36. “Need You Now” - Lady A
“Need You Now” - Lady A
Iwake to the sound of thumping in the sitting room of my suite. Stumbling out of bed, I look for something to use as a weapon, since it appears I’ve been abandoned by my security team.
When I step out, instead of an intruder, I find my luggage stacked around the space. Daphne pokes her head up from behind a large suitcase she’s wrestling into submission. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. Did I wake you?”
I shake my head, even though she did, and wrap my arms around my waist. The events from earlier are slowly trickling back into my conscious.
“They brought your things back from the Atlantis. I would have put them away, but I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“That’s fine. Thank you, Daphne,” I say, rubbing my arms.
She drops the bags in her hands. “Are you cold? I can fetch some tea for you.”
“That would be great, actually.” I sink into the sofa as she leaves and scan the room. Daphne will have my things all put away properly in less than an hour. I wish I could do the same with my life.
There’s still a faint ringing in my ears, and it’s like my entire body has received a major dose of lidocaine. I can’t feel anything. The nausea still hasn’t completely disappeared. I’m sure finding out that the man I love is behind thousands of deaths didn’t help, either.
I once heard that the better you think you know someone, the easier it is for them to fool you. I guess I’m living proof of that.
Had you asked me eleven years ago what could make me stop seeing Henry the way I did, I would have said nothing. I loved him so fully at that point and wouldn’t have believed there was anything that could possibly change the way I felt about him.
But there’s always something—for everyone.
People deny it, because they want to believe they are good enough to love unconditionally.
And while plenty of couples are able to work through issues like infidelity or the loss of a child, plenty more can’t.
And for those who do, there will still always be something—something they haven’t even considered—that could do it for them. Something that would break them.
This is my thing.
Fifteen-year-old Celia would have refuted it, because she wouldn’t have believed Henry capable of it. But twenty-six-year-old Celia has seen sides to him she never imagined existed. This is simply another cog in the wheel that makes up the man I thought I knew.
Chief of operations. God.
I reach for the throw blanket folded over the back of the sofa, and as I do, I see a box tucked in with the luggage. I immediately recognize it as the one that lived under Henry’s bed, full of childhood mementos. Someone must have thought it was mine and grabbed it.
I kick it, and it scoots across the rug. Stupid box. Stupid boy.
Stupid girl for thinking that who a person is at seventeen is any indication of who they’ll be as an adult.
The door opens, and Daphne returns with my tea. “Here you go, ma’am.” She hands it to me, her eyebrows pinched in concern. I wonder what stories are circulating among the staff.
“Would you like for me to finish unpacking your things?” she asks.
“I would actually like to be alone just now.”
“Of course, ma’am.” She bobs into a small curtsy and heads for the door. “I’ll get this cleared away while you’re at dinner.”
I can’t tell her I won’t be at dinner. I don’t know how I’m going to handle showing my face anywhere for the foreseeable future. I feel like a grieving widow, but I don’t even have a body to mourn, just a tainted memory.
So much for showing my people that I’m fine. First I have to be fine.
I unzip the nearest suitcase and lift the clothes out. Daphne would probably prefer to do it herself, but my hands desperately need something to do, or they will reach over and grab that box and tear apart every photograph inside.
As the stack of clothing on the coffee table grows, so does my resentment toward Henry.
Now that the numbness is wearing off, I’m left with a blinding anger.
Isn’t it enough that I lost him twice? Did he have to completely annihilate what was left of my heart in the process?
How long had he been planning this particular attack?
The image of his face as he was being arrested flashes through my mind.
That wasn’t his plan at all. He wanted me out of there before William could confess anything.
Maybe he was hoping to keep running his father’s empire for years while keeping me in the dark.
Maybe was planning to wait for the perfect moment to tilt my world off its axis.
But the more I think about it, the more the niggling feeling I have increases. I’m missing something. There was something in Henry’s eyes, a fear I’ve never seen before. Fear of what? Being arrested? Life in prison?
The questions are relentless and show no mercy. Somehow, I should have known. I should have seen the signs. Was there an indication of who he would become when we were kids? A clue I should have recognized?
There must have been signs. No one, especially a teenager, is able to hide everything that well. I toss the sweater I’m holding onto a pile and reach for the keepsake box. The answers must be inside.
I fill my lungs with air before removing the lid, as though that can somehow protect me from its contents. I’ve gone through them before, but so much has changed since my first perusal.
I start with the pictures. They seem like they’d be the most likely indicators something was going on with Henry that I missed. But I don’t know what I’m looking for. A parcel of drugs in the background?
I scrutinize every photo, analyzing Henry’s smile in each one, looking for slight variances, anything that would indicate what he was doing when we weren’t together.
I find nothing—not a single clue as to why he did what he did.
The only thing the pictures do is remind me of the happiest years of my life.
I still remember what was happening when each picture was snapped.
The time his mum told us we had to make cookies because we’d emptied the cookie jar too quickly.
Neither of us had a clue how to bake anything, so we mostly watched the palace chef and snuck globs of dough when she wasn’t looking.
Olivia stood in the kitchen doorway, camera in hand, grin on her face, as we swiped each other’s faces with flour.
The time we were meant to be conjugating French verbs but were taking turns doing our best Barney Stinson impressions instead. The time Henry wanted to experiment with his new Bunsen burner and ended up nearly setting the library on fire.
Every single memory makes me smile despite my best attempts not to. We had the best times together, and nothing that has happened since can dampen that. Henry might have turned out to be a liar and a drug dealer, but he was the best friend I could have hoped for back then.
Not every story has a happy ending.
There’s a photo he took of me making his friendship bracelet. I’m sticking out my tongue as I braid the strands, so mature for an eleven-year-old. I picture it on his wrist earlier. Surprisingly, the colors haven’t faded much over time, still the same vibrant blue, green, and orange from the photo.
I wonder why he had it on today. It was childish when I gave it to him, but he wore it to make me happy. Maybe he wanted the reminder that he used to be a good person.
His face as they cuffed him still haunts me.
Desperation clouded his features. I wish I could figure out what he was trying to tell me.
He kept saying the same thing over and over, like he knew I couldn’t hear him.
Maybe he wanted me to call a lawyer for him?
Get rid of proof tying him to his crimes?
I replay the scene in my mind, closing my eyes so I can get the details right. I picture the look in his eyes, the movement of his mouth, doing my best to lip-read his words. His look was so focused, so intent, like he was willing me to read his thoughts.
All of a sudden, everything clicks together at the same time.
The look on his face.
The bracelet.
The person I thought he was.
The phrase he kept repeating.
He wasn’t saying anything out loud. He was mouthing words he didn’t want anyone else to hear.
Trust me.