21. “Stranded” - Plumb
“Stranded” - Plumb
It takes me less than thirty minutes to regret my decision to meet Henry in his room, but he will never let me back out now, not after I’ve agreed.
I need an escape plan. I’ll go and have one drink with him, claim a headache, and return to my own suite. He can’t force me to stay longer than I want, and if he actually thinks I have a headache, he’ll let me go. The trick is to be convincing enough.
After dismissing Daphne for the night, I circle my closet, debating what to wear. It’s best to be on full defense. Henry is not to be trusted, no matter how guileless he appeared earlier. I finally decide on a black cashmere sweater and jeans. Comfortable, unassuming, and best of all, modest.
I’m pulling my hair into a loose ponytail when soft music floats through the wall from his room. My blood hurtles through my veins at top speed, and I curse my past self who stood in the park and agreed to this. Stupid girl.
If I delay any longer, he’ll come looking for me, so I summon up the courage to knock on the door connecting our suites. He doesn’t answer, although I can still hear the music. Maybe he didn’t hear me.
I knock again, louder this time, but there’s still no answer. We didn’t agree on a time, so maybe he expects me to let myself in when I’m ready?
I turn the knob and step inside, able at last to satisfy my curiosity about the prince’s lair. Candles flicker on all available surfaces, making shadows dance on the dark walls. I briefly consider running, but—let’s be honest—wild horses can’t drag me away before I see more. I’ll leave soon enough.
Henry’s sitting room looks much like mine, except it’s decorated in shades of navy and taupe. There’s also a baby grand hogging an entire side of the room. A small grouping of candles sits on top, their flickering reflected in the glossy black lid.
The most incredible melody surges from the instrument’s depths.
It’s dramatic, sad, hypnotic, and I quickly realize Henry is responsible for it.
I stand mesmerized, watching him play, a hot ball of emotion welling up inside me as his fingers draw out the haunting music.
Despite the years of lessons I’ve taken in both piano and violin, I’ve never produced anything this beautiful.
He is unaware of my presence, of that I’m certain. He’s playing with complete abandon, eyes closed, his body leaning into the music like they are one. I know he feels it in the depths of his soul, the same way I do in mine.
Watching him is magical.
After several more minutes of playing, he pauses, and in doing so, notices me standing there. The serenity drops from his face as if I’ve embarrassed him.
“That was beautiful,” I whisper, letting my fingers graze the lid of the piano. “I didn’t realize you still played.” I’m having trouble reconciling the image of Henry, playboy prince, with Henry, heartfelt musician.
He rises from the bench. “It’s my escape.”
“Don’t stop on my account.”
He walks around the piano, wearing a thin white T-shirt and soft light-wash jeans.
He looks nothing like the Henry that decorates the front of the tabloids and every bit the boy he was at seventeen.
Unease crawls down my spine. I can handle playboy Henry, but the one standing in front of me scares me senseless.
He studies me. As he slides them across my body, his eyes on me feel just like his fingertips did. He might as well be trailing his hands down the length of me.
His extensive perusal ends at my feet, which are bare—a choice I regret as his gaze lingers on them. I curl my toes, and a tiny smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“What? What’s wrong?” I double-check the fly of my jeans with panicked fingers.
“Nothing.” The small smile blossoms into a full one. “You look perfect.” He moves to the bar near the window. “Can I get you wine?”
“Yes, thank you.” Look at us, being civil like normal people.
Henry uncorks a bottle of red. “To be honest, I didn’t think you’d come tonight. I was expecting a text saying you weren’t feeling well.”
Accepting the glass from him, I say, “I almost did.” Now my cover is blown. I’ll have to think of a different reason to leave early.
Chuckling, he motions for me to precede him to the sofa. “You’re as predictable as the sunrise.”
Despite my apprehension, I’m also strangely excited. I take a seat, clutching my goblet like it’s a life preserver.
“When was the last time you had fun?” He settles at the opposite end of the couch, leaving an appropriate amount of space between us. A buffet of snacks is spread across the coffee table, and the tub of cookie dough does not escape my notice. Henry reaches for a bowl of peanuts.
I take a sip of wine before answering. “When I slapped you. That was exhilarating.”
His laugh is glorious, rich and full of depth. “That’s not quite what I meant.” He tosses a handful of nuts into his mouth.
“Too bad. It’s such a stress reliever.” Am I flirting with him? The alcohol must be going to my head. Time to slow down. I set my glass down and grab a scoop of cookie dough.
“I have a better idea.” He walks to a closet on the far side of the room. When he returns, he’s carrying a dilapidated Monopoly box. “You up for a little trading?”
I choke out a laugh. “You mean am I up for kicking your ass?”
“Hey, I won a few times.”
“Yeah, because I felt sorry for you.”
Frowning, Henry places the game on the table. “Well, a lot of things have changed since then.”
Isn’t that the truth. “I guess we’ll just have to see if your hustling skills are one of them.”
He refills our drinks while I set up the board. “No cheating.”
Pressing a hand to my chest, I give him a horrified look. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
An abrupt laugh slips out of him. “You forget I know you.”
Ignoring the pang that vibrates through my chest, I toss a little plastic hotel at his head as he sits down. “Things have changed, remember?”
He holds up the Scottie game piece questioningly, and I greedily swipe it from his hand. “Not that, apparently,” he says with a grin.
As we begin playing, we slip into our natural groove, the years melting away until we’re simply Henry and Celia again, best friends and fierce rivals.
I’d forgotten how much fun it is to spend an evening around a board game.
Not relaxing, at least not if I want to beat Henry, but definitely fun.
For a few hours, I don’t have to think about the responsibilities and future awaiting me.
“I can’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve played,” I say, adding another house to Boardwalk.
“I should’ve picked Candy Land. At least then I’d have a shot at winning.” Frowning at my growing empire, Henry stands up. “I think it’s time for something stronger than wine.”
Now is my chance to leave, to find some excuse for why I can’t stay any longer. I need to go, before things become even more dangerous. The problem is, I have the strongest urge to stay.
“I really should be heading to bed,” I say before I can talk myself out of it.
“We haven’t even finished the game yet.”
“It’s Monopoly. Does anyone ever finish?”
“Come on, you’re so close to obliterating me. The least you can do is finish the job.” He hands me a glass of whiskey.
“Fine.” I take a sip. The alcohol burns a hot trail down my throat and joins the butterflies in my stomach, now fluttering in a pool of warm gold. My backbone melted into that same pool a while ago.
We play until Henry declares bankruptcy. “Every time,” he says, tossing the last of his mortgaged property cards into the box. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“I’ll never tell.” The alcohol is making me bold. I need to leave, but my body isn’t listening.
He reclines on the couch, his face shadowed and hard to read in the dim lighting, but he looks relaxed.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” My words surprise me even more than they do him. I face him and tuck my feet under me.
He gives an uneasy chuckle. “What do you want to know?”
“Your deepest, darkest secret.” I take a sip of liquid courage. “What’s the biggest skeleton in your closet, Prince Henry?”
He stares at me for a moment, then into his glass. “Some skeletons aren’t meant to see the light of day.” The amusement has bled from his voice.
I stretch out my leg and nudge him with my bare toes. “Come on. We’re friends tonight, aren’t we?”
He wraps his fingers around my ankle. I forget to breathe as he strokes it with his thumb, sending tremors into my core. Finally, he releases me, leans forward, and clasps his hands in front of him.
“Henry? What’s wrong?” I set my drink down and scoot across the sofa until I reach him. Touching him feels like the most natural thing in the world, and I rub my hand across his back, relishing the feel of the thick muscles under his T-shirt.
He looks at me then, and I hardly recognize the mournful look that has crept into his eyes. He shakes his head, then kneads the furrows in his forehead. “The past can be a dark, ugly thing, C.”
My eyebrows pull together in sync with my stomach. “Now you’re scaring me.” I tuck my hand back into my lap. It still tingles from touching him.
His eyes are dark and stormy, a vortex pulling me in. I feel myself drowning. The hurricane begins to rage inside me, and my heart fractures more the longer I look at him.
Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me.
He rips his gaze from mine and rubs his palms together. “I think you should go, Celia.”
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“I can’t tell you, okay?” he snaps. It’s as harsh as a slap, and I flinch.
“Can’t, or don’t want to?” I should take his advice and leave. I should stand up and walk out the door. But something about this unseen side of Henry draws me in like a slot machine after a small win.
“You don’t know what you’re asking. You’d never look at me the same way again.”
“You can’t know that.”
“C, if I told you what he did—” He breaks off.
“Who? What who did?” I pause. Think. Guess. “Your father?”
He doesn’t respond, but his steely eyes flash. I have my answer.