The Royals Next Door by Karina Halle
Twenty-One
I barely slept last night. I tossed and turned, my mind full of thoughts that went nowhere and worries that multiplied. Oh, and copious amounts of cider. After the “hearing,” Harrison and I plunked ourselves down on one of the picnic tables and drank a bottle of cider, then bought some more and headed back home and down to the dock. He had the day off, so we were able to just be alone and enjoy the sunshine.
I guess that’s what kept my brain preoccupied, because as soon as I was alone in bed, that was when I started thinking and fretting.
Was I going to lose my job?
Did I say too much?
Did I say the wrong things?
How much power does Barbara Mischky have?
Was I too rude?
Was I too proud?
As a result, I didn’t sleep at all until I started to see the light of dawn through my bedroom window, and that’s when my body finally decided to rest.
I passed right out.
It’s now noon, and my mouth feels like it’s full of cotton balls and my head is heavy. I had that disoriented feeling of waking up late—it’s like taking a nap, throws your whole day off.
I glance at my phone. There’s a text from Harrison asking how I am, and yes, a simple text still makes my heart do backflips, but there’s nothing else. I check my email, and nada. I would have thought they’d have made a decision by now.
I slip on a house robe and pad out into the kitchen. It’s raining now, a freshness and relief in the air after such a hot week, and my mother is standing by the coffeepot. It’s percolating, and the smell fills my nostrils. Even though I am a wreck, it’s still awfully cozy here.
“Piper,” she says softly. “I heard you stirring. I thought you could use some coffee.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, leaning against the island as she pulls the pot off the burner and pours me a cup. I hold it in my hands and take a sip, looking past the windows and out to the deck, where a dense fog has moved in, obscuring the ocean and making the trees look like ghosts.
“Piper?” she says again, her voice sounding raw. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why didn’t you tell me what happened yesterday?”
I stare. Oh shit. She knows.
“What do you mean?” I play dumb, even though there’s no use.
“The meeting. You were being investigated by the school board.”
“Let me guess: Someone called you up and asked you about it?”
“No,” she says. “I saw it online. On the ShoreLine’s website.”
“You what? You saw it?”
“Yes. A video. My god, Piper, I’ve never been so proud of you.”
While her admission warms me, it does nothing to abate the shock that’s running through me. A video? A video of yesterday? My one-person defense over lake swimming, community, and romance novels?
I immediately dig my phone out of my robe pocket and go to the website.
Sure enough, front page is an article entitled “Local Teacher Defends Right to Privacy,” which I suppose is the simplest way of putting it.
It’s written by that dude with the key-lime mineral water name, Alexander LaCroix, and during a quick sweep of the article, I’m surprised to see that the whole thing is in my defense. In fact, it paints me very favorably. Maybe this is to make up for that article written about Harrison at the Blowhole and the subsequent royals smackdown, or perhaps he’s tired of Barbara Mischky’s editorial letters. But either way, he told the truth and made good points on how we need to band together as a community instead of looking for ways to keep people out.
And then there’s the video.
I click on it and watch for a moment until it all becomes too much. First of all, I should have worn more makeup, because I look tired as hell; second of all, I make the absolute worst facial expressions; and third of all, I’m rambling. At least I think I am.
But no matter what I think, it doesn’t matter, because that video is out there in the world now.
Somehow I’ve gone from a reclusive hermit to having paparazzi harass me, to articles written about me and my ex, to sexcapade lake pictures and then heartfelt speeches, all shown worldwide, all in the span of a summer.
It takes me a moment to realize the turn my life has taken.
Those damn royals, I think. And yet I’m not mad. Because there is change in the air for all of us, a fire that’s growing. Sometimes you just need a spark. Sometimes you just need a new neighbor.
“Why didn’t you tell me, sweetheart?” my mother asks forlornly.
I put the phone down and face her. “Because I didn’t want you to worry.”
“But you’re my daughter.”
“Exactly.”
“But you’re my daughter, Piper. I have the right to worry about you, especially if you’re in trouble. I don’t want you to keep me out of these things. I want you to include me. Even if it hurts.”
“Mom, please, I just . . . you’ve been doing so good, I didn’t want to—”
“Set me off? That’s not up to you. Listen, sweetie, you mean well and you always have, but you can’t protect me forever. You have to give me some breathing space, and you can’t keep hiding things from me. First it was the duke and duchess moving in, then it was you and Harrison, then it’s this. The fact that your very job is at stake. Let me be a part of these things. And if it hurts, let me hurt.”
She’s right. “In that case, you should know that the reason the school board found out about the podcast is because you spilled the beans to that reporter.” Her face falls. “Look, I get that you get excited, but really, I expect my right to privacy as much as you do.”
“I know. You’re right about that. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay. Really. And I’m sorry too for being overprotective. I’ll do better.”
“It’s not about doing better, Piper. It’s about seeing me as a mother and a friend and not as my mental illness. I’ll never be able to learn on my own if you’re always there. I appreciate all you do for me, but as someone who is told they have dependent personality disorder, you seem to want to keep me dependent.”
This goes back to what she said the other night at the royals’. That we’ve become too dependent on each other, and for all the wrong reasons.
“And since we’re coming clean about things,” my mother goes on. She immediately has me intrigued. “I have a confession to make.”
“What?”
“Well, for one, I’ve been seeing an online therapist.”
My mouth drops. “You have? How did that happen? For how long?”
“Oh, just a few weeks. I’ve only had three sessions. I figured this was an easy way to try it out without having to commit to anyone or go anywhere. You seem to think therapy was a hot-button issue for me, and you were right, but the more I thought about it on my own terms, the easier it got. I just wasn’t comfortable meeting someone in an office face-to-face. But online? It’s much easier. I almost . . . like it. It’s like I’m a puzzle. Or, better yet, a cake. And I’m reverse baking, trying to figure out the ingredients that make me the way I am.”
I am so ridiculously happy that I burst into tears. I go around the island and wrap my arms around her, pulling her into a hug. “Mom,” I sob.
“Don’t cry,” she says, patting me awkwardly on the back. “This is all good.”
“I know, I know,” I say, stepping back and wiping the tears from under my eyes. “Ugh, I am such a wreck these days.”
“Your emotions are all over the place,” she chides me. “Who can blame you? You’ve got Harrison now, your photos are everywhere, your job is at stake. I’m guessing they haven’t contacted you yet with their verdict?”
I sniff and shake my head. “No.”
“Well, you know what, if they end up firing you, we can take them to court. I know more than enough people to vouch for your character.”
“You know people?” I ask, half joking.
“Well . . . ,” she says, looking awfully coy. “I know one person. Same person who helped me find the therapist.”
I frown. “Monica?”
“Bert.”
“Bert the bushy-mustached head of the RCMP?” I ask, wide-eyed.
She nods. “He’s really the only one I know here. I thought I would ask about local therapists, and he told me that so many people on the island go to therapy online because it’s more convenient.”
Now normally I wouldn’t think much of it. But the fact that she seems a little coy, her cheeks are a bit flushed, and there’s a certain gleam to her eyes makes me think that Bert might mean more to her than she’s letting on.
“Well, then I’m glad you can count on Bert as a friend,” I tell her.
“Yes,” she says, suppressing a smile. She turns her back to me and potters over to the cupboard just as my phone starts to ring.
I jump a mile and glance at it.
Local number.
With a racing heart, I pick up the phone and answer it, my mother watching curiously.
“Hello, Piper speaking.”
“Piper?” comes Maureen’s stodgy-sounding voice. “It’s Maureen Portier from the school board.”
My breath hitches in my throat, and I can barely say, “Yes?”
A moment of silence passes. It feels like it’s strangling me.
Then I hear Maureen let out a heavy breath. “I want to start by apologizing to you, Piper. We should have investigated the complaint more carefully than we investigated you. You never should have had to stand before the board and defend your hobbies, particularly your interest in romance novels. That’s no one’s business, and you’re correct in that the stigma against it has left many people with the wrong idea. Myself included.”
“Okaaay.” I hope there isn’t a but involved here.
“We should have only brought you in with regard to your trespassing at the lake, and while I still wish you hadn’t done that, the photos were printed without your permission, an invasion of your privacy. If you had posted about it yourself, it would have been a different thing, but in this case, it wasn’t. We decided that the person who filed the complaint was biased and had an agenda, and she is no longer a school trustee. And with that, I wish to tell you that you will not be losing your job, or receiving any form of punishment, and that what you had to defend was punishment enough. I sincerely hope you accept my apology on behalf of the board. Georgia was right when she vouched for you. You’re a good person and I’m sure an excellent teacher, and we are happy to have you, and in the future, we’ll be lucky to know you better.”
It takes me a moment to find my words. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You know that the reporter for the ShoreLine shared the video on its web page.”
She sighs. “I know. We had a debate about that. We feared that perhaps the trustee we let go might try to slander you some other way because she didn’t win this time. We’re aware of her many contributions to that paper over the years, and Alex thought it would be better if he beat her to it. That way, there’s nothing to hide.” She pauses. “And if you’ve noticed yet, you’ve amassed a passionate following so far, just here in town. Perhaps a new sense of community will come out of this.” She pauses again. “I hope so. At any rate, I look forward to seeing you again in the fall, but don’t hesitate to reach out to me at any time. Goodbye, Piper.”
I tell her goodbye and hang up, relief flooding through me like sunlight.
“So?” my mother asks. “You have your job, I take it?”
I nod. “I do.”
And Mischky got the boot, without a leg to stand on now, thanks to that video. That was some quick thinking on the reporter’s part. Nice to know the truth still matters to some people.
“So I guess we won’t sue them after all,” she says. “Though I bet you could, for the trauma they caused. Did I tell you how proud I am?”
“You did.”
“Good. But I may just tell you again.”
She pours herself another cup of coffee and walks out to the foggy deck, Liza jumping off the couch and following her.
I’m so relieved, I may just go back to bed.
Later that evening, when I’m already in my pajamas on the couch with Liza, and my mom has gone to bed, I get a text from Harrison.
Good evening, Piper. May I come over?
May I come over?A most gentlemanly take on the “U up?” booty call if I’ve ever seen one.
Yes you may, I text back, grinning like a fool. I hold the phone to my chest for a moment, letting the giddiness that had been at bay these last few days come flooding back.
He’s fast. In minutes the front door is slowly creaking open and Harrison is poking his head inside. “All clear?” he whispers. It’s not that we’re sneaking around my mother—I mean, I know she more than approves of us—but I also don’t need her to know he’s here, if I can help it.
I nod and get off the couch, motioning for him to follow me to the bedroom.
We’re inside with the door closed in seconds, and then his hands are skimming over my body and his lips are on mine and we’re moving backward onto my bed.
We waste no time.
There is no time to waste with us.
I take my clothes off, he takes off his, discarding everything on the floor like we’ll never need them again. We’re naked in no time, and he rolls on top of me, all muscle, all man.
I stare up at his tattoos and trail my fingers over them, feel his taut skin, his temperature rising, and then his lips are on mine in a bruising kiss that makes my toes curl.
After everything that I went through these last two days, the one constant was Harrison by my side. But right now, it’s not enough to have him by my side—I want him deep inside me. I need to feel that connection between us, the one I’m so afraid of losing.
Because in the end, I want him more than anything.
Our mouths are moving together in a deep, searing kiss, frantic, hungry, all-encompassing. I run my fingers down his forearms, feeling the sinewy muscles as he holds himself above me, then I brush my hands back up to the hard planes of his shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin.
He pulls his mouth away, damp from our kiss. “Piper,” he whispers, staring into my eyes, fevered with desire. I stare up at his lips, so lush and perfect. “I’m so proud of you.”
I give him a small smile, heat flaring inside my chest, tightening around my heart. “Proud of me?”
He reaches down and brushes his thumb under my lip. “Yes. From the moment I saw you, I knew you were going to change my world in some way. I knew that you were strong. That you were going to go places.”
“Technically I’m not going places. I just didn’t lose my job, that’s all, and all you knew was that I was stubborn as shit.”
He smiles and places a kiss at the corner of my mouth. “That last part might be true. But don’t sell yourself short. You’re able to do whatever you put your mind to. I think everyone on this island should be grateful that you’re the one teaching their kids, so that they can believe in themselves the same way.”
I swallow, feeling uncomfortable with the compliments. “I don’t always believe in myself.”
“No. But you do enough, because you know when you’re right, and you have the strength to follow through. And I believe in you. It may not matter for much, but I do.”
“Harrison,” I tell him, my hands resting on the back of his neck. “It matters more than you know.” I pause, giving him a wicked smile. “Now, are you going to fuck me or what?”
He blinks, clearly taken aback at my bluntness. Oh well. The Brit can deal.
Then he’s kissing me again, hungrier this time, adding fuel to the fire.
His hands coast down my body, sliding between my legs where I’m wet and waiting for it, and he slides a couple of fingers inside, groaning when he discovers how ready I am.
“What am I going to do with you,” he murmurs as he sucks down the length of my neck, over my collarbones, across my breast.
“Anything you want,” I manage to say before I break off into a moan as he sucks my pert nipple into his mouth, heat and electricity radiating outward through my body, snaking through every vein.
My god, I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on.
“I need you inside me,” I tell him, my voice raspy and thick.
He grunts in agreement and presses his hand against my inner thigh, holding my legs open as he pushes up deep inside me.
Shit.
I gasp, feeling the air leave my lungs, and then he pushes my legs back together again so I’m tighter. As he pulls out and thrusts back in, I feel everything.
I dig my fingers into his shoulders, holding on, and his body matches the slow rhythm of mine as he thrusts his hips forward, his cock driving deeper and deeper inside me. Every nerve in my body is being pulled inward, swirling into a hard knot, live wires buzzing and tangled and begging to be unraveled.
I’m captivated by watching him. When I slept with Joey, I never made any eye contact whatsoever, but with Harrison it’s completely different. I want to stare at him. When his eyes meet mine and he stares back, I feel a thrumming connection deep in my veins, something inside me telling me that he’s mine and I’m his and he can see me. Really see me.
With each thrust, he pushes himself in deeper, and that connection amplifies, like puzzle pieces sliding into place. My eyes drift down over his body as it moves, the way his abs clench as he thrusts inside, the sweat on his brow. His tattoos seem to come alive right now, all of them whispering their secrets to me.
I can never get enough of him.
I don’t think I ever will.
I don’t want him to leave me. Ever.
“Harder,” I whisper, and Harrison wastes no time in pushing in deeper.
So deep, my eyes roll back in my head.
“Fuck,” I gasp, feeling the emotions swirl inside me. My head drops back, my eyes closing in shock as I surrender.
This man is mine.
And I am his.
Nothing else matters.
Even if he has to leave me, nothing else matters.
But, god, please don’t let him leave me.
The thought sets off a tidal wave in my core that’s slowly building in strength and size and speed, wanting to take me under. I welcome it. I want to drown in my feelings for him.
“Please,” I whisper, my voice shaking with my sudden need for him, like I’ve gone absolutely mad for Harrison Cole and nothing else will do. The fear of what happens next, the fear that my heart might be lost to him forever, is making me into an insatiable woman. “I need more.”
His eyes nearly roll back in his head at that, and he responds instantly.
With a low, rough groan, he starts thrusting harder, deeper, one hand making a tight fist in my hair. He presses his chest against mine, our skin damp with sweat, and kisses me, lips tasting like salt. My mouth is wild against his, the need inside me growing restless, reckless.
The muscles in his neck are corded as beads of sweat roll off his forehead, and his eyes are lost to desire. The sounds he makes are primal, raw, and I feel utterly devoured as he works at me.
I want to feel this way forever.
I want Harrison forever.
“I’m coming,” I cry out softly, my voice raw, trying to keep our eye contact. He stares back, his eyes watching in fascination as I give in.
Then I’m twisting and turning as the orgasm crashes over me again and again, and I’m swept out to sea, floating there, warm and blissed-out and full of joy. Nonsensical sounds fall from my mouth as I swirl around in place.
Harrison isn’t done quite yet. His labored breathing, the rough sound of his groans, the slap of his damp skin against mine, all fill the air. I can only hope we’re being quiet enough.
Then he lets out a long, raw moan that he tries to bury, his arms shaking from the strain as he comes.
His movement slows, his body relaxes.
He collapses against me, his gaze drifting over my face, his breath heavy.
A tear escapes the corner of my eye, everything I’ve been feeling and trying to deal with, all my wants and needs and fears, it’s all coming to a head now. I can’t hold back.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, his breath heavy, his words kind.
I nod, pressing my lips together for a moment, trying to regain my breath. “I’m fine. I’m just . . . I’m happy.”
He frowns at me for a moment, the line between his brows deepening, and then he smiles. “I’m happy too.”
It sounds like such a simple emotion when you hear it, but when you feel it, really feel it, you know it’s anything but.
I close my eyes, letting that wash over me.
Our happiness.
“Piper.” Harrison’s voice slides into the haze of my thoughts. I think I was close to drifting off in his arms.
“Mmmm,” I say, snuggling into him deeper.
“What now?”
The question is so stark and loaded it makes my eyes fly open. I’m officially no longer asleep.
I twist in his arms to look at him, his arm now draped across my waist. “What do you mean, what now? Like . . . now, now? As in, do you go to sleep here or go to sleep in your own bed?”
He shakes his head, swallows. “No.”
I completely turn around, and he props his head up on his elbow. I’m searching his face for any signs of anguish or bad news, but there’s none to be found. His expression is quiet and thoughtful, plus a little bit sated from the sex.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, for us,” he says, reaching out with his other hand and brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Now that it’s all out in the open—far more open than I ever would have expected, to be honest—don’t you think we should figure out where we stand? Our future.”
I worry my lip between my teeth for a moment. The fact that he wants to have this conversation, that he wants to know what our future is, means more to me than he can know.
“I realize I may be too forward,” he goes on. The corner of his gorgeous mouth quirks up into a small grin. “But I don’t really care. I’m not letting go of you, Piper. I’m not pretending that I don’t want more for us, more than this.”
I swallow thickly. “I want more too,” I admit, feeling shy all of a sudden. “But I know you have your job, and the last thing I want is for it to come between us. You said it would take time to figure out how to make it work and balance, and I believe you. I’m by your side as it all gets sorted. I’m not going anywhere.” I pause, hit with the sudden weight of realization. “But I suppose . . . you are. You’re not meant to be here forever.”
“We’ll make it work.”
“And I can’t leave my mom, not now, even though she’s starting to come around. And my job . . .”
“Piper,” he says imploringly, holding my face as he stares into my eyes. “We’ll make it work. No matter what . . . I can always stay here.”
I blink at him. “Even when Eddie and Monica go back home?”
He nods. “Maybe a break will do me good. Maybe it will be more than a break. Look, I know this is all a bit fast and a bit much, but you have to understand . . . I’ve never felt this way in my whole entire life. You’ve opened up a whole new part of me, like . . . it’s like I’ve discovered a whole new solar system. And I can’t believe it’s been out there this whole time, just out of sight, just out of reach. But now I have it. I have you. And I’ll do anything not to lose you.”
He leans in and leaves a searing kiss on my lips, one that makes my toes curl, a kiss that threatens to drown me in the most beautiful way.
I am so lost to this man.
“I am so in love with you,” I say.
And then I realize I was only supposed to think it.
Not say it.
My eyes go wide, mortified, and my mouth clamps shut, and shit, shit, shit, I just fucking ruined everything, didn’t I?
I just told Harrison I’m in love with him.
“I’m sorry,” I squeak, attempting to turn away from him, but he grips my shoulders and holds me in place.
“What did you say?” he asks, his voice broken, the line between his brows deep. “Piper.”
“Nothing, I said nothing,” I say, and attempt to turn around again, but he won’t let me.
I close my eyes and lie back, wishing I could just disappear.
“You just told me you loved me,” he says.
“I didn’t.”
“You bloody well did.”
I open one eye to look at him. “Technically I said ‘I am so in love with you.’ ”
“And there’s a difference.”
“Well, yes. One is I love you and the other is I am in love with you.”
“I think they’re both the same.”
I close my eye again. “They’re not.”
“You’re in love with me. That’s the one that I want.” I feel his lips against mine. “Piper,” he whispers roughly against them. “Piper, look at me.”
Hesitantly I open my eyes.
I’m immediately lost in the burning intensity of his.
“Piper, I love you, and I’m in love with you too,” he murmurs.
He can’t really mean that.
He’s only saying it.
“I’m not saying it because you did,” he goes on. “You just beat me to it. I am madly, aggravatingly, desperately in love with you. It’s been frustrating to try to negotiate an emotion I’ve never felt before, but there’s no mistaking it and no hiding from it. I’m not hiding from anything when it comes to you and how I feel about you.” He runs his thumb over my lips. “You’re it, Piper. You’re everything. And so when I say that I’m going to make this work for us, I’m going to make it work.”
Effervescent.
That’s what this feeling is.
It’s like that giddiness combined with clouds and rainbows and fizzing champagne bubbles that lift you higher and higher and . . .
Hell. Maybe this is just love.
“You love me,” I whisper against his thumb.
“I love you,” he says again, and I could literally hear him say it all day to the end of time. I know I’ll probably replay it over in my head for years to come.
He loves me.
How the hell did I get so lucky?
I grin up at him, unable to stop from smiling, the joy radiating outward until it feels like it’s swallowing us whole.
I pull him onto me, giggling, kissing, a mess of limbs and tangled hair.
A meeting of the hearts.
