kissed you and you just stood there!”

“I pulled away!”

“Not fast enough!”

He drags a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want a scene.”

“Yeah, well, too late!”

I try to push past him but he grabs my arms, backs me up against the brick wall. Not hard. Just firm.

“Let go.”

“No.” His voice drops. “You’re jealous.”

“Fuck you.”

“You are.” His mouth twitches. “It’s hot.”

I shove at his chest. “Don’t you dare smile right now.”

He doesn’t. Just stares down at me, hands sliding from my arms to my waist, pinning me there.

“I hate this,” I snap.

“Hate what?”

“Fuck you! You kidnap me, force me to marry you and now bring in some bride to mock me.”

His eyes go dark. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” My voice cracks on it.

He groans low in his throat and then his mouth is on mine.

 Hard and desperate and punishing. I kiss him back just as mean, biting his lip, nails digging into his shoulders through his jacket.

He presses me harder against the wall, thigh sliding between mine, hands everywhere my hips, my ass, my hair. I wrap one leg around his hip and he grinds into me and I moan into his mouth like an idiot.

We’re messy. Breathing ragged. My dress riding up, his tie yanked loose.

I’m shaking already and he hasn’t even touched skin.

He pulls back just enough to pant against my lips. “Tell me to stop.”

“No.”

“Harper.”

I grab his face, pull him back in. “Don’t you dare stop kissing me.”

He growls and dives back in, tongue fucking my mouth until my knees buckle. He holds me up easy, one hand under my thigh, the other tangled in my hair, tilting my head how he wants.

I’m soaked. Embarrassingly. My whole body on fire. I rock against his thigh shameless and he hisses.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Don’t call me that right now,” I gasp. “I’m still mad.”

“Liar.” He nips my neck. “You’re dripping on my suit.”

I shove his shoulder. “Shut up!”

He laughs against my skin, low and rough. Then kisses me again, slower this time, but deeper. Like he’s trying to crawl inside me.

I’m trembling head to toe when he finally pulls back.

We’re both wrecked. Hair messed up. Lipstick everywhere, mine on him, hers probably still on his cheek. Suits wrinkled. Breathing like we ran a marathon.

He rests his forehead against mine, hands still on my hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice hoarse. “About Aurora. About all of it.”

I swallow hard. “You better be.”

“She’s nothing. You’re everything.”

I snort, but it comes out wet. “Cheesy bastard.”

He smiles small. “Your cheesy bastard.”

I roll my eyes but don’t argue.

We fix ourselves best we can smooth dresses, retie ties, wipe lipstick with his pocket square. He keeps touching me though. Hand on my back, fingers in mine, like he’s scared I’ll bolt again.

Back inside we avoid Aurora completely. She watches from across the room but doesn’t come near. Smart.

We leave early anyway. Car ride home is quiet but his hand stays on my thigh the whole time, thumb stroking.

In the elevator up to the penthouse I’m checking my phone burner one I keep hidden and there’s a text from Sofia.

Don’t trust the gallery owner. He works for Aurora.

I stare at it until the screen goes dark.

Elias notices. “What?”

“Nothing,” I lie, shoving the phone in my clutch.

He frowns but doesn’t push.

Inside he pours us whiskey. I down mine in one go. He watches, eyebrows up.

“Rough night?”

“You could say that.”

He steps closer, takes the glass from me, sets it down. Cups my face gentle.

“You okay?”

No. I’m jealous and horny and confused and scared because I’m falling way too fast and now there’s some shady gallery owner working for his ex and I don’t know what the fuck is going on and may be having this Stockholm syndrome thing. 

But I say, “Yeah. Just tired.”

He nods slow, like he knows I’m full of shit but won’t call me on it yet.

“Go change,” he says. “I’ll wait.”

I go to the bedroom, strip out of the dress, throw on one of his T-shirts and nothing else because fuck panties right now.

When I come back he’s on the couch, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, whiskey in hand.

I crawl into his lap without asking. He sets the glass down fast, hands going to my bare thighs.