“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, and went back to my cleaning trolley before Mrs. Darlington noticed that I hadn’t even been holding a duster.
Mrs. Darlington looked good—too young to have a son in his mid-twenties. Perhaps she’d had some cosmetic work. If so, it was expertly done. Her face looked natural, with fine lines around her eyes and on her forehead, but they weren’t as deep as one would expect in a woman over fifty.
“You’re the girl from the photos.”
I nodded.
She looked me up and down as if I were an insect—a pest in her beautiful apartment. I wished I had checked myself in the mirror before I’d come. “I was wondering when I’d finally meet you.”
She made it sound as if she hadn’t had plenty of opportunities to find me in the hotel over the past few weeks—she could have found out my room number at reception. But Mrs. Darlington was presumably not someone who chased people—she waited until they came to her. And here I was. I wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear, so I kept my mouth shut and subjected myself to her scrutiny.Ethan and Henry took after their father—I couldn’t see much of Mrs. Darlington in them.
“Are you sleeping with my son?” she asked suddenly.
I almost choked on my own saliva. “No,” I croaked.
Mrs. Darlington tilted her head and examined me impassively. “Are you sure? He seems pretty besotted with you.”
“We... We’re just friends,” I stuttered, but it didn’t feel quite right. If he was just a friend, I wouldn’t have butterflies in my stomach every time I saw him.
“But you like him?”
It seemed like a trick question. If I said no, it would be a lie. If I said yes, she’d probably think I had lied before.
I hesitated and considered my words. “Your son is very good to me. He got me this job, and has given me one of the rooms here until I find my own apartment.” Not that I was actively looking. Not yet. I needed a second job first. The three-hundred-pound wage I received from The Darlington wouldn’t even get me a shabby studio apartment in London.
Mrs. Darlington’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at my last words. Could it be she hadn’t known I was living at the hotel? But she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she approached me with measured steps, stopping directly across from me on the other side of the cleaning trolley. She was tall and slender, and towered several centimetres above me.
“Henry is a real gem,” she replied, wiping the surprise from her face in a bid to restore her composure. “He’s a good person—sometimes too good. So good, in fact, that I see it as my duty to make sure no one takes advantage of him. Henry likes you, Miss Hamilton,” she added, reading my name from the badge pinned to my chest. “But I doubt he’s thinking with his head when it comesto you. So let me make one thing clear: I’m keeping an eye on you. I won’t stand by and let you use my son or damage his reputation. He may be having fun with you right now, but don’t get too comfy. Your kind will never truly belong with someone like him.”
Stunned and unsure how to respond, I stared at Mrs. Darlington. For a moment, the room was so silent that I could hear the wind blowing against the windowpane. Then she smiled, so sickly sweet that it felt like a trap meant to ensnare an insect like me.
“Get back to work,” she said before turning on her heel. With her head held high, she marched into the bedroom.
I stood rooted to the spot, trying to process Mrs. Darlington’s words and what they implied. Only after the door had closed behind her did I get back to work. I cleaned the penthouse quickly and less thoroughly than I should have done, before slipping quietly into the corridor without saying goodbye. Mrs. Darlington’s words lingered. Was I using Henry? The only thing I’d ever asked him for was the four thousand pounds to get Randell off my back, but I hadn’t known Henry back then, and I hadn’t asked him for anything since. The room, my job, and the phone—he’d given it all to me of his own free will. But his mum and the others didn’t know that, of course. Did they all think I was taking advantage of him? I hadn’t considered it before, but for some reason, I hated the idea that people might think I only liked Henry because he had nice things to offer me. It wasn’t true. Even if he threw me out of the hotel, fired me, and asked for his phone back, it wouldn’t change the fact that I liked spending time with him.
Feeling uneasy, I made my way to Henry’s apartment. As soon as I stepped inside, my thoughts grew calmer, and his mum’s words faded into the background. When I’d cleaned here with Grace for the first time, it had seemed wrong and strange—I had felt like anintruder. But today, his apartment seemed familiar, because Henry was familiar. I knew him. I knew what it was like to fall asleep next to him. I knew how it felt to have his breath brush my neck. And I knew how safe and protected I felt when he cuddled up to me.
As I reminisced about being with Henry, I got to work. I started upstairs in the mezzanine and made my way through the kitchen, living room, guest room, gym, and finally, his bedroom. It smelled of him—warm and safe—and I had to stop myself from inhaling deeply. His bed was unmade, and the curtains were drawn. Even though it was Saturday, Henry had probably left for the office so early that opening them wouldn’t have made a difference. I flicked a switch, flooding the room with light. I was just about to shake out the bedding when my gaze landed on Henry’s bedside table.
There was a book lying on it. And not just any book. I didn’t need to read the title to know it wasThe Brave Cloud Princessby Evelyn Fairchild—I recognised the cover instantly. The colours were brighter and more vivid than on my own copy, but the illustration was the same. My heart swelled, and a wide grin spread across my face. I pictured Henry in bed thinking about me—and reading a children’s book, just because it happened to be my favourite.
I pulled out my phone, took a quick photo, and sent it to him with a heart emoji. A quietpingsounded from the living room, followed by approaching footsteps. I turned just as Henry appeared in the doorway.
He looked up from his phone. He was also grinning. “Are you snooping around my apartment?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, batting my eyelashes innocently. “What are you doing here?”
“In my own apartment, you mean?”
“Why aren’t you at the office?” I clarified.
He took a step closer. I was certain I hadn’t seen the petrol-coloured suit he was wearing before. Just how many suits did he own? Perhaps Ishouldsnoop around a little when I got the chance and take a peek inside his walk-in wardrobe.
“I was looking for you. Giulia said you’d be here.” He stopped an arm’s length away, and I had to resist the urge to step forward and snuggle up to his chest. It was as if the night I’d spent in bed with him had got me hooked on being close to him. He studied my face intently. “Is everything OK?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I don’t know.” As he scrutinised me, I noticed the light sheen of sweat on his forehead, as though he were deeply stressed. “You seem tense,” he continued. “I was only joking about the snooping.”
