What I Didn't Say

Charlotte Belle Tate seemed to have it all. Money, beauty, grace and talent. Not to mention that her hunky high school sweetheart would be popping the magic question sometime soon. Sure her life seems as if it is one to be desired, but what happens when the foundations begins to crumble right below her. Who will be there to pick up the pieces?


17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Eleanor removed a grey room key from her pocket, slipped it into the slot, and turned the knob in one fluid motion.

The suite’s foyer was narrow and small, but its high ceilings and warm crème colored walls gave it a certain charm. A set of six mahogany chairs were perfectly tucked below a large glass table, and a trio of rich coffee-colored silk pillows lined the couches.

After the heavy door snapped shut behind them, Eleanor rested her purse on a nearby table and tried calling out to the boys. "Anybody home?" Her heels clacked loudly on the marble floor as she made her way to the living room. Charlotte followed cautiously, feeling like an uninvited guest. "Louis?"

A lethargic Harry Styles opened his bedroom door, sluggishly rubbed his eyes, and yawned. He stumbled out into the living room and was pleasantly surprised to find the pair of brunettes that greeted him.

He felt suddenly self-conscious standing in awe of Charlotte who looked… positively striking. She was wearing a pair of black leather pants that molded to her slight curves, and underneath her slouchy coat, she wore a crème colored blouse that brought out a soft light in deep brown eyes.

It was then that he decided he loved her eyes. They were his favorite things about her. As cliché as it was, he’d always believed that the eyes were the windows to one’s soul. And her eyes told him that while she was strong and spirited, she was also just as sensitive. She was a fighter who loved with all of herself.

Charlotte succumbed to all of her wandering thoughts of the green-eyed Brit the moment he staggered into the room. She just couldn’t help herself when he was clothed in only in tight, white boxers. Every line and tattoo that stretched across his muscular frame was visible and gave him a bad boy appeal.

He looked like the kind of guy Charlotte dreamed would tap on her window in the middle of the night and help her sneak out unnoticed. He'd take her to his favorite spot in the mountains, and they'd lie in the back of his Ford pickup, snuggled up, eating homemade sandwiches as they admired the stars.

Harry seemed like the kind of guy she had always wanted to share her deepest thoughts and most precious memories with, but didn’t expect him to care. But he always cared. That was just Harry. And little did she know, but she would love him for it.


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