“You are unbelievable, you know that?” I tell him as the car putters in the driveway, waiting for the gates to slowly open.
“Not sure what you mean,” he says as we drive through. Though James’s SUV is parked in the cul-de-sac, the media hasn’t shown up yet. “But I won’t refute it.”
“You know what I mean,” I tell him, briefly reaching down and squeezing his hand, which is resting on his thigh. My god, it’s taking everything in me not to maul him here in the car, but judging by his body language, that might be totally inappropriate. “The way you are with my mom. It means a lot.”
He glances at me, frowning as his eyes search my face. “This isn’t the first time you’ve said that to me. I have to say, it enrages me to think how the both of you have been treated, if showing any kindness has been an anomaly in your house.” He looks away, gnawing on his lip. “Can’t say I haven’t been through it myself. Growing up, I knew what people thought about me, my siblings, my mum. I was told I was right trash all the time, to my face. When you’re at the fringes of society, when you’re not considered normal, whatever the fuck that really means, it just gives people an excuse to shun you. I won’t ever look the other way with you, Piper. Not with you, not with your mother. You’re both the loveliest people; you’re my kind of people. It’s society that needs to get fucked.”
I don’t hear Harrison swear that often, but the word fuck sounds exceedingly good with that accent.
“No wonder Eddie and Monica trust you with their lives,” I tell him after a moment, slowing down as a deer crosses the road. “They’re the first royals who have pushed back against the monarchy, to embrace being imperfect. I know when Monica made that speech about mental illness last year it meant a lot to people, to have someone from that family actually speak out for once.”
“It also ruffled a lot of feathers,” he says. “But then again, that’s the part of society that needs to go fuck itself.”
“Say fuck again,” I tell him, grinning.
He gives me a wry glance and then slips on his shades, running his tongue over his bottom lip. Damn if I don’t get butterflies again.
It turns out that Harrison needed to go into town to pick up a few books for Monica, which was fine with me since I never pass up a chance to look at books.
“Not that I’m complaining about the outing, but are you sure she can’t just buy books on her Kindle?” I ask him as we step inside the town’s bookstore. I give a polite nod to the owner behind the till. She’s used to me coming in once a month and berating her over the shop’s lack of a romance section, so I can’t blame her for stiffening when she sees me.
“She says she prefers to read paperbacks,” Harrison says, peering over his sunglasses at the new-releases section. “And something about how the house feels empty as it is and she needs to start filling the shelves.”
“She’s probably nesting,” I tell him, before I realize I’m in public and I need to keep my voice down. There’s no doubt the bookstore owner knows who Harrison is, especially since she’s pretending to read a thriller, even though her eyes are constantly ogling him. Thankfully she’s too far out of earshot to have heard me or even know who we’re talking about.
“Anyway,” I say quickly, coming over to Harrison, “what did she ask for?” I lower my voice and lean in. “I hope it’s not anything baby related, because that’s going to tip a lot of people off.”
“She didn’t really say,” he says, pulling out a Stephen King. “She just wanted me to bring back books. Think she’d like this?”
“Well, does she like horror?”
“I don’t think so.”
I sigh. “Come here.”
I walk around the shelf to the other side and gesture to one row of books, my meager victory for the romance industry. “Here. Pick any of these.”
“This is the romance section?” he asks warily.
“Oh come on, don’t lose all the brownie points you’ve recently earned with me. She likes romance; she’s said as much herself. Bring her some of these. Plus, the more they sell here, the more the store will order.”
“Okay,” he says, reaching for one with a bare-chested man on the cover. “Hmmm,” he muses, flipping it over. His lips move as he silently reads the blurb. Finally he says, “It’s supposed to be a moving story about life and love. The cover tells me otherwise.”
I hastily pluck it from his hands, raising my chin. “I’ve read it. It’s about life and love, but also lots of wild sex and even some pegging thrown in there.”