Harper stood at the top of the stone steps.

She wasn't sure how she'd made it to the evening wedding reception; the day had disappeared in a blur of confetti and congratulations. Diana and David had been married in the church attached to Huntingdon Estate — a little stone building — and Diana had been so nervous that she'd almost fainted. Harper had spent most of the ceremony running around, desperately looking for a cup of water that hadn't been blessed by a bishop or pulled directly from the river.

But they'd made it through.

Diana had given beautiful vows. David had made a joke about loving Diana despite her taste in terrible music ("Who listens to Oasis?"). And Griffin hadn't exploded anything.

All in all, a success.

Now, Harper looked down at the reception; tealights floated around the white marquee, twinkling like fireflies. Violin music swelled, competing with the sound of tinkling glasses, laughter, and the howl of the wind. There was a storm coming.

She spotted Cass first. The other girl was browsing the dessert table, wearing a periwinkle number with a slit up the thigh that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. Cass, however, looked like a Grecian goddess; even her blonde hair was done up with golden clips.

"Lane!" Cass looked up as she approached. "You look smashing."

"As do you."

"Seriously." Cass tugged on the strap of Harper's dress. "Where did you get this? No, wait, I already know."

"Diana," they said together.

Harper smiled; her stepmother had brought the dress from London, and it was something they could finally agree upon: a golden dress with thin straps and a skirt that flowed like liquid candlelight. She thought of what her Mom used to say, about running through the stars.

Tonight was a night for that.

Cass held up a pastry. "Fancy a strawberry tart?"

"Always," Harper said. "Have you seen—?"

"Hale?" Cass finished, and Harper must have looked surprised because she snorted. "Oh come on, Lane, give me some credit. You two make eyes at each other all the time. The boys might be clueless, but I'm not."

Harper took a bite. "Alisdair knows, actually. He sort of... walked in on us."

Cass whistled. "Yikes."

"Exactly."

"So Dalton knows?" Cass asked. "And he hasn't told the others?" Harper shook her head, and Cass frowned. "Listen, it's obviously up to you, but I've known the boys for a very long time. If Griffin hears it from someone else, he'll be crushed."

Harper polished off her pastry. She hadn't missed the fact that Cass had used Griffin's first name, although now hardly seemed the time to point it out. "They really don't keep secrets from each other?"

"Never."

She considered this. "I'll talk to Lawson. See if he's okay with me telling Griffin."

Not that there was much to tell, Harper reflected. Cass's shoulders relaxed.

"You'll talk to him tonight?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Good," Cass said. "Because—"

"Alright, Squirt?" a voice called.

Harper twisted around so quickly that she stumbled. Lawson was cutting through the crowd, his green eyes very bright in the glow of the tealights. He looked lighter somehow, and it took Harper a moment to realize that the shadows beneath his eyes were gone. The chilly night air had whipped colour into his cheeks.

"Squirt?" Harper asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cass pulled a face. "Don't get me started. Evening, Hale," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the crowd. "Congrats on looking not completely hideous tonight. A miraculous achievement."

Lawson's mouth curled. "Likewise."

"Is that a new cologne?" Cass asked.

"That's my natural scent."

"Ah," Cass said. "No wonder I hate it." She poked his arm. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, great," Lawson said dryly. "There's nothing better than a wedding, where all your school friends that you haven't seen in years feel the need to tell you how sorry they are that your sister is dead."

Cass clinked her glass to his. "Insensitive twats, the lot of them."

"Indeed."

"Maybe we should make a drinking game," Cass mused. "Take a sip for every time someone apologizes for not coming to the funeral."

Lawson's mouth quirked. "A shot for every time they ask how it happened."

"Don't be silly," Cass said. "We wouldn't make it past midnight." She drained the last of her champagne, setting her glass on the table. "Right, I'm off to go flirt with the bartender. Enjoy your evening, kids."

They both watched her go. Lawson had a smile playing about his lips, and Harper felt something swell in her chest. Lawson spent so much time pretending — being charming and witty and unaffected — that she'd forgotten that he could be like this, too. That he could offer people slivers of his heart when he chose to.

"I like her," Harper announced. "I mean, she has a dark sense of humour and I'm slightly scared of her, but I like her."

Lawson nodded. "Everyone likes Cass. It's her greatest flaw."

"She's a people-pleaser?"

"An incurable one, I'm afraid." He turned to Harper, offering her a hand. "Would you like to dance?"

She raised an eyebrow. "With you?"

"With me," Lawson said.

His voice was low. Amused. A flutter of excitement went through her, a tiny, hopeful creature, before realization crushed it. Oh. Of course Lawson was asking her to dance, Harper thought; she'd asked him to pretend they were together in front of Jake, hadn't she?

He was just keeping his word.

"Ohio?" Lawson searched her face. "Are you alright?"

She forced herself to smile. "I'd love to dance. Let's go."

Lawson steered them to the dance floor. Harper shivered as he took her hand, his fingers calloused and warm. She couldn't stop herself from leaning into him, couldn't stop herself from remembering how those hands felt running over her body.

"You look beautiful," Lawson murmured.

"Thank-you."

"I've never seen you in gold before," he said.

There was something heavy about his voice. Something that made Harper think of melting chocolate and a glass of full-bodied red wine and slow-moving honey. The night air felt cold on her hot cheeks.

"You must have," Harper said. "It's my favourite colour."

He shook his head. "I'd remember. Trust me."

Lawson led her through a twirl. He moved quickly, a viper striking, and for a terrifying moment, Harper thought she might fall; but he caught her again, just as he had yesterday in the tree. His hands were strong and sure.

"Lawson?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"When I fly back to the States next week..." Her throat felt scratchy. "Would you want to keep in touch? Just as friends, I mean."

"No," he said.

"Oh." Embarrassment flooded her. "Right. Well, I—"

"Harper." Lawson caught her hand, holding it close to his chest. His heart beat wildly beneath her fingers. "Wait. That came out wrong. What I meant to say was that I could never just be your friend."

That tiny, hopeful thing began to flutter in her chest again.

"What are you saying?" Harper asked softly.

"I'm saying that it kills me." Lawson's voice was low. "Having you this close every day, watching you sit down at the breakfast table but not being able to speak with you — to touch you..." He looked away. "It's the worst sort of torture."

"I thought you didn't do feelings."

"I lied," he said.

They'd stopped dancing now. Harper wasn't sure how they'd got there, but they were somehow standing just outside the marquee overlooking the garden. A fine spray of rain misted her face. Everything was a shock of opposite sensations. Hot and cold. Smooth and calloused. Harper and Lawson.

"You've never told me..." She cast around for words. "I mean, you've never even indicated that you might..."

"It frightens me." He searched her face. "What I am to you. What you are to me."

"And what's that?"

"Something irreplaceable," Lawson murmured.

Her breath caught. Every dream — every foolish hope — hinged on this moment. Lawson's green eyes shone like polished emeralds in the moonlight. And he was coming closer, Harper realized dizzily, her heartbeat kicking up. Lawson was going to kiss her. Here. Away from the crowd.

Not because Jake was watching. Not because they were drunk. Not because they were comforting one another.

Because Lawson wanted to.

Harper stretched up on her toes, tilting her face up. He smelled of peppermint and champagne as he drew closer, and she—

"Harper!" a voice called.

Harper closed her eyes, letting out a slew of mental curse words. Of all the irritating, inconvenient times—

"You look amazing," Jake said, bounding towards them. "Very regal." He clapped Lawson on the shoulder. "How's it going, man?"

"Parker." Lawson's voice was short.

"Have you tried these salmon things?" To Harper's horror, Jake began to wave a salmon mousse canapé in Lawson's face. "So good. Like, mind-blowing."

Lawson's face didn't change. "We'll keep that in mind."

"So no hard feelings?"

"Oh, no," Lawson said. "The entire salmon species and I are on very good terms these days. But thank-you for your concern."

His face was calm. Passive. Harper calculated the odds of being able to step on his foot without Jake seeing it, and swiftly decided that they were against her. Jake blinked, lowering the canapé.

"Cool," he said finally. "Well, I'm happy for you both."

Lawson looked ready to make another crack about the salmon. Harper jumped in before he got the chance.

"Thank-you," she said. "That's sweet."

"You know," Jake continued blithely, "when Harp told me that you two were together, I wasn't sure about the whole thing. Couldn't picture it. Even warned her off you if I'm being honest. But now I think that—"

"What did you just say?" a voice demanded.

Harper froze. She would recognize that voice anywhere.

Griffin.

A/N: Hello lovely readers,

Please don't kill me for another cliffhanger ;)

Question of the Day: in honour of International Women's Day, who's an inspirational woman in your life? I've always been so in awe of my Mum, who got her law degree while working to pay the bills and raising a six-year-old child by herself. What a kickass lady <3

Affectionately,

J.K.

p.s. the correct answer to Thursday's question was kiss guac, marry hummus, kill salsa (and yes, I do mean correct — don't come for me hehe)