CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ryan smiles when he sees me racing toward him.
I quickly dodge a family of five and try not to trip over the wheelie cases squeaking along behind them.
“Sorry I’m late!” I wheeze as I join the press group waiting in the departures area. “I had a last-minute emergency.”
“Oh no! I hope everything is okay?” says a curly-haired woman in alarm.
“Yes, everything is fine now,” I assure her.
There’s no need to go into the details of said emergency, which was that as I got ready to leave the flat, I suddenly realized in absolute horror that I’d forgotten to shave my legs. I had to cancel the Uber that was already waiting, as the driver was getting grumpy and sending me impatient messages, and then hoist up the blue maxi skirt I was wearing to balance a leg in the sink before doing the other one. I then had to wait ten minutes for another Uber to accept my trip, and by then the traffic was terrible on the way to Gatwick.
“I’m so sorry for holding you up,” I say again.
“You’re only a few minutes late, it’s no problem,” the woman says, smiling with impossibly perfect, pearly-white teeth. “I’m Sadie, by the way. It’s really nice to meet you—I’ve heard a lot about you from Mimi.”
She introduces me to the small circle of people that will be joining us—two journalists from different travel publications and one from a luxury fashion magazine that is launching a travel section—and I politely say hi to all of them, until she lands on Ryan.
“And of course, you know Ryan,” she says as I acknowledge him with a smile, forcing myself to look up into his eyes.
“Right,” I say through nervous laughter. “Hi.”
“Hi, Harper,” he replies, giving nothing away.
“Let’s tackle security, shall we?” Sadie suggests before turning on her heel and walking briskly through the airport.
Ryan and I naturally fall into step with one another as we bring up the rear of the group, the other journos forced to make small talk as they try to keep up with Sadie.
“So, did you—” he begins at the same time as I say, “I want to thank—”
“Sorry,” I say, blushing. “You go first.”
“I was going to check you remembered your passport.”
“And I was going to thank you for the reminder.”
“I didn’t mean to sound bossy.”
“I didn’t think you sounded bossy.”
He nods. “Good.”
He still seems tense, and we remain silent until we reach the security queue and he lets me go ahead of him. The only time I see a hint of him relaxing is when we get near the front of the queue and I realize I need to get the liquids out. I plonk my weekend bag on the ground and unzip it, fishing around the crumpled clothes, trying not to send my sexy lingerie flying through the air in the process. As the queue moves forward, I’m forced to awkwardly shuffle along, nudging my bag along with me, my bum in the air as I lean over it.
“Organized as ever,” Ryan murmurs behind me, and I can hear that he’s smiling.
When we get on the plane, I’m disappointed that I’m not sitting next to him and contemplate trying to bribe the older woman in the seat beside him to switch. But my pride gets the better of me. I’m seated in the row behind, and I spend the two-hour flight studying what I can see of Ryan through the gap in the seats, which is his left ear, a portion of his neck, and the back of his left forearm and elbow.
After spending a little too long daydreaming about kissing that gentle slope of his neck, I force myself to snap out of it and instead open the itinerary that Sadie provided. Today, we’ll be relaxing at the hotel, which is, after all, the reason we’re here, but tomorrow morning we’ll be visiting art galleries and churches and enjoying a wine tour in the afternoon. Reading through, I get a flurry of excitement—it’s been ages since I went on holiday. I must remember to bring Mimi back a gift.
I can’t stop beaming as we step off the plane into the humid heat of summertime in Italy and spend the mini-bus taxi journey to the hotel gazing out the window in absolute awe of Firenze, one of the most beautiful cities I’ve ever seen. The narrow streets, lined with rustic, warm yellow, red-roofed buildings, are bursting with quirky shops and restaurants, and bustling with pedestrians, and even though I know nothing about architecture, I can tell the sights here are nothing short of spectacular. I’m already itching to explore.
“You’ve never been?” a voice asks gently.
I tear my eyes from the window to find that Ryan has moved to sit next to me.
“No, this is my first time. How could you tell?”
“Your face,” he answers simply, giving me one of his trademark secretive smiles. “You looked … in awe.”
“I am in awe,” I admit. “It’s stunning. You’ve been to Florence?”
“A few times. I love it here. The food is incredible, and wait until you see some of the views over the rooftops of the city. It’s really something.”
“You’ll have to show me some of your favorite spots,” I say.
He nods, looking pleased. “I will.”
Our hotel is located in a park in the hills just outside the center of the city, and as we drive down a tree-lined avenue and pull up to the villa built into the low hillside—a breathtakingly grand building with a dramatic fountain in the center of the driveway—my jaw drops. There is no chance I’d ever be able to afford to stay in a place like this. I really need to make the most of it.
The reception is the epitome of opulence: vast chandeliers hanging from the ceilings, huge gilded mirrors lining the dusty-pink and gold walls, and a vase bursting with white and pink flowers set on the round table in the middle of the room.
“Welcome!” Sadie trills, her delicate sandals clacking across the floor as she comes to stand in front of us. “As I’m sure you can already tell, you are standing in one of the most splendid villas here in the south of the city, built by Baron Cadorna in 1889. Once we’ve checked in, I’m going to let you settle in your rooms and freshen up from the flight, and then we’ll be enjoying a lunch on the terrace, prepared by the excellent chefs of the restaurant here. After lunch, you are free to spend the afternoon relaxing by the outdoor heated pool or enjoying the facilities of the spa before dinner—complimentary, of course. There are also some fabulous walks around the area, if you’d like to explore. Please do ask me first, though, so the hotel staff here can give you a rough guide of where to go. Oh, and I should mention that the bar will be open from—” she checks the time on her phone “—ah! It’s open now. Drinks are on the house. I have emailed all of you the full details of the hotel, but please do not hesitate to ask me any questions during your stay here. Right, let’s get you to your rooms.”
As she goes to sort our keys at reception, I lean toward Ryan, who is standing next to me, busy admiring the surrounding interiors.
“This isn’t a dream, right? We really are here.”
“I can confirm this is real, Harper.”
“I love my job,” I whisper, making him chuckle.
“Can I join you?”
Lying on a sun lounger by the pool, I look up to see Ryan wearing a white linen shirt and navy-blue swimming shorts with a towel over his arm. He’s gesturing to the lounger next to me, shielded from the sun by the same umbrella.
“Of course,” I say, putting the stapled pages I was reading down on the table next to my ice-cold water that one of the waiters kindly just refreshed for me. “Although there are better ones around the pool if you’d rather be in the sun.”
“With this delicate Scandinavian skin? Best not,” he says, sitting down and kicking off his flip-flops.
I’m glad I opted for a swimsuit rather than a bikini for this trip, but I still feel very naked in front of Ryan, and as he makes himself comfortable, I quickly check down my front that nothing is out of place and cross one leg over the other, wiggling my toes nervously.
He slides his Ray-Ban Wayfarers off his nose and balances them on top of his head, squinting at my reading material. “Those pages look like work—you’re going to get into trouble with Mimi if she hears you’ve been working on this trip.”
“It’s not work, but it is related to work. If I tell you what these pages are, will you promise not to tell?”
“My lips are sealed,” he whispers conspiratorially.
“Audrey Abbot has been writing her memoirs, and she sent me the first couple of chapters to read through to see what I think.”
“Whoa.” He grins. “That’s amazing.”
“I know, right? I feel so honored! And what I’ve read is brilliant, thank goodness. I can’t wait to read the whole thing. She sure has had an interesting life. I never knew she had so many ambitions—she actually always wanted to go into directing, but she was so successful with acting that she stuck with that and then never had the confidence to switch to behind the camera. After The Incident, she decided to give up on that dream altogether. I think she’d be a great director, personally. I’ll have to tell her so.”
“She must really trust you,” Ryan surmises.
“I hope so. Or she knows I’m a writer and an editor and is taking advantage of a free proofreading service before she sends the manuscript through to her publisher.”
“Now, that is much too cynical a viewpoint to come out of your lips.”
I smile. “You’re right. Let’s just say she trusts me.”
A member of the staff comes gliding over to ask Ryan if he’d like a drink. I’ve made a mental note that the review of this hotel needs to mention how incredible the service is—everyone is warm and friendly, and so attentive. Lunch was outstanding, and thanks in part to the delicious dry Tuscan white wine that was served throughout the meal, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so relaxed.
As if reading my mind, Ryan says, “I feel very lucky that the spot opened up and I was able to come at the last minute. I owe Mimi big time.”
“Me too. And I’m so thankful that she pulled your name out the hat and not Cosmo’s. Can you imagine if he were here? I bet he’d act as though he knew everything about Florence and lecture me the entire time.”
Ryan laughs. “I’m pleased I wasn’t your last choice, at least.”
“Don’t be silly,” I say, glancing at him. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He turns his head to look at me before asking in a low, sincere voice, “Are you? Because Harper, I would hate to think that—”
“Ryan,” I say, cutting him off, my heart thumping against my chest as he scrutinizes my expression, “I’m really glad that it’s you here with me.”
He doesn’t reply, and I see his throat bob as he swallows. Someone appears to deliver the beer that Ryan ordered, and then we’re both distracted by a loud splash that comes from the pool. One of the travel journalists in our group has just arrived, and, spotting us, he gives us an enthusiastic wave and drags a sun lounger over to where we are sitting.
Another moment ruined.
I stay for a while to be polite but eventually leave the pool to go have a nap in my elegant and air-conditioned room before getting ready for dinner. Collapsing on the big squishy white duvet of my bed, I turn on my side and close my eyes, falling asleep in a state of hopeful trepidation, thinking about the elated look on Ryan’s face when I told him that I was pleased he was here.
I wear a yellow dress for dinner—it’s got spaghetti straps, a fitted bodice with a scoop neckline, and a flowing skirt that swishes satisfactorily around the top of my calves as I walk. I complement it with gold earrings and a pair of wedges that have a delicate gold strap around the ankle, and bold red lipstick. I tie my hair back in a loose ponytail so it’s off my neck in the heat, but not too severe around my face. Finally, as recommended by Mimi, I apply some gold highlighter along my collarbones.
Everyone is already sitting around the table in the restaurant when I come downstairs, and they all look up as I enter the room, but Ryan pushes his chair back and jumps to his feet. As I move round the table to take the free chair next to his, I notice Sadie raising her eyebrows at him with undisguised interest as he pulls out my chair for me.
Now that we’re all seated, the chef enters the dining room and introduces himself, explaining our menu of local produce, which will begin with a selection of hors d’oeuvres before a starter of squid tagliatelle or Florentine dumplings, followed by a main of slow-cooked lamb with artichokes or spinach ricotta gnocchi, and a dessert of almond and raspberry mousse, each course accompanied with a wine pairing chosen by the hotel’s sommelier.
“I’m not sure I’ll fit into this dress after this meal,” I whisper to Ryan once the chef has finished and left us to it.
He smiles, his eyes flickering down my dress and back up again. “That is a very nice dress.” He hesitates before quietly adding, “You look beautiful.”
I’m so flustered, I don’t know what to say, and I’m glad when Sadie asks Ryan what he thinks of the hotel so far, so that I have a moment to gather my thoughts. I feel so aware of him throughout the meal: where our hands are placed on the table, how close our legs are to brushing against each other, how he looks at me after he speaks, as though seeking my approval.
After dinner, we’re guided to the poolside bar, which is romantically lit by lamps and candles dotted around the tables. The water is inviting at night, a shimmering magenta-blue thanks to the purple lights set underwater along its walls. We’re served the hotel’s signature cocktails, and, on top of the wine from dinner, our group is getting tipsier and louder.
Ryan is sitting opposite me now, and I can feel him watching as I fall into conversation with Sadie, who is slurring her words a little as she enthusiastically tells me how much she adores Mimi and how she’s so happy that we’ve now met after hearing all about me.
After assuring Sadie that she and I are 100 percent good friends now, I announce that I’m heading to bed as it’s getting late. The others say good night but don’t really acknowledge my departure. I don’t notice that Ryan is behind me until I get to the elevator.
“Hey,” I say, surprised at his presence, and hold the door for him.
“Hey,” he replies, pressing the button to our floor.
We’re both facing the shiny silver doors as they slowly close, and stand next to each other in tense silence the whole way up to the third floor. It must only take a few seconds, but standing in the lift so close to him, our fingertips centimeters from brushing against each other, it feels like time stands still.
I keep my eyes fixed ahead on the doors, refusing to glance at him. My heart is thudding so hard against my chest, I’m scared he’ll be able to hear it above the soft elevator music.
He allows me to step out first, and I walk toward my room, hyperaware of his soft footsteps behind me. Slowing down as I reach my door, I decide enough is enough and it’s time to talk to him properly. I spin round suddenly to face him, but the alcohol and the heels have me a little off balance. He grips my arm and steadies me just in time.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yes, thanks. Sorry.” I take a deep breath. “Ryan, I should say … uh … well, about last weekend. I’m really sorry for running out on you like that.”
“Don’t be,” he says, his eyes dropping to the floor. “You were doing the right thing.”
“I should have broken up with Liam a while ago.”
“Harper—”
“No, I need to say this. We’ve needed to talk all week and—”
“I know and I want to talk about it,” he insists, glancing to the lift. “But maybe we should go into a room? Just so it’s not so … public. Some of the other journos are on this floor, too, and they could come up any minute.”
“You’re right,” I say, realizing that this is a bit of an awkward conversation to have in a hotel corridor. “Come into mine.”
He waits patiently as I fumble with the door and then follows me into the bedroom, immediately groaning as he spots the contents of my weekend bag spilling out onto the floor.
“I bet the first thing you do when you arrive at a hotel is unpack your bag and put everything away in the wardrobe,” I say, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning down to undo the straps of my shoes. “Even though we’re only here for two days, I bet you’ve put everything away neatly, hanging it all up or folding it away.”
“Of course,” he says, sitting down in one of the plush velvet armchairs by the window. “That way I can find everything I’ve brought with me and nothing is crumpled.”
“You know what you need to do, Ryan?”
“What’s that?”
“Live a little.”
He smiles, sitting back as he rests his elbows on the armrests of the chair. He watches me intently. I stare back and lose myself in his blue eyes. Ryan Jansson is in my hotel room. This is dangerous territory. And thrilling.
I swallow the lump in my throat as I take him in. His expression softens, like he understands that I’m really seeing him. His lips twitch as though fighting a smile. I suddenly feel embarrassed for staring and drop my eyes to the ground.
“What did you want to say about last weekend?” he prompts.
I nod and take a deep breath, studying the carpet. “I wanted to tell you that breaking up with Liam was exactly what I had been planning to do. What happened between us may have been a catalyst, but I didn’t want you thinking that I’m upset about Liam, because I’m not. I’m glad it’s over. And I’m only sorry that … well, I’m sorry I hadn’t broken up with him ages ago, to be honest.”
His brow furrows as he listens. “So, you don’t regret what happened last weekend?”
I startle at the idea, jolting my head up to look at him. “Between us? No, I don’t regret what happened. At all. Do you?”
“No, Harper,” he says, almost looking pained at the question.
He stands abruptly and puts his hands in his pockets, turning away to look out the window.
“You’ve been acting strange this week,” I continue. “I thought you may be cross at me or confused about the kiss.”
He shakes his head. “This week has been really painful.”
“Why?”
He hesitates and then shrugs. “I didn’t know what you were thinking.”
“I didn’t know what you were thinking.”
Turning from the window to face me again, he asks, “What are you thinking?”
“You first,” I insist, jutting out my chin.
“Fine.” Agitated, he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m thinking that … well, to be honest, the only thing I seem to be able to think about at the moment is you, Harper. I can’t get you out of my head. I thought I made this clear eleven years ago, but maybe you didn’t believe me or you weren’t really listening. You have no idea what you do to me. You’re beautiful, but it’s so much more than that. I’ve never been able to talk to anyone the way I can talk to you. Since Adam died, I’d always felt so closed off and alone and irrelevant. Then I met you and—you made everything feel warm and open and alive. The world seemed okay again.”
I smile up at him.
“You have no idea how amazing you are,” he goes on. “Do you realize that everyone adores you? I mean, everyone. You’re so brilliant at what you do, but it’s as though you have no idea just how talented you are. You light up every room you walk into. You somehow turn everything that’s gray and orderly into a colorful, giant jumble. You’re like this … chaotic, shiny star. I liked you so much when we were interns. Do you have any idea what that weekend we spent together meant to me? It was everything.”
He pauses, exhaling.
Warmth pools in my stomach, and I’m rendered speechless. No one has ever seen me like Ryan clearly does, and I feel a sudden urge to run over and hold him, to be close to him.
He called me a chaotic, shiny star.
My heart might just burst.
“And then I lost you,” he continues, agonized, oblivious to the enamored trance he’s put me in. “When I got the job at The Correspondence, I knew our paths were going to cross. I thought I could handle it; what happened between us was a long time ago, and at the time, I had a girlfriend. But then seeing you … you acted like you didn’t know me, and it wrecked me. All these feelings came rushing back. I’d already had doubts over the relationship I was in—”
I gasp, clapping a hand over my mouth. “You broke up with your girlfriend because of me? Ryan! We weren’t even speaking!”
He shakes his head. “My ex and I were in a bad place. We were trying to ignore the obvious cracks, but we both knew it was the end of the road.” He hesitates, shrugging. “But I’m not going to pretend that seeing you again after all those years wasn’t some kind of prompt for me to realize with absolute clarity that I wasn’t with the person I wanted to be with.”
My heart is racing and I can’t stop myself from smiling. He looks encouraged by this reaction and continues, his tone filled with urgency.
“Sitting next to you for the last few months, thinking that you still can’t stand me because of a stupid mistake I made a long time ago—it was fucking torture. All I’ve wanted is to pick up where we left off eleven years ago. And then that kiss last weekend. It gave me … hope.”
He takes a breath. I grip the edge of the mattress, my knuckles going white.
“Harper,” he says, looking at me pleadingly, “kissing you was the best, most incredible thing that’s happened to me, because you kissed me back. And I have spent all week wondering how you feel and if there might be hope for us, but telling myself not to get carried away just in case it didn’t mean to you what it meant to me. You’re fresh out of a breakup and I don’t want to be a fleeting fling. I want to be so much more than that to you. So I’m trying not to jump to any conclusions and to show some kind of restraint. But then here you are in … that dress. Jesus. You need to put me out of my misery. Just tell me what you’re thinking. Please.”
I stare at him, stunned, trying to process what he’s just said. A torrent of bare emotion that was so … perfect.
I push myself up off the bed and make my way across the room to stand opposite him. He’s breathing heavily, his chest visibly rising beneath his shirt.
“Ryan,” I begin, “did you call me … a chaotic, shiny star?”
He groans, burying his face in his hands. “God, yes, I did.”
“And you call yourself a writer.”
“I never claimed to be a good one,” he murmurs through his fingers.
I take his hands in mine and lower them, smiling up at him.
“I’ve been thinking about you all week, too.”
He hesitates, his eyes searching mine. “You … you have?”
“Yes,” I say, reaching forward and placing my hands on his solid chest. “I want this. Whatever this is.”
He lets out a sigh and then dips his head to rest his forehead against mine, and we remain still like that for a few seconds, savoring this moment that feels heavy with the anticipation of what’s to come.
Gradually, the energy between us shifts. My hands move down Ryan’s chest to his waist and I pull him closer. I tilt my head back, my breath catching in my throat as his lips crush against mine. He kisses me slowly and gently, and I melt into him, my hands reaching up to thread my fingers through his hair, a surge of relief and happiness pulsing through my body that he wants this as much as I do. He kisses me deeper, moving his lips down my jawline, his warm, strong hands moving from my hips to my lower back as I arch against him, my skin tingling beneath his touch. He drops light kisses down the slope of my neck, along my glittering collarbone, nudging the strap of my dress with his lips until it slips off my shoulder.
I’m impatient, suddenly overwhelmed by the urgency of wanting him. He doesn’t protest as I start fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, helping me to get it off him altogether, shaking it loose down his arms until it drops on the floor. Pressing my hands against his bare, muscular chest, I guide him toward the bed and he sits down. He reaches for my waist and pulls me down so I straddle him.
His warm hands slide up my thighs, scrunching my dress around my hips, and a low sound emits from his throat as his fingers play along the fabric of my thong. I tip my head back as his lips skim my jaw, and he kisses down to the base of my throat before his hands move to the back of my dress, his fingers finding the zip and slowly, carefully pulling it down. As the bodice of the dress loosens, I pull it over my head and drop it to the floor.
Breathing heavily, he pauses to take a moment to look at me properly, his blue eyes scanning down and back up to meet mine before breaking into a smile that makes my stomach somersault, and any shyness I felt evaporates. Cradling his face in my hands, I dip my head down and give him a slow, deep kiss, and as he responds, my whole body aches for this not to be fleeting.
In one swift move, he lifts me to the side and my breath catches as he eases me down, lying me back on the bed as though I don’t weigh a thing. My legs still locked around his hips, he presses down on top of me. His fingers tangle through my hair as his lips hungrily find mine, his kisses suddenly deeper, more urgent. I sink my nails into the skin of his shoulder blades, and my teeth catch his bottom lip, causing him to let out a small, involuntary groan. I reach down to undo his belt, then his trousers, and he helps me with the task, pushing them down below his hips.
Shifting beneath him, I lift my hand to push his hair back from his forehead so I can look at him properly. I don’t want this to be a hazy blur; I want to be able to remember. At my slowing down, I sense him hesitate and my instinctive reaction is to grip him tighter, desperate not to lose this moment, this perfect moment that I suddenly realize I’ve been longing for. I can feel how much he wants me when he’s pressed this close, and I’m aching for him to be closer.
“Do you have a condom?” he asks, his voice ragged, his eyes locked on mine.
I relax, breaking into a smile of relief. “You’re telling me you don’t carry them around in your pocket on work trips?”
“Funnily enough, no,” he chuckles softly, leaning in to graze my neck with his lips.
“Not like you to be so unprepared, Ryan. I must say, I’m a little bit disappointed in you.”
“I’ll make up for it. And trust me,” he says, his warm breath tickling my ear, “it’s a good thing that I wasn’t prepared for this tonight.”
“And why is that?”
He lifts his head again, his face hovering above mine.
“Because if I’d known this was coming, I wouldn’t have wasted a moment on anything else,” he says simply. “Not the dinner, not the cocktails, not the people. I wouldn’t have wasted one more moment, Harper.”
Goose bumps cover my skin as I gaze up into his eyes. I swallow and then say, “Well it’s a good thing that one of us is prepared,” and I gesture toward the bathroom.
Ryan smiles and draws away and I take a moment to catch my breath. When he reappears, the sight of his already-disheveled hair; his toned, muscular chest, abs, and arms; his glittering eyes; and his knowing smile does something strange to my chest. My heart flutters and I’m consumed by a surge of dizzying exhilaration as he makes his way back to me.
I can’t believe he wants me as much as I want him.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he checks, leaning over me again, his lips brushing against mine.
“Yes,” I say firmly, already arching into him.
No more hesitations. No more pauses. We’ve waited long enough. I pull his mouth to mine and we kiss so deeply, it sends a series of shivers down my spine. Ryan’s hands slip down, over my hip bone and under my thong, and I have just long enough to spare a grateful thought for bringing this sexy underwear on the trip before it’s hard to think about anything at all. Something about Ryan’s hands on me feels better than it’s ever felt with anyone else, and I wonder fleetingly if it’s because he knows me so well—this man understands me in every way.
I lose myself beneath his fingers, and it’s hard to tell how much time has passed: it feels as though the world has shrunk to the two of us in this bed. When the moment comes to slip on the condom, Ryan’s hands tremble as he rips open the foil. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as much as I want him inside me.
When he finally pushes into me, I gasp. He begins slow and sensuous, then moves faster, and it feels so good, I can’t believe we’ve wasted so much time not doing this. It’s different than how it was eleven years ago—he’s more confident and passionate, I feel less tentative and awkward. I lose myself in the intense pleasure of everything he’s doing to me: his light kisses along my cheekbone, his hot shallow breath in my ear, his hands roaming over my body, one clasping my waist, the other dipping under my back to rock me into him.
Breathless, I close my eyes, clutching him.
It all seems so clear now. I never want to let go.