Chapter 28 Matilda
Twenty Eight
Matilda
He’s up for two awards.
I still can’t wrap my head around it. These are awards I’ve only ever dreamed of, awards people work their entire careers just to be considered for — and Henry is sitting beside me like he doesn’t quite believe he deserves to breathe the same air as the nominees.
Every few minutes, I can’t help glancing over at him.
His emerald eyes stay fixed on the stage, absorbing every word.
There’s a softness to him tonight — nerves flickering in his jaw, tension in the way he straightens his cuffs, the quiet inhale when the lights shift.
He’s vulnerable. Human. And seeing him like this makes something deep inside me pull tight, like a thread has been tied from him to me.
The man he was a few weeks ago — sharp edges, cold tone, closed off — feels far away now. And this man, the one beside me? I could watch him forever.
“I would now like to introduce Mr. Phillip Lorean to the stage to present our next award,” the host announces.
A refined man steps forward, microphone in hand.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. The Stephen Lawrence Prize, established in 1998, is a meaningful accolade honouring architectural projects that display innovation, originality, and positive social impact. The prize recognises smaller, lesser-known works — the ones that may otherwise go unnoticed — proving remarkable architecture can be achieved regardless of size or budget.”
I lean closer to Henry, whispering, “Good luck.” My shoulder brushes his arm. I glance at James beside me and smile. “He’s nominated for this one too.”
James’ face brightens like sunrise. He looks back to the stage eagerly, and Henry shakes his head with a small smile, like he can’t quite believe any of this.
“And that is why,” the presenter continues, “I can think of no one more deserving of this year’s award than… Henry Chase of Chase Architects.”
I’m on my feet before my brain catches up — cheering, clapping, practically beaming like I’ve just won. Thankfully, James is even louder, his voice carrying across the banquet hall, drowning out any embarrassment.
Henry rises, straightens his tux jacket, then leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek.
I freeze. His lips barely brush my skin, but my pulse is suddenly everywhere — chest, fingertips, behind my knees. Before I can react, he kisses his father’s cheek too and heads to the stage. I don’t think I breathe until he’s halfway there.
He looks… breathtaking. Confident yet humble. Masculine and elegant all at once.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, “I’m deeply honoured to receive this award. To be recognised among such esteemed peers is something I will cherish.”
Short. Warm. Sincere. Completely him.
James grips Henry’s shoulders when he returns. “Well done, son. Bloody well done.”
“One more award to go!” I grin, unable to contain my excitement for him.
Twenty minutes later, as they begin presenting the Emerging Architect of the Year, my knee is bouncing uncontrollably. Henry’s hand settles over it, steady and warm.
“Can I take you somewhere after this?” he murmurs.
“What?” I whisper, eyes glued to the stage.
“After the awards. I want to take you somewhere.”
I finally look at him. “Okay… where—”
“And the winner is… Henry Chase!”
Cheers explode around us. I blink, stunned, before bursting into laughter — partly from shock, partly from pure joy. Henry stands, smiling — really smiling — before winking at me and heading to the stage again.
He’s speechless at first. He scrubs a hand over his jaw, steadying himself.
“I… honestly did not expect this,” he says. “I want to thank my father. He was the one who placed creativity in my hands, quite literally, with my first Lego set.”
The crowd laughs softly.
“He has always encouraged me, supported me, and believed in me. And I am endlessly grateful.”
He pauses. Something shifts in his expression.
“There’s someone else I’d like to thank.
Someone very dear to me. Someone without whom I would not be standing here tonight.
Matilda has been by my side for four years.
Her unwavering support — professionally and personally — has shaped not only my work, but me.
This award is not mine alone. It belongs to her too. ”
He looks directly at me.
Everything else disappears.
The applause is loud, but all I can hear is my own heartbeat. Tears slip down my cheeks before I even register them.
James quietly hands me a folded handkerchief.
“Thank you, my dear,” he says softly.
“For what?” My voice cracks.
“For bringing my son back to me.”
It’s the kind of sentence that fractures something open — something I’d been trying very hard to keep closed.
And just like that… I fall.