Chapter 33
Thirty Three
Henry
That evening, we stayed late at the office, preparing for Matilda’s interview.
Watching her work, focused and confident, made it hard to remember she was once the nervous assistant I’d hired all those years ago.
She knew exactly what she was doing. We talked through the Wright Project — her idea, her execution — and I told her to use it as the centrepiece of her presentation.
It was her best work, a perfect example of the potential she’d honed over the last few years.
There was no doubt in my mind — she was going to ace this interview.
Afterwards, we went back to mine. We showered together, laughed too much, and fell asleep with her curled against me, her breath soft against my chest. I didn’t think I’d ever sleep so easily with someone beside me, but with her, it felt… right.
The next morning, I was useless. I had nervous energy running through me like I was the one being interviewed. Every tick of the clock made me twitch. By 9:55 I was a wreck, tapping my pen against the folder on my desk, counting the seconds until she came out.
She was in there for over an hour. I was halfway through rewriting an entire proposal just to distract myself when the office door opened — and she was there, smiling. My chest flooded with relief.
She burst into my office, animated and glowing, talking so fast I could barely keep up. She told me everything — the questions, the laughter, the compliments. I couldn’t stop smiling. It was a home run. She was getting this job.
Then, like an aftershock, it hit me. If she got the promotion — when she got it — she wouldn’t be my assistant anymore. I’d be proud, of course, but the thought of losing her constant presence tugged at something in my chest.
The rest of the week passed in a blur of us. Stolen glances across desks. Shared smiles over coffee. Hidden touches behind closed doors. Evenings spent wrapped up in each other — talking, laughing, exploring every part of what we’d become.
We cooked together. Watched films. Talked about everything — books, music, childhood stories, the kind of things you only share when you stop pretending. For the first time in years, I felt genuinely happy.
And every time she walked into a room, I couldn’t stop the stupid grin from spreading across my face. I was amazed no one at work had figured it out yet. Maybe I needed to start questioning my staff’s intelligence.
Saturday came around, and I headed to my dad’s for our weekly visit. I hadn’t told him anything about Matilda since the awards ceremony, and the thought of bringing her up made my stomach twist. We hadn’t exactly defined what we were, but I knew one thing — I wasn’t interested in anyone else.
She occupied every corner of my mind. First thought in the morning, last before sleep. She’d become the quiet pulse under everything I did.
“Hi, Dad, it’s just me,” I called out as I stepped inside.
“Henry, we’re in the living room,” came his reply.
I froze mid-step. We? My gut tightened. Please don’t let it be another GP visit.
But when I walked in, it wasn’t a doctor.
“Ben?”
My tone came out sharper than I intended. My brother looked up from the armchair, smirking.
“Hello to you too,” he said, as smug as ever.
“What are you doing here?”
“Seeing Dad, obviously.” He laughed, looking between us, waiting for Dad to join in. The silence stretched. Dad gave me that pleading look — please, Henry, behave.
I swallowed the instinct to bite back. “Yeah, of course. Sorry, just wasn’t expecting you. How’ve you been?”
“Good. Picked up a few new clients.” He leaned back like the king of his own universe. “Was just telling Dad I’m looking for new agents.”
“That’s great,” I said, meaning it — mostly because Dad’s face lit up.
Ben’s been running his security company for a few years now. I helped him get it off the ground, loaned him money, tried to build a bridge that never really took. He paid me back eventually, but whatever existed between us stayed… strained. We’d never figured out how to stop being rivals.
“Thanks,” he said, and the room went quiet.
Dad nudged him. Subtle. But I saw it.
“Oh yeah,” Ben said finally, “congrats on the awards. Dad said it was a big deal.”
“Thanks,” I said flatly. “It was a good night.”
Silence again. I’m usually fine with silence — hell, I’m an expert at it — but this was suffocating.
I stood abruptly. “Tea, anyone?”
In the kitchen, I busied myself with mugs and the kettle, trying to shake the tension.
Dad’s voice followed me in. “Oat milk, remember.”
I laughed. “Yes, Dad. Oat milk, not dairy. Got it.”
Ben made a face. “Oat milk? What the hell are you drinking oat milk for?”
“Because Henry’s beautiful lady gave me a list of diet changes to help with my MS,” Dad said, grinning.
I nearly dropped the spoon. “Wait— what? You said that came from your MS nurse!”
Dad just smirked. “She thought you might get defensive if you knew she’d done the research herself.”
Of course she did. That woman and her bloody selflessness.
Ben sipped his tea. “And cutting out dairy’s on the list? That’s a no from me.”
“Lucky you don’t have MS then,” I muttered, deadpan. He didn’t respond, just shifted in his chair.
“So,” Ben said eventually, “who’s this beautiful lady? Henry doesn’t do girlfriends.”
I froze mid-sip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, everyone knows it,” he said, grinning. “You never stick with one woman for long. You get bored, you move on. It’s practically your brand.”
My jaw clenched. Dad’s expression hardened.
“Ben,” he warned, but my brother kept going.
“Don’t get annoyed with me for saying what everyone already knows. This one won’t be any different.”
“Don’t talk about her like that.” My voice came out sharp — darker than I intended.
Ben blinked, surprised. “Wow. Careful, Henry. You almost sound like you actually care.”
“God, you can be a dick sometimes.” I locked eyes with him, anger coiling hot in my chest.
“Yeah, well,” he said, standing, “I learnt from the best.”
Dad sighed as Ben grabbed his coat. “It was good to see you, son,” he said gently.
“You too, Dad.”
The door shut a moment later, and I exhaled hard.
“Sorry,” I said. “I tried.”
“I know you did,” Dad replied, rubbing his temples. “I just wish you two could find some peace before I’m gone.”
I gave a weak laugh. “Let’s not order the coffin just yet, yeah?”
That got a smile. “Anyway,” he said, leaning forward, “you’ve been avoiding my questions. What happened with you and Matilda after the awards? I’m not stupid, Henry — just patient. And my patience is running thin.”
I groaned, rubbing the back of my neck. He wasn’t wrong. I’d been avoiding it because I didn’t want to jinx it. What if we burned out fast, or she changed her mind? I couldn’t bear to disappoint him.
The truth was, she’d consumed me — every thought, every breath. I’d never wanted someone like this before.
“Well,” I started, “we went for a walk. Ended up at King’s Cross. Talked for a while. Got a cab home.”
Dad frowned. “Why do I feel like that’s about ten percent of the story?”
I sighed, sinking back into the chair. “Because it’s… complicated. I don’t even know how to explain it.”
“Try,” he said softly. “Tell me how you feel about her. Be honest.”
I stared down at my hands, exhaling slowly. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone. That night after the awards, when we kissed… I knew I was in trouble.”
Dad’s grin spread wide. “You kissed?!”
“Yes, Dad, we kissed,” I said, rolling my eyes — though I couldn’t stop my own smile. “It wasn’t the first time, but it felt… different. Like something shifted. And yeah, it scared me. But instead of running from it, I wanted to hold on tighter. Which, I know, sounds ridiculous.”
“Not ridiculous,” he said warmly. “It sounds like you’ve met someone real. When I met your mother, it was the same. Everything just… aligned. You can’t control it, and you can’t ignore it. But I get the sense you’re trying to fight it.”
“I’m not,” I said quickly, then softened. “At least, I don’t think I am. It’s just… early days. And I’ve got four years of being an arsehole to make up for.”
Dad chuckled, sipping his tea. “Well then, son — you’d better get started.”