26. “Kiss Me Like You Do （Movie Version）” - Ellie Goulding
“Kiss Me Like You Do (Movie Version)” - Ellie Goulding
Like a convict, I escape the clutches of Bea’s grief.
The nurse admonishes me for getting her blood pressure up.
No wonder they didn’t tell her about the baby themselves.
I’m halfway back to the waiting room before I remember that my mother is waiting, ready to pounce on me for knowing about Bea’s pregnancy and keeping it from her.
I can’t handle that. I can’t handle much of anything at the moment.
In fact, the only place I want to be is the exact place I’m not welcome.
I ache to feel Henry’s arms wrapped around me, imparting his strength and comfort.
I imagine the press of his lips against mine as he chases every thought that doesn’t contain him out of my head.
I stop abruptly in the deserted hallway, causing Davies to turn and look at me, concern in those striking blue eyes. “You okay?” he says quietly.
“I can’t go back in there.” I motion to the waiting room up ahead.
“I’ll take you home, then,” he says, placing a gentle hand on my arm and escorting me to the lift.
I don’t know what I would do without this strong giant teddy bear always looking out for me. I consider telling him so, but I get the distinct impression he’d rather I keep it to myself.
As I sit alone in the backseat of the car, emotion threatening to suck me under, I’m reminded of another car ride a few years ago.
Henry pulled me into his lap after the shooting, holding me against his chest while I shook.
Later, at his penthouse, we did other things that still cause my skin to heat when I think about them.
God, what I wouldn’t give to have those hands on me right now. The way his intense gaze sinks into me until it scorches my toes. The way he says my name like a prayer into my neck. The way he uses his mouth to make me tremble.
I lean forward in my seat. “Can we stop at the Atlantis instead?”
Davies shoots me a look in the rearview mirror. When he has satisfied himself that I haven’t completely lost my mind, he nods. “Sure.” It sounds tight, and I regret how often he’s been required to cater to my whims.
“Thank you.” I settle back into my seat. Or rather, I try to settle, but now that I’ve made the decision to go see Henry, a new kind of nerves takes over my body. What if he’s not there? What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he’s busy?
What if he has company?
I stare out the window and try not to be sick. We pull into the underground parking garage of the Atlantis minutes later—not nearly enough time to talk myself out of this or convince myself it’s the right thing to do.
Security is a lot lighter than it was the last time I was here, when I was being hunted like an animal by William.
Henry still owns the Atlantis, although he donates all the profits to a charity that helps underprivileged kids make it through school.
It’s a tiny thing to make up for the effects of insidion he helped bring into the country, but at least those in the program have much lower chances of getting addicted to drugs.
Davies has me wait in the car while he scans the garage, although who could possibly be here to hurt me is unclear, since we just decided to come a few minutes ago.
Once the coast is clear, we head for the top floor, and I’m scared my heart is going to jackhammer through the bottom of the elevator car.
I’m not ready to step into the dripping luxury of the penthouse. It now serves as extra lodging for high-ranking guests of state—as well as Henry’s crash pad when he’d rather not share my bed, apparently.
Despite the fear clawing its way up my throat, I enter. I am not ready for the soft T-shirt and worn jeans Henry’s wearing or the way his hair falls into his eyes or the way he looks up from his phone in surprise as he walks into the foyer.
He is home to me, and life, and certainty, and everything good in the world. He is the sun and the moon and every twinkling star. He is every beat of my heart, all the oxygen in the room, and every surge of blood in my veins.
I want to launch myself into his arms, soak up every ounce of him, take him into myself, and breathe again. My heart has been waiting for this—for him—and now that he’s right in front of me, I want nothing more than to bury myself in the folds of his shirt and sob until it’s drenched.
If we crowd out the rest of the world, the pressure and the expectations, the talk of babies and families, the secrets and the lies, the Elizabeth Gables and the Preston Ansleys—if it all disappears, and we’re just Henry and Celia again—everything will be okay.
We’ll be okay. We’ll be more than okay. We’ll set the world on fire and never look back.
He looks so enticing, standing there like a human popsicle, just waiting to be enjoyed. I can already taste his mouth, feel his tongue gliding along mine, that sweet spearmint flavor bursting against my taste buds like little fireworks.
“What are you doing here?” he says, shaking his head as he breaks into my fantasy.
I blink like an idiot. “I just came from the hospital.”
“My god. Are you okay?” He moves toward me, concern etched into his brow.
“I’m fine. Bea isn’t.”
“What’s wrong?”
“She had a miscarriage,” I whisper, my voice hardly strong enough to get the words out.
“Oh my god.” He pulls me against his chest, and I can’t stop the endorphins that race through my bloodstream. We fit together perfectly, like two puzzle pieces. “I didn’t even know she was pregnant.”
I inhale a deep lungful of his whiskey-in-the-forest scent. “She wasn’t very far along.”
Keeping his arms fitted around me, he tightens them ever so slightly. “Who knocked her up?” He sounds as if he’d like to rip them a new one.
I use my shrug as a subtle way to get closer to him. “She wouldn’t tell me.”
His hands stroke my back. I can’t tell if it’s intentional or if he’s doing it without realizing it. “How is she?”
“She was pretty wrecked about it, but the doctor said she’ll be fine physically.”
“That’s a shitty thing to go through.”
We stand there quietly, wrapped in each other and our own thoughts. Finally, I break the silence. “It was my fault.”
Several beats pass, then Henry pulls back to look down at me. “What do you mean?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that will erase my blame in the whole situation. “I pressured her to give up the baby. I didn’t want—”
“—another scandal.” Stiffening, he drops his hands, leaving me cold and empty.
“She’s not ready to be a mother.” I reach for him, but he steps backward.
“Sounds familiar.”
“Henry, please. I’m sorry for the way I’ve screwed everything up. With Bea and with you.” I take several steps toward him, and this time he doesn’t move away, just looks down at his feet.
“You can’t blame yourself for Bea’s miscarriage. Even you don’t have that much power,” he mutters.
I place a hand on his chest. It’s warm and solid beneath my palm. Goosebumps scurry over my skin. “But I’m the reason we fell apart. And I’m sorry.” I take one more step, bringing my nose back to the softness of his T-shirt, which does a poor job of masking the strength beneath it.
He doesn’t say anything, but his inhale catches. He’s breathing harder than he was a few minutes ago.
“Will you let me make it up to you?” I raise my face to his.
He looks down at me and swallows. “What did you have in mind?” His voice is strained, and I inwardly rejoice at seeing I still have this effect on him.
I loop both arms around his neck, tugging his mouth closer to mine. “You could get me pregnant,” I whisper. I lift my mouth, eager for that first taste of him. His lips are soft and full, and I arch myself against him, knowing it will never be enough.
He pulls back and breaks off the kiss. “That isn’t funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
“Then what are you doing?” He lifts his head again, but I keep my arms around his neck.
“I want to have a baby with you.”
His face grows tired. “We’re not in any position to be having a baby.”
“We could get there.”
“C, we’re currently separated.”
His words hit me like a slap. Is that how he sees this . . . arrangement? “I thought you said you needed time.”
“I do. That’s what a separation is for.”
Everyone knows a separation is to make the final split easier. Few couples come back from one with a stronger relationship. “Maybe a baby is what we need,” I say, even though I don’t believe it.
“Fuck that, Celia.” He thrusts both hands into his hair and steps backward, breaking my hold on his neck. “Don’t say what you think I want to hear.”
“I’m trying to hold on to what we have. What is so wrong with that?” My tears threaten to spill over. Why does he have to make this so hard?
Henry shakes his head, eyes on the floor.
“Can’t we at least try?” I feel as small as my voice sounds.
His strong edges soften the way a cloud softens the light when it moves in front of the sun. “You’re on birth control, remember?”
“So I won’t take the pill tonight.”
“That’s not how it works.”
I know that, or at least I did up until the minute I decided throwing myself at my husband’s feet and begging him to have sex with me would be a good idea. “Right.” I take a deep breath. In for an inch, in for a mile. “Then can we just have sex? I miss you.”
Meeting my eyes, he shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”
A giant crack splinters my heart in two. “Why not?” I fight to keep control of my voice.
“Because it’s a bad idea.” He doesn’t look like he believes it for a single bloody minute.
“How could it be? We’re married,” I remind him.
“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
I gape at him. “And what idea would that be? That you still love me? That you still want me? That you’re coming home?”
He doesn’t say anything, and I have my answer.
My god, I’ve been such a fool. He’s never been mine. That was only an act he played until he got bored with it.