25. Henry
HENRY
“Ihaven’t even met her,” Dean says, holding the ring up to the light.
“That’s by design,” I reply, reaching to take it back.
The diamond is clean and sharp, not flashy. A platinum band with a simple, classic setting. I’ve looked at dozens of rings, maybe hundreds, but none of them felt right. This one is the closest I’ve come to something that feels like her, but it’s not perfect.
We’ve been officially together for two months now. Long enough, right? For me, there’s no hesitation. She’s it. The one. I’ve known this the entire time but this last week, I’ve been thinking—
She keeps saying she’s working on Cosmo.
I want to believe her but I don’t think she is.
I think she’s buying time. Maybe she’s afraid of what will happen if she really puts it all on the table.
So I’m going to make it easier. I’m going to show her I’m in.
Not fifty percent. Not even ninety-nine. All the way.
People will talk when they find out. There’ll be noise, all the usual bullshit. But it won’t be a scandal if we own it. Not if we make it official.
“I’ll have to meet her at some point,” Dean says, sliding his hands into his pockets. He looks tired. What’s late afternoon for normal people is practically sunrise for him. “Preferably before the wedding.”
“We’ll see if she says yes first.”
“I get it. You’re a tough sell.”
I roll my eyes, and move over to the next case. I’m not going to find her ring here. I need something bespoke. Something special.
“You know, I always thought you’d be the last to settle down,” Dean says.
So did I. I remember when Will met Abigail and proposed within a few months. I thought he was out of his mind but now I get it. When it’s the right person, why wait?
“Mom know?” Dean asks, his tone shifting just slightly.
I pause. “Yeah,” I say. “Not about the proposal. But she knows about us.”
I still haven’t mentioned that fact to Natalie. It seems cleaner to wait until she’s ready to announce it.
“She approve?”
“How should I know?” I scan the display case again like the right ring might suddenly appear after the sixth pass.
Mom hasn’t said much since I told her. Cold silence, the occasional barbed comment about priorities.
She probably thinks I’m feeding Natalie company intel over dinner.
She can think what she wants. It won’t change anything.
We drift further down the counter, the jeweler trailing a polite step behind. More rings under the glass. All shiny. All wrong. I give up.
Nothing here feels like her. I don’t want big or flashy. I want her to look at it and know I see her. That I know her. It has to be perfect. We thank the assistant for his time and step outside. Dean falls into step beside me, still digging for intel.
“So what’s the timeline?” he asks. “She says yes. Are you waiting until after the twins?”
I come to a full stop. “Twins?”
He gives me a look like I’ve missed the headline of the year. “Abigail’s pregnant.”
I scrub a hand down my face. Will tried to call a few nights ago. I didn’t answer because I was with Natalie. He didn’t leave a voicemail so I figured it could wait. Apparently not.
“How is that even possible? Harvey just turned one.”
Dean glances sideways at me. “You’re familiar with how pregnancy works, yeah?”
“I’m just saying, it’s fast. Three kids in three years? That’s a lot.”
He smirks.
“Better start child-proofing your wine fridge, man. You’re next.”
I shake my head and leave the words unspoken. The truth is, I don’t mind that idea. I used to hate the idea of kids. The mess, the responsibility, the noise. That future doesn’t scare me anymore. Not with Natalie. Now, I just have to help her see it too and finally get her to tell Cosmo about us.
It’s a Tuesday afternoon. I’m halfway through a strategy meeting, barely listening as someone from finance drones on about quarterly forecasts, complete with charts that make my eyes glaze over. Linda calls me.
“Someone from the CFID committee,” she says. “He says it’s time-sensitive.”
The Committee for Fashion, Innovation & Design. I’ve never been to one of their events. Carter’s not exactly known for pushing creative boundaries. We usually send a junior rep to shake hands and snap a few photos. That’s as involved as we get.
I step out and take the call. A man introduces himself as Clive Parker. The name’s vaguely familiar. He’s probably sat across from me at a charity dinner once or twice. He doesn’t waste time.
“Our host for Friday dropped out,” he says. “We need someone with stage presence who won’t panic with a mic in their hand. Your name came up.”
Flattering, I guess.
“Carter’s not nominated for anything, are we?” I ask. The host accepting an award is never a good look.
“Not this year,” he says. Not any year, if we’re being honest but he’s too professional to say it out loud. “There’s one more thing,” Clive says, and his tone shifts slightly. “Vue’s nominated for Brand Influence. Between us? They’re going to win. I know there’s a rivalry…”
He keeps talking, some disclaimer about confidentiality, but my brain’s already racing.
I picture Natalie there. Front row, poised and flawless.
She’ll act unfazed when her name’s called.
Smile, accept the applause with that cool grace of hers.
But I know better. I’ve seen what it took.
The hours, the strategy, the way she rebuilt that brand from the inside out.
She deserves every second of recognition. And if I get to be the one to give it to her? To hand her that moment in front of the entire industry? Even better.
“I’ll do it,” I say.
When we hang up, I don’t go back to the meeting. I stay where I am, the phone still in my hand, the city humming quietly beneath the glass. She’s going to win. I could call her, give her a hint to soften the shock but I don’t.
She’s worked so hard for this, doubted herself every step of the way. I want her to have that moment in real time.