CHAPTER ELEVEN
THREE DAYS LATER Harley stepped into the bright, welcoming kitchen of her childhood home and embraced her twin sister, Hannah, clinging for a few seconds too long, absorbing unspoken and unconditional comfort. They’d always been close, despite a lifetime spent hearing Hal point out their differences. It could have driven a wedge between them, but this was one relationship Harley refused to allow Hal to influence.
She’d had no contact from Jack since she’d made her confession. She’d tried to avoid it, but she’d hurt him anyway, as she’d predicted. But, she hadn’t wanted to keep the secret from him for one second longer. She’d fallen in love with him and the deeper she fell, the heavier the burden of her silence.
Respecting his wishes, giving him time, destroyed her. Each second she didn’t hear from him ticked like a bomb in her head. How much time would he need? And would she break before then, rush to him, spill other confessions she suspected he wasn’t ready to hear? Especially now she’d been the bearer of such devastating news.
Dulcie kissed both her daughter’s cheeks and handed Harley a mimosa before joining Ash and Hannah at the island where they shared The New York Times. Weekend brunch had become a Jacob tradition. If they missed a week, Dulcie complained about their lack of commitment to family time. And despite the newspaper spread over the marble counters, business discussions at the table were strictly prohibited.
She had no good news on that front. The Morris deal, like the rest of her relationship with Jack, hung in the balance. The only communication she’d received from his office a set of plans for the renovations, emailed by Trent.
Ash glanced up from the article he read.
‘Dad wants to see you.’ Worry dulled his eyes, forcing Harley’s stomach to twist. She gulped the delicious mimosa. In her experience, nothing good ever came after sentences that began that way.
‘What about?’ Had Hal seen the photo of her and Jack leaving the restaurant together on the day of her birthday?
Three blank faces greeted her, eyes sympathetic. Whatever he wanted, she was on her own. And she could guess.
‘He’s in the office,’ said Ash.
‘Here, take him one of these,’ said Dulcie, squeezing Harley’s shoulders and then handing her a second mimosa, ‘and tell him brunch will be ready in five minutes.’ Harley reluctantly left the family room in search of Hal, steeling herself against the inevitable criticism to come.
The minute she stepped across the threshold her hackles rose. The day of reckoning had arrived. She placed his drink on the desk.
‘Mum said brunch in five.’
‘Sit down, Harley.’
She sighed, old demons surfacing. She rolled her shoulders back.
‘I’ll stand. You wanted to talk about something?’ If she stayed on her feet, she could leave quicker. Her scalp prickled, just as it had as a kid when she’d got a particularly bad grade or had been called to the principal’s office for ‘wasting time’ or ‘daydreaming’.
Hal pursed his lips in that way that conveyed his displeasure. It had terrified her as a girl, when she’d first realised she was different from her siblings, and crushed her as a tender teen, when his excuses for her poor academic performance had cut deeper than his outright criticism.
But now it simply irked her. She was no longer that kid, desperate for his approval, desperate to be valued like her older, successful, conforming siblings.
Hal jumped straight in. No preamble.
‘I hear you’re in business with Jack Lane, or Demont as he goes by these days.’
She pressed her lips together. She had no intention of justifying herself. She shrugged. Evasion in a tight spot—he’d taught her that.
But he wasn’t giving up.
‘Dammit, Harley. That family has no drive, no instincts when it comes to business. Why would you get involved with him of all people? It’s bad enough that you’re wasting your money on that derelict piece of real estate.’
Harley bit and then released her tongue. She shouldn’t have to defend herself. Or Jack. Who was Hal to judge others?
‘I refuse to live my life based on some ancient deal that turned sour for you. Jack Demont has built a very successful global brand. And who I choose to do business with is really none of your concern.’
‘Of all the men in Manhattan...’ The rant continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘And messing around with...a school? Really? The number of opportunities you’ve squandered.’
‘Opportunities?’ She bit back a sardonic laugh. ‘I want to build a school so kids, like the kid I was, have a safe environment to learn. One where they’re understood and encouraged, their skills nurtured, their challenges overcome not belittled.’
His mouth formed a thin line.
‘I did my best for you, Harley.’
She snorted. If that was his best...
‘By denying my learning difficulty? By postponing the diagnostic testing? By ignoring the fact your youngest daughter was an isolated, lonely kid struggling both at school and home—a place where she should have found encouragement and acceptance?’
‘You’re not a child any more. I’m talking about you messing around with your projects. I thought when you and Phil got engaged that you’d be married by now, have a couple of kids...’
She didn’t even bother defending her aborted engagement, a relationship based on trying to be a daughter he could be proud of.
‘You’re right. I’m twenty-six years old. I no longer seek, nor need your approval. And I’ve created my own opportunities, ones that suit me.’
He stared, long and hard. Harley prepared to leave, done with this pointless conversation. And she should thank him—this reckoning was long overdue. She practically hovered off the floor with the lightness finally confronting him brought.
‘Are you...personally involved with him, too?’ His lips puckered, tight and disapproving. ‘It certainly looked that way from the photos. The Lanes have a reputation—be a little more discreet.’
Reputation? Well, if that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle... She’d stayed silent all these years, protected his reputation out of some misguided need to gain her father’s approval.
Harley swallowed bile, her body flooding with scalding heat. Jack was right. She’d inadvertently kept him her dirty little secret out of loyalty to a man with only half his scruples. Half her scruples. And Hal’s respect wasn’t worth having.
She lowered her voice to a hiss the others wouldn’t hear. ‘Are you seriously giving me relationship advice?’
Hal’s nostrils flared. A sure sign of his rising temper. This wasn’t going his way.
‘What does that mean?’
‘I know about you and Amalie Lane.’
Hal curled his lip as if he’d tasted something foul. ‘You can’t trust anything the Lanes say. That’s why I advise against getting involved with one of them.’
‘I saw you together, Father.’
Realisation dawned. Hal had the good grace to turn puce and look away. So the mighty Hal was fallible after all.
He leaned back in his chair, the inscrutable mask he wore most of the time firmly back in place. He stared for so long she almost squirmed before him. But those days were over.
‘Have you told anyone?’ She’d never seen him so cold, so calculating. The last veil slipped from her eyes.
‘I told Jack.’
He snorted, shaking his head as he did when he was frustrated with her.
‘Well, that explains why he wants to see me—’
‘Wait, what?’ She braced her palms flat on the desk. Jack had approached her father? Why? Did he plan to confront him over the affair?
‘You didn’t know? So he has his secrets, too?’ A flash of mischief sparked in Hal’s eyes, and Harley realised her mistake.
Show no weakness.
Harley’s mind spun, but one fact emerged, time and time again. She trusted Jack. Whatever his reasons, they’d be sound, measured, fair. A polar opposite of her father—perhaps the reason she’d fallen in love with him.
‘Why did you tell him? Making trouble?’ Hal’s eyes darted to the door behind her.
She sighed, checking the clock and calculating how long it would take her to get to Jack’s apartment through Sunday morning traffic.
‘I told him because I’m in love with him. He’s a good man, an honourable man. If he wants me, I must be good enough.’
Did he still want her? It was too much to hope he reciprocated her feelings, but she was ready to give him her trust. Give him everything she’d held back.
Hal scoffed.
Harley saw red.
‘I know I don’t stack up against Ash and Hannah. I never have. But guess what? I no longer need your approval. I’m successful as measured by my own yardstick. My foundation donated over ten million dollars to charities last year. In three months, my dyslexia school will be open to all, not just to those who can afford the tuition fees, and Jack Demont is helping me to build it. We may not have the cut-throat business acumen you value, but what we do makes a difference to someone other than ourselves. Can you say that?’
At his stunned silence, she turned on her heel and glided out of the room, lighter than air.
So what if words and numbers jumped on the page before her eyes and she struggled to memorise lists? She would never do well in formal testing or enjoy reading for pleasure. But she’d built something from nothing. Something worthwhile, with her own hands.
It was time to believe in herself.
With her heart hammering against her ribs, she stepped back into the family room, crying off brunch with an invented headache that threatened to become a reality as her euphoria dwindled and Jack’s hurt expression reappeared before her eyes.
So she’d had a realisation—that didn’t mean Jack was ready to forgive her or that he shared her feelings.
Dulcie walked her out, shrewd eyes apologetic. ‘I’m looking forward to your show tonight.’
Harley winced. She’d barely given any thought to the catwalk show, part of New York Fashion Week. She nodded feebly, her head still full of Jack and tracking him down. Offering him another explanation...even begging, if required.
Dulcie paused at the door and stroked Harley’s shoulder. ‘I love this sweater. One of yours?’
Harley nodded, too distracted to answer.
A sigh. ‘I know what he’s like.’
Her mother gripped Harley’s fingers. ‘Don’t take any notice of the old fool—I haven’t for years.’ Dulcie’s intelligent eyes pierced Harley.
Harley’s stomach flopped. ‘You know, don’t you?’
Dulcie’s eyes flicked away.
All these years Harley had been keeping the worst-kept secret. Her throat burned, making her eyes water. She’d even allowed the knowledge of Hal’s infidelity to shape her own relationships, tainting her authenticity through fear, shame and cynicism. And, most importantly, she’d jeopardised what she’d found with Jack—the most real thing she’d ever had. But was it too late to redeem?
‘I had no idea you knew, darling. I wanted to protect all of you.’ Dulcie fingered her immaculate hair.
‘Well, you didn’t. I may not have the correct diploma on my wall, but I’m an intelligent woman. He’s your husband. It’s your business that you stood by him. But until you’re ready to take me, my career, seriously, perhaps it’s best if you stay away from my show.’
Ignoring the flare of anger and then hurt in her mother’s eyes, Harley left, her stomach rolling but her spirit free.
With renewed energy and sense of purpose, she hurried down to the street and gave directions to her driver, her head full of one thing only—Jack.
Could she persuade him that what they had surpassed ordinary? That the foundations were solid enough to build upon, if that was what he wanted? That she was a Jacob and he a Lane, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t break free of the choices their respective parents had made? Be themselves? Free to trust in something as delicate as gossamer on the surface but shot with threads of steel?
At his building, she raced to his floor, forgoing the elevator and arriving out of breath for more than one reason. Her knuckles stung as she rapped on his door, the frantic rhythm matching her thundering heart.
Seconds stretched to hours. Harley sagged at the knees when the door swung open, everything she wanted to say backed up on her lips, ready to spill free.
Her face fell.
Her heart dropped like a stone. Her mouth clamped shut.
Too late.
A beautiful, petite brunette stood in Jack’s doorway looking perfectly at home.
* * *
Harley’s pulse stuttered back to life as recognition slammed through her. ‘Isabel?’
‘Oui, Harley. Enchantée. It’s been so long.’ Isabel pulled Harley into a one-armed embrace, drawing her over the threshold and closing the door. She welcomed her as if she’d been expecting her, as if they’d only seen each other yesterday.
Isabel waved the sheaf of papers she held in her hand.
‘I’m only here to email Jacques some documents he left behind. Trent is travelling with him, so I end up as substitute assistant. On a Sunday.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘So, tell me, how are you? You look great.’ The younger woman spoke in accented, rapid-fire sentences as she led Harley into the great room—hard to follow, but Harley caught the gist, and her insides shrivelled.
‘Jack’s not here.’
Isabel paused, a frown dipping over her huge, hazel eyes. ‘No. He’s in Paris. You didn’t know?’
Harley shook her head, sinking into the plush, leather sofa as all her adrenaline drained away. Of course. He’d mentioned another trip overseas. She’d been so caught up in rectifying the mess she’d made, dissecting her feelings and preparing for her show tonight, she’d lost track of the days.
‘Do you know when he’ll be back?’ She’d sent him some tickets for her show, but all she’d received in return was a single line, receipt and thanks reply from Trent. Nothing personal.
Way beyond too late.
Isabel joined her on the sofa.
‘The day after tomorrow, I believe.’ The younger woman frowned. ‘Would you like coffee?’
Harley shook her head, eyes scrunched closed, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Why hadn’t she woken up sooner? Recognised the incredible man in her life and what an amazing and rare thing they’d discovered?
She sniffed, shifting to the edge of the sofa, new resolve straightening her spine.
‘I know this sounds a bit stalker-like—’ hysterical laughter rang in her ears as she remembered the first time she’d stalked him here that fateful day he’d re-entered her life ‘—but would you mind giving me Jack’s address in Paris?’
She’d get through her show tonight and then she’d fly to Paris. Stalk him to his apartment again. Tell him how she felt. Apologise for hurting him. He might not be ready to hear it, but she was done with suppressing her feelings to please others.
Isabel laughed. ‘Of course.’ She touched Harley’s arm, eyes dancing. ‘You know my brother can be an idiot, right?’ She tilted her head—the way Jack did when he made a point. ‘I mean, I get it. Our parents’ divorce hit him hard and he’s always been a bit hung up on integrity and doing the right thing. I think he’d kind of given up on love bullshit.’ She snorted. ‘How many times have I heard that cynical tirade? I mean, he didn’t have a proper girlfriend until his last year of university and she didn’t last long...’
Harley’s stomach rolled. She’d played a part in that. She’d hurt him more than she’d known, more than he’d let on.
‘But I’m so glad you’re back in his life. He’s much happier now.’
Was he? His face the last time she’d seen him...surely all she’d done was bring him more pain? Drag up devastating emotions from his past and pour salt on the wound.
‘So you have a show tonight? I hope you don’t mind but Jack gave me the tickets you sent him. I loved the sketches he showed me, by the way. He’s right—you’re very talented.’
Right, her show.
All she cared about was getting it over with and going to him.
‘Of course. You must come. I’ll be backstage most of the night, but I’ll look out for you.’ The hours until she could catch a flight to Paris would drag but she owed it to herself, her years of hard work, to give one hundred per cent to her label.
She stood, her limbs jittery, restless. ‘Congratulations by the way.’ She forced herself to smile. Forced her mind back into work mode. She’d toiled too hard—her team had too—for her to lose momentum now. But after tonight? All bets were off.
‘I’ll text you his address.’ Isabel pulled out her phone and Harley reeled off her number, her brain already racing with plans of what she would say to him and calculations of the time difference between New York and Europe.
The next thirteen hours couldn’t pass quickly enough.