Un-Tying the Knot {h.s.}

Chapter 38

"When we get there, you're going to have your photo taken by yourself, then with me," Eleanor dictates to Harry.

"What about me?" Nick asks, nudging me with his arm quietly, snickering in the process.

He was such a trouble maker, and I loved every second of it. He loved to egg her on, and it worked almost every single time. He could even say what we all wanted to say — and actually get away with it — because Eleanor didn't have a hold over him like she did us. He didn't give a fuck what she thought of him, nor did he give a shit about her opinion. I envied him for that.

Eleanor just ignores him.

"And then dinner will be served," she states, mumbling an afterthought under her breath in a judgmentally accusing fashion, "dresses will be ruined."

"Hey," Harry responds, scowling at her because she knows how much he loves barbecue — not to mention this was what he wanted on his birthday. She looks up at him, forcing a smile before patting his knee.

"I was kidding," she retorts with a sigh.

Nick looks at Harry and mouths "no she wasn't" with a smirk and a wink. Harry just sighs, already dreading tonight more than before they left.

"Then there will be some dancing," she starts again.

Nick interrupts, "...and drinking."

He sticks out his first to bump it with Harry's, both of them smiling at each other as they do so. Harry was definitely looking forward to the drinking part.

Eleanor frowns, although I'm not really sure if it's from the budding camaraderie between the two, being interrupted, or the idea of Harry drinking profusely in front of her debutante friends.

"And then at 11, the cake will come out and you'll blow out candles," she offers, going back to the list she was reading, the one that Isabelle had given her at the house before we had pulled away and left her behind.

"Wait — " Harry interrupts. "I said no candles, Eleanor. That was the one fucking thing I was adamant about. Candles."

"Don't swear. But, fine—" she rolls her eyes, doing her best to slam the folder shut, but it's flimsy and thus, ineffective. "I'll cancel the candles, but honestly, Harry — I don't know why you're so upset about candles. Everyone has candles on their cake," she huffs. "Besides, it's just another year. Your mid-thirties aren't that big of a deal. It's actually when most people hit their prime."

Nick interrupts again. "Actually, that's only women," he chuckles. "Men hit their prime at 18. Trust me."

Eleanor grits her teeth at him, and if she weren't in evening wear, she would probably murder him.

"I wasn't talking about sex, Nicky..." she warns, using the nickname he hates to accentuate her point and her superiority.

"Can we seriously not talk about this right now?" Harry asks with a sigh, letting his head fall back in exasperation.

I feel bad, so I can't help but reach out my hand to pat his knee, hoping to calm him down. My head is filled with thoughts, so my hand ends up staying there much longer than I had intended. I'm surprised when his hand rests over mine for a quick moment, that is, until we both realize we're in a car with Eleanor and Nick — and the moment we both realize what this could look like, our hands quickly bolt away from each other like repelling magnets.

He pulls his head back from its resting position, his eyes catching mine and a devious smirk covers those oh-so-kissable lips. He can't help but think about how I'm usually the one who flinches when he touches me. Now I'm touching him? And letting it linger? How the tables have turned.