39. Henry
thirty-nine
Ipass Grandmother Rose a cup of tea, then lower myself into an armchair.
“And how is the girl?” Grandmother refers to Franki as “the girl” because she’s having trouble remembering names, though she’ll never admit to it.
“Franki is going to take some time to heal.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Positioned diagonally from me, Grandmother sits stiffly in her chair in my Park Avenue penthouse and lifts the delicate porcelain cup to her lips.
“Franki is resilient. She’ll make a full recovery,” I say.
Grandmother glances toward the bedroom hallway then back at me with a disapproving pinch of her lips. She’s not a fan of cohabitation, as she refers to it.
My furniture is slightly too large for Grandmother, but she poses elegantly, nonetheless: knees together, ankles crossed, weight on one hip as she leans against the arm of the chair.
“Would you like an ottoman so you can rest more comfortably?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not interested in comfort. I came here for a reason. I’ve decided to reconsider my plans for MPD.”
When I say nothing, she continues. “I want to give those shares to you, Henry.”
I lift my eyebrows, not fooled for a moment. “And you have a new requirement for me to be worthy of them.” Despite the fact that I already informed her that I don’t want them. I take a sip of tea before setting my cup on the table.
She frowns, her blue eyes sharp. “My sister’s grandson is a disgrace. The scandal surrounding him is intolerable. But the girl you decided on isn’t much better. I offered you those shares if you found an appropriate wife. A relationship with that one is out of the question. Her father is all over the news due to bankruptcy and a fraud investigation, and her mother . . .” Grandmother shudders. “She’s a sweet girl, and she has my sympathy, but you have to do what’s right for yourself.”
I smile. “You’re absolutely correct.”
She nods. “You’ve always been a practical boy. I don’t expect you to find someone else to replace her. I’m not unreasonable.”
A shadow in the hallway to our bedroom moves in my peripheral vision, and I stand, stepping closer so I’m certain Franki hears every word I say. “Grandmother, you misunderstand. I’m never walking away from Franki. There’s not a thing on earth that could make me. I’m walking away from MPD.”
She blinks in confusion. “What?”
“I don’t want your shares.”
“Of course you do. I suppose, if you keep your relationship private and don’t marry her, we could work around it on a probationary period. You’ll need to distance yourself during the trial.”
“Grandmother.” I shake my head. “I’m marrying Franki. If you give me those shares, regardless, I’m immediately passing them on to Gabriel. I suggest you skip the middleman. I’m off the table.”
Her eyes narrow as she looks behind me. “There’s a dog under your chair.”
I glance back. Oliver is flat on his stomach splayed with his legs behind him in what I call his “Superman pose.” He’s hiding from our visitor, with only his lower half visible.
“Oliver is shy.” It didn’t used to be true, but he’s recovering from the traumatic events of three days ago too.
He wags his tail at the sound of his name, and I smile.
Grandmother’s lips quirk. “You’re happy.”
That’s an oversimplification. And an understatement. What I am is whole. But for brevity’s sake, sure. “I’m happy.”
She places her cup on its saucer and rises from the chair. I offer Grandmother my arm and walk her to the door where her guard waits to assist her home.
When I help her into her coat, she reaches up and pats my cheek. “Your father was entirely unmanageable. Your sister insists on living life how she pleases. I thought you’d be the sensible one.”
“There’s still Gabriel.”
Her eyes glint. “He’s too charming for his own good. That boy is a directionless hussy.”
I fight back my smile. “I’m not so sure about that, but I suppose he’d be a lot for someone like you to handle.”
“Someone like me?” she asks, offense snapping in her words.
“Someone in her elder years. Surely, you’re tired of worrying over all of us by now. You should find a new hobby. Take more naps,” I suggest helpfully.
She shakes her head, her lips lifting in a partially repressed smile. “Insolent boy.”
Grandmother removes her black leather gloves from her pockets and tugs them on. “I’ll accept your marriage.”
“You’ll also be kind and gracious to my wife.”
“Don’t insult me. Of course I will.” She looks out across the open plan of the penthouse to the lit skyline beyond. From here, the heavens are nothing but an artificially bright wash of violet blue. The bright points that glimmer are man-made and far too close to earth. There’s not a real star in sight.
“Can Gabriel do it?” she asks.
“I suppose we’ll find out.”
My mouth goes dry, and my heart rate picks up speed as Franki brushes her hair over her shoulder and walks farther into our dimly lit hotel suite. Intrigue lights her eyes, and she sends a curious glance my way. With every step she takes, her silver evening gown flows over her curves like living mercury.
I indicate the attached bedroom. “I packed an overnight bag for you. Spencer and Dante are pet sitting for the night.”
She smiles in confusion. “Why did you get a suite? We’re not that far from home.”
“Not that far is still too far.” I run my knuckles over the velvet softness of her right cheek and kiss the warm skin beneath her left ear, reveling in the feel of her. Drawing her scent into my lungs. I’m continually stunned that she’s given me the privilege to be so close. I doubt I’ll ever fully get used to it.
“The last time we were in this hotel was Finn’s wedding reception. We ditched the party early that night too,” she says.
“I thought you’d prefer dinner up here, rather than downstairs at one of those communal event tables with people we don’t know.”
We share a look and shudder in tandem. Franki and I are capable of that type of socializing. It doesn’t mean we like sitting with six other guests at a round table and pretending to have fun.
Franki has barely recovered from her ordeal, and both of us have depleted our social batteries dealing with the fallout from her mother and David Vance, but Franki wouldn’t miss a party thrown by her cousin if she could help it. Finn and his mother are the only living blood relatives she considers family.
She glances around and, for the first time, notices the table, dressed in white, adorned with peonies, and glowing with flickering ambient light. Our plates hide beneath silver domes, and a bottle of champagne on ice awaits. The entire scene reflects in the floor to ceiling windows. Though I’m behind her, I read her reaction in the glass. The lift of her hand. The softening of her eyes.
I drop to one knee beside her and wait for her to see me. To realize I’m here when she’s ready.
Four years. Nine months. Twelve Days. Without her.
Never again.
She turns, and emotion chases across her beautiful face when she finds me at her feet. Momentary confusion. Love. Hope. Her dark amber eyes glint with unshed tears.
I lift the ring I chose for her myself. “I believe the two of us could reach an amicable agreement mutually beneficial for both parties—”
She sniffs a watery laugh.
“—I’d offer you my heart, but it’s already in your possession. And possession is nine-tenths of the law. I can’t give you something that’s already yours.”
Her breath hiccups.
“I’m asking for permission to be your husband. I promise I will make our marriage my life’s work.”
I frown. “That doesn’t sound romantic. I don’t mean that it will be difficult. I mean it the way someone with a calling speaks of their mission in life. You’re my magnum opus. You’re the discovery of the edge of the cosmos, and don’t cite the Kuiper Belt, because you know I think that theory is ridiculous.”
Franki nods.
“You will have my dedication, my passion, my time. I’ll invest in us every day. You, and the family we build together, will always be my first priority. I will always take your side. I will always support you. There has never been another woman for me. And there never will be. Not if I have to wait a hundred lifetimes for you to come back to me again.”
She presses her hand to my cheek.
I turn my head to kiss her palm. “I know I’m intractable. Often arrogant. I’m obnoxiously tidy. One of those annoying morning people. And I take unholy pleasure in pushing people’s buttons. But if it’s true that you are what you love, then I’m one hell of a catch. Because there’s not a cell in my body that doesn’t love you.”
She lowers herself to the floor, kneeling with me. I use my thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Franki’s mascara streaks into a black mess beneath her eyes. She sniffles as her nose runs, and her eyes are rimmed in red. She’s so incredibly lovely.
She kisses me, then leans back and cups my face. “Yes.”
I freeze, then confirm. “You’re saying you will—”
“Yes! Yes, Henry. I’ll marry you.”
As I slide the platinum band on her finger, I smile so hard it turns into a shout of laughter. Then I kiss her again before speaking. “The first time I proposed, I assumed you’d be happier with something you chose yourself. I thought the ring was just a ring, but it’s actually a metaphor for how I feel about you. So, I told the jeweler I wanted the best quality, ethically sourced, and in the largest size possible to still wear comfortably on your finger.”
She holds her hand out to admire it and bites her lip. “It’s absolutely . . . huge.”
My lips curl at the corners, and I prepare to push her buttons because I love when she scolds me. “As I said. It’s a symbol. You should know, this ring cost a lot more than Bronwyn or Clarissa’s. Because I love you better.”
“Oh my God. Henry. It’s not a competition.”
I frown, pretending to be puzzled. “How can it be a competition when our relationship is so quantifiably superior?”
She shakes her head and fights a laugh. “You’re not supposed to say it out loud.”
I stand and help her to her feet. “Prepare yourself.”
Her brows come together in confusion. I take off my glasses and toss them onto the nearby side table.
She bites her lip and eyes me like I’m dinner.
“I love the way your bosom heaves every time I take my glasses off.” I stare blatantly in appreciation at her beautiful breasts as they lift and fall beneath the silver gown. Her nipples stand at attention, awaiting their kiss. “It’s extremely gratifying.”
“That’s because you look naked to me without them. Also, never call my breasts a ‘bosom’ again. It’s almost as unsexy as ‘duck call collection.’”
“Noted.”
I find her zipper easily. It was only a few hours ago that I slid it up in the first place. I pause. “I did this all backward. We were supposed to eat dinner. Then I’d propose. Then I’d give you a minimum of three orgasms.”
She moves against me and kisses my neck. “Dinner can wait.”