37. “Helium” - Sia
“Helium” - Sia
Maisie arranges a private flight to England for me the next morning.
The royal jet is only available for official Crown business, and unfortunately, chasing my husband across the Atlantic doesn’t qualify.
She also books the presidential suite at The Lanesborough, Henry’s preferred hotel.
The royal suite is not available, presumably occupied by Henry himself.
Twelve hours later, I’m crossing the ocean, bound for London.
And hopefully some closure. Getting into Henry’s suite will be more difficult.
I’m nervous he may have given his security team orders to deny me access.
When I mention this to Daphne on the plane, she suggests asking Henry’s valet for help.
“We are friends, of a sort.” A blush stains her cheeks.
“Ah,” I say. “Tell him I’m willing to overlook any workplace fraternization if he helps me.”
She texts him and, several minutes later, assures me Albright will get me access to Henry’s suite.
The hotel is a quick drive from the airport, and I check into my own suite, which is even more opulent than my rooms in the palace. Then I change out of my wrinkled travel outfit and into the emerald-green dress Henry loves. It can’t hurt to look good, right?
Standing on shaky legs, I take a deep breath. It’s showtime.
I wait in the hotel corridor outside a single door that leads into the valet’s set of rooms in the royal suite. Albright steps out, holding it ajar. I whisper my thanks and slip past him into the inner hallway.
I studied the floor plan of the suite on the website, so I know the door on my left opens into a large living and dining room, with a study and the master suite beyond it. I debate knocking, but it’s probably better to just enter than to risk meeting one of Henry’s PPOs.
I really haven’t thought this through.
When I step inside, the state room is empty.
I thank the plush carpet for muffling my footsteps.
I tiptoe—not easy in heels—past a set of closed double doors leading to the foyer.
That must be where the security team is.
They aren’t going to appreciate my craftiness.
I’ll have to get Henry’s word that no one will lose their job over this.
On the far side of the room, there’s another door.
It’s painted the same color as the walls and decorated with the same intricate gold trim, making it barely noticeable.
As I walk closer, the sound of talking becomes distinguishable.
Startled, I misstep and nearly twist my ankle.
It never occurred to me that Henry might not be alone.
Forcing one foot in front of the other, I approach the door and press my ear against it. I can hear Henry’s low voice, and my heart stutters, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. I wait to hear if the other person is male or female, but there’s nothing but silence.
He speaks again, pauses, then says something else. He must be on the phone. I nearly sink to the floor. So far, so good. Now it’s just a matter of facing him. The thought leaves me even shakier than I already am.
I opt to forgo knocking and crack the door open.
The room is decorated in a cozy matte-red color scheme with lots of wood.
The walls are trimmed with gold, the furniture all red upholstery.
Henry is standing with his back to me on the other side of the room, facing the window, his phone held to his ear.
He’s wearing a white shirt tucked into navy trousers.
The ambrosial scent of him infuses the room and nearly fells me.
“What do you mean? Nothing has been done?” he says into the phone.
I close the door softly and lean against it, drinking him in like a lovestruck teenager. It’s been five days since I last saw him. Missing him is a physical ache.
He picks up a crystal tumbler from the desk beside him. “That doesn’t make any sense. Get me more info.” He turns around and lifts the glass to his lips. As he does, his eyes alight on me. The shock registers on his face, and he lowers the tumbler again without taking a drink.
“Keep me informed.” He ends the call without taking his gaze off me. “Celia.” It floats out on an exhale. Narrowing his eyes, he studies me from head to toe. “I have so many questions, I don’t even know where to begin.”
“While you’re figuring it out, I’ve got one of my own.” I push away from the door and take a few steps into the room. My fingers close around the annulment papers in my bag, and I pull them out. “You filed for divorce without saying a word to me?”
He pitches his phone carelessly onto the nearest armchair. His face is impossible to read. Is he angry? Amused? “Why are you here, C?”
The cotton in my mouth and throat is suffocating. “I need to talk to you,” I finally get out.
“Who knows you’re here?” He tosses the contents of the tumbler back in one swig.
“Maisie. And I brought my maid. Why?”
“No one else?”
“What does it matter? You still haven’t answered my question.”
He takes a tentative step in my direction, like I’m a wild animal who might flee if he makes any sudden movements. “I thought I’d save you the trouble of filing for divorce yourself.”
“What made you think I would?”
He looks nonplussed. “Give me a little credit.”
“Fine. That was my plan, a long time ago. But that was before—”
“Before what?”
Before I realized I can’t live without you. “Before I broke it off with Beck.”
“So you were going to divorce me, but only as long as you had someone to take my place? I’m flattered.”
“That’s not what I meant. I broke it off because I realized he wasn’t what I wanted. And on some level, he probably is what I need, but . . . I couldn’t do it anymore. Not when I feel like this.” I clamp my mouth shut before I make the situation worse.
Henry begins pacing, frustration outlining his body.
“Wait, are you mad?” I say.
Stopping in front of the bar cart, he pours another glass of whiskey. He holds the bottle up questioningly, but I shake my head. “I’m not mad,” he says, and leans against the desk, ankles crossed. “Just confused.”
As he watches me over the rim of the tumbler, I’m unable to look away from his lips on the glass. All I want is to taste them.
“Remember when you said you didn’t want me to feel normal?” I say.
He swipes at his mouth, “Not one of my finer moments, I’ll admit.”
“I don’t want to feel normal either.”
His eyes flash to mine like lightning streaking across the sky, rending it apart.
“I’m still in love with you.” The words linger in the air the way cheap perfume hovers long after its wearer is gone. “But don’t worry. I’ll find a way to survive if you tell me you don’t feel the same way.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand.
“Please let me finish, or I’ll lose the courage.
” I gulp in another lungful of air. “Being with you scares me. Terrifies me, actually. But being without you is one hundred times worse. It’s like the life has been sucked from my body and I’m nothing but a shell.
I’ve always said that kind of dependency on another person is crippling and toxic.
But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m completely and irrevocably in love with you, and it’s nearly killing me. ”
Henry’s expression hasn’t changed. He’s still fixing those fierce eyes on me. The only difference is his hands, now clutching the edge of the desk behind him. His knuckles are white from their tight grip.
“I thought I could make it go away.” My voice is growing stronger.
“I thought if I stayed away from you long enough, eventually I’d stop caring.
But I’ve never been able to stop loving you, no matter how hard I’ve tried or how much I’ve pretended otherwise.
You’re the color in my black-and-white world, and I’d rather die than live in a world without you. ”
He pushes off from the desk, and my heart beats a heavy staccato as he closes the distance between us. Pulling the papers from my hand, he sends them scattering across the floor.
“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same.” I’m breathless. “I just needed to—”
My words are cut off by his mouth pressing onto mine, banishing thoughts and words to another planet entirely. Fissures of pleasure rip through my skull as his fingers thread through my hair and hold me in place so his lips can pull at mine, tug, nip, caress.
He tastes of whiskey and spearmint and Henry, a flavor I didn’t know was necessary for survival until a few weeks ago.
I move my hands up his chest and neck and into those incredibly soft locks I fantasize about.
My back arches to meet his body. He groans and pulls me closer.
His hands find their way down to my waist.
Will kissing him always be like this, this desperate attempt to get more but never quite being able to satisfy the hunger? His touch is determined and intentional. This is a man who knows exactly what he wants. I pull back just enough to say, “What’s happening? I thought—”
He nuzzles a spot beneath my ear that has a direct connection to my groin.
“Do you know how bloody hard it was to stand there listening to you when all I wanted to do was this?” He covers my lips with his own again, explores my mouth with his tongue, insistent and possessive and completely intoxicating.
“I thought . . . you didn’t . . . want this,” I say during tiny snatches of breath.
He draws back and focuses on trailing kisses down my neck. “I said I can’t. I never said I didn’t want to.”
Whatever that means will have to be addressed at a future point. Right now it would take Hercules himself to remove me from Henry’s arms.
I tug his mouth back to mine and elicit a moan as I rake my fingers down his jawline. His hands trail along my leg and bunch the silky fabric of my dress. “Every time I see you in this,” he murmurs against my lips, “I lose another year of my life.”