Chapter 40
Forty
Henry
Evening settles around the cabin, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the heaviness in my chest.
It’s been one of the best weekends of my life — maybe the best — but the thought of leaving tomorrow gnaws at me. Being here with Matilda, away from everything else, has shown me what my life could be. Peaceful. Simple. Whole.
I could have this every day, if things weren’t so damn complicated.
I’m not naive. The fact that Matilda is my assistant isn’t something HR — or anyone else — will take lightly.
Even though I sign their paycheques, I’m not above scrutiny.
And with her now up for a promotion, it’s a bloody nightmare waiting to happen.
If she gets the role, everyone will assume I handed it to her — that she didn’t earn it.
Which couldn’t be further from the truth.
She’s perfect for the job. I wish she’d just let me give it to her, but I know she won’t. She needs to prove it to herself — to know she’s enough.
And the awful part? I didn’t help those insecurities. I see that now. I held her back, dismissed her ideas, made her feel small without even realising it. Too wrapped up in my own selfish chaos to see what was right in front of me.
She’s always gone above and beyond, and I never truly acknowledged it. Now, I want to make it right. I want to show her how much she means to me — because, Christ, she means everything.
She got this old, closed-off heart of mine beating again, after I’d buried it years ago and thrown away the key.
“Hey,” Matilda’s voice breaks through my thoughts. She’s standing behind me, peeking over my shoulder as I plate up the food. “What’s all this?”
“I thought we could eat outside by the firepit,” I say, arranging the last few things on the wooden board. “Just some things to pick at. That okay?”
Her face lights up. “That sounds great.” She leans in to inspect the platter and lets out a laugh. “Some things to pick at? Henry, this looks incredible.”
I glance down at the spread — dips, olives, cured meats, fresh bread, about five types of cheese — and wince. Okay, maybe I got carried away.
“Too much?”
“Are you kidding? It’s perfect,” she says, eyes sparkling. “Thank you. Can I help with anything?”
“You could pick the wine,” I tell her. “Wasn’t sure if you were feeling red or white tonight.”
“Oh, red — definitely red. You have to with cheese.” She grins, then adds, “My diet’s completely out the window this weekend.”
That word — diet — sends a flicker of irritation up my spine. Before she can move, I catch her wrist gently and turn her to face me.
“Listen,” I say, voice low. “If you want to lose weight because it makes you feel good, then fine. But if you ever think you need to change because you’re not already perfect…” I shake my head. “You’re wrong, Matilda Green. Your body is fucking perfect.”
Her breath catches, and her cheeks flush pink. The air between us thickens, charged. I trace my thumb over her bottom lip, aching to taste her again.
She blinks up at me, words hovering unspoken, and then swallows them back.
“Go on,” I say softly. “Pick the wine. I’ll get the fire started.”
She nods, eyes lingering on mine a second longer before turning away. There’s something in her hesitation — something she wants to say but can’t — and I hate myself for not asking what it is. Instead, I take the coward’s way out and head for the deck.
The sun’s dipping below the trees now, washing the sky in orange and pink. The scent of pine and smoke fills the air, and for a moment, I just breathe it in. It’s so far removed from the chaos of London — no deadlines, no meetings, no noise. Just us.
When Matilda joins me, wrapped in a blanket, holding two glasses of wine, she looks utterly content. We sit by the firepit, eating and talking about nothing. She’s sitting sideways in her chair, dunking a chip into hummus with a scandalous ratio that makes me laugh.
It’s stupid how happy this makes me — watching her be so effortlessly herself.
“I don’t want to leave,” I admit before I can stop myself.
She exhales a soft laugh. “Me either. It’s been pretty amazing, hasn’t it?”
When she turns to look at me, her eyes catch the firelight — big, brown, full of warmth — and my chest aches. How the hell did I not see it before? How did I not realise, from the very first day she walked into my office, that I was in love with her?
“Matilda, I—” I start, then falter. My pulse stutters.
I stare down at my glass, trying to summon the words, but they tangle in my throat. “I don’t know what you want to happen when we get back,” I manage, “but I don’t think I can go back to how things were. Us… hiding.”
Her brow furrows slightly. “What are you saying?”
I take a breath — and for once, I stop running from the truth.
“I’m saying I want you, Matilda. All of you. In every way I can have you. I don’t want to go back to just being your boss, or some guy who stays over sometimes. I want more.”
I turn fully to face her. The firelight paints her skin in gold, and I swear I could drown in the sight of her. I pull her chair closer until our knees touch, and she gasps softly — the sound curling through my chest.
“I’m fucking crazy about you,” I say, the words rushing out now.
“And I can’t pretend anymore that I’m not.
Not to you. Not to anyone. I know it’s messy, and it could blow up in both our faces, and I know it’s selfish — but I need you to know I’m falling for you, Matilda. And I can’t hide it anymore.”
For a moment, silence. Her eyes widen, and my stomach twists, convinced I’ve just ruined everything.
But then she says, voice trembling and sure all at once, “I feel the same. I’m falling for you too. And I don’t want to hide this. I want you, Henry Chase — all of you.”
My breath leaves me in one heavy rush, and I swear my chest might burst.
“You do?” I ask, half laughing, half disbelieving.
“Of course, you idiot.”
And then she’s in my arms — warm, alive, everything I never knew I needed — and for the first time in my life, every broken piece of me finally fits back together.