21. “right where you left me” - Taylor Swift
“right where you left me” - Taylor Swift
The next week passes in a blur, aided by the three glasses of wine I allow myself to have every evening. I don’t see Henry even once. He must have sent his valet to grab some clothes while I was gone. Either that or he went out and bought new ones.
He doesn’t answer his phone when I call, and his only response to my dozens of text messages is I need some time.
I don’t know what that means. How much time and for what? Is he filing for divorce? Sorting everything with Elizabeth first? Planning to leave Wesbourne? I discreetly question several staff members, but no one knows any more than I do.
Preston and I put together a statement in case any rumors start circulating. We’ll say that Henry was called away on business but that he will be returning to the palace soon. So far, we haven’t needed to issue it.
Preston has been keeping an eye on the tabloids for pictures of Henry and Elizabeth together, shopping at the farmer’s market or collecting Axel from school, but there is nothing as of yet. They are wisely keeping a low profile.
We don’t mention the kiss. Things between us don’t seem to have changed, and for that I am grateful. I cannot afford to lose Preston and his brilliant handling of the press, especially over something as ridiculous as a kiss that was mediocre at best.
After a long day of appearances, I’m turning off the lights in the suite before bed—I’m finally able to sleep in it alone—when there’s a knock on the door.
Switching on the lamp in the living room, I go to open it.
I assume it’s a staff member and am completely unprepared for the sight of Henry standing on the other side.
My legs weaken, and I sink against the jamb as I drink in the sight of him. He’s in a T-shirt and jeans, which both look incredibly soft. A dark shadow covers his jaw, and his eyes are pinched in sadness.
I want nothing more than to fall into his arms. He must share the same thought, because he pushes into the room, presses me up against the wall, and takes my mouth with his.
His hands bury themselves in the roots of my hair.
I moan as he angles his head, his tongue invading my mouth and eradicating all thoughts from my mind. His hands find their way along—
“C?” Henry’s voice breaks through my daydream.
I blink, but he’s still standing right outside the suite.
“Can I come in?” he says.
I move back, holding the door open for him, as if this isn’t his home too, as if we’re strangers meeting for the first time. He steps inside and watches me.
I don’t know how to bridge this chasm between us. It feels too vast. Looking at him now, I’m not even sure he wants to bridge anything.
“I wanted to tell you myself,” he says. He looks down at the manila envelope I just now notice in his hands.
Oh god, oh god, oh god. Are those divorce papers already?
“I got the DNA test results back.”
He extends his hand, holding out the packet. I stare at it, then lift my gaze to him. Why can’t he just tell me what it says? I try to read the answer in his eyes, but he is intentionally keeping them masked from me.
I take the envelope and pull out the sheet within. A bunch of scientific jargon and numbers fill the page, but none of that matters, because across the top in big, bold letters are the words Probability of paternity: 97%.
Something that feels remarkably like a real knife burrows its way into my heart. I try to inhale, but the cold steel keeps me from catching a full breath.
I hand the report back to him, keeping my eyes averted from his. He must be ecstatic and hiding it from me. He’s a better actor than I am, I’ll give him that.
“Ninety-seven percent?” I say after he takes the envelope back.
“They never issue 100 percent. The 97 is because boys only inherit 47.5 percent of their father’s DNA.”
I nod as though I understand, as though hearing him spew this scientific mumbo-jumbo isn’t weird, as though he hasn’t been learning all this stuff while I’ve been here alone, trying to clean up this mess and salvage what’s left of our reputation and this country.
“Congratulations.” My tone is flat.
He clears his throat. “I know you were hoping—”
“I’m happy for you.” I force the words out. They taste bitter on my tongue.
I don’t want him to have a child, not with another woman. That was something we were meant to share together, a first for both of us. We’ve missed so much already. Can’t we have this one single thing?
“I want you to know that while I’m excited to be a dad, I never wanted it like this.”
I lift my eyes to his. He’s staring at me intently, like it’s essential that I understand what he’s saying.
“Do you believe me?” he asks.
My eyebrows inch upward, and I take a quiet breath. “I think so.”
Maybe this isn’t the way he wanted it, but he isn’t balking at it the way I am. He isn’t balking at all. It’s as if it hasn’t rippled his life plan in the least.
I study the sleeve of his shirt, where a tiny rip has formed at the cuff. He’s been working out. It’s only been a week, but the muscles in his arms are more defined. Or maybe it’s just been a while since I’ve seen his bare arms up close.
“Celia.” He says it so softly, at first I think I imagined it. But when I look up, he’s gazing at me. For a second, I think he’s going to pull me into his arms, apologize for everything, and tell me he’ll never leave again.
He doesn’t. He just looks at me with those droopy eyes, his heart filling them. There’s so much pain. Why is he hurting? How is it fair for him to be hurting when he has everything he wants? I’m the one left standing alone and broken.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I lift my chin, demanding it not to tremble. I will not break in front of him. I can’t afford to. “I’m fine.”
He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and nods. “That’s good. Listen, I wanted to ask—”
I brace myself for what’s about to come.
“What do you think about Axel joining us on a few public outings?” he says.
I reach for the console table behind me. The smooth wood beneath my palm keeps my heart from jolting out of my chest and skidding across the floor. I search for the word I’m looking for, but it stays just out of reach.
“C?”
I drag my gaze from the rug. “Hmm?”
“I know it’s sudden, but I think it would be good for the people to see us as a solid family unit.”
“Is that what we are? A family unit?”
Tundra pads into the room and stands at my side.
Henry crouches down to greet him. “I’d like to think so.”
“So you still consider yourself part of this family?”
He looks up at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “Of course I do.”
“Your absence this past week has left some of us in doubt.”
“I told you I needed time.”
I gesture to the envelope still clutched in his hand. “So what? Now that you got what you wanted, you’re back? Ready to become Full House?”
“I am trying to find a way through this for all of us.”
“And what does Elizabeth think about that idea?”
“I haven’t said anything to her yet.” His voice is quiet. “I wanted to talk to you first.”
“I assumed this was practically pillow talk for the two of you.”
The mailer in his hand crinkles as his fist tightens around it. “Why do you insist on believing there is something between us?”
“Because I’ve seen the way she looks at you!”
The room grows still. The lamp casts shadows over Henry’s face. He feels like a stranger to me, but nothing can erase the line of that jaw from my memory. I will never forget the way it feels beneath my fingers, beneath my lips . . .
“That doesn’t mean I look at her the same way.”
My throat closes. “How long until you do?”
Henry looks away and rubs his nose. “I have no feelings for her whatsoever. You can choose to believe me or not, but I have done nothing to give her the idea that we will ever be together.”
Except leave your wife.
“Does she . . . know?” I gesture to the gaping space between us, space neither of us would have tolerated a few years ago. Space that was always filled by our bodies pressing together, never able to get close enough.
He shakes his head. “This is between us.”
As comforting as it is to know that he isn’t unloading our marital problems on Elizabeth’s willing bosom, it doesn’t answer the one question my heart can’t stop asking. “Are you here to stay?”
He moves to shove both hands into his pockets before remembering that he’s still holding the DNA test in one. Instead, he drops them back to his sides, where they hang limply. “I think it’s best if I don’t just yet.”
I desperately want to clutch at my chest to contain all the pieces of what must surely be my heart splintering apart. I force them to remain where they are. “How soon?” My voice breaks on the last word.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Maybe in a week? Two?” He runs his fingers through his hair. I long to feel its softness with my own hands. “I need time to process everything, to figure out what I want.”
He doesn’t need to say it. It’s there in his words, hanging on like a chimp on a trapeze.
To decide if I still want you.
I nod, because I can’t trust the words that will come out if I open my mouth.
“I wanted to tell you about this in person.” He lifts the envelope like he’s seeing it for the first time. “And to grab a few more things. Is that okay?”
I gesture to the bedroom as if to say “be my guest,” but inside I’m screaming “of course it’s not okay, how could it be okay for you to come back here to rub that in my face and grab your toothbrush while you’re here like we aren’t married and I don’t still reach for you in the middle of the night or turn to tell you something while I’m getting dressed before remembering that you’re not there you’re never there and I’m not sure you ever will be again? ”
Henry retreats to our bedroom. When he returns several minutes later carrying a small leather bag, I still haven’t moved.
“Got everything?” I say sweetly, as if he’s only going on a guys’ trip and not walking back out that door and my life.
“Yeah.” It’s nothing more than a whisper.
What about me? I want to scream. Am I no longer something you consider necessary for survival?
We both move to the door, our bodies drawn by the magnetic force field between us. They haven’t got the memo yet that this isn’t something we do anymore.
I tilt my face up to his, waiting for him to say something, anything, to give me hope that he’ll be back, that this isn’t goodbye.
Stay stay stay.
He pulls the door open. “Will you please think about the Axel thing? I think you’d love him if you got to know him.”
I want to ask how he knows this, if he’s been spending time with them, if that’s where he’s been when he hasn’t been with me.
I don’t. I don’t say any of it. I just nod. “I’ll think about it.”
He offers me a tight smile. “I’ll see you later.”
Will you?
I want to beg.
I watch him walk down the corridor, his gait so familiar it causes a pang of homesickness. He doesn’t look back.