Open your fucking mouth.

Four words. Four simple fucking words.

Danielle was worried about me. She pretended like she wasn't, but I could tell. It was in the subtle way she would hesitate telling me she loved me right before we went to bed—like she was waiting to see if I was going to open up to her. Then when I didn't, her expression would soften and she would kiss me in a way that told me she would keep waiting patiently until I was ready.

She was worried. And it was getting worse.

I wasn't trying to hide anything from her and I wasn't trying to keep anything from her. But for some unknown reason, I couldn't talk about it. I would get up the courage to open my mouth and tell her what I was feeling...then nothing would come out. I would just end up telling her that I was fine and that it was nothing to worry about.

But still she worried.

I didn't want her to worry.

She was pregnant and we were on fucking vacation. The last thing she needed to do was worry about me and my mental state. I didn't want that for her, either. So why did it suddenly become so goddamn hard to talk to her? We used to be able to tell each other everything. Anything.

"Sir? Here's your café au lait."

I turned to the petite French woman with a smile. "Merci."

I plastered on a fake smile that she seemed to believe as I took the coffee from her. She was a stranger, so it didn't take much. Once she went back inside the café, I turned and against the brick wall behind me.

After we took a three hour train ride from London to Paris last night, the five of us checked in to the Hôtel d'Aubusson. Paris was the first stop on our European vacation. The girls loved Paris and I knew Gwen always wanted to come here, too. Today was day one of our three day Paris stop, and I was so fucking happy to not be in London anymore.

How fucked up was that?

"Hey, Ry."

I glanced to the left. "Hey, Harper. Jackson still in bed?"

When she came and stood beside me, I looked around the café for an empty table. Once I spotted one, I invited her to sit with me. It was probably for the best. I was feeling antsy. Fidgety. I needed to sit the fuck down.

Harper took the seat across from me and ordered a coffee and danish for herself when a server came by. After we were alone again, she answered my question.

"Yes, Jackson mumbled something about 'culture shock' then rolled over. I told him if he wasn't down here in the next twenty minutes, I was going to walk around Paris without him."

"I don't think that's enough to get him out of bed, Harper."

"Maybe not. But I told him I would be wearing my shortest skirt while doing it."

I sucked my teeth. "That'll do it."

She chuckled with satisfaction. "He was brushing his teeth when I left the room."

That mental image of a groggy, culture shocked Jackson brushing his teeth after succumbing to the whims of a petite blonde made me laugh.

It still surprised me how much my brother had changed over the years. I never thought he would be anything more than the asshole who slept with every woman he could get in his bed. Hell, not always in his bed. Sometimes it was at a club. Or a bar. Or in his fucking car. Basically anytime, anywhere. That was Jackson Reese.

But then he met Harper Lewis—and everything changed.

And it didn't all change for just the two of them.

"Danielle said she was making a stop at Gwen's room before joining us down here."

"Thanks, Harper. I appreciate it."

I sipped my coffee and waited for her to ask her next question. I knew the question was coming. Harper was different than Danielle in many ways. One of them being that Harper didn't feel the need to walk on eggshells around me.

If she wanted to know something, she was going to ask.

"You wanna talk about it?"

I kept my gaze on a family that passed by. "If I say no, will you back off?"

"No."

"Well then...no."

Harper's sigh told me she was just getting warmed up.

"Ryan, I'm not going to make you tell me anything that you aren't comfortable with. And I know you aren't an idiot. Danielle's worried about you, too. So is Jackson. All I wanted to tell you was that it's okay."

That got my attention and my eyes met hers.

"It's okay, Ryan. What you're feeling is okay. Whether you're feeling angry, sad, or whatever...it's okay."

I took another sip of my coffee. Then another. And another.

"Thanks, Harper." Speaking of not handling shit. "How's my brother doing?"

Harper took a bite of her danish the server brought. "He's trying to do what you're doing. Hiding how he feels. Dealing with it on his own."

A corner of my mouth quirked. "But I'm guessing you don't let him do that."

To my surprise, she shook her head.

"No. I give him his space. He's the one who has been opening up to me lately." She sat further up in her chair. "It's funny, actually, because he used to hide the emotional stuff from me before. But when we first got checked into that hotel in London, it all came pouring out."

That didn't sound like the Jackson I grew up with, either. He was a private person. A very private person. Not to mention the whole emotional part of it all. Jackson wasn't good with feelings. I didn't mean he was a fucking robot, but he usually didn't handle that emotional shit well. It usually ended up with him going on a drinking binge or between some random woman's legs.

I glanced at Harper again. She really had changed him. For the better. If he didn't have her when Everly had passed away...

"I'm glad he has you, Harper. Really. I shutter to think about who he would be if things had worked out differently."

As soon as the words left my lips, there was a slight awkward tension between us. It was understandable though. After all, it was still a little weird that my ex-fiancée was married to my younger brother—and I was married to my ex-fiancée's best friend.

Yeah.

What the fuck?

Luckily there wasn't any jealousy or anything like that between the four us.

We were lucky.

"Have things gotten any better with them?" she asked quietly.

There was no need to ask who 'them' was.

"It is what it is. They're still pissed that we didn't get married and merge businesses. My mom does her normal passive aggressive thing. To be honest, I think they're just pissed that I actually made a decision for myself for once."

"What about your dad?"

I exhaled a heavy sigh. "He wont talk about it. Only work. He'd dead-set on me taking over his company."

"Is that still something you want?"

Well that was a loaded fucking question, wasn't it? Did I want to take over my father's company? Sometimes I felt like I was meant for different things. But then most of the time it felt like I was meant to follow in my father's footsteps.

Whether I wanted to or not.

The next C.E.O. of Hale Industries.

"Every decision we make is one more piece to the puzzle of our lives. If we make the wrong choices, we won't like the picture that the puzzle will eventually represent."

"Ry?"

Shit. Everly's words were still fresh in my mind. Why couldn't I get them out. 

"Yes," I said, answering Harper's question. "It's still something I want."

When she didn't say anything more, I chanced a glance at her. She had a I-know-you're-lying look on her face.

"Spit it out, Harper."

She huffed and leaned back in her chair. "I'm just worried that you feel like you don't have a choice. You know...because of what happened."

That last part made me frown.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Her eyes dropped. "When Ayden and Nate were stranded overseas. Your dad—"

"It's not because of that, Harper. And I don't want you to feel guilty for calling me that day." When she still wouldn't look at me, I leaned forward and placed my hand on hers. "Hey, look at me."

She did.

"I have no regrets about what I did to bring them home. There's no reason for you to feel guilty, okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Okay, Ryan. Thank you."

"Anytime, Harper. You know I'm here for you."

Harper picked up her coffee mug and put it to her lips. Before she took a sip, something to the left caught her eye. I turned and looked in that direction, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

"What is it?"

"I thought I saw..."

"What? Saw what?"

Harper shook her head and sipped her coffee. "Nothing. It was nothing."

I shrugged a shoulder and glanced at my watch. Danielle should be down here by now. Maybe I should go check on her? Yeah, that was a good idea. But I didn't want to leave Harper alone either.

Shit.

Decisions...decisions.

"How do they feel about the baby?"

A cold shiver went down my spine when Harper's question registered in my brain.

"...What?"

Harper frowned and sat her mug on the table. "Your parents? Are they happy that you and Danielle are having a baby? It'll be their first grandchild!"

I didn't answer her. Instead, I looked away.

"Ry?"

Oh, look over there, is that the Louvre?

"Ryan."

There's a little sandwich shop where people are eating. Mhm, nice.

"Ryan Hale, look at me right now."

I forced my eyes to meet Harper's. "They don't know," I confessed.

Harper's mouth dropped from the shock of my statement. "What! How could you—does Danielle know?"

When I hesitated, the answer was clear.

"Oh my god, Ryan. You lied!"

"I didn't lie," I shot back. Another lie. "It was more of an omission."

"Omission my ass!"

With my luck, Danielle was going to sneak up behind me and overhear this. If that happened, I was going to end up in the doghouse. Playing it safe, I lowered my voice for this next part.

"Harper, I'm just trying to find the right time to tell them. That's all."

She raised an accusing brow. "What about Danielle? Why haven't you told her? Waiting for the right time?"

"I will," I vowed—and I meant it. "I just need some time. Please, Harper...don't say anything. I'm begging you."

Harper's expression told me she wasn't happy keeping something from Danielle. To be honest, I didn't think she would even agree. Knowing Harper, she probably felt like she owed me for what I did to help Nate and Ayden. It didn't matter how many times I told her it wasn't necessary. She was never going to get rid of that guilt. 

"Okay," she finally breathed. "I won't say anything."

I exhaled a relived sigh. "Thank you, Harper. Seriously." 

Harper scoffed and pointed her finger at me. "Don't thank me yet, Ryan. I'll cover for you and keep this between us, but if she brings it up and asks me about it, I won't lie to her." 

"Deal."

This could work—no, it would work—because I was going to tell her. Tonight. Shit, not tonight. I couldn't tell her the first day we spent in Paris.

So, when? 

The third day.

After Paris.

Yes, I was going to tell her on the way to our next stop. That way we would have plenty of time to talk about it in private. I wasn't going to put it off any longer. I couldn't. 

Because lying to my wife was unacceptable.