Devil's Due [h.s.]

Chapter 41

"No."

"Yes."

He blew out a sharp breath, tipping his head to the ceiling. "What will it take to get you to eat something?"

After a small moment of silence, I dropped onto the edge of the bed with a defeated sigh. "I'm just... nervous," I admitted quietly, pressing my face into my palms and mumbling, "about tomorrow. I stayed here like you asked me to, and I promise I'll eat tomorrow morning, I'm just worried that if I try to right now, I might throw up or something."

Harry didn't say anything. For a few seconds, I wondered if he was going to yell at me until I felt the bed dip beside me and then suddenly his shoulder was pressed up against mine. The warmth of his body seeped over, calming the perpetual chill that hadn't seemed to have escaped me since we landed.

His voice was hoarse when he asked, "Do you want to get some fresh air?"

"I spent enough time on the terrace–"

"In the town, I mean," he clarified.

I pulled my head from my hands and turned to look at him. "Are you fucking with me?"

Harry's brows shot up, slightly amused. "I'm not."

"You're going to let me outside?" I asked, my tone disgustingly excited.

"God, River," Harry tipped his head back. "You make it sound like I've trapped you here."

"You did–"

"Go get dressed," he muttered, cutting me off. "Before I change my mind."

With a small squeal, I hopped off the bed and bounded toward the living room, hauling my suitcase from the rack in which it remained by the door. Harry followed me out shortly afterwards, assessing my every move from where he stood in the doorway of the bedroom, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"Don't wear anything flashy," he said to me as I rushed into the bathroom, closing the door tightly behind me. Through the wood, he called out, "And wear comfortable shoes. I don't wanna hear you complaining about your feet. We have to walk down the hill. Also, maybe if you have something with a hood. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves." Under his breath, I could hear him mutter, "God, I'm gonna fuckin' regret this."

"You are not," I sing-songed, struggling to pull over my head one of the many sundresses I'd brought with me. It was floral patterned, covered in different shades of blue. Just the right amount to piss him off.

By the time I exited the bathroom, now rosy with a little blush and mascara-coated lashes, Harry had finished putting the rest of his own clothes on. He'd swapped his shorts for a pair of black slacks with a silk, burgundy shirt to match. For a beat, I just stared at him.

"What?" He grumbled, fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve.

"Nothing," I shrugged, biting my lip to keep from grinning. "Thought we were going casual. That's all."

I walked over, circling around him. Harry's eyes dipped up and down my figure a few times, surveying the dress I'd chosen. Whether he loved or hated it, he didn't comment. A second later, with a small noise of annoyance, he dropped his sleeve, abandoning his task. He reached toward me, pulling down the sunglasses that I'd perched atop my head until they were resting on the bridge of my nose.

"Keep these on," he muttered. "And–" he turned in a half-circle, pulling open the drawer closest to him, reefing through it until he withdrew something I couldn't see, "–keep this on you too." He held up a pink, satin scarf, letting my eyes roam over it for a few seconds before he promptly leaned forward and tied it around my head.