Chapter 21
Indulge in unparalleled comfort at The Darlington, thanks to our exceptional room service. Every room is meticulously cleaned and maintained to the highest standard, ensuring a pristine and welcoming retreat. Our dedicated team is on hand to meet your every need.
Excerpt from The Darlington Hotel website
Kate
I’d underestimated my job at the hotel. I had figured tidying a couple of rooms couldn’t be too hard, but I’d been wrong.
Every muscle in my body ached. I definitely wasn’t used to so much movement.
I had walked around the city, of course, but most of my time had been spent sitting in St. James’s Park, watching over my belongings and waiting for an opportunity to steal from unsuspecting tourists.
Today, however, I’d put in a hard day’s honest work.
It felt extremely satisfying and was definitely worth the exhaustion, especially when the reward was this incredible room.
I peeled off the hotel uniform and was placing it neatly over a chair so it wouldn’t get creased when I spotted the black envelope I had left on the table.
On Saturday night, I had been lying unsuspectingly in bed when my doorbell rang.
People didn’t knock at The Darlington; every room had its own bell.
A hotel employee had been standing at the door and handed me an envelope with a golden wax seal embossed with The Darlington logo.
I hadn’t had a clue what to expect as I opened it.
The very last thing I was anticipating was a letter from Henry.
I hadn’t seen him since he’d taken me to my room, and I assumed that, given his many responsibilities and duties, he’d long since forgotten me.
After opening his letter, I had read it at least half a dozen times with a racing heart and a broad grin. Even now, I smiled as I reached for the envelope again to pull out the letter.
Dear Kate,
I hope you’ve made yourself at home at The Darlington. I’m sorry I’ve not had time to check on you, but there’s an overwhelming amount to do at the moment. If you have questions or need help, though, you know where to find me.
—Henry
I would have liked to go and find Henry. I wanted to see him. A shocking realisation, given that I’d spent months working on not being dependent on anyone, financially or emotionally. Especially not emotionally. Which is why I forced myself to put the letter back in the envelope.
I ran a bath to distract myself, waiting until the tub was full before I slid into the water with a sigh of pleasure. I loved taking baths, but I never had that luxury because my mom and I never owned a bathtub. I meant to seize every opportunity while I still had the chance.
As I closed my eyes and leaned my head back to enjoy the blissful warmth, my thoughts turned again to Henry.
I wondered how and what he was doing and if he knew that people were talking about us.
Most were just curious, and others were sceptical, but a few seemed genuinely enraged over our alleged relationship.
They shot me dirty looks and gossiped nastily behind my back, as if I couldn’t hear.
But I didn’t care. Words couldn’t hurt me anymore, not after everything I’d experienced.
I stayed in the bathtub until the water turned cold and the bubbles disappeared, and then I wrapped myself in a towel and slipped into the fluffy pair of slippers I’d found in the wardrobe.
The steam that had fogged up the mirror was gone, and I could see my reflection clearly—my cheeks were rosy red, and the damp ends of my hair curled into ringlets.
In recent months, several days had sometimes gone by without me seeing my own reflection, and the sight now was strange.
It was like looking at someone who resembled me, but had a terrible haircut.
Perhaps there was a pair of scissors here somewhere so I could at least give my hair a trim.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. I frowned, surprised.
I wasn’t expecting anyone. Perhaps it was another letter from Henry.
I went to the door, leaving a trail of bathwater in my wake.
But it wasn’t another letter. It was Henry himself, standing in the corridor with his hand raised as if he had been about to ring the doorbell again.
“Hello, Sunshine.”
“Hi. And . . . no,” I replied, trying to hide how happy I was to see him. He was wearing jeans and a dark hoodie and was holding two pizza boxes.
“What’s your objection to Sunshine? Snowflake and Sunshine sound good together.”
“Sounds cheesy.”
“Fine. Can I come in, anyway?” he asked. At the same moment, he seemed to notice that I was only wrapped in a towel. I was partially concealed behind the door, but it must have been obvious. His gaze moved from the wet ends of my hair to my neck and then further down to my chest.
An electric tingle coursed through me, and I pressed my lips together hard.
I couldn’t help but think about Ethan’s obscene words—Henry had finally found a woman he could fuck.
But that wouldn’t happen. We didn’t make sense together.
The women Henry usually dated were probably as rich, smart, and elegant as he was.
They had flawless CVs and even more flawless behaviour.
I couldn’t compete. I knew it. And Henry knew it too.
He cleared his throat. “Am I interrupting?”
“No, not at all,” I answered, my throat dry, even though it wasn’t strictly true. I’d planned to put on my fluffy hotel bathrobe, get into bed, and watch the next episode of my favourite TV show. But that was before I’d known there was a chance I’d get to spend time with Henry.
“Shall I wait out here, or . . . ?” He trailed off.
I pulled the door open with one hand and held on to my towel for dear life with the other. “No, come in. I’ll get dressed in the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
I grabbed my clothes from the chair in the corner of the room and hurried into the bathroom. I swiftly dressed and attempted to tame my damp hair before returning to the bedroom.
Henry had settled on the floor beside my bed with the pizza boxes and two bottles of cola from the minibar.
His feet bounced restlessly, as if he couldn’t sit still, and he had taken off his shoes.
His left sock had a hole, which inexplicably made me smile.
Sitting there in his jeans, hoodie and tattered sock, he looked almost normal, not like a filthy-rich person.
Just some guy in his twenties trying to figure it out like everyone else.
The only difference was the shadows under his eyes, which were so dark, they suggested he’d already lived a whole lifetime.
“Are you OK?” I heard myself ask.
Henry’s nervous foot-jiggling stopped, and he glanced at me, startled. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, he simply stared at me, seemingly overwhelmed by my question. He hesitated for a long time before he answered. “Yes. Are you?”
“I am,” I said. And in my case, it was actually the truth. But I didn’t want to force him to talk about his problems. Perhaps he’d come to me to forget them, and I was happy to let him—he’d solved many of my own.
I sat beside him on the floor, the smell of the pizzas between us making my mouth water. The work had made me hungry, and pizza for dinner was so much better than the fruit I’d taken from the bowls in the hotel corridors.
“I got us vegan pizzas. One margarita and one with mushrooms. If you don’t like them, we can get something else,” Henry said, opening the boxes.
The sight made my stomach rumble. I grabbed a slice and took a bite, and the flavours exploded in my mouth. The crust was crispy, the tomato sauce perfectly seasoned and the vegan cheese melted deliciously on my tongue.
“So tasty,” I mumbled with my mouth full.
“I’m glad. I was thinking about taking you to The Meridian, Logan’s restaurant. But after you forced me to pay for your food at McDonald’s, I wasn’t sure if it’d be your thing,” Henry paused, then added, “Also, the arsehole can’t even get a table for his own brother.”
I laughed. “Pizza is perfect. I’m usually roaming the streets at about this time, looking through bins for something edible that isn’t mouldy.”
Henry had taken a slice too, but now he stopped short and stared at me.
Not in surprise, as he had earlier when I’d opened the door to him, but in dismay.
A wave of embarrassment washed over me. I thought I’d shaken off my shame about being homeless, since it didn’t get me anywhere, but Henry’s appalled expression brought the feelings rushing back to the surface.
I lowered my eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be a downer.”
Henry’s gaze softened. “You’re not.”
“Oh, really? You should have seen your face just now,” I said, wrestling my shame and the pain I’d felt at his response back into the box it had escaped from.
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect you to say something like that.”
“It’s fine. Forget it.”
“No, I’m interested.”
“Why? Is your luxurious life boring you?” I couldn’t hide my bitterness, but Henry didn’t seem to take offence. I didn’t want to be this way, especially not towards him—he wasn’t responsible for my situation.
He snorted. “I wish it were boring.”
“Grace told me a bit about it,” I admitted. I’d always assumed that rich people didn’t have problems, because money would have solved all of mine. But Henry was facing very different challenges.
He looked up from his pizza. “What about?”
“The thing with your dad, and what it means for the hotel. Sounds terrible.”
Henry laughed mirthlessly. “It is terrible.”
“And you’re running the hotel all by yourself?” I asked curiously.
“Yes. I have people who help, of course, and my dad has kept enough shares to make sure I can’t push him out, but since he’s taken a step back from actively running the hotel, I make most of the decisions.”
“Would you do it? Push your dad out?”
“Yes.” The resolve in Henry’s immediate response was unexpected. “If the situation weren’t so delicate, I’d definitely have done it by now. But the way things are at the moment, it would do too much damage.”
“So you believe he raped those women?”
He pressed his lips together. Something dark flashed behind his eyes—anger, frustration, disappointment—but he didn’t let it out. “I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about it. Can we change the topic?”
“Sure,” I said, even though I believed it was unhealthy to bottle it all up. I could practically see Henry grabbing hold of his feelings one by one and locking them away, until all that remained was his exhaustion.
“How was your first day of work?” he asked.
“Tiring, but nice,” I responded honestly.
I could tell that he was genuinely interested, and that the question hadn’t just been a distraction ploy.
“I was a bit unsure at first, because I don’t have any hotel experience, but Grace explained everything really well.
She’s super nice and doesn’t care that you and I know each other. Some of the others think it’s strange.”
“Have they said something to you?” he asked, and shifted slightly to find a comfier position. His leg briefly touched my knee.
“No, but people are talking about us.”
“I know.”
“Do you mind?” I asked, trying to sound indifferent despite wishing more than anything that he didn’t care what anyone said about us.
“Do you mind?” Henry echoed.
“I asked you first.”
“No, I don’t mind. People always talk about me. It can’t be helped. I’m Richard Darlington’s son, after all, and their boss. But I’d much rather they talk about us than about the other shit. If it bothers you, though, I can . . .”
“It doesn’t,” I interrupted. “I don’t care.”
Henry’s light eyes met my dark ones, his gaze piercing. “Good. But if that changes, or someone gives you shit because of it, will you tell me?”
“I promise,” I said, and the warm tingling I often felt in his presence returned. God, I liked this man more with every minute I spent with him. “Grace and I cleaned the private family floor today,” I said to distract myself from the feeling.
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, yes?”
“Yes. It was a bit strange to be in your apartment,” I admitted. “Especially your bedroom. I felt like I was snooping around.”
“And did you snoop around?” Henry asked, amused.
“Of course not! But . . . I don’t know.” I shrugged and took another slice of pizza. I’d already eaten half of mine, while Henry was still nibbling on his second slice. “Aren’t you afraid I might steal something? It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I’m not. And even if you did, I’d just buy it again. There’s nothing in my apartment that can’t be replaced.”
“Nothing? Not even sentimental things?”
Henry opened his cola with a bottle opener and took a sip before answering.
“No. All my memories are of the hotel itself. For the guests, it’s just a stopgap, but for me it’s my home.
They just see the fancy interior with its antique, handpicked furniture and its elegance.
Whereas I see . . . everything. My whole life.
I only know this hotel. Take the lobby, for example. You noticed the fireplace, right?”
I nodded.
“Perhaps you thought it looked cosy. But when I look at the fireplace, I think about Logan, and about how when I was a kid, I threw his favourite action figure into the fire because he called me Fartface. The burnt plastic stunk out the whole hotel. Every guest got a complimentary bottle of Moet & Chandon, and I was grounded for a week,” Henry told me with a smile.
“There are dozens—no, hundreds of memories that I associate with the hotel. Logan and I got up to so much shit here. You can’t imagine. ”
I grinned at the image of young Henry running amok in this sophisticated setting. “Do you have a favourite place in the hotel?”
“Many!”
“Will you show me some?”
Henry’s eyes lit up at the question, as if he’d been waiting for me to ask. “I’d love to. After dinner?”
“I don’t have any plans.”
We talked for a while about the hotel and my first day of work.
I confessed that I’d already forgotten the names of most of the people Grace had introduced me to.
Henry then took out his phone and showed me some Instagram profiles and photos of company parties, and explained who everyone was.
Grace was right: He really did know everyone’s names.
It was impressive and showed me once again how important the hotel was to him.
I could hardly wait to see it through his eyes.