Chapter 28
The conference was a shitshow, but holy fuck. How hot is Henry? What about a topless calendar for a good cause?
I’d buy it. Anyone else?
Kate
Henry held me as I broke down and shed all the tears I’d held back since this afternoon, when I’d stormed out of Mr. Fleming’s room.
Or maybe even longer than that. I’d cried only two or three times the past few months, most recently in the bathtub on my first night at The Darlington.
But it was different today. More intense.
In the past, I’d been very careful about which feelings I allowed myself to feel, worried that the wrong ones might make me seem weak and defenceless.
But in the safety of Henry’s arms, suddenly none of that mattered anymore.
“Everything will be fine,” he whispered into my ear.
He held me so tight it felt like he’d made it his mission to squeeze the pain of the past few months out of me.
I couldn’t remember when I’d last felt as secure with another person as I did with Henry.
Perhaps that was the reason I’d poured my heart out to him.
Since we’d met, he hadn’t dismissed my feelings once.
He had validated them instead. His lips brushed my forehead consolingly as I sobbed in his arms. It was probably just a friendly gesture, but his mouth on my skin and his arms around me felt unbelievably good.
For a brief moment, I gave in to the illusion that there could be something more between us, despite our differences.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled into Henry’s chest when I was finally capable of speaking again. He steered us into my room as I cried, to keep the entire hotel from witnessing my breakdown.
“You have nothing to apologise for.” His hands were still on me, ready to pull me back into his arms at a moment’s notice.
“I cried all over you,” I remarked, pointing to the spots on his shirt where my tears had soaked into the fabric. I ran a finger over them, as if I could wipe them away. Now that I was regaining my composure, I was a little embarrassed by how I’d lost control.
“Don’t worry. It’ll dry.” He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. It was a tender, caring gesture that eased some of the shame I had felt. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” I replied. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring the mood down like that.”
“You didn’t, Peach.”
I shook my head, and he looked disappointed. I hated nicknames, but I loved that he wasn’t giving up on finding the right one for me. Encouraged, I raised my head. “Will you stay for a bit?”
“If you want me to . . .”
I nodded and reached for his hand, guiding him to the bed.
I didn’t want him to sit on the floor again.
I felt a brief resistance when I pulled him onto the mattress next to me, but it didn’t last long.
We crawled under the covers together, and I rolled onto my side to look at Henry.
The only light in the room came from the reading lamp, and it cut through the dark to trace harsh edges and soft contours onto his face.
A flutter stirred in my chest when I realised I was lying in bed with one of the most handsome men in London.
My own bloodshot eyes and swollen features were probably no pretty sight, but that didn’t stop Henry from giving me his undivided attention.
“I was watching your press conference on YouTube when you messaged,” I said, drawing the attention away from me. “I have no idea who William Hunt is, but I hate him.”
Henry grinned. “Why do you hate him?”
There was a clap of thunder.
“He’s a prick.”
“What makes you say that? Not that I disagree.”
“The way he interrupted when you were talking about Hope Harbour to ask about your dad was just disrespectful. And he didn’t let up when you said that you didn’t want to comment. It made me really mad. I wouldn’t have stayed so calm if I’d been you.”
He snorted. “I was furious, believe me.”
“You hid it well.”
“I had to, to avoid sparking another scandal.”
“You did a pretty good job.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Do you think so?” He sounded surprised, as if mine were the first positive words he’d heard about the press conference.
“Yes, you were really professional and confident and . . .” I stopped, not sure if it was a good idea to voice what I was thinking as we lay in bed together. But Henry was looking at me so expectantly that I couldn’t leave him hanging. “And sexy.”
“Sexy,” he echoed, but I didn’t buy his innocent tone. He knew exactly how good he looked, as proved by the knowing smile playing on his lips. He was fishing for compliments, and I was ready to give them to him. Especially as he didn’t seem to be getting them from anyone else.
“Yes. You looked really hot in your suit. It’s not just me saying that; people are talking about it online. I upvoted all the Henry is sexy comments so they’d rank higher than the mean ones.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” There was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “Vivian and my dad were pretty pissed after the conference, because I didn’t stick to the speech they’d prepared for me. They wanted me to sing my dad’s praises and pretend that he was the brains behind the Pearl Gala.”
I frowned. “But that’s not true.”
“Which is why I didn’t stick to the script.”
“Shouldn’t your dad be happy if you get recognition for organising the gala?
Isn’t that what parents do? Praise their kids?
” I asked carefully. My mum hadn’t been perfect.
We’d had our issues, and the last years with Randell had been particularly challenging, but she’d always stood by me and supported me as best she could.
She’d often told me how proud she was of me and had waited at the finish line at all my athletics competitions, cheering me on.
She had also tried to stop me from dropping out of school.
Deep down, she only ever wanted the best for me.
Henry shrugged. “That’s not how my dad works.”
“Has he always been like this?”
“I looked up to him when I was a kid, before I realised how cold, distant, and calculating he is. No idea if he’s always been like that. If so, I had to grow up to realise it. Now I see it all the more clearly. All that matters to him is his own success.”
I hadn’t encountered Richard Darlington yet, but no one at the hotel seemed to have anything positive to say about him. That made it hard for me to associate him with Henry. “But you’re his son.”
“First and foremost, I’m a means to an end. I’m there to save the hotel.”
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
The mattress moved under me as he shifted his weight. “It mainly bothers me that it looks from the outside like I’m supporting my dad. I’m not. Everything I’m doing is for the hotel, not for him.”
“One day, it’ll be all yours.”
Or not.
Henry didn’t say the words out loud, but I could read them in his eyes.
He seemed genuinely afraid that the hotel would go down with his dad.
He couldn’t see how brilliant he was or how much his staff appreciated him, unlike his father.
But then again, how could he see all that when Richard, Vivian, and the press constantly made him feel like he wasn’t good enough, that he was doing something wrong?
Who wouldn’t doubt themselves under those circumstances, under this amount of pressure?
“What’s that?” Henry asked suddenly.
Surprised by the sudden change of topic, it took me a moment to realise he was referring to the notepad on my bedside table. Shit. I had started making a list of other jobs I was qualified for, and it definitely wasn’t intended for Henry’s eyes.
“Nothing,” I replied evasively, trying to shove the small notebook with The Darlington logo into a drawer, but Henry got to it faster.
“Stacking shelves at supermarket. Costa or Pret A Manger till. Barista training? Cinema ticket counter.” He read out only a few of the ideas I’d written down. His expression darkened as he looked back at me. “Are you looking for a new job?”
I lowered my gaze. “Maybe.”
“Because of Mr. Fleming?” Henry asked through gritted teeth.
“He said he was going to file a complaint against me, and I wasn’t sure if you’d kick me out.
I’m new here, after all, and he’s a regular guest,” I confessed.
“But it’s not just that. I like working for The Darlington, but a second job would give me more security.
I could build something up. That way, if you get sick of me and fire me, I wouldn’t be left with nothing again. I’d have something to fall back on.”
Henry looked at me silently. I couldn’t read his expression in the darkness.
Was he disappointed? Or angry? I didn’t want to seem ungrateful—I was more grateful to him than I could ever express.
But I’d been through too much shit in my life to throw caution to the wind.
I didn’t want to risk becoming dependent again—on anyone.
“Are you angry at me?” I asked tentatively.
Henry seemed to realise that he’d been silent. He blinked and shook his head resolutely. “No, not at all. If anything, I’m impressed.”
My heart pounded. “Really?”
“Yes. I think it’s amazing how you’re taking your life into your own hands,” he answered with a faint smile that only intensified the pounding of my heart.
“I promise that your job at The Darlington is safe, no matter what happens between us. I didn’t hire you because I expect anything from you, but because I want to help you.
However, it’s healthy not to trust anyone blindly, including me.
It shows you’re looking after yourself. Which is important. ”
My throat constricted again, but this time not from sadness or rage, but relief. I hadn’t realised how desperately I needed to hear the words Henry had spoken so easily. “Do you know how glad I am that I met you?”
Henry smiled and touched my cheek, as if to catch my unshed tears. He ran his fingers over my skin tenderly, sending electricity sparking through me. “I’m also very glad to have met you.”
A comforting warmth enveloped me. The feeling of no longer being alone.
I’d had no family or friends before I’d come to The Darlington.
For months, there had been no one who mattered to me, and it had left a gaping void in my heart.
Now Henry was starting to fill that void, and he seemed to know it.
A longing look flashed up in eyes as his thumb brushed gently across my lower lip, fuelling the heat in my chest. My response was the complete opposite of the revulsion I’d experienced with Mr. Fleming earlier.
I remembered how good it had felt to be held by Henry.
I was certain it would feel even better to be kissed by him.
I felt the pounding of his heart when I placed a hand on his chest. My nipples hardened, and I knew that if his gaze were to stray from my lips for even one second, he’d see them pressed against the fabric of my shirt.
We were so close that I felt his breath on my lips, our noses only centimetres apart.
I leaned in towards him, and he leaned in towards me . . .
. . . and touched his lips to my forehead again.
“We should try to sleep. It’s late,” Henry said.
Why? I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to be kissed!
He removed his hand from my face and pulled back.
I missed his warmth even before I realised what had just happened. I looked at him in confusion, searching in the dim light for an explanation for why he wasn’t pressing me into the mattress, kissing me greedily. But I saw nothing but affection in his eyes, which irritated me even more.
“But you’ll stay?” I heard myself asking.
He nodded. “I’ll stay for as long as you want me to.”
I was relieved. I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts. If Henry were to leave now, my doubts would come flooding back. I switched off the light, snuggled into my blanket and turned away from Henry onto my other side. I didn’t want him to notice how disappointed I was that he hadn’t kissed me.
Why had he pulled away? Had I read the situation wrong? Or had Henry reminded himself in the last moment who we both were? That I was beneath him? That we’d never truly fit together?
“Kate . . .” He whispered my name in the dark. “I can practically hear you thinking. Stop worrying.”
“I’m not worrying,” I lied, my voice wavering.
“Yes, you are. And it’s not necessary.”
Isn’t it? The question was on the tip of my tongue, but before I could voice it, a strong arm wrapped around me from behind. A jolt shot through my body as Henry pulled me close, my back pressing against his firm chest. One of his legs slid between my knees. I held my breath.
“We’ve both had a long day. Try to sleep,” he murmured into the nape of my neck.
He was close again, his warm breath brushing the sensitive skin behind my ear with every word.
I shivered. When I dared to breathe again, Henry’s familiar scent filled my nose.
I couldn’t help it—with a sigh, I melted into his touch, as warm and secure as his earlier embrace had felt.
It wasn’t a kiss, but it wasn’t nothing.
It was an acknowledgement that there was something between us, something we both felt. It calmed me.
I snuggled closer to Henry. “Sleep well, Snowflake.”
He grunted tiredly. “Good night, Kate.”