Henry’s palm slid under my hair, his fingers gripping my neck. “I don’t think?—”
“I d-did!” I insisted, coughing through another sob. “I heard him scream, heard him run past my room. My uncle … I thought he was coming to punish me, so I stayed in m-my room.”
A wail tore from me. “I didn’t go to … to check on him, and he ran away from my uncle, and he fell in the river. He died alone, and … t-terrified in the storm. While I fell asleep feeling relieved that … that Uncle hadn’t come for m-me! I didn’t even know until the next morning when they … they pulled his little b-body out of the water.”
I couldn’t say more, couldn’t breathe through the pain of those words, finally out in the open. Henry didn’t speak. But he did pull me closer until I was cradled in his arms, his thumb swiping rhythmically, brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop.
The storm battered us, but I was protected in his arms. I was grateful for his silence, I realised. I wasn’t ready to hear someone else’s opinion on my guilt. Having his silent support was just what I needed.
He held me like that until my tears dried. And he kept holding me until the storm blew itself out and the yacht stilled. Only then did he stand, and help me to the bathroom, where he wet a cloth with warm water, and gently cleaned the tear tracks from my face.
Back in my bedroom, he pulled the covers down and gestured for me to get into bed. My heart stammered as I complied.
“Don’t leave,” I begged pitifully. His smile was soft, and free of judgement.
“I wasn’t going to.” He sat down on top of the comforter and reached for the copy ofThe Hunger Gameshe’d gifted me weeks ago. “Where are you up to?”
I wasn’t going to lie to this man, so even as the blush crept up my cheeks, I whispered. “I haven’t started. I find reading for enjoyment very difficult, even more so when it’s not my native tongue.”
He pressed his lips together, and for a second, I thought he was holding back anger. But that was not Henry’s way. His lips pulled free of the hold he had on them, and a smile burst onto his face.
“Thank God! I was worried you’d read it and hated it, and you didn’t want to hurt my feelings!”
I managed a watery giggle. “Ididwatch the movie with Kat,” I confessed. “Just because I was curious about what you’d written inside.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. It arched above his glasses. “And what conclusion did you come to?”
“I don’t want to draw conclusions,” I hedged, not wanting to confess that the conclusion I’d come to was that I was more than a little infatuated with him. “Not without reading the original. The movie was wonderful, but I’m sure I’m missing so much detail.”
“I could find you a copy in Romanian,” he offered. “Or I’m sure there’s an audiobook?—”
“Or …youcould read it to me?” I suggested shyly. Henry’s face flushed, and he ducked his head.
“I’ve never much liked my reading voice,” he mumbled. I reached for his free hand, squeezing it.
“I love the sound of your voice,” I told him. “Will you read it to me?”
His eyes darted between mine for a long moment, and then he shrugged. “I think I’d like to.”
I tugged at the blankets until he shifted, and I pulled them back from his side of the bed. “Get in.”
There was no hesitation this time as he clambered under the covers with me. His warm body was a magnet that I was powerless to resist, and I shuffled over until my head rested on his chest, and his arm came around me, fingers toying with the sleeve of my pyjama top.
The tension in my muscles melted the second I was within his embrace. He made a small sound in the back of his throat, something that could have been a cough, and then he opened the book, bracing it with one large palm so he didn’t have to release me, and he began to read.
How he could dislike his voice was beyond me! It was deep, but mellow, and the intonation as he read made the words come alive in mybrain. Even the gentle circles he was tracing on my bare arm, just beneath the end of my sleeve, couldn’t distract me from his voice.
The first time Gale called Katniss ‘Catnip’ was the only time he stumbled over the words, before coming to a stop. “I’m sorry I didn’t come up with a more unique nickname for you,” he rumbled.
I grinned, turning my face into his chest. “I love it,” I murmured into his T-shirt before lifting my head to look up at him. “I mean, clearly this story is very special to you, so … it makes me feel like I’m special too.”
His green eyes, glimmering behind his glasses, found mine, and then darted lower, to my lips. My heart stopped as his pupils expanded, devouring his emerald irises.
“Youarespecial,” he said roughly, and then he snapped the book shut, and I heard a thud as he dropped it on the bedside table. “Catnip …”
“Henry …”
“I think I might die if I don’t kiss you right now.”
