The snow had turned to slush by the time I returned to the penthouse, and I was in a similar mood. I returned here with no more clarity than when I had left after spending hours at Lexi's talking to myself in circles and drinking lukewarm tea.
On the top floor, the elevator chimed.
Then I heard it.
Laughter.
Not Ethan's. Not mine, of course. Feminine. Bright. In the "I've seen you in a magazine next to a Blackwood" sense, familiar.
With caution, I entered the living room, and there she was.
Harper Blackwood.
The notorious younger sister. The "unplanned one." icon of fashion. Socialite. infamous for yelling at her brother in front of Forbes reporters and donning fake fur throughout the summer.
She called, "Finally!" after spotting me. "You have to be Grace. I've been hearing a lot about you.
"I hope you've heard good things." I tried to grin but was cautious.
"Oh, of course. primarily from tabloids and the PR disaster your husband refused to clean up until the board almost killed him."
I blinked. "Right. Thank you for the kind greeting.
However, she had a real smile on her face, and I felt a sense of relaxation.
She flopped onto the couch as if she owned it and explained, "Ethan's out at a board review." So I got in. I reasoned that I should meet the woman who dared to marry him.
"You didn't enter."
"Details." She gestured with her manicured hand.
She took in everything as she surveyed the apartment.
"You've made this area softer," she remarked reflectively. "This place used to appear like it was home to a Bond villain."
I said, "I added a candle."
"And, apparently, a soul."
She patted the cushion next to her before turning back to face me. "Come. Sit. Tell me everything. What I mean by everything is how you managed to go beneath my brother's steel skin.
After a moment of hesitation, I joined her. Harper seemed effortless, raw and ferocious in a way that only younger siblings with nothing to prove could be.
She inquired about everything over the course of the following hour, including how we met (I omitted the more scandalous details) and my cravings, which at the moment were peanut butter and citrus, but not together.
We ended up on the kitchen floor, baking brownies from a mix she insisted she could "elevate" with a dash of bourbon and sea salt, somewhere between laughing over terrible baby name choices and me confessing I had thought Ethan was a waiter.
I licked some batter off my finger and remarked, "This child is going to be born into pandemonium."
Harper gave a wink. "We refer to it as legacy."
We were dancing in socks on the marble floor, cocoa bubbling on the stove, and brownies cooling by the window when Ethan came back, his jacket wet from the sleet outside.
He stopped in the doorway, his gaze darting from my red face to his sister's absurd apron.
"Do I need to worry?"
Harper murmured sweetly, "Too late." "She is now family." You can no longer claim to be the only charming Blackwood.
Ethan gave me a look. The cold detachment in his eyes melted into something else for a heartbeat.
Something that nearly resembled pride.
or even love.
I wasn't certain.
However, Harper muttered, "You're good for him," as she leaned closer. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to think that perhaps she was correct. "Don't let him scare you off." she said.