A Need So Beautiful (A Need So Beautiful #1)(45)

“Idiot.” I laugh, and pull back enough to look at him. I grab his jacket and kiss him, not really able to help myself. We’re making out, respectfully (it is a charity event), when someone clears his throat.

Harlin and I turn, still attached at the lips, and see a serious-looking man in a tux standing there. Sarah’s father.

“Nice to see you, Charlotte,” he says, his voice deep and intimidating. I doubt he means it, and he doesn’t even acknowledge Harlin.

“Hi.” I dart my eyes around for Sarah, but she’s nowhere in sight. She might still be at the bar.

“Have you seen my daughter?”

“Daughter?” I’m the worst liar ever. I stare at Sarah’s tall, imposing father and try to smile. “She’s getting us a table?”

He narrows his gray eyes, and then tightens his mouth. “Is that a question or a statement?”

“Statement?” I’m so blowing this.

He exhales and nods. “Well, then. I guess I’ll see you in the banquet room.”

Harlin grins as Sarah’s father walks away. “You are so subtle, Charlotte. Are you a ninja?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m sure he didn’t find that at all suspicious.”

“Harlin!”

He laughs and kisses the top of my head. “I’ll stop,” he says. “But where is Sarah? You might want to find her before we sit down for chicken with that man. What will you say if he asks you to pass the mashed potatoes? Mashed potatoes?” Harlin finishes, imitating my voice.

I slap his arm and then pull him forward through the ball. He’s right. I should find Sarah before Daddy Dearest sends out security looking for her. Just then I see her father standing in the doorway, watching us.

Great. He’s probably CIA trained and planning to follow me. I’ll lead him right to the bar. “Stop here,” I murmur. Harlin and I pause at an abstract—meaning I can’t tell what the hell it is—painting.

Harlin is staring at the picture like he gets it, a smug smirk on his face. I study him, not caring about any other piece of art in the room. Just then I feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. His jaw tightens but he makes no move toward it.

“Are you going to answer that?” I ask.

“Do you think the artist knew this work was terrible while he was painting it?”

“No. But I’m not asking about that.”

Harlin turns to me, looking serious. “What are you asking about, then?” His eyes are narrowed like he’s daring me to talk about his mother.

“How you’re going to deal with her. You can’t just keep ignoring her phone calls.”

He smiles like it’s a silly statement and turns back to the painting. “Of course I can.”

This isn’t exactly the moment I was hoping for when I decided to come to this event. I wanted a normal night, a night where Harlin and I would be together, all dressed up and proper. But now I just want him to fix things with his mother. I’m tired of him keeping everything bottled up.

Harlin continues to stare at the painting, sipping from his wine glass. “The brush strokes on this are too wide,” he says.

“She’s grieving, Harlin. Maybe she needs you to pull her out of it.”

Harlin pauses mid-sip, and then lifts the glass to finish it off. When he’s done, he sets it on the base of a statue and looks sideways at me. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What? We haven’t even eaten yet.”

“Let’s leave for California right now and never come back.”

I’m completely caught off guard, and step toward him. “I can’t just leave,” I whisper. “What about Mercy?”

Harlin’s mouth curves into a smile and he takes my arm, resting his forehead against mine as he stares into my eyes. “Run away with me,” he breathes, smelling sweet from the wine. It’s intoxicating. “Run far away with me.”

I feel a rush of electricity and my body warms considerably.

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere, as long as I’m with you.”

Butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I close my eyes. I can feel how much he needs me, how much I need him.

“You have me forever,” he whispers. “I’m yours.”

“Mm . . .” I’ll run away if he wants. I’ll go anywhere as long as I can feel like this—so beautiful and calm. I feel alive.

“Good,” he says, leaning forward to kiss me softly. “And you only have to do one thing for me.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t talk about my mother again.”

I gasp and pull out of his arms. “Are you serious right now? You just said all that stuff to get me to stop asking about your mother?” My cheeks prickle with embarrassment, a bit of anger.

“No, baby. I meant every word,” he tries to explain, touching my hand. “You know I did.”

I yank away. “You’re an ass,” I murmur, and move over to the next painting.

I fold my arms over my chest, ignoring Harlin as he comes to stand next to me. He presses his shoulder against mine, then leans down, brushing his lips against my ear.

“I’m sorry.” He says it so softly it’s just a breath. “I love you,” he repeats over and over, putting his hand on the curve of my back. I close my eyes and lean into him, letting him put his arm around me.