Chapter 24

TWENTY-FOUR

Walking through the large glass doors to Eclipse brings with it a flood of emotions I'm unprepared for.

I haven't been to my father's favorite restaurant since the night he died, hours before I found his cold lifeless body.

But the wave of emotions crashing in as the valet holds the door open for me is a mixed bag to say the least. Among them, grief is nowhere to be found. Not one ounce of sorrow is felt for the man who made everyone's life miserable. A wave of nausea crashes along the jagged, rocky shore of every memory I have of walking behind my father, and how every person he passed by would either bow to him as if he were royalty or cower away in fear. Ducking their heads or making themselves appear busy. Everyone felt my father's presence, from the valet's opening the front door to the bus boys cleaning off tables on the opposite side of the dining room. Eclipse was my father's domain.

Ground zero. Homebase. In many ways, this place was my father's castle rather than our own office building.

I'm gripping Laurel's hand with more pressure than I realize. I feel her wince beside me before she wraps her hand around my bicep. She leans close, whispering in my ear as we continue walking up the concrete steps and through the glass doors.

"I'm here." Her words hit me right where I need them. Somewhere between my heart and the bitter unresolved resentments I harbor for a man sentenced to eternity of rotting beneath six feet of cold, Massachusetts dirt.

I squeeze her hand in return and smile at the hostess standing near the entrance of the dining room. Large, opulent chandeliers hang from the ceiling. The light reflects off every facet of glass, sparkling onto the marble floor beneath our feet.

"Good evening, Mr. Harding." Hugh, the owner of Eclipse, greets us. He holds his arm out toward the back of the restaurant. His greasy hair is slicked back as usual, but the hollows of his eyes have deepened since the last time I saw him. "We were sorry to hear of your father's passing. We've missed him greatly here and are glad to see you feel it in your heart to return."

"Right." I nod, biting down on the tip of my tongue. I swear I taste blood, but that could just be the sour feeling I have from hearing Hugh talk about James Harding as if he was a fucking god we were all privileged to have known.

I know it's because Hugh misses the business ties he had with my father, though. They often snorted lines of coke in the back office, and my father would get him access to every woman he'd ever encountered. Hugh's haggard appearance tells me he's lost more with my father's death than any of his children have. Now he's looking at me as if he's hoping I'll pick up right where my father left off.

Laurel squeezes my arm again, reminding me she's my anchor.

"Hugh, this is my wife, Laurel," I introduce, figuring I should at least play the part I came here to play.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Harding." Hugh bows at the waist.

"You as well." Laurel smiles, her red-painted lips stretching to reveal her perfect teeth.

"Your usual table near the back is all set for you," Hugh says, leading Laurel and me through the dining room.

We follow him until we reach our usual booth; a large circle covered in rich crimson leather. I inhale a sharp breath and hold out my arm, allowing Laurel to slide in first.

She sweeps her long curls to the side and over her shoulder, exposing her long, smooth neck. Diamond earrings dangle from her ears and a thin silver chain is wrapped around her neck, the teardrop diamond resting between the perfect swell of her breasts. The subtle shimmer of her dark green dress reflects from the overhead lights almost as brightly as the chandeliers above us. She's fucking stunning. And all mine.

Once Laurel slides in, I follow behind her.

"If I may, Mr. Harding." Hugh nervously clears his throat. His squirrely eyes dart anxiously between Laurel and me.

My nostrils flare with impatience, and I grind my teeth. I know where this is going. "What is it, Hugh?"

"I was wondering if we might be able to talk once you're finished with your dinner. There are a few things I would like to discuss."

Laurel must sense my desire to bite back at Hugh and his ridiculous request. I didn't come here to fucking chit chat with him as he cries over missing my father while asking if I can continue whatever disgusting, dysfunctional arrangement they had going on. I don't know the inner workings of the lengths my father went to secure this fucking booth, but I know it was deep and seedy enough that the crimson wrapped seat isn't meant for casual dinner conversation over an overcooked piece of filet mignon.

My wife's hand quickly lands on my knee. She gives it a gentle squeeze before sliding it farther up the inside of my thigh. I adjust myself in my seat, telling my cock not to react to the hand making its way toward it.

I clear my throat and blink up at Hugh. "Not tonight, Hugh. Call my assistant, and she can see when my schedule is free."

A wave of disappointment rolls over his face, but it doesn't stay for long. He gives a hesitant grin. "Thank you, sir. Enjoy your dinner."

Hugh finally disappears.

I blow out a heavy breath and rest my elbow on the table. I massage my forehead with my fingertips. Laurel's hand lands on my back, pulling my attention to her.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." I reassure her with a small smile. "I just didn't expect to feel like this walking in here. I figured since I didn't give a shit that my father died, this place wouldn't affect me. Instead, all I keep feeling is this bitter, angry resentment. It's like I was a zombie walking through my whole life, never realizing the impact it had on me until now. Now that he's gone."

Laurel doesn't say anything. Her eyes look up as our waiter places two empty wine glasses in front of us before pouring a bottle of my father's favorite red wine. Fucking hell.

The waiter asks if we're ready to order, but I tell him we're still waiting for Micah and Archer. He hurries off.

I turn to Laurel, realizing this is the first time she's been back since my father dragged her here, hoping to hook her up with Jude. Laurel wasn't aware, and Jude wasn't interested. Then I brought Madison, pretending I didn't already know Laurel.

I feel like shit for that night. All of it.

As I have my entire life, I wore a mask that night, hiding who I truly was. A man obsessed with the woman that was sitting across from him.

"Are you okay?" I ask my wife. I set my elbow on the table and rest my head in my hand, half-turning to her.

She sucks in her bottom lip, chewing on it in thought. Her eyes fall to the table before she looks back up. Her shoulders visibly rise as she inhales a breath. "I didn't realize I hadn't been here since the night your father brought me."

I wonder if my father had already written the stipulation to marry Laurel into his will then or if he added it after.

Ever since the night Laurel woke up to one of my panic attacks after my nightmare, our relationship has shifted. Our circumstances aren't exactly the same, but she understands what it feels like to lose a parent you love wholeheartedly. One you weren't prepared to lose.

Not that anyone is ever prepared to lose someone they love.

But I saw the emotion in her eyes—the one she held without judgment. It was the first time someone had seen the raw, ugly side I keep hidden from the rest of the world.

I reach under the table and place my hand on Laurel's thigh. A long slit drives up the length of her dress. It reminds me of her wedding dress, exposing the curve and tan skin of her thigh. I drag my finger across her skin, and it immediately reacts to my touch, as it always does. Goosebumps rise to the surface. I lightly draw the invisible words I've been writing for days. It's become a habit of mine.

I think back to that night and the mask Laurel tried her best to wear.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to tell you how sorry I am for not speaking up that night. I should have said something."

"Don't." she shakes her head. "Don't feel bad. I get it now. I didn't then, but I do now."

"No, Laurel." I look her in the eye. "Maintaining appearance for the sake of my father shouldn't haven't mattered. You didn't deserve to be used by him. I only added salt to the wound. I made you feel unseen." I inch my finger to her inner thigh, regret seeping into every muscle. "But I saw you that night. You were all I could see."

Laurel's lips part as she breathes in. She's been sad lately, and I wonder if that's been part of it. Conflicted because she married and fell for a man who acted as if he didn't know her.

"Starting without us already?"

I straighten my back and twist my head to see Micah standing in front of our table. His friend Archer is beside him. He looks older than the last time I saw him, but not old enough to where age has altered his features too much.

"Of course not, brother," I tell him. "The waiter just poured the wine."

"Great." He beams, pointing to Archer. "Lennon, you remember my best friend, Archer."

"I do." I shake his hand, giving him a smile. "I remember having to bail the two of you out of jail the night you were caught sneaking into your high school."

"It was tradition for the seniors to sneak into Coach's office and cover every surface with sticky notes." Archer shrugs, casually.

"We only made it halfway across his desk when the cops showed up." Micah shakes his head, disappointed. The event was only five years ago, but the memory is still very much alive for them.

I move to the side and hold my arm out. "Archer, this is my wife, Laurel Harding. Laurel, this is Archer Mayfield. He's Micah's best friend."

Laurel reaches up from where she's sitting, her smile revealing her white teeth. Her shimmering eyeshadow reflects in the lights as three lines crease in the corner of each of her eyes. "Pleasure to meet you, Archer."

"You, too. Holy shit, Lennon." He grins like the Cheshire cat, his eyes darting between us. "How the fuck did you land a wife as beautiful as Laurel?"

I laugh. He sounds just like Micah.

But my laugh is hiding my true reaction. Micah clears his throat and slides into the booth, leaving me to answer a question he clearly doesn't want to answer.

"I don't know, man. I got fucking lucky, though." I'm not lying. I did get fucking lucky.

I'm devastatingly, obsessively in love with my wife. The wife my father basically forced me to marry. And I have been since the first night we met. I gladly let Laurel reach inside my cold, hard chest and steal my heart without hesitation. She's owned it ever since.

Archer slides in beside Micah. The waiter returns to our table and takes their drink orders before disappearing again.

I expect Micah to bring up our father, considering he was the one who decided to arrange this dinner with Archer here, knowing we haven't done a family dinner since the night he died. But Micah doesn't, and I don't blame him. The night is off to a decent start. No need to drag it down by bringing up the man we all hope is rotting in Hell.

"Mayfield." Laurel twists her mouth in thought after swallowing a sip of her wine. "Are you related to Felicity Mayfield, the model?"

"Yep." Archer presses his lips into a firm line, nodding. "Felicity is my mother. Since retiring from modeling, she's landed a few roles in some movies releasing soon."

"Wow." Laurel's cheeks blush with pink. "She's stunning. I used to see her when I would flip through my magazines when I was younger."

"She's looking forward to getting back out into the spotlight, so I'm sure she'd love to hear that." He grins. "But if this doesn't pan out for her, she always has my younger sister, Adeline, to live out her dreams."

"Oh," Laurel's eyebrows lift. "Your sister wants to act?"

"Modeling." He explains. "She's wanted to be a model for as long as I can remember but my mother wants her to wait until she's older. She's eleven right now. My mother doesn't want her to be forced to grow up as quickly as she was."

"Understandable." Laurel smiles. "I'll definitely keep an eye out for them both in the future, then."

The four of us continue to make casual conversation. We talk about family life, mostly Archer's, and what he's done since moving out to California. The stories continue until we've cleaned our plates and our drinks have been refilled more than once. Laurel's just taken the last bite of her steak when Micah finally brings up the reason for this dinner in the first place.

"So, Len." Micah relaxes against the back of the booth, draping his arm over the rounded leather. "Remember I was telling you about Archer's tech firm out on the West Coast?"

"Yeah." I nod, swallowing the last bit of wine sitting at the bottom of my glass. "How's that going, Archer?" I lower my hand under the table and draw circles on Laurel's thigh like I did earlier. She doesn't flinch before she leans into me, scooting closer. I never thought of this until now, whether she's doing this for show or because it feels natural to her. It feels natural to me, so I don't question it, even if I feel the dozens of eyes constantly peering at us like we're some sort of spectacle.

Archer shoves the hair off his forehead, slicking it back with his fingers. He leans back in the booth, mimicking my brother. "It's going great. In fact, I've tripled our projected profits for the fiscal year and we're only in the third quarter."

"That's amazing." I trade glances between him and my brother. "So, what do you need me for?"

"Well, I'm looking to expand and build a division on the East Coast. Most tech firms are located in Silicon Valley. Even Seattle. But I think Boston might make a great home base for us as well. Micah thought your company might be interested in setting us up with some properties for office space as well as investing in the company. You'd have a stake in a market that hasn't given the East Coast a chance."

"You're right about the concentration on the West Coast," I agree. "Boston could use some notoriety in the tech world. Why don't you meet me at my office this week and we can discuss the details?"

Archer grins excitedly. "That would be great."

"I'm interested in seeing some number and data reports. I'd also like it if you gave me a run down on exactly what kind of tech you create and what you envision for the future."

"I can do that." Archer's face flattens to a serious expression.

"This calls for a celebration, don't you think?" Micah claps his hands together, laughing.

"A celebration?" I ask cautiously, mostly because my baby brother's idea of a celebration is to go on a two-night bender in Barcelona.

"Yeah." His eyes bounce enthusiastically between the three of us. He snaps his fingers and points to me and Laurel. "No, you know what? We should celebrate with a post nuptial party."

I turn to Laurel before turning back to Micah. "What do you mean?"

He waves his hands. "You know, since you guys sprung your rushed wedding on the city, maybe it would be good to throw a party. Like the ones Dad used to do every time he'd strike a billion-dollar deal."

I shake my head. "I don't know." Why is Micah suggesting a party for me and Laurel when he knows the circumstances of our wedding? He doesn't know Laurel and I actually have feelings for each other. As far as he's concerned, we're playing the part right now.

Uncertainty and uneasiness wades in my stomach. I don't want to be like my father. Showing up here to Eclipse, at his castle away from his kingdom, has shown me just how determined I am to not follow in his footsteps. Before I married Laurel, I'd felt like a hypocrite. Marrying her was exactly what my father wanted me to do, and it's what he would have done if he were put in a similar position. But as if a major fuck you to my father, I married the one woman I'd only ever dreamed of marrying.

I still don't know her reason for agreeing, but when I look at Laurel, I decide to shove my questioning of her motives aside because she's the only woman to ever knock the wind from my lungs with a single glance.

"We should do it," Laurel says, wrapping her hand over mine that's still resting on her thigh.

"Really?" I ask, shocked she would agree. Between work and whatever it is that holds the sadness in her gaze, I didn't think Laurel would feel up to planning a major party.

"Yeah. I think it'll be great. Plus, it will show everyone you're still running Harding Holdings with just as much strength if not more than your father did."

"I agree with Laurel." Micah wags his finger in her direction. "She's a smart woman."

"Fine," I breathe out, turning to Laurel, then I snap my head back to Micah. "But we're doing it at the house in the Cape."

I feel Laurel stiffen beside me. She hasn't said as much, but I know she still questions why I keep the history of that house under lock and key, and why others like Olivia or Micah look at me as if I've suddenly grown a third eye anytime I bring the house up.

"What?" I ask Micah.

He stares at me, wide eyed. He snaps his mouth shut and shakes his head. "Nothing. I don't know what's changed with you, Lennon."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just, with Dad's asking for his funeral to be there, and you and Laurel getting married there last month, I didn't think you'd want to go back so quickly." Micah's blue-gray eyes soften, turning down in sympathy. "Considering before then you hadn't been there in six years."

Laurel's chest stills, and her hand slowly pulls from mine. I tug her back, not wanting her to let go. I still haven't told her the significance of my mother's house on the Cape, but I figure this party will be the perfect opportunity.

"I know." I nod, straightening my spine and lifting my chin. "But what better way to celebrate a marriage than to hold the celebration where the ceremony took place."

"You have a point." Micah grins.

"I know I do." I turn to Laurel and give her thigh a gentle squeeze. I'm hoping if I finally let her in and tell her what the house on the Cape means to me, she'll finally let me in. All the way.