Henry’s fingers tightened around mine. “Your mum died of an overdose?” he asked, his tone a mix of horror and panic, presumably because this was yet another terrible secret from my past that would be best kept out of the public eye.
I nodded. “The worst thing is that I don’t know whether she was already dead when I got home or if she was still alive, dying while I was singing Taylor Swift songs in the shower.”
Henry’s expression softened. “You did everything you could.”
“Did I, though? I can’t stop wondering if she would still be alive if I had checked on her right away. Or if I’d tried harder to get her off the drugs.”
“You did everything you could,” Henry repeated insistently.
“So why wasn’t it enough?” I croaked. The memory of her lifeless body sent a fresh wave of pain through my chest. Tears welled up in my eyes again—as if I hadn’t cried enough for one day. But I couldn’t stop them. They came flooding out, loud and ugly. I squeezed my eyes shut and clamped a hand over my mouth, but it was useless. I whimpered, my shoulders shook, and an agonised sob broke the silence of the café.
Suddenly, warm hands cupped my face. I felt Henry’s breath on my skin, then the soft press of his lips as he kissed the tears from my cheeks. Everything inside me tightened, pain and gratitude coming together with unbearable intensity.
“Don’t blame yourself, angel,” Henry murmured and rested his forehead against mine. “I didn’t know your mom, but if she was even half as loving, selfless, and understanding as you are, she wouldn’t want you to carry this guilt around with you. And I’m sure she was grateful for how long you fought for her, even if she couldn’t tell you that. That’s not something to be taken for granted, and it just shows how much you loved her.”
I began to cry even harder. Henry’s words had shattered something deep inside me, only to piece it back together again. He wrapped his arms around me, and I pressed my face into his chest to muffle the sobs that racked my body. He held me close, his lips grazing my forehead as his hands moved gently over my back. He murmured soothingly into my ear. His words, his warmth, and his voice grounded me; Henry was an anchor keeping me from being completely swept away by my pain and guilt.
I took a trembling breath and concentrated on his steady breathing. With every rise and fall of his chest, my tears slowed and the pain became more bearable, though it didn’t disappear completely. It never would.
“Are you feeling any better?” he asked after a while.
I nodded, not yet trusting my voice.
He took his hand from my back, and a second later, he offered me a packet of tissues out of his pocket. I took one, and after I blew my nose, I dabbed at my eyes, though most of my tears had seeped into Henry’s shirt.
I traced my fingers over his chest. “I really have to stop crying all over you.”
“I like it.”
“Strange kink, but OK.”
He smiled. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that I like being the one to comfort you,” he explained, stroking my cheek. His skin was warm while mine was cold. I leaned into the touch. It felt safe and familiar. “You have to promise me one thing, though.”
“Anything,” I said, and I meant it.
His gaze met mine firmly, not quite matching the softness of his voice. “Promise me you’ll never hold back from talking to me just because you think I’m too busy to listen. It’s true that I havea lot going on, but it’s never so much that I can’t be there for you when you need me.”
A warm feeling spread through me at his words. Realising that what I felt for this man was so much more than gratitude. He had woken something in me that was both beautiful and terrifying. I saw nothing but warmth and affection when I looked into his blue eyes. I had been so alone in the last few months, but Henry had taken me under his wing without a moment’s hesitation and led me out of that loneliness. I had left it behind a little more every day, and now it was so distant that I could barely see it. I saw only Henry.
“Do you know how incredible you are?”
He smiled. “Thanks. You’re not too bad yourself.”
“I’m serious.”
“Me too. You’re really not so bad.”
I saw through his attempt to lighten the mood on this dark day—and it wasn’t even necessary. With him by my side, every day felt a little brighter. Ignoring his teasing, I kissed him.
Our lips melted together. We must have kissed hundreds of times in the past few weeks, but this one felt different—deeper and more intimate. Sharing the truth about my past with Henry had revealed another truth. A truth I could no longer deny.
I, Kate Hamilton, was madly and hopelessly in love with Henry Darlington. And that was probably the most beautiful realisation of this terrible day.
The Blackroom
Consequences—a foreign concept to people like the Darlingtons. Every problem is just a cheque away from being solved. But this one is a mess even they can’t afford to make go away. The reservations at the luxury hotel are dwindling. The beautiful—and, more crucially, wealthy—guests who once queued up to stay at The Darlington are now steering well clear of the place, eager to avoid damaging their reputations.
Talk of layoffs and salary cuts is making the rounds. And to cover up how deep in the red the hotel is, Henry Darlington is allegedly planning to close the fourth floor of the hotel for “renovations.” We’ve heard from a reliable source that this is just a ploy to cut costs. Is it time to say goodbye to The Darlington?
