I've always been a great supporter of minding your own business.

But watching her cling onto him like a damn vulture made my stomach churn.

It wasn't the fact that she had shamelessly poured a drink down my back. That, I could handle.

It was the entitlement.

The way she acted like she owned everything—and in this case, everyone.

She disrespected her husband in plain sight, with zero remorse. No shame. No care in the world.

I couldn't claim to know Harry. Because I didn't.

But I did know Jimmy.

And his description of Harry as a person didn't quite match what I was witnessing.

Harry didn't seem like the kind of guy who would sleep his way up.

But then again—I didn't really know him, did I?

The fact was, when I confronted him, he didn't deny it.

He didn't even justify it.

And that was worse.

I caught myself thinking about it way too much—more than I had any right to.

So, I shut it down.

I avoided them for the rest of the night, sticking to the side bar and making Ed run my orders to Jimmy whenever I could.

Ed, of course, gave me several weird looks.

But I ignored them.

Mrs. Harrison, on the other hand, wasn't ignoring me.

Every now and then, she'd turn in my direction, laugh loudly—like she was in on some inside joke—then be all over Harry, making sure I had a clear view of her hands on him.

Pathetic.

And desperate.

My grandma used to say, "There is no greater punishment than ignoring the person who is set out to get you."

And I did just that.

I laughed often. I thrived. And I played the long game better than her by a long shot.

When Harry finally waved goodbye in my direction, hand in hers, I exhaled—realizing that I'd been holding my breath all night.

I waved back, flashing them a smile faker than the Gucci bag I bought the other day from the Albanian guy on the first floor for twenty euros.

(To my defence, the original price was fifty. And it had a Guccciii tag. Yes, with three i's.)

The next few days were uneventful—school, work, and annihilating Chrys in Texas Hold'em, forcing her to clean my room for a month.

(My poker skills? Elite. Hers? Tragic.)

Then, Jimmy suggested a four-day getaway at his uncle's cottage in the snowy mountains.

Snowboarding. Skiing. Drinking. Zero responsibilities.

It took me two seconds to agree.

Monday morning, I was the first one in Jimmy's overloaded four-by-four, squeezed next to Anne and Tom.

Ed and Kendal were driving separately, leaving the front seat vacant for one more passenger.

Stopping outside a quaint red-bricked house, I wasn't expecting the tall figure stepping out of it, holding skis and a duffle bag.

Harry.

I blinked.

This wasn't his apartment.

And seeing him step out of this adorable little house, pushing open the wooden gate—it seemed... off.

A figure waved at him from the window.

I squinted, but from my angle, I couldn't make out who.

Parents? Family?

Another lover?

If it was the latter, I was buying him a maintenance cream for little Harry on his birthday.

(Side note: Do they make those? Asking for science.)

The thought almost made me laugh out loud—until Anne nudged me.

"What's funny?"

I smirked, shaking my head. "Nothing. Just thought of something stupid."

She rolled her eyes but didn't push.

Harry finished loading his stuff in the already overstuffed car, then slid into the front seat.

"Morning."

His voice was casual, but his eyes flicked to me through the mirror.

I nodded politely. "Morning."

And then—I went back to my music.

Dido, obviously.

Anne stole one of my ear buds, listening in.

"Dido, huh?"

I grinned. "You can't go wrong with Dido."

"Next thing you'll say is you listen to classical music too."

I shrugged. "I do, actually."

Harry's head snapped up in the mirror. "You do?"

"Yep."

"What do you listen to?" His tone was unreadable.

"Different stuff."

"Such as?"

I sighed. "Composers."

"Any specific ones?" He cocked an eyebrow.

Fine. He wanted a list? He'd get a list.

"Beethoven—his Ninth Symphony is actually an Ode to Joy. Moonlight Sonata? To die for. Mozart's Requiem? Stunning. Rossini's Overture to William Tell? A masterpiece. And Bach's Toccata in D minor? Unparalleled."

The smirk he'd been wearing vanished.

I settled back in my seat, very pleased with myself.

The rest of the drive was uneventful, filled with light banter between Jimmy and Anne.

Anne, who obviously fancied him.

Oh, Anne. Where are you getting yourself into?

The cottage was exactly what I had expected.

A beautiful blend of wood and brick, blanketed in snow. A huge oak dining table in the kitchen. A large, cozy living room with a welcoming fireplace.

It had four bedrooms, each with a shower, two sets of bunk beds, and a big closet. A whole army could have stayed there.

Jimmy's room? Way bigger. Double bed. Actual bath. Total favouritism.

I shared a room with Anne, while Ed stayed with Harry (Lord help him). Tom and Kendal? Surprise couple. (Apparently, they'd been together for a while, and nobody knew. Go figure.)

When we finally regrouped in the living room, Jimmy had already started a fire, and Kendal was pouring tea for everyone.

"We need groceries," Jimmy announced.

"Can someone take my car? There's a list on the kitchen table, keys in the ashtray. I need to bring in wood and sort some things here."

"I'll go," I volunteered.

Jimmy chuckled.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Sorry, sugar. I meant a guy."

Excuse me?

"Oh my God, Jimmy! You did not just say that!" I gasped.

"It's a huge car, and you are tiny. The roads are slippery, Ella."

"And?"

"And..."

"I'll go with her," Harry announced dryly, plucking the keys from the ashtray.

He disappeared into the kitchen, returning seconds later with the list.

I crossed my arms. "I don't need—"

He grabbed my arm before I could finish, dragging me outside.

"Let's go."

I yanked my beanie lower over my ears, scowling at him as we climbed into the car.

"Why did you do that?" I demanded.

"Do what?"

"Volunteer to come with me. Is driving related to sex and size in any way?"

I saw it.

That faint smile.

The smug amusement.

"Argh! You infuriate me. You are such a guy!"

"Then why?" He turned to me, adjusting the heat. "Don't you trust me with a car? Are you like Jimmy, a sexist pig who believes women can't drive? Are you one of those men who think women should stay home and raise kids? Do you believe men are superior—"

"No."

I blinked.

"Then what? What is it?"

Harry exhaled, completely unfazed. "I know where the supermarket is."

I froze.

My mouth opened. Then closed.

"Oh."

Heat crept up my face.

Harry smirked. Triumphant.

Damn him.

I folded my arms, glaring out the window.

We gathered the groceries with zero drama.

Until we reached the checkout.

As I unloaded the bags onto the conveyor belt, Harry lingered by the newspaper stand.

The cashier scanned the last item.

I pulled out my credit card.

Before I could hand it over, Harry shoved me aside and slapped his card down.

"What are you doing?" I hissed, snatching the card from the cashier and replacing it with mine.

The cashier—a teenage boy named Steward—watched us with zero emotion, like he'd seen this exact fight happen before.

Harry stepped closer. "Ella, give me the card."

I smirked. Then, slow as hell, I dropped it into my bra.

Through the neck of my sweater.

Steward blinked.

Harry froze.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "You're not serious..."

I turned to Steward. "Use my card, please."

Steward, to his credit, barely hesitated. He swiped it.

"Sorry, mate," he said, handing me the receipt.

Harry exhaled through his nose. "Yeah, yeah. I bet you are."

I grinned. Victory had never tasted sweeter.

Back in the car, Harry switched on the radio but lowered the volume.

He started the engine, dragged his sunglasses down, and smirked.

"If you wanted me to touch your boobs, you could've just said so."

I gasped.

"You are such an ass!" I swatted his arm.

He chuckled, completely unfazed.

I huffed, pulling the card out of my bra and shoving it at him.

He took it.

And sniffed it.

My eyes widened.

"Mmm. Warm. Delicious."

My soul left my body.

"Oh my God." My eyes nearly popped out of my head. "You are so disgusting—"

He grinned.

"They are beautiful boobs. You have been told before."

That smug bastard just used my own words against me.

I let out a dramatic groan, smacking his arm again, but my traitorous face was already burning.

Damn him. Damn him to hell.