Chapter 23
chapter twenty three
he's my earl grey
“Fuck me.”
I knew the Lady Mayfair hotel was good. But there was good, and then there was whatever slice of heaven this room was.
Tristan and I had said we’d take care of this trip, but before I could even talk to him about flights, he’d already sorted everything. And I mean everything.
On the lift ride up, I was re-reading the email from Louellen, pardoning me from all events until I was home.
I hadn’t even spoken to her about London—but it seemed Tristan had.
I thought of all the ways I could let him know how thankful I was.
Regardless, Louellen was fine with the impromptu summer holiday.
There wasn’t an awful lot of networking I could do anyway with my Nouvelle piece submitted. (!!!!)
I dropped my little shoulder bag by the door and stepped farther into the room, my feet brushing over the carpet, my body tugged forward by the golden light spilling across it.
The view out the window stopped me cold.
The same warm gold that engulfed the room bathed the river too.
Parliament glowed like something out of a dream, like whatever was happening inside was pure good.
And the last of the sunlight caught on the rooftops.
For a while, I just stood there, until my legs ached, and I settled into the carpet, legs tucked beneath me. I gave in to the urge to dig for the photo I always kept on me. I peeled back my phone case and plucked out the folded picture.
I unfolded it until it was there, as clear as the last time I’d looked at it.
We were in the middle of Kensington Gardens, sat on a yellow blanket; a nine-year-old Harriet had her cheesy grin in full force, plaits nearly as long as her arms. Mum was on the blanket with a four-year-old version of me in her arms. Same button nose. Same bob.
And Mum—well, she pulled focus in every picture she was in. Even the one where she met Princess Di in the nineties. She was all I could look at.
Her delicate brown eyes nearly undid me every time I thought of them.
Because the truth was, if I went to visit her now, I wouldn’t see those eyes anymore.
Dementia had hollowed them out, left them cold and grey, stripped of all the warmth that made her my mum.
It wasn’t just her eyes, either. It was her laugh, her chaos, her spark. All of it, gone.
The thought of going to see her had circled my mind ever since I knew we were coming to London.
Part of me wanted to run straight to her.
Of course I did. But the other part… the other part wasn’t sure I could stomach her looking at me like a stranger.
Losing that recognition—the idea that someone didn’t see me—I didn’t know if I could handle it.
A tear slipped free, racing down my cheek, and I didn’t wipe it away. I was tired of pretending this didn’t wreck me—that it didn’t feel like grieving someone who was still alive. But if I could survive that every day, surely I could survive one visit.
So as I looked out at London, golden ribbons of light sliding over the Thames, I made myself a promise: I’d see my mum before we left.
My eyes came back into focus as I dabbed at the tears, drying my cheeks. “Pull yourself together, woman,” I muttered before standing and heading for my suitcases.
I had to make myself look presentable for dinner with the guys. Another Tristan miracle. Our one fancy meal before he and I showed them the proper grub our home had to offer. But for now, I had to think fancy.
I took my time getting ready, eventually settling on my silk lavender dress with thin straps and a cowl neck—just enough cleavage to feel sexy for the first time in forever. My eyeliner was neat, and my getting-ready playlist made me forget I’d been crying just half an hour ago.
Final touches: glitter on my lids and the matching lavender heels that snaked around my ankles like pointe shoes.
And the entire time, I thought of only one thing: Marcus.
I didn’t have to say his name, but it would be a shame not to when it wasn’t accompanied by an eye roll anymore.
Even when I tried not to think of him, he had this way of sneaking in, winding through what I needed to worry about, and as soon as I thought of him, everything else slipped away.
He made me feel different in a way no one ever had before.
More than security—it was being seen in a light I’d never shown anyone.
Three quick knocks sounded on the door, pulling me from my reflection.
“Coming!” I shouted, turning off my music and tucking the ribbons of my shoes before raising on shaky legs. Heels and I were never friends.
Another few knocks.
“Oh my God, impatient much?”
A gruff groan came from the other side. “No, but your friends are.”
God, that voice. It was almost like he knew it messed with my head.
I took one last look in the mirror by the door, pretending my heart wasn’t thumping. “I’ve got ten minutes; tell them to chill.” My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out just before reaching the door. “Reservations not until—”
It was as if all evidence of the sun had vanished. Like it had been plucked from the sky, leaving endless darkness in its wake.
No.
No.
Not again.
Please not again.
That darkness settled over me like a ghost, holding me still as my eyes burned reading the words I never wanted to see.
Unknown Number
Today at 19:33
There isn’t a corner of this planet you can run to where I won’t find you, Cora.
I couldn’t breathe. Before I could even try, my phone buzzed again.
Purple is definitely your color, by the way.
My heart dropped another ten stories.
How this was happening when Marcus and I had gotten me a whole new back up system of phone numbers, one's that would be impossible to trace to me, I had no idea.
And then I looked around the room—no cameras, no way for Jamie to know what I was wearing.
But he did. Of course he did. I felt foolish for assuming otherwise.
I dropped the phone, hands flying to my mouth as I stumbled back against the desk. Something clattered to the floor, but all I felt was the quake in my body.
“Cora?” Marcus’s voice pressed through the door. “You okay?”
I couldn’t answer. My legs buckled, and I hit the carpet, knees burning as I scrambled away from the phone.
“Cora, what’s wrong?”
Tears blurred everything. Fear pinned me down, thick and suffocating, as though Jamie’s hands were still on me. A sob ripped free from my throat.
“I’m coming in!”
His voice barely registered before the door flew open. I refused to take my eyes off my phone, but in my peripheral, I saw him—a wall of black striding toward me, knees on the floor beside me.
“Hey, hey, hey. What happened?” His voice was panicked as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder, brushing some of my hair from my eyes. “What happened, Cora?”
I didn’t say a thing, but he followed my line of sight. The second he saw my phone, I knew he knew.
I shook my head as it fell, tears rolling down my face. I sucked in all the air my lungs would allow as my quivering lips opened. “He knows I’m here. He knows what I’m wearing.”
Almost immediately, Marcus stiffened, his arm tightening around me like Jamie was behind the curtain, waiting to grab me. “Fuck.” He rested his forehead on mine. “You’re safe. He can’t get you. That’s all that matters.”
I arched my neck, finding his eyes, noting the sadness laced within them.
“But when is this going to stop? Huh?” My shoulders shook as tears streamed. “How long am I just going to let him keep thinking this is okay? When is he going to let me go?”
Marcus’ hands gripped my shoulders, his eyes sobering me.
“He has never had any control of you, Cora. You destroyed that the second you ran out of that car and showed the world what kind of man he really is.” He shook my shoulders—gentle enough that it didn’t hurt, hard enough to remind me how much he cared.
“You hold all the power. He’s just trying to make you believe you don’t. ”
I shook my head as his hands rose to my face, cupping my cheeks. “I don’t feel very powerful.”
His thumbs brushed beneath my eyes, swiping tears, but he didn’t look away. His gaze held mine, steady, unwavering. “You are,” he whispered. “You’re the most powerful person I know.”
I froze, caught in the weight of his words, the warmth of his hands, the steady heat of him so close. I could feel the tiniest shift, the subtle tilt of his head, as if waiting for permission I hadn’t realised I wanted to give.
“Cora…” His voice was soft, tentative, wrapping around me like a shield.
I didn’t answer. I just leaned into him, drawn by something I couldn’t name, something I didn’t want to fight. His lips hovered near mine, hesitant, waiting. I felt the same pull, the same need to close the space between us.
And then we did, simultaneously, as if the world had paused to give us this one moment. Our mouths met, slow, searching, a quiet affirmation that neither of us had to wait any longer. Hands found shoulders and waists, holding on as if letting go would shatter us.
It was almost the same feeling as how I made my tea in the morning.
I didn't have to think about it, or whether doing it would make an impact on my day.
I just did it. I knew the steps. I knew it was going to make me happy.
Even as it went cold on my nightstand. It was the same kismit feeling that everything would be okay, just for that little moment in time.
And right now I was in that same perfect place. Even if it was temporary, even if it would end the moment he sobered and pulled away, I let myself stay in it.
His lips moved around mine, soft and strong, completely captivating. One hand slid to the back of my neck, the other cradled the small of my back. We were pressed right against the glass of the window. Once the shock wore off, my side melted into it, as though we were floating.
Slowly, his body moved against mine, his pulse pounding against my skin, almost in sync with my own. He swiped his tongue over mine, like he was trying to cram every ounce of me in before he snapped out of it again.
But the way his hand caressed the tender skin of my throat, the intensity of his mouth, made me wonder if he’d ever pull away.
Curiosity got the best of me. I held his arm and pulled back slightly, eyes locking. The sheer look of him made me want to ignore the questions and just keep kissing. Strands of hair over his forehead, lips glistening, quiet panting like I’d taken all the air from his lungs.
I shook my head. “You aren’t pulling away.”
Breathless, he asked, “Do you want me to?”
My bottom lip sank between my teeth. “No, it’s just… we never really talked about what happened.” My mind flashed back to earlier. “And what you said today…”
“That’s because I don’t have the words.” His thumb skimmed mine, awkward, almost unsure. “I’m not used to this—wanting to be around someone, not just because it’s my job, but because I actually… want to. And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.”
I let out a shaky laugh that didn’t feel funny.
“Guess I’m the opposite. I’ve spent so long convincing people I don’t care, that I’m cold, sharp, a bitch…
that sometimes I forget I don’t have to be.
But you…” My eyes flicked to his, softer.
“You never buy it. You look past it, like you see someone else completely.”
His jaw worked like he wanted to speak but couldn’t. Finally, his voice came low, rough. “Maybe that’s because I do.” He let out a sigh. “I knew who you were from the second I met you.”
I shrugged. “And she is?”
“A girl who has had to fight for everything in her life, only for the world to remind her that she can fight all she wants and it won’t make a difference. Making her believe that she’s powerless.” His nose brushed mine. “But the world is a fucking liar.”
A sob that had been trapped in my throat surged free, and a harmless smile spread across my mouth.
“Am I right?”
He was spot on. Marcus had seen my life, all of it, for what it really was. He was the only one who knew about my past, about what being in London meant to me. He knew all the little details the others didn’t.
Of course he saw me.
Silence stretched—not empty, but weighted, like the air itself had decided to hold its breath.
I should’ve looked away, cracked a joke, or found an exit. But I didn’t. Neither did he. His eyes stayed locked on mine, steady, certain, like he’d already decided what I hadn’t dared admit: we’d stepped over something we couldn’t step back from.
Before I could react, before the billions of questions on my tongue could fire out, before I could even think about kissing him again, someone pounded on the door.
“Cora, are you nearly ready?” Goldie called. “Rory is getting hangry, and I’m seriously concerned for Finn’s safety.”
Marcus’ forehead sank into the crown of my head. I sighed. “I’ll be down in five!”
“Okay!” She called back. “We’ll be in the lobby.”
Her footsteps faded, leaving Marcus and me to sit in the fizzled aftermath of the moment.
I could have stayed there for hours, and I’m pretty sure he would have let me.
Before long, he stood, reaching out his hand to pull me up. I went to the bathroom to quickly fix my makeup, retouch a few curls, and it was like I’d never had a mental breakdown.
Thank you, Givenchy.
Marcus walked ahead, opening the door, but as I slipped past, his hand brushed my arm, stopping me. I looked up.
“Did I mention you clean up alright?”
My brows shot up. “Alright?”
His mouth twitched, almost a smile. “You know you look beautiful.”
My shoulders lifted. "Still nice hearing someone say it."
"Then I'll start saying it rather than just thinking it from now on."
Oh, he was good. Too good.
I shook my head, words suddenly a long-lost memory.
I felt beautiful all the time—even in sweat, glasses, and with Chocolate Digestive crumbs down my oversized shirt. But hearing it from him was like I’d never really believed it until now. Like he meant it. Like he saw me for more than the image the world picked apart.
And throughout that entire dinner, through the laughs, the wine, and the stupid little moments, I thought of only one thing.