Chapter Four

Ethan

Harry and I stayed in a hotel that night. When Harry got moody over the fact that he wouldn’t be seeing his ‘new home’ straight away, I had to calmly explain that we wouldn’t have arrived at our new house in the Hamptons until about ten at night, once everything had been covered. (Hidden cameras and microphones were scattered all over the house – we were being constantly monitored.)

Arriving at that time of night would only attract suspicion – not a great start to an undercover assignment.

Harry was grouchy after his nap on the jet – his usual wit was subdued and I knew straight away that something was bothering him. Whenever I asked, however, he would just stick a false smile on his face and roll his eyes.

“Stop worrying about me, love. I’m just anticipating our first night in the sack of our new house, eh Hilary?” He’d nudged our air-hostess suggestively, waggling his eyebrows as we departed the jet. She turned a shade of crimson. This was his response the first time I’d asked him if he was alright.

I hated, hated when he did this. Hiding away his emotions; he claimed to be the open book in our relationship, but in actual fact, he was the most reserved person I knew. I didn’t feel the need to air my every emotion – but when something was bothering me, hell, I told him!

He was the only person I told about my problems, and I was getting more frustrated at getting nothing but bad jokes and uncomfortable silences whenever I mentioned his.

The hotel we were at was five stars – this was in case we bumped into any of our future neighbours and acquaintances. If we were seen in anything less than this luxurious and overly-priced establishment, it would raise questions.

Once we reached our room, Harry turned to the porter who was wheeling our bags. A wide, fake smile on his face, he brandished a twenty dollar note.

“For you my good man – better service I have never witnessed!” he winked and placed the money into the embarrassed guy’s hand. Once he’d unloaded our bags and wheeled the cart away, Harry’s smile dropped from his face as the door closed to the hotel room. He was overwhelmed looking and his face was pale, lacking the usual optimism and mischief. Keeping up appearances on days like today was Harry’s number one priority – once nobody knows I’m hurting, it’ll be okay. That was his motto.

“Everything okay?” I asked for the fifteenth time that day. I knew that it was hopeless asking him. But I wouldn’t stop trying.

Just as expected, he smiled tiredly. “Of course I am, Moore. Jesus you’re like a broken fucking record. I’m just tired. A good night’s sleep will do the trick!”

I didn’t even respond to him. We’d already fought twice about this today and I wasn’t looking for a hat-trick.

Once we’d settled into our bed, Harry fell asleep instantly. He truly was exhausted, but I knew there was much more wrong than simply fatigue. Unable to sleep with worries of Harry and our upcoming mission in my head, I pulled out my notes and lay them across the covers.

I had memorised our every target, right down to the pets in each family that lived in our vicinity. Our neighbourhood consisted of five, huge houses. These estates of five mansions were dotted all over the area. We believed that the drug dealing began in the neighbourhood we were about to enter. The illegal substance abuse was slowly, but surely, spreading across the other prestigious neighbourhoods and containing it was near-impossible.

I gazed over at Harry’s sleeping form. We were both sleeping in a double bed – now that we were in the Hamptons, we were no longer Ethan and Harry. We were now going to be known as Nate and Rob – I, being Rob and Harry being Nate. He was still struggling with the concept. Therefore, getting a room with two separate beds would be strange for a married couple who were ‘madly and passionately in love’, as the briefing put it.

He stirred in his sleep, pushing the blanket down off of his body. He was wearing only boxers – his tanned, muscular chest on display. I swallowed and forced myself to avert my eyes. Just because we were supposed to be a married couple, behind closed doors we were nothing more than two operatives set on taking down a drugs organisation. I had to remember that.

I tried to focus my eyes on the papers laid out in front of me over the bed covers. On them, the four other households in our estate were clearly mapped out, not sparing any detail on each individual.

Next door to us on the right hand side, we had a family of four – Grant, Audrey, William and Lindsay Jefferson. Even their names sounded posh and pretentious.

The Agency had their suspicions that Grant, the father of the family, was dealing large amounts of cocaine and pills to his trusted friends and neighbours in the area – they needed proof to accuse him, however. He had friends in high places, and anytime the law and police tried to get involved, his lawyers slapped them with loophole after loophole to get out of every rut.

If we gained his trust and gathered hard evidence against him, the smartest lawyer couldn’t save him.

On our left hand side, there was Hugh Lawman. He was a single bachelor in his mid to late thirties. His picture showed a handsome, confident face. He had never been married and had no known children. He built his wealth around nightclubs and strip-joints, scattered all over Europe. He was only recently bringing them to the US. Born in England, he decided his British charm was being missed out on by the people of America.

The Agency considered him a great person of interest, given his reputation and also, the easy access to drugs in the nightclubs he owned around the world. They also guess he had direct access with the supplier, and that himself and Grant Jefferson were partners in dealing.

Across the road we had Harvey and Jennifer Collins. They were in their late forties to early fifties and originally only summered in The Hamptons before making it their permanent home. We didn’t have much suspicion’s against them, only that they could potentially be buyers of illegal substances.

Finally, next door to the Collins’ lived a young family. Kyle and Stephanie Brant, along with their six-month old twins, Julia and Eva. They were of no interest to us really. Newly married with newborns, both had squeaky clean pasts and were the receivers of elaborate inheritance cheques. However, Stephanie was the daughter of an elite family of blue-bloods, who practically ran the high-class society. Gaining their trust and respect would undoubtedly give us access to the other families of the neighbourhood.

Harry stirred again, this time, rolling on his side facing me and throwing an arm around my torso. I stilled and barely breathed for a few seconds. I didn’t know why I was so anxious – he was out for the count. And anyway, he put his arm around me. I did nothing wrong. Not that this was wrong – just, unnerving.

I gathered my papers up carefully, trying not to touch off of his arm. I didn’t want to wake him. He was exhausted and when he was in bad mood, like he was today, it was better to let him sleep it off. It was his down-days that made me appreciate him so much more the rest of the time. It was also his down-days that made me as protective of him as I was.

Once I’d placed the papers on the ground and switched off the bedside lamp, Harry’s arm was still firmly stretched across my chest. I tried to turn onto my side and get his arm off me. It was no use – the more I tried to push him off, the tighter he wound his arm around me. I sighed and eventually lay back into him, my back and his chest inches from each other.

When I finally became comfortable, I found myself drifting to sleep much easier than I anticipated. I had expected to lie awake all night, knowing Harry’s arm was around me, but it seemed to calm me. As if it’s what I needed. I didn’t even have to imagine life without the agency as I tried to fall asleep – Harry’s arm around me provided enough comfort to close my eyes.

As I was on the brink of unconsciousness, however, something forced my mind to wake up. It took me about ten seconds to realise that it was Harry’s breathing. I couldn’t put a finger on what exactly was forcing my eyes open, until his arm moved slightly. I knew then that he was awake. I had distinguished Harry’s ‘awake’ breathing with his ‘sleeping’ breathing a long time ago – mostly when he was pretending to be asleep to get out of going to the gym.

I knew, without at doubt, Harry was awake. And yet, his left arm was still around me, almost holding me against him. I waited for him to retract his arm and roll onto his other side, probably thinking nothing of it, like his carefree mind would. Instead, after a couple of seconds, I felt his arm tightening. He was pulling me back so my back and his chest were firmly against one another.

I didn’t know why I wasn’t turning around to face him. Was I scared that he was just looking for comfort after the tough day he’s had? Or was I scared that it was something more; something I’ve always wanted. It was true that the things you want the most have the potential to terrify you the most. And at this moment, Harry holding me against him and us falling asleep together was enough for now. Nothing more needed to happen tonight – if that was even a possibility; which I highly doubted.

Whenever Harry got into these frames of mind, he coward like a lost boy at any sign of trouble; he couldn’t hack the pressures of everyday life. These days were extremely rare, and I never understood what set him off. I assumed it was something to do with his family, but he rarely spoke of them – only when he was pissed drunk. I had done some background research into Harry years ago, and his past terrified me.

His mother was an alcoholic and druggie, forced into single-parenting when his father left them at age two. Ten years later, after years of a loveless childhood, filled with resentment and blame against Harry for his father’s departure, his father returned. He arrived to take Harry with him on the road and train him into the 'drug's empire' he'd developed, but his mother protested. An argument ensued into a fight and he ended up strangling Harry’s mother to death and went on the run with then twelve-year-old Harry.

This lasted less than four days before they were found hiding out in an abandoned farmhouse in the English countryside. Harry had been tied to a chair – I guessed that he’d tried to escape on a number of occasions. Once his father was arrested for murder and abduction, Harry lived in a variety of fosters houses until he was seventeen, when he was approached by the agency we now worked for. Apparently his athletic and academic skills were of the high standard required; also, he had no family. That made the transition from normal life to ‘spy’ life extremely easy.

I would never know how he kept so upbeat. How he was the way he was after going through something as horrific as that. I had imagined every possible scenario of killing his father for what he’d done. He was still in prison over in the UK. I had even made a rational plan of how to kill him from within his cell. Nobody knew what Harry truly went through during those four days – yes, he’d been injured. But it was the mind games that worried me the most. What had he suffered through?

Harry’s arm moved down and rested on my waist. My breathing ceased to exist as my heart pounded in my chest.

I didn’t know what was happening; maybe I was over-thinking it. I just knew that I was exhausted and I needed to sleep. I could feel Harry’s breath against my neck and I involuntarily shivered a little. This caused his breath to quiver for a couple of seconds – shit. Did he know I was awake? Hardly.

Harry barely noticed when I arrived to the apartment one day in crutches after a bad ligament tear. He therefore definitely didn’t notice my breathing patterns when I slept. I snapped my eyes shut and tried to relax. It was easier said than done though. Harry was craving comfort and someone familiar – his vulnerability was as clear as anything and I couldn’t help but get slightly emotional at what might possibly be going through his head.

That was the last rational thought I had before I was opening my eyes once more – except this time, it was to the morning light. Jesus, I had fallen asleep instantly and more than that, I’d slept like a baby. I was starting to believe that Harry’s presence was a major factor in that.

Speaking of, my body felt colder than it had when I’d fallen asleep. A certain warmth and comfort was missing. This warmth and comfort was currently singing his heart out in the shower. He was back to his former self and I knew that I wouldn’t get any information out of him regarding yesterday.

It could be another six months to a year before he had another ‘off-day’. It may never happen again. I was always weary, though.

I rose and stretched, glancing at the clock. Shit. It was nearly nine-thirty. We were to be at the main lobby to collect our brand new cars – I was getting a black Range-Rover and Harry a red Ferrari – for nine forty-five. We were driving straight to our new home – we’d been given the low-down yesterday before we came to the hotel, so we were as prepared as we could be. Well, I was anyway. It was obvious that we were keeping our current personalities for our cover – this was evident in the cars given to us. The sensible Range-Rover versus the wild Ferrari.

“Harry, why didn’t you wake me?!” I shouted, running around my room and gathering my things back into my bag. I wouldn’t have time to shower now!

“What?” Harry shouted from the shower, turning down the blaring radio.

“Why didn’t you – ugh, never mind!” I shouted back, trying to find the clothes I had been given to wear today. We were to say that we’d arrived straight from a business meeting regarding our company in New York, therefore we would both be attired in suits. Very expensive suits, at that.

I made sure to give an extra squirt of deodorant before I was ready to go – my hair was slicked back and I tried to look as rich as I could, if that was even possible.

I ended up having to turn off the hot water of the shower as Harry was taking so long and failed to answer me when I called him five or six times to ‘hurry the fuck up’.

When he emerged from the bathroom, his hair slick with wet and his cheeks slightly rosy from the steam, I felt the tension that had been there last night in that bed. Time seemed to slow down as our eyes met, but that only lasted about two seconds before he was dropped his gaze and planting a cheeky grin on his face.

“Well, well, well. You scrub up well Mr Fox.” It was strange hearing my cover name on his lips – it would take a while to get used to it, if ever. “I’m one lucky son of a bitch, I’ll tell you that sugar-lips,” he continued, pulling on his boxers under the towel that was wrapped around his waist.

I made sure not to look at him as he changed, packing his stuff into his bags too – I was forever going to be cleaning up after him.

We were late by five minutes to the lobby. Harry started making his apologies to the valet who was holding our cars outside the front entrance, but I was straight into my character. Obnoxious and too rich for my own good; that’s the way the briefing had put it, and that’s the way the majority of the wealthy were around here.

“Don’t waste your breath on apologies, Nate. It’s what they’re paid for, right?” I smirked and handed a fifty each to the valets, watching them put the suitcases into my jeep. Nothing would fit into the boot of Harry’s new car – it was made for showing off, and nothing more.

He, however, was nearly drooling at the sight of it. I was nearly drooling at the sight of him. The crisp grey suit he was wearing outlined his muscles perfectly and I’d never seen anything better on him. I was about to look away when I noticed one of the staff watching me, but then I remembered. He was my ‘husband’. Therefore, I could do whatever the fuck I wanted.

I looked Harry up and down, giving an appreciative smile. He caught me once he tore his eyes away from his new car, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. “What are you looking at?”

If there hadn’t been people watching us, I would have rolled my eyes. Keeping Harry in character was always a challenge – he constantly seemed to forget his undercover name and he’d called me by my real name more times than I’d like to remember.

“Nothing,” I smiled a little, bringing my hand to his lower back. His body stiffened in response, but he seemed to understand. The stiffness of his shoulders made me want to retract my hand and speed away in my new jeep as fast as I could. He made me feel so vulnerable and his every move commanded my mind. The way he just reacted to my hand was not a good sign – he didn’t want it there. It made him uncomfortable. And this was like a knife to the heart.

Last night was pure and honest friendship – he was leaning on me for support and my imagination had run amuck. I needed to remember that we were just friends. This mission wouldn’t change anything.

I reminded Harry of the address three times before we got into our cars – I was sure he would lose me somewhere on the freeway though, and I’d be getting a phone-call from him, lost somewhere.

“See you at the house, babe,” he winked and smacked my behind as he hopped into his car. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes and I got into the jeep, pulling away from the grand hotel.

It was a twenty minute drive to the house and of course, Harry took the wrong exit off of the freeway. It took us forty minutes overall to get there – Harry claiming traffic being the delaying factor.

I gaped at the mansion before us and checked the address in my phone to make sure it was the right place. I knew it was, though. I had numerous photos of this neighbourhood – I knew it off by heart.

It was such a different thing seeing it all in person, however. The house was huge. Harry parked his car beside me in the giant driveway, leaving room for at least six or seven more vehicles.

“Holy mother of fuck,” he breathed, taking off his sunglasses to eye the cream-coloured building in front of us.

It took us half an hour to cover every room in the house – the five bedrooms, four bathrooms, three walk-in closets, sitting room, lounge room, games room, dining room, kitchen, basement and garage. Oh, and the swimming pool and tennis court out the back of the house, beyond the garden.

Harry’s eyes were dreamy by the end and he had to hold onto the fence of the tennis court. “We get to live here for six to eight months. This is our fucking house. Ours.” He brought his eyes to mine, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Dude, think of all of the parties we can have here! All of the girls... Oh my god this is going to be amazing.”

I let him celebrate and lap in his surroundings for a while before giving him a reality check. "Firstly, we’re not going to be holding any ‘wild parties’ here. We’re respectable people in a respectable place – remember? Oh, and you made a comment about girls? Pity we’re both gay.” I glared at him, shaking my head in astonishment of his utter stupidity. I really wondered about him sometimes – how did he even remember to put on his pants every day?

His face fell, but only slightly. “Minor details,” he muttered, kicking the rubble on the ground.

“Now, we need to start unpacking and keep our front gates wide open – our neighbours across the street, the Collins’, will probably be over in a matter of hours, given their personality profiles of being nosey and intruding. So be prepared,” I warned, walking away from him.

We had the first few days of our mission planned – the Collins’ would make the first introductions to their new neighbours, possibly inviting us over for drinks some night. We would then work our way around the neighbourhood with the help of them until we are fully acquainted.

After that, it was pure improvisation and luck.

I was right – within the hour, Harvey and Jennifer Collins were ringing our doorbell, both dressed in their finest golf-gear. Harry and I took a deep breath as we both walked to open the front door. Our guests were waving at us from the glass windows on either side of the huge oak door, like two dogs, eager to get in from the cold.

“Showtime,” I muttered, and grabbed Harry’s hand. He stroked his thumb across my knuckles in response, opening the front door.

This was the moment when our story truly began.

This has been one of the hardest chapters I’ve ever written – I don’t even know why! It took so many restarted and deleted drafts before I got this one... I’m not even entirely happy with it, but I don’t know how else to fix it so it will have to do!

A little insight into Harry’s past... what are your thoughts on that? Also, the night spent together in the hotel – what was going through Harry’s head???

Oh, and I have changed the actor I originally chose to play Harry (Eddie Redmayne) to Sam Claflin! I love Eddie so much, but I feel like Sam’s wittiness suits Harry much more!

Please like this chapter if you enjoyed and leave a comment with your thoughts :)

-O.