74.0

74.0
HARPER

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Suddenly I'm Elena Gilbert who has the Salvatore brothers wrapped around her arm, or Belly with the Fisher Brothers, caught in some dramatic love triangle I never asked for. It's going to be a disaster if I don't find a way to stop the staring.

Clara isn't blind. I'm sure she sees it. She's too perspective not to. What can she say? What would the poor woman do? Her son's are grown men, and I'm a guest in her home. I'm watching her hurl Nyla in the air and they are both giggling.
Turning around, I deliberately ignore Xavier, who's leaning against the kitchen counter, pretending to read something on his phone but clearly watching me. I head outside the house, needing a moment of fresh air.

It'll still take a while before I get used to this apartment. Apartment is even an understatement. It's a luxury inside this building, a sprawling penthouse with views of the city. I didn't know Clara owned such a property, let alone one this opulent.

I'm still getting to know all of the things I don't know about her. Like the fact that she has triplets and lost one at birth. That's... I'm not supposed to say that out loud, it's a private grief she rarely shares. But it's a piece of her history that explains so much about her fierce protectiveness, her boundless generosity.

All I'm saying is that Clara is a nice woman and I don't intend to put a dent in her household, especially not by becoming the source of conflict between her remaining sons.

I hurry out of the kitchen and into my room so I can pump. Doing that drains me, my limbs feel limp, my body a mere vessel. When I'm done, I get all cleaned up, splashing cold water on my face, trying to shake off the exhaustion, and head downstairs to store all the milk in the industrial-sized freezer in the pantry.

"You okay?"

I don't need to turn to know it's him. The scent of his cologne, is unmistakable. "Yes, I'm fine." I say, my back still to him as I label a bag of milk.

"I want to talk to you." He says.

I eventually turn to stare at him, my hands still holding the bag of milk. "We're talking." I say casually. I'm trying to sound nonchalant. I'm not feeling it.

He shakes his head, a slight frown on his face. "No. In private." He insists.

Do I want to follow him in his room to say something private? No. Absolutely not. Every alarm bell in my head is screaming. But he's giving me that look, the one that's a mix of charm and stubbornness, the one that usually gets him what he wants.

"Don't even start." I bit down on my lip, trying to suppress a nervous tremor.

"What?" He asks, genuinely confused.

"Don't start giving me that coercing look." I clarify, my eyes narrowing.

He nods and I can see his lips twitch, a hint of a smile playing at the corners. Fucking hell. What does he find funny? My irritation flares. I want to ask, but I don't. I'm too tired for another argument.

"And don't even smile. You have barely said five words to me since the day you came into my room acting like a deranged person, accusing me of things I didn't do."

He frowns, the amusement vanishing from his face. "That's... actually what I want to talk about." He nods, taking a step closer.

"I'm sorry." He says.

I blink, taken aback by the unexpected apology. "You should be." I retort.

"Are you this dismissive when it comes to Damien?"

"Excuse me?"

"No, I'm just being curious. You suddenly started hanging out with my brother and I became the second choice. Don't you get it? He's the black sheep of the family. Didn't interact with anybody until you came along. And he's thinking just how good you'll be with him just to spite me. He knows I like you a lot and he's trying to..." Xavier pauses to catch his breath, his chest heaving slightly.

I watch him inhale and exhale, then run his hand through his hair before sighing. "Did I tell you before that I liked you?"

I instinctively nod. "Good, and I meant that. I still do. Now that you know what Damien will do to you, the choice is up to you to make. Will it be me or will it be me?"

I squint my eyes. That is the most unrealistic idea I've ever heard. I mean... he wants me to choose? Choose who to be with? Choose who to leave? That's mean. That's insane to be frank and candid. It's like something out of a bad reality TV show, a childish game with real people's feelings.
I care about Clara's sons. I really do. Deeply. The kind of care where you want to be there for them at every moment, to support them, to see them happy, to protect them from themselves sometimes. It's the same kind of care that surprises the society, the kind that makes people whisper and judge.

People assume you're with them for money, or for attention, or because you're some kind of gold digger, preying on their wealth. I'm not a thrill seeker. I really enjoy every movement spent with them, the easy camaraderie, the genuine affection, the way they make me feel seen and valued.

I also know I love the way they take care of Nyla. She loves them. She's so little. She's... so innocent, and they treat her like she's their own, with such tenderness and joy. The thought of disrupting that, of making her choose, is unbearable.

"Come on." That's all I'm hearing as I feel a hand pulling me outside, a firm but gentle tug.

Skye.

Thank god. A welcome interruption.

I breathe in and out, trying to steady my racing heart, before collapsing on the steps of the building. The fresh air helps clear my head, but the conversation with Xavier.

"So. Xavier?" Skye asks.

I frown, running a hand through my hair, trying to gather my thoughts. "He says I have to choose. I don't even want to be in any kind of messed up relationship. You... If you can remember Nyla's Dad. He..."

"I'm not going to be the reason why they didn't settle." I state.