Chapter Thirty-Four - Mirabelle
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Mirabelle
I WAKE UP with a loud pounding in my head. I move slowly to pull the blankets tighter around myself. What the hell happened last night?
The pieces quickly come back to me: Quinn, the club, calling Henry, Henry carrying me in front of paparazzi, Henry telling me we’d talk tomorrow when I’m sober—which I guess would be today now—after I begged him to sleep in my bed. Awesome . Talk about a night of bad choices. I wouldn’t blame Henry if he wanted nothing to do with me after last night. I’m embarrassed because I think I proved everyone who had concerns about my age right, because I now look like the sad, drunk girl who didn’t get what she wanted and threw a fit.
I drag my hands over my face, tempted to smother myself with the pillow.
A creak in the floor catches my attention, and I sit up far too quickly for my head to handle the spinning. I fumble for the lamp next to me, the burst of light momentarily blinding me.
“Henry?” I ask, my head pounding. He stayed? “What are you doing?”
He sits on the edge of the bed next to me, a kind smile on his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I have to go to the stadium, but I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.” His hand unfolds to show me the piece of paper in his hand.
What?
My mouth feels like I’ve stuck a piece of cotton in it. “You stayed last night?” I ask, torturing myself because I shouldn’t be trying to convince myself Henry has feelings for me.
“Yeah. You asked,” he says as if it’s as simple as that.
Fuck, that makes me want to kiss him silly, but apparently I have a penchant for breaking my own heart. I laugh, closing my eyes as I flop back onto the pillows. “No, you can’t say things like that when it’s just us. It fucks with my head, and it’s not good for me.”
“Mira—”
“I’m sorry for throwing myself at you, and drunk calling you last night, but I’d like to be left alone right now.”
“I was happy it didn’t go well with Quinn last night. I know that makes me an asshole, but I’ve been trying to talk to you for two weeks now. So no, I’m not going to leave you alone, even if that’s selfish, because you’re clearly hungover. I’m going to take advantage of you not being able to run and hide,” Henry says, and I hold my breath, refusing to look at him. “I needed a minute to process everything, and you misunderstood what I meant when I said it wasn’t like that between us. I know you don’t want anything from me. I have never felt like you were with me because you would gain something from it. If anything, I’m the one gaining something, and I hate that because I don’t want you to ever feel like I’m using you.”
“Why didn’t you just say that?” I ask, slowly moving to sit against the headboard.
“Because I was still figuring everything out in my head that I already knew in my heart, as fucking cliché as it sounds. Mirabelle, I can’t give you an answer as to when my feelings for you changed, but I haven’t pretended anything with you for a while. I might have thought I was, but I wasn’t,” Henry says, and I think I’m having a stroke.
“But you told me you were helping me for the next man by using you to practice.”
He exhales, nodding. “I did say that, but I think I was lying to both of us. At the risk of being called a caveman again, I hate the idea of you being with anyone else. I was an ass yesterday, but I didn’t tell you about my feelings so you wouldn’t think I was only saying it because of Quinn. I was trying—and failing—to do the right thing.”
Oh.
Actually . . . that kind of makes sense. As irritating as it is, it does make sense.
“So what does this mean?” I ask, needing to hear Henry spell this out for me.
Henry’s lips curve upward at the corners. “I’d like to be your real boyfriend, mon c?ur. I don’t want anything to be fake. Is that what you want?” he asks, nervousness slipping into his voice.
Oh my god. This is all I’ve ever wanted.
Not even the elephant stomping in my head could keep me from smiling. “I would love to be your real girlfriend, Henry.”
He stands up, leaning over to press a kiss to my forehead, and I almost pinch myself. Is this real, or am I still drunk? “I’m sorry, I wish I could stay, but I do have to go. Let me know if you need anything today, okay?”
“Thanks, Henry,” I say, mustering a smile, and he smooths my hair out of my face. Henry smiles at me again, and despite the fact my hangover is going to make today a day from hell, knowing I get to be one of the few people to see that smile makes me feel like I’m floating on cloud nine.
It’s only when I’m leaving for work that I realize Henry still managed to leave the note on my nightstand without my noticing.
Didn’t want to leave. Had to go to the stadium. Dinner tonight? —H
~
The only thing that got me through the shitshow that was today was knowing Henry wanted to have dinner tonight.
We spent most of the day trying to spin the comment section of the posts from last night to do damage control, but thankfully, it didn’t seem to hurt Henry’s image at all.
I’m just pissed because I gave Miley more ammunition to use against me, making me seem like I’m a spoiled brat. But I have a feeling this will all blow over in the next day or so when something more interesting happens.
Stacey pulled me aside, ripping me a new one for how irresponsible I had been last night. She was right to ask what I was thinking because with Henry being tied to me and my name, I could have undone everything we’ve worked so hard to fix. It was stupid and irresponsible, but I promised her it wouldn’t happen again. At least she had the courtesy not to do it in front of Miley and the other interns.
My PR team reached out today, surprisingly not because of last night, but to let me know that with the Olympic Qualifiers coming up, my name has come up in more than a few articles. I would have rather they had called me to let me know anything else.
I told them to continue with the statement, I’ll be attending to support my old teammates, but I will not be competing.
I think it’s pointless to hope I’ll be able to stay out of the headlines during the Olympics, but that’s all I can do for the time being. I know I should be flattered everyone wants me to compete again, but I can’t go back to being a puppet.
I exhale, trying not to drag any of this shit inside with me as Tom’s truck pulls out of the driveway, pausing at the end to ensure I actually go into the house. I can’t blame Tom after last night. I wave at him, opening the door as the aroma from the kitchen immediately hits me.
I can hear Wilson laughing over the music coming from that direction, and some of the weight on my shoulders from the day disappears. I slip out of my heels, leaving them next to the door as I make my way toward the kitchen.
Henry and I are together.
If that can happen after all these years, then I have to believe that anything is possible.
I hover in the doorway as Henry uses the spatula to sing off-key into as Wilson doubles over. Henry sways his hips as he gently flips the salmon in the pan. For someone who can’t dance, he sure can swing his hips. I want to whistle, but I’m curious how long it will take for them to notice me.
“Since I helped you cook this, do I at least get to eat some of it before I’m supposed to hide in my room for your date night?” Wilson asks, checking the pot on the back burner.
“You don’t have to hide in your room, just maybe don’t be in the same area as us so it feels like a date,” Henry suggests, and Wilson snorts.
“Yeah, I’m still going to hide in my room. You and Mira have an aversion to being naked together in your rooms, and I’d prefer not to walk in on you again.”
Yeah, I think I’d prefer that too.
Henry shakes his head. “Sorry.”
“Whatever. I’m glad you finally pulled your head out of your ass and admitted your feelings for her. Anyone with eyes could see how bad you have it for Mirabelle, you’ve basically already been together for a couple months now.”
I clear my throat, not wanting to hear anything else unless it’s directly from Henry. They turn my direction, and Wilson smiles, turning off the burner. “Hey, perfect timing. Henry is almost done with dinner,” he says, and I look at Henry, and everything else from today feels easier to deal with.
I can’t help that my feet rush forward of their own accord, and then I’m wrapping my arms around his torso. Henry’s strong arms close around me, and I feel him chuckle. “Well, hi there,” he says, his voice sends shivers down my spine.
“Hi,” I squeak out, holding tightly to my boyfriend . This doesn’t even feel real. I wish someone could have told my younger self not to give up on love.
“You guys are gross,” Wilson says, and my laughter mingles with Henry’s. “Get a room.”
“This is my house. All the rooms are mine,” Henry retorts as I pull away, my cheeks warming because I definitely just threw myself at him, but Henry pulls me back into his side, resting his hand on my hip as he presses a kiss to the side of my head. “Happy you’re home. I put a bottle of wine in the fridge I thought you would like,” he whispers against my hair, and I feel my breath catch.
Home.
“Me too,” I say honestly, smiling before twisting away to grab the bottle and two glasses.
“Can I just say—”
Henry cuts Wilson off as he removes the pan from the hot burner. “No, you can’t.”
I chuckle, pouring two glasses and Wilson gapes at him. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I’ve heard you talk enough today. I want to hear about Mira’s day,” Henry says, dishing out a portion for Wilson. “Wilson, please go away,” he says, holding out the plate to him.
“But—”
“Wilson.”
Wilson groans, taking the plate, but he winks at me on his way out of the kitchen. I love that Henry’s friends fuck with him. Sometimes he’s a little too serious for his own good, and he makes it too easy for them.
Henry pushes the sleeves of his sweater up, and I take a drink of my wine. Down, girl. They’re just forearms.
“So how was your day?” he asks, and I know he’s being sweet, but my day is kind of the last thing I want to talk about.
“I’d rather hear about yours if that’s okay? Is there something I can help you with?” I ask, setting the glass down to help him.
“I’m wining and dining you. I want you to relax, so just sit pretty with your wine,” Henry says, sending a warm smile in my direction. Goodness, I still can’t believe he smiles at me like that. “My day was good. My hamstring was a little tight so Veronica, my favorite of our trainers, tried to make me scream when she used the massage gun on it. I’m not sure whether I hate ice baths or the massage gun more.”
“Definitely the massage gun.” I shake my head, still vividly remembering how it hurt more than it helped.
“You’re probably right about that.”
“This smells amazing. Thank you for making dinner,” I say, my mouth watering as Henry carries our plates to the kitchen table. I follow with the glasses and the wine as he pulls my chair out for me. “Henry.”
His bright eyes focus on me and I can see the golden tinge around the irises. “What? Let me be a good boyfriend and push in your chair.”
I slide into the seat, allowing him to push it in, but I twist my head to look up at him. “Thank you.”
“You deserve everything, mon c?ur. ” Henry leans down to press his mouth briefly against mine, before pulling away. He is the only person who can take a bad day and turn it into one worth remembering.
I want everything, but only if it’s with him.