Page 28 of Improper Proposal
I press the phone hard against my ear, like somehow that will stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks, but it’s pointless. The stupid tears have been falling for a week now, ever since I fled London and returned home. I have no right to cry. The mess was all mine. I should have hightailed it out of the Winston castle as soon as I found out I was on the wrong adventure.
On the other end of the line, Piper is trying to console me, but I can’t keep my thoughts on her when all they want to do is travel to Will and his family. I’d hurt them, and that was the last thing I ever wanted to do.
“Harper, are you still there?”
“I’m here,” I say and push off the sofa. I walk to the window and look at the cars on the street below. As I stare into the distance, I hear a child’s giggle come through the phone. Must be Maddie, the little girl Piper was supposed to babysit but fell in love with instead. “Tell me more about Lucas and Maddie,” I say, wanting the conversation off me and onto her. My heart wobbles a little to know Piper found the love of her life in Greece and now has a small family of her own.
“No, this is about you,” Piper says.
“How could I have been so stupid?” I ask. “Putting our names in a hat was a ridiculous idea.”
“Not really,” she says. “We all found love. Even you.”
I snort as two cars pull up in front of my building. Dropping the curtain, I walk through my condo. I used to enjoy the quiet, the solitude of the place, but now, after spending time in a castle full of people, the place feels lonely. My heart thumps, and I fight not to throw myself on my bed and curl up into a ball of self-pity.
“Tell me again about the adventure I was supposed to go on,” I say to Piper, even though she’s already told me. Apparently, I was supposed to go to 52 Yorkshire Lane. Piper hadn’t screwed anything up. I was the one who’d accidently given the driver the wrong number.
Which, in the end, turned out to be the right number, because what I found at 25 Yorkshire Lane changed me in so many ways, and was much better than a haunted castle/murder mystery adventure for singles.
“Call him, Harper. Tell him how you feel.”
“I can’t do that. It’s been a week. If he wanted to talk to me, he would have reached out.”
“Maybe he’s saying the same about you.”
Was that possible? Did I dare hope that he might want more and was waiting for me to make the first move?
What if I did make the first move, only for Will and his family to reject me? I don’t think I could go through that pain and humiliation again. Better to just set my sights on the future, one without any of them in it.
Since when did you become such a chickenshit, Harper?
“Do it, Harper. Go after what you want. I bet Will is hurting as much as you are. Go after him. Show him what a great woman you are. He’ll welcome you with open arms. I’m sure of it.”
While I’d like to do just that, Will only asked for a week of sex, and I told him I wanted the same. I’m not going to go after something that wasn’t mine. I wasn’t supposed to let my emotions get involved or fall for his family. God, the disappointed looks on everyone’s faces when George said I wasn’t his surprise still haunt me. How could I ever look at any of them again, when they all likely hate me? If I am wise, I’ll forget the adventure ever happened.
I grab my laptop and open Instagram. Will hasn’t posted anything. Is he home, as miserable as I am, or has he moved on? My intercom chimes, but I ignore it—I’m in no shape for visitors—as I run my finger over his picture and my heart thumps.
I love him.
Chapter Ten
Will
It’s been a week since Harper took off and headed back to the United States, and in those seven days, I scrambled to find out her contact information. Her firm wouldn’t give it out, but with the help of a private investigator, I finally tracked down her place. I’d wanted to go after her when she flew out the door, but my family stopped me, demanding answers. I couldn’t let them think the worst of Harper, so I told her story, and they all softened because she’d found her w
ay into their hearts. Then I used those extra seven days to coordinate things—sometimes with my England family it’s like herding cats—and prepare to do things right with Harper this time.
Now, here I am, standing outside in the cold, repeatedly pressing the button to her condo. Either she’s not answering, or she’s not home. Regardless, now that I’ve found her, I’m not in a hurry to go anywhere—not unless she’s with me.
I pace on the front walkway and glance at the two cars parked on the curb, all the people inside staring at me with wide eyes, wondering what I’m doing, no doubt. Finally, a pizza delivery guy comes by, and I follow him in. The crew in the cars all jump out, and I hold the door for them. The delivery guy doesn’t bother giving any of us a glance as he makes his way to the elevator, and I head to the stairwell. I’m in too much of a hurry to wait for the elevator. I take the steps two at a time, and my heart pounds hard as I stand outside her door and raise my hand to knock.
I pause for a moment. What if she doesn’t want to see me, won’t listen to what I have to say?
I shake my head. Nope. Can’t think like that. I have to make her see things my way, and I’ll plant myself right here on the floor until she does. I knock. Hard. I hear footsteps on the other side of the door, then all goes silent. I stare at the peephole I can only assume she’s looking through.
“Open the door, Harper.”
I wait another long-ass minute, and when it doesn’t open, I say, “Open the door unless you want me to pound on it for the next few hours until your neighbors call the cops.”
