It was when she took the third drag of his cigarette that he stepped into the balcony, coming to stand beside her in his polished blue suit like he belonged there.
He looked good. He always looks good. She thought bitterly, trying her best to not look at him.
"What do you want, Harris?" she asked in a tone that oozed disinterest, even though her heart spoke of another story altogether. It beat loudly in her chest at the mere presence of the man, even after everything. She was so used to the feeling by now, so used to the inkling of want that began the second her eyes landed on the raven-haired man. It was like a second skin to her. A cloak she always wore even though she hated it. She hated the familiar sense of anticipation that always came along whenever Harris came around. Hated what it had done to her. Hated how she had let it happen.
"Can't a man have a smoke?'" the man in question enquired with the usual mirth in his voice. She had gotten used to that as well. What a fool she had been.
"You don’t smoke, Harris." the words spilt out of her mouth even before she could control them, making irritation rise within her. She could never control herself when it came to him. She tried her best to cover the sudden distress with a long drag from her cigarette, forcing herself to put on the blankness she always wore.
"How do you know that?" Harris questioned.
Because I watched you while you spent countless mornings, evenings and nights in my company, doing everything but smoking. Her brain supplied without pause.
"You're the golden twat. What you eat for breakfast makes front-page news, Harris. Of course, I knew that you don't smoke. Imagine the chaos the world would fall into if you suddenly associated yourself with a cancer stick, gods forbid." she snapped, trying to make the lie more believable. And judging by the snort that escaped from Harris, she succeeded in doing so.
"Maybe I've started to smoke recently?" the man voiced as he gave her that devastating smile, making her brain shut down just for a moment. She hated that about the man, hated how easily he could make her forget everything with a mere tilt of his mouth.
"What do you want, Harris?" She asked again with irritation colouring her voice. She didn’t have the mental stability, nor the desire to deal with this tonight.
Hearing the stiffness in her tone, she saw his shoulder deflate a little. Good, she thought, watching the mirth disappear from the man's vivid green eyes and replace itself with annoyance.
She wondered just when she made herself learn to read the emotions that danced through his eyes like that. At what point did she lose herself so badly to get this intimate with every twitch of the man's face.
"Come on, Moore. I just want to talk," Harris sounded exasperated when he spoke.
"Why, exactly? Got tired of the rabid fanclub you had going on in there?" she asked, waving her hand in the direction of the gala behind her. They were at the ministry, for fucks sake! Harris shouldn’t be here with her. "I thought you loved how they draped themselves over you like whores."
She expected an insult hurled at her way after that. She expected Harris' eyes to flash with anger, followed by his departure right after. What she didn’t expect was the huff of laughter that escaped the other man, making her turn towards him in confusion.
"Not keen about the latter part, but I can confirm the former," Harris declared easily with a half-smile, making her brows twitch at the sudden confession. They didn’t do confessions, now did they?
"You're tired of the people?" she questioned just to be sure, and the man nodded in return, making her stare at him some more.
"Are you going to finish that?" Harris asked, indicating the burning cigarette between her fingers, and she held it out with a look of confusion. She felt the light touch of his fingers as the man took the burning stick, and watched as the man took it up to his lips to take a good, long drag.
"I am not a regular smoker, if you wanted to know," he said with a shrug off his shoulder, continuing to smoke away.
"I do not care for it, Harris. Do whatever," She said stiffly as she snapped her gaze away from the man. "What do you *want?"
"I believe you have asked me that already."
"And I am asking again because I can't possibly think of any reason that you would —"
"I just want to talk, Stefania."
The use of her first name felt like a slap to her face.
"Don't. Call me that," she spoke with a tightness in her voice. He had no fucking right.
"Stefa —"
"Don't." she ignored the look of desperation on the man's face, her hands gripping tightly at the railings to keep herself grounded. Because how dare him, how fucking dare him. Waltzing in and taking her name like it — it, meant something when he made sure, made so fucking sure to tell her that it didn’t just a few days before. It meant nothing. They meant nothing.
"When is the wedding?" she asked with fake indifference even though her chest ached while uttering those words aloud, eyes stinging at the mere thought of it. But fuck if she'll let Harris know that she cared. She didn’t.
"Stafa—" Harris' voice cracked at the end. "You know that we didn—"
"Ohh, I know, Harris," she spat out his name with an empty chuckle. "That's why I'm asking. When's the wedding?"
Hearing the venom in her voice, Harris went quiet. "We haven’t decided on the date yet," he muttered as he stared at his shoes before glancing back up to look at her again. "But I, I want you there."
And wasn’t that just rich? She couldn’t help but let the hollow laughter escape at his words. The heartless son of a bitch.
Fuck you, Harris. "Well, I must decline the invitation," she said with a wave of her hand.
"But—"
"But what? You can't honestly expect me to be standing in between your little army of redheads, Harris."
You can't honestly expect me to stand there and watch you take the hand of that, that whore, when all I ever wanted was you. She wanted to say.
"I won't survive their company." my heart won't be able to take it. "And besides," she continued for her own sanity, "I will possibly be in France by the time you tie the knot. So, it's simply not possible."
"But..." Harris tried again, and she wanted to scoff. Was he really that heartless? Or was he just that blind? Did he clearly not see what he was asking her of? Did he really not see the pain, the agony he was making her feel?
"We are friends, Moore."
Friends. They were friends.
Do you take all your friends to bed, Harris? Do you lie in their arms for hours in return?
"We were never friends, Harris," she stated with a bitter smile. "It was—" a mistake "—an arrangement, of sorts." *and I was foolish enough to fall for it. *
She watched Harris stare at her with a mix of desperation that she had gotten used to seeing. Did he know that? Did he know how much of him she had consumed over the past few months of their...arrangement? Did he know how much of herself she had broken apart in return?
Of course, he didn’t. Because if he had even an ounce of idea what he had done to her, he wouldn’t be standing here asking her of....of this.
Friends. He said. She wanted to scoff.
"You should head back inside," she spoke after a minute of silence. "Your fanclub and your…" the word felt stuck in her throat, and she struggled to get it out, "fiance is no doubt looking for you."
"I—" she watched Harris fumble with his words once more before shutting his mouth completely. "Yeah." he said, his eyes boring into her. And for the last time in his life, she let herself look into those beautiful green eyes.
"Come with me?" his voice pleaded as a cold wind brushed past them, messing up his already crows-nest of a hair. She wanted to run her fingers through them, wanted to push them back and kiss him hard on his mouth while telling him he was to be hers.
God, he was beautiful.
"I don’t belong there, Harris." I don’t belong there with you. Not in the way you want me to. And certainly not in the way I want to. Were her final words.
It wasn’t the last time she saw Harris, after that. But she made sure it was the last Harris saw of her, before she got onto the cruise to Paris, leaving the pieces of her broken heart behind.
I wrote this first chapter way back in 2020, aiming to write the novel all the way. But two years down I'm still stuck on chapter one. Hopefully this time as I picked up my pen, I'll be able to finish it. Let's see how far I can go.
Original Image is by Tim Mossholder from Pexels