Crashed The Wrong Twins Wedding

Four years. Thats how long Id been with Miles.

He was all sharp angles, wire-rimmed glasses, and a thoroughly glacial temperament. He had ruthlessly rejected an endless parade of women who threw themselves at him, his public excuse always the same: I have no interest in romance. Im only focused on my research.

I was the only one who didnt take the hint.

Eventually, the entire campus knew: Harper was an idiot, trailing after Miles like a lost puppy day in and day out.

I remember the day it all culminated. It was pouring. After my nth rejection, I slipped and wiped out right into a muddy drainage ditch. I crawled out looking like a drowned rat and slumped against the wet hedges by the science building.

I pulled out my phone and called my best friend, Stella. "Oh my god, he's just..." I wailed into the receiver.

"Lose my number," Stella replied, and hung up.

...

The next morning, I was the top trending topic on the universitys anonymous forum: A Day in the Life of a Hopeless Romantic.

Attached were several photos, including a spectacularly pathetic shot of me sitting by the curb, drenched in the rain.

There were thousands of comments underneath:

Pretty face, absolutely zero brains.

Hey gorgeous, consider me instead! I can...

Beauty paired with literally anything else is a killer combo, but sadly, shes got nothing else going on upstairs.

But nobody saw it coming. Through sheer, unadulterated persistence, I actually landed the ultimate prize.

The problem was, not every prize is exactly what you bargained for.

After Miles and I got together, he rarely smiled, and he was always, invariably, busy.

Ive always been someone who craves noise and life. Stella used to drag me to every party in the city, but then she and the rest of our circle started coupling up, settling down. That left me in a relationship that felt dangerously close to being a widow.

He didnt show up on my birthday.

He had been bogged down with a massive field project and had essentially been MIA for an entire month.

I bought a cake anyway. I sat in the quiet apartment, mentally counting the minutes, my chest tight with the stubborn, foolish hope that he might make it home early.

The second the clock struck midnight, I made a wish to the empty room and blew out the candles myself.

Miles came home hours later. It was raining again. He stood in the entryway, radiating the damp cold of the storm, the shoulder of his jacket entirely soaked through.

I broke up with him.

I had a million reasons loaded in the chamber, but looking at his exhausted, emotionally detached face, the words just died in my throat.

Honestly, he wasn't terrible to me.

Stella always told me I was self-sabotaging.

I couldn't deny it. But I also couldn't stomach the sudden, month-long disappearances. I was left alone to work, to wander the city by myself. Whenever I sent him a text buzzing with good news, it vanished into a void. Occasionally, I'd get a sterile reply hours later: Busy. Let's talk when I'm back.

When I was upset, I was always guarding a phone that wouldn't ring, dialing his number over and over just to stare blankly as it went straight to a dead-end voicemail.

I began to deeply question myself. Why had I chased him so blindly back then? What was the point of all this?

"I deserve better."

That was the only reason I managed to articulate. I sounded like an insatiable, demanding girlfriend.

Miles stood there in the quiet apartment. He listened to me, was completely silent for a long moment, and then simply said, "Okay."

The night we broke up, I threw every single memento of our relationship into the dumpster.

That included a Prada crossbody bag, the strap of which I had accidentally ripped off while frantically using it to bludgeon a cockroach to death.

I got black-out drunk that night. The next morning, battling a skull-crushing hangover, my phone rang. Stella told me he was getting married. Running on pure, chaotic adrenaline, I dragged my hungover, disheveled self straight to the front doors of The Ritz-Carlton.

Stella was trailing right behind me, tugging desperately at my arm. "Harper, please do not do anything crazy. It's the man's wedding day..."

It was a big day, sure. But whether it was going to be a happy one was entirely up for debate.

I calmly handed over my cash gift envelope at the reception desk and took a seat in a dimly lit corner.

I wanted to see exactly what kind of blind, delusional woman had agreed to marry him!

The soaring notes of the wedding march swelled through the ballroom. The bride and groom made their grand entrance.

I saw the groom's back.

He looked... a little heavier.

Wow, leaving me must have done wonders for his mental health, I thought bitterly. Its barely been a day and hes already gained weight.

Thankfully, the orchestra was loud enough to drown out the sound of my sobbing.

God, I loved him so much. Even knowing he had seamlessly replaced meprobably cheating on me while we were togetherI still couldnt let him go.

Stella shoved a cloth napkin over my mouth to muffle my wailing. The tragic, suffocating aura of my grief seemed to infect everyone at our table. A few of the guys sitting next to me even had red-rimmed eyes.

That was the exact moment I realized the table we were sitting at had a small placard that read: Ex-Girlfriends.

I sat there, looking like a complete trainwreck, watching them pledge their lives to each other. Watching them exchange rings. Watching them kiss.

I felt like I had fed the best years of my youth to a stray dog. Seeing an opening during the dinner service, I decided to make the most of it. I pulled out photos of myself on my phone and started taking shots with every single person at the table, trading war stories and pouring our hearts out.

By the time the newlyweds began making their rounds for the toasts, I had mostly pulled myself together.

I wanted to see the look on his face. Lets see how he handles a table full of ghosts from his past.

The bride floated over, champagne flute in hand, a perfect, practiced smile plastered on her face as she made introductions.

Then her eyes landed on me, and the smile completely froze.

I let out a cold, sharp laugh. I extended my hand. The words, Hi, I'm his ex, were already locked and loaded on the tip of my tongue.

Suddenly, the bride dug her manicured nails brutally into the groom's arm. Her words hissed out through gritted teeth. "I thought you said you didn't have any exes?"

The groom whipped his head around. For a split second, our eyes locked.

Who the hell is this?

Where is Miles?

This guy was a little stockier. His features lacked the sharp, striking intensity of Miles's face. He looked... softer. But the resemblance was uncanny.

The immediate, sobering realization hit me: I crashed the wrong wedding.

Suddenly, someone seized my wrist, yanking me hard out of my chair and off to the side.

A chillingly familiar, calm voice drifted over me. "What exactly are you doing here?"

I blinked stupidly, tilting my head up to meet Miles's quiet, dark eyes. He was wearing a sharp, tailored suit. Pinned to his lapel was a boutonniere identifying his roleBrother.

A brother.

A twin brother.

The groom was his twin brother!

...

This was entirely too absurd.

Stella has terrible vision. First thing tomorrow, I am booking her an appointment with an optometrist.

A few minutes later, Miles dragged me up to the hotel's rooftop terrace.

I was standing there in a little black slip dress, my hair an absolute rat's nest, eyeliner tracks streaming down my face like war paint.

I sniffled loudly, the tears flowing like a river. "They told me you were getting married!"

I still lashed out at him anyway. "Why didn't you ever tell me you had a twin?!"

Miles pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to me. When I refused to take it, he let out a heavy sigh and stepped in to wipe my face himself.

I completely lost my grip on reality, my voice cracking. "Did you ever even plan on marrying me?! What the hell was I to you?!"

Since my Prada bag was ruined, I had brought a much smaller, cheaper clutch. I started whacking it against his chest. It probably felt like a mosquito bite to him.

"Stop moving." He grabbed the little clutch out of my hand, his tone shifting into that cold, commanding register I knew too well. "Settle down."

That only made me cry harder. I shoved a finger aggressively against his lips, furious. "Don't you talk! Let me finish!"

"Do you want to get back together?" Miles cut right through my hysterics, taking the lead.

I stared at him, hiccuping through a sob. For a long second, the silence hung heavy before my utter lack of backbone betrayed me. "...Yes."

"But..." My voice wavered, thick with tears. "Can I get my cash envelope back? I don't even know your brother..."

As we walked out of the hotel lobby, the humiliation began to set in, burning hot under my skin.

Miles had asked me how much I put in the envelope.

"Five hundred bucks," I muttered.

He immediately Venmoed me the money.

But this whole transactional dynamic made me feel incredibly uncomfortable.

My dramatic streak flared up again. I instantly declined the transfer and insisted, stubbornly, that I needed my actual physical cash back.

Miles humored me. He walked back inside with me to track it down.

At the reception table, my envelope stuck out like a sore thumbit was absurdly thick compared to the others. I spotted it instantly and lunged for it.

But Miles was taller, his reach longer. He pressed his hand down on the envelope right over my shoulder, picking it up before I could.

"You're too good to me," he remarked dryly. Then, he flipped the envelope over. I watched the array of complex emotions flicker across his normally stoic face.

One eyebrow arched up as he read the messy scrawl on the back, pronouncing every word with agonizing clarity: "Miles is a piece of shit."

I ducked my head, though my petty streak wasn't entirely satisfied. "Well, you are a piece of shit," I mumbled.

He spoke with excruciating slowness. "Every word is worth its weight in gold, I see."

I tilted my head up, my little clutch knocking rhythmically against my shin. I watched as Miles calmly pocketed the envelope. My eyes went wide. "Are you seriously that broke?!"

Miles leaned down, plucking the clutch from my grip with infuriating ease. "Are you done insulting me?"

"No."

He nodded. "That's why I'm keeping it. Consider it compensation for being called a piece of shit."

I realized Id been backed into a rhetorical corner and jumped up, trying to snatch it from his pocket. "I wasn't finished yelling at you!"

Miles held the envelope high out of my reach, then suddenly dipped his head, pressing a firm kiss to my lips. "Go ahead. Keep yelling. I'm listening."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but my ears betrayed me, burning bright red. "You can't just bully me because I'm not as articulate as you," I said, my voice thick with lingering tears.

This time, Miles actually laugheda rare, entirely unapologetic soundand took me home.

His apartment looked exactly the same as the day I left. It was a disaster zone. Miles clearly hadn't even bothered to clean up.

My fuzzy pink slippers were still sitting exactly where Id left them on the shoe rack in the entryway. My rabbit-eared mug was sitting on the coffee table. The half glass of milk Id left in it was gone, the mug scrubbed impeccably clean.

My silk nightgown was draped haphazardly over the arm of the sofait must have been pulled straight from the dryer and never folded.

I stood rooted to the spot in the entryway, feeling completely numb.

Miles broke the silence. "Have you eaten?"

I hadn't eaten a single thing all day. Now that the adrenaline and the crying had burned off, I was actually starving.

But we had literally just been in the middle of a screaming match. My pride wouldn't let me just say yes. Instead, I became his shadow, following him around the apartment.

Wherever he went, I went.

Right outside the bathroom door, Miles stopped dead in his tracks. He shot me a cold look over his shoulder. "Care to join me?"

I snapped out of my daze and scrambled backward a few steps.

Miles leaned down so we were perfectly eye-level. His gaze was sharp, unyielding.

"Harper, if you're going to keep throwing these little tantrums, I don't mind finding a different room for you to throw them in."

I caved instantly. "I'm hungry," I mumbled.

"Who's hungry?"

I turned my head away, refusing to meet his eyes. "I... I'm hungry."

Whatever happened, I refused to die on an empty stomach.

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Miles's mouth. He straightened up. "Wait here."

People always said I was domestically useless. I couldn't boil water if my life depended on it.

After Miles and I started dating, I had a sudden burst of inspiration one afternoon. I bought all these ingredients and somehow managed to put together a massive, elaborate dinner for him. I rested my chin on my hands, beaming, and asked him how it was.

Miles took one sip of the tomato bisque. He looked at me and said, "It's good. Never make it again."

Right then and there, I decided Miles was the one.

He was gorgeous, in incredible shape, cooked like a chef, and treated me well. Once we got married, this man would be entirely mine.

Who could have predicted he'd just vanish for a month like a ghost?

Did he even want to marry me?

Stella told me I was nothing more than a convenient distraction to him.

But doesn't a distraction deserve to have dreams too?

As we ate the meal he threw together, I kept stealing glances at him. I nudged his knee with my foot under the table.

His chopsticks paused mid-air. "Do you want to die now, or wait until you're full?"

Id prefer neither, honestly.

"Did you... did you ever actually think about marrying me?"

I knew it was an incredibly awkward question to drop out of nowhere, but I asked it anyway.

"If you want to get married, we can. When?"

I had played out a hundred different responses in my head. That was the absolute last thing I expected him to say.

I sucked in a sharp breath, covering my mouth with both hands. "Wow. What a massive surprise."

Miles watched my theatrical performance with utter, deadpan indifference.

Feeling slightly foolish, I dropped my hands and bit down on my spoon. "You're supposed to propose first. There needs to be a ring, at the very least. And we have to meet the parents..."

Miles set his chopsticks down.

"...And we need to pick a honeymoon destination."

Miles stood up from the table.

"...A villa by the ocean."

Miles walked around the table and scooped me up into his arms in one fluid motion.

I shrieked, instantly throwing my arms around his neck to steady myself.

Miles pinched the back of my neck lightly, right at the pressure point, like handling a unruly kitten. "Keep dreaming. You can have all of that when you're asleep."

"No! Let me finish! Miles, you never listen to me!"

He carried me straight into the bedroom, kissing me to shut me up, spinning us around before dropping me onto the mattress.

Miles's mattress was notoriously firm. Every time I slept on it, I woke up feeling bruised.

I kicked my legs in protest. "I am not laying on the bottom!"

Miles stopped. He looked down at me with that infuriatingly stoic expression. "A firm mattress is essential for spinal alignment."

"My spine is fully aligned! I'm done growing!"

Miles lowered his gaze slowly to my neckline. "Debatable."

Without entertaining another word of protest, he pressed me down into the sheets.

I obviously wasn't going down without a fight. "This is psychological manipulation!"

Miles casually pointed to the constellation of scratches and faint bite marks already littering his collarbone and neck. "If this is manipulation, I must have manipulated an absolute feral cat."

With that, he flipped us over, dropping onto his back and giving me exactly what I wanted.

Even then, I was still utterly exhausted by the end of it.

At first, I had the energy to be wild and combative, but it didn't take long before I was completely quiet.

Life got happy again after Miles came back into the picture.

He was just as busy as before, but now he spent the vast majority of his day working from his laptop at the kitchen island.

I constantly tried to bridge the gap and find common ground. One day, I leaned over his shoulder, stared at a ridiculously complex architectural blueprint, and gasped, "Oh my god! It looks exactly like Hello Kitty!"

He very gently picked me up, carried me into the bedroom, and we didn't emerge for two hours.

I learned my lesson. I rarely dared to interrupt his working hours after that.

One lazy afternoon, I was curled up on the couch rewatching an old, tragic early-2000s romance movie.

I had cried my way through half a box of tissues. I sniffled, turning my head to look at Miles, who was laser-focused on his screen. "Do you love me?"

Miles, the man who had agreed to marry me without batting an eye, actually hesitated.

He peered over the top of his laptop, the wire-rimmed glasses sliding slightly down his nose. He looked at me with an intense, deadly serious expression. "Harper, do you even know what love is?"

I felt completely blindsided.

Weve been dating for years, and you're dropping this question on me now?

Was that supposed to be an insult?

I padded over barefoot, leaned down, and planted a loud, wet kiss right on his thin lips. I looked him dead in the eye and said with absolute conviction, "I love you."

Miles just shook his head. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close, but didn't say another word.

I started overthinking everything.

"Is it possible I don't actually love him?"

When I floated the theory to Stella later, she rolled her eyes so hard I thought they'd get stuck in the back of her head.

"You think what you feel is love? Please. You're just thirsty. You're obsessed with his body and the fact that he cooks for you. I'm not trying to insult you, but Miles literally keeps you fed and pampered like a house cat. What have you ever actually done for him?"

I scowled, defensive. "I... I... I let him kiss me! I hug him! I give him"

"Exactly. You've never put any actual emotional labor into it. Go home and seriously reflect on your life choices."

That evening, I got caught right in the middle of rush hour traffic.

Stella and I were sitting in the back of an Uber, casually gossiping.

As we went through a busy intersection, a sedan blew a red light. Our driver swerved, couldn't clear it in time, and slammed hard into the guardrail. The impact caused a massive pile-up behind us. The force of the crash nearly knocked my soul straight out of my body.

By the time we made it to the ER, Stella realized her phone was gone. She panicked and borrowed mine to call her family.

I was left sitting alone on a crinkly paper bed in an examination room, letting a nurse clean and bandage a nasty gash on my forehead.

When I finally wandered out to the hallway, I heard Stella was stuck in line at the billing department. I just sort of aimlessly paced the corridor. A gurney went flying past me, a swarm of doctors shouting about a code blue.

A second later, a voice rang out over the chaos. "Family of Harper!"

"Here!" I yelled back.

"And what is your relation to the patient?" the nurse asked the man standing at the desk.

The man didn't miss a beat. "I'm her husband."

The voice sent a shock down my spine.

I whipped my head around. Miles was standing at the nurses' station, his face entirely devoid of color.

"Alright, I just need you to verify some information for me."

My brain was still scrambled from the crash, but all I registered was the word husband. Something visceral slammed against my ribs, desperate to break free.

Without thinking, I practically skipped toward the desk, chirping loudly, "Husband!"

Miles froze at the sound of my voice. He snapped his head around, his eyes locking onto me instantly.

The moment he saw me, his eyes went pitch black. He closed the distance between us in three massive strides.

I opened my mouth to say, How did you know I was here?

Before I could get a word out, Miles grabbed me by the arms, dragging me flush against his chest. A second later, a torrential downpour of pure fury unleashed on me.

"Where the hell is your phone?! You're in an accident and you don't call me?! You just wait until I track you down?! What are you doing wandering around a massive hospital by yourself?!"

I was too stunned to speak.

My own parents had never spoken to me with that kind of terrifying, commanding intensity. Miles just had.

My bottom lip jutted out. The terror and shock I had been suppressing since the crash suddenly bubbled over. It mixed with a sudden, overwhelming wave of grievance, turning instantly into hot tears that streamed down my face.

God, I had been so terrified. After the crash, people were screaming in the street, some drivers were physically fighting. I had just stood there shivering on the side of the road, holding my bleeding forehead, terrified the paramedics wouldn't see me and would just leave me behind.

Miles's shirt smelled exactly like the floral laundry detergent I always bought. I buried my face in his chest, wiping my snot on his shirt, and mumbled into the fabric, "Miles, please stop yelling at me. I was so scared."

Miles stopped breathing for a second. His massive hand slowly came up, resting heavy and warm against the back of my head. "When did the doctor say you need the dressing changed?"

"The 8th."

Because of the concussion and the stitches, I had to take sick leave. I didn't have to go back to my job at the preschool for an entire week.

The director called to check on me, telling me I worked too hard anyway and that I'd get full paid time off.

I completely morphed into a couch potato. Between the lingering headaches and my general lack of energy, all I did was sleep.

I didn't know if I was imagining it, but Miles seemed to be sleeping a lot more too. He'd pull me into his arms, and wed sleep from noon straight through until the sun went down.

One night, Stella sent me a link. I opened it to find a Cosmopolitan-style article: 99 Ways to Capture Your Boyfriend's Heart.

Since I got you yelled at by Miles the other day, consider this playbook my apology.

I had always thought things like this were stupid.

I mean, I was adorable. How could he not be obsessed with me?

But then I remembered yesterday, when Miles had looked me dead in the eye and asked, Do you even know what love is?

A dark cloud of doubt settled over me. Maybe Miles really didn't love me the way I thought he did.

Time to put in the work!

Rule 1: Cook for him.

Absolutely not. Pass.

Rule 2: Take an interest in his hobbies. Find common ground.

Right. Looking for Hello Kitty in architectural schematics. Pass.

Rule 3: Never joke about breaking up.

Too late. Pass.

Rule 4: Be gentle with him.

I glanced over at his nightstand. The cash envelope from the wedding was still sitting there, my jagged handwriting screaming Miles is a piece of shit in black ink. Pass.

Rule 5...

I ended up falling asleep. When I woke up, my phone was placed perfectly on the nightstand, and Miles was sitting in the armchair next to the bed, reading.

I wiped a trail of drool from my chin and reached across Miles to grab my phone.

My arm blocked his view of the book.

Miles sighed heavily. "If you're planning on putting any of those 'tactics' from that article into practice, I highly recommend you don't."

I froze, phone in hand. "Why?"

Miles snapped his book shut and pulled me by the waist until I was flush against him. "Because applied to you, that list is essentially 99 Ways to Get Dumped."

I thought about it for a second, pulled my arm back, and deliberately tugged on the collar of his shirt.

"You're right. I think the direct approach is much more effective."

Miles looked down at me, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line. His eyes were slowly darkening with heat.

"Is your head feeling better?" he murmured, brushing a thumb lightly near my bandages.

I tossed my hair over my shoulder, fully draped across his lap, grinning like an idiot. "Miles, let me take very good care of you."

He scoffed, completely ignoring my absolute lack of subtlety. In three swift motions, he stripped me down and dragged me under the covers.

Early the next morning, I was still drifting in that hazy space between sleep and waking when I heard Miles's phone ring.

He answered it briefly, then stepped out into the living room.

My feminine intuition immediately sounded the alarm. Something was off.

I padded out to the living room just in time to catch the end of the conversation.

"Let's find time to meet," I heard a woman's voice say faintly through the speaker.

Miles was standing on the balcony, his back to me. "Alright. I'll make a reservation."

He hung up the phone. When he turned around and saw me standing there, his expression was completely unreadable.

I threw my hands up. "Do you have anything you want to share with the class?"

Miles stared at me in silence for a long time before simply saying, "No."

Fine.

Perfect.

He was sneaking around having secret dinners with other women!

That night, I went to a massive outdoor music festival with Stella and a few other girls.

The heavy bass rattled my teeth, the chaotic, euphoric energy of the crowd washing over me.

Stella leaned in close. "Where's Miles tonight?"

"Don't know. Don't care."

Thinking about the secret phone call made my blood boil, so I chose to just shut it out.

I screamed the lyrics until my throat was raw. The festival didn't wrap up until almost 1 a.m. Throughout the night, a handful of guys tried to hit on me, but Stella blocked them like a bouncer, flashing a brilliant fake smile. "Sorry, boys. She's extremely taken."

My ego was through the roof. "See?!" I shouted over the noise. "I have absolutely no shortage of options!"

Stella rolled her eyes. "With the way your brain is wired, unless you lock down someone rock solid, any random toxic guy could play you like a fiddle."

Stellas fianc, Colin, picked her up, and they were nice enough to drop me off right outside my apartment building.

At this hour, the only thing open was the 24-hour convenience store on the corner.

I pushed the glass door open, lingering by the feminine hygiene aisle for a minute, before catching the cashier giving me a sympathetic "I've been there" look. I pivoted hard, marching over to the refrigerated section. I grabbed two cartons of whole milk, a dozen eggs, and then, completely ignoring the cashier's bewildered expression, pointed at a small bag of premium short-grain rice. "How much for this one?"

He gave me an awkward smile. "Oh, that's just a promotional giveaway."

I fluttered my eyelashes. The poor kid turned violently red. A few minutes later, I walked out of the store clutching my free bag of rice like a trophy.

The lights in Miles's apartment were completely off. I hadn't expected him to be home anyway.

Taking another woman out to dinner and lying to my face about it? He had another thing coming. The second he walked through that door, I was dumping him.

I stepped into the pitch-black entryway. Before I could even reach for the light switch, a heavy body crashed into mine, spinning me around and pinning me hard against the reinforced steel of the front door.

SLAM!

The door rattled in its frame.

The grocery bags slipped from my hands, everything crashing to the floor.

"Ah! Mmm"

The hand I tried to use to grab my phone was suddenly seized and pinned firmly behind my back. "Harper. Where were you?"

I froze instantly. It was Miles.

He had been drinking. The sharp, bitter scent of alcohol hung heavy in the dark space between us.

His massive frame pressed flush against mine. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin beneath my ear, biting down with a possessive, punishing pressure. "Where. Were. You?"

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs. I slowly, cautiously wrapped my free arm around his waist. "Did you have a few drinks?" I asked softly.

He kept his head buried in the crook of my neck, refusing to say a word.

He seemed... incredibly upset.

"Ah! Wait!"

His hand slipped beneath the hem of my dress, his fingers finding the zipper with practiced, terrifying efficiency.

"Miles! I'm exhausted! I don't want to!"

His hand stopped instantly. His breathing was ragged, hot against my skin. He went completely rigid. When he finally spoke, his voice was laced with an icy, devastating bitterness. "Are you tired of playing with me?"

"You used to just want my body, but now you don't even want that, do you?"

Playing?

Playing?!

Has he lost his damn mind?!

He let out a hollow, mocking laugh, gripping my chin and forcing my face up, kissing me with an aggressive, desperate intensity. "What do you want to do then? Break up?"

If this had been the old me, I would have thrown a massive fit and screamed, Yes!

But inexplicably, my intuition kicked in. Every instinct screamed: Do not provoke the lion. You will not survive.

I swallowed the venomous retort hovering on my tongue. Instead, I wrapped both arms securely around his neck, gently rubbing his back. "Did you eat dinner?" I asked softly.

He stopped moving entirely. He stood frozen against me in the dark for what felt like an eternity. When he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper. "Four years. Four years, Harper, and this is the first time youve ever asked me if Ive eaten."

Was that... the faintest trace of joy in his voice?

It made me feel like an absolute monster.

Now that I thought about it... he was probably right.

"Well, did you eat? Don't give me that attitude! If you're hungry, use your words!" I snapped back, perfectly mimicking the stern tone he usually used on me. It felt incredibly validating.

Miles answered instantly. "No."