Henry and Gracie

by Marilyn Jeulin

  Henry and Gracie

  By Marilyn Jeulin

  Publication by Marilyn Jeulin 2017

  This book is an original publication by Marilyn Jeulin.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Marilyn Jeulin

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without the express written permission of Marilyn Jeulin. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of Marilyn Jeulin is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.

  First edition

  Visit the author’s website http://www.marilynalmodovar.com

  Cover design by Funky Book designs http://funkybookdesigns.weebly.com/

  Editors: CP Bialois and Jamie White

  Table of Contents

  Other books by Marilyn Jeulin

  Chapter One

  Nine years ago

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  London, present day

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Acknowledgements

  Author Biography

  Other books by Marilyn Jeulin

  Closer to the Edge, Winter 2017

  Writing as Marilyn Almodóvar

  Interred (Chronicles of the Interred, Book One)

  Fissure (Chronicles of the Interred, Book Two)

  Alternate (Chronicles of the Interred, Book Three)

  To London, the most wonderful place in the world

  To my little angels in heaven, until we meet again

  Chapter One

  Nine years ago

  I’ve never gone on a blind date. Actually, I’ve always been that girl who laughs at people who talk about blind dates as if this was the most amazing way to meet people. However, there is always a first time. In an effort to keep my nerves under control, I reach for the champagne flute that Franky poured for me, but is still untouched. He clicks his tongue. Obediently, I let my hands clasp together over my lap after returning the glass to the vanity and sigh, defeated.

  “So, who is this guy you invited to sweep me off my feet?” I ask, mildly curious. The truth is that I’m in no shape to start dating again. Not after what happened with Jared.

  “I’ve told you twice, Gracie,” his answer carries some exasperation, which in turn makes me apologize with a lame ‘sorry’.

  Kirk Belen’s classic Mercy is playing downstairs as our friend Marc is welcoming guests to my twenty-first. In the meantime, I’m trying to sit as patiently as I can, and wait for Franky to finish applying what looks like copious amount of eye shadow to my eyes.

  “Henry Huntingdon the Third,” Franky adds, his footsteps announcing that he’s moved back to the vanity and I groan inwardly, hoping he’s not putting more make-up on me.

  “The Third, wow!” I reply, fixing him with a mischievous smile, hoping he doesn’t get hung up on the sarcasm dripping from my voice. However, Franky knows me oh, so well. He shoots me a chiding look before I close my eyes again.

  “Yes, but you won’t have to curtsy.” There’s a smile in his voice as he teases me; at least I know he’s not mad. “He’s twenty-eight and perfect for you to get over Jared,” he declares, making it sound as if I were dying of a broken heart.

  “I am over Jared,” I protest, keeping my eyes closed. It’s a lie, of course, but it’s better than admitting out loud that I’m still hurting.

  My thoughts pull me away from Franky and the party. They go back to just a few nights ago. Jared proposed to me to hide a deeper and darker secret: he cheated on me. In a way, I’m glad things are out in the open, but I can’t hide the way my heart felt when it was torn by his words. One night after he proposed, he called me up on the cell phone and said: I can’t do this, I cheated on you.

  “Yes, sure, you’re over Jared like I’m over Orangina and rum,” Franky says, his voice bringing me back to reality.

  “What does Henry Huntingdon, the Third do again?” I probe, feigning interest and refraining from telling him that drink he likes so much is disgusting.

  “His father is a publisher. He works as a talent scout and he also travels around a lot, acquiring manuscripts, stealing authors, sleeping with authors, etcetera.” Franky replies. The disapproval is clear in his voice, prompting me to peek at him from under my eyelashes. He runs a hand through his honey-colored hair and then adds, “I’m sure you’ll have loads to talk about. You work with actors, models, and singers, and soon you’ll also be poaching people from other agencies…like Henry does.”

  “Hardly, I’m still training to be an agent,” I reply before I catch my reflection in the mirror and words escape me. He’s done it again; my make-up is picture perfect. I groan inwardly, bemoaning the fact that I suck at applying make-up and I’ll probably never look this good again.

  “You look great. Let me finish the hair,” he says as I roll my eyes, knowing he’s going to spray the whole new hairspray can over my tresses. “Anyway, he’s single. Not in the market for a relationship. And it’s great because you need to get laid and not complicate your life.”

  “So, he’s a man-whore and you’re turning me into a slut,” I tell him, looking at the dark and gold eye shadow covering my eyes and the delicate liner turning my otherwise simple look into a very old-fashioned, but somehow chic one.

  “Not a slut,” he corrects me and punctuates his annoyance with a huff. “You need to move on. And from what I’ve heard about Henry, he’ll definitely help you with that.” Franky states, waggling his eyebrows before I throw the nearest pillow at him.

  “Idiot.”

  “Come on, you’ll thank me in the morning.”

  “How can you be so sure that he’ll even like me?” I ask before he lets out a dramatic sigh while undoing the hot rollers in my hair. “Or that I’ll actually have a one-night stand? I’ve never done that. It’s not like I’m going to sleep with him on the first night after meeting him,” I add, trying hard to remain still.

  “Because he’s a ginger man with a thing for ginger girls,” he tells me as I stick my tongue out at
him.

  “Great, so now I’m a fetish?”

  “Plus, he’s seen you at the gym. I know he’s totally into you,” he adds, putting the rollers on the vanity. “And I’m sure that when you see him, you’ll change your tune.”

  I know I should trust Franky, he’s, after all, a good friend, but after the Jared fiasco, my brain’s telling me to run for the hills. “How come he’s single? Don’t answer… he’s probably a good looking but crazy stalker.”

  “Ye of little faith,” he tells me with a look that says he’s thinking about something else to add. “Well, even though I shouldn’t tell you this, I will. Because Henry won’t ever tell you himself,” he pauses while I frown, “he was married.”

  “Oh, great, a divorced man,” I say disapprovingly.

  “A widower,” Franky corrects me. “He married young, at twenty-three. By twenty-four he was working with his father here in London. His wife was working in the city. She was expecting their first baby,” he runs his hands through my hair, making sure the curls are perfect. “One day, after meeting her parents at Canary Wharf, she was on her way to work and a fight broke out in the Tube. Henry’s wife was too close to the edge of the platform, and someone unintentionally pushed her. She fell on the tracks as a fast train went by.” He sighs sadly before taking a step back.

  The scene plays in my head as my eyes prickle. I can’t imagine the pain he went through, or him getting over losing his young bride and baby in four short years. There’s no way anyone can get over that.

  “I guess his lack of commitment stems from that.”

  “Ya’ think?” I blink away the tears before grabbing one of the tissues from the box on the vanity.

  “It’s been four years, I’m sure he’s ready to move on,” he assures me. “Or, at least, he’s ready to shag with no attachments.”

  “That’s what you think,” I sulk, staring at the tissue in my hand.

  “Well, I’ve known him for six years. He was hardly a regular at my uncle’s gym when I met him, but after that happened; he came to box every night. Then I heard the stories from the girls. Actually, I had to make sure he would stop sleeping with the women at the gym.” He explains with a wink. “What are you afraid of? It’s not like you’re going to fall madly in love with him,” he says, reaching for the hairspray once more. “Cover your eyes.”

  ***

  A party back home in the States usually involved my friends sprawled over the house like they belonged. We would play video games, or board games. In the summer, my parents put up a huge projector screen in the garden, and we would sit around in lawn chairs watching movies and drinking soda until dawn.

  London parties, in contrast, are painfully grown-up. Most of the guests are waiting patiently in the back garden of Franky’s West London house, with a drink in hand and huddled under the heaters.

  Once the greeting of the guests starts, Franky’s like a peacock. He struts around kissing, hugging, and shaking hands. Many of the guests are people who I’ve only met once before. At least, he managed to invite my new colleagues, who all seem nice and completely drunk by the time I get to them.

  “Here you go,” he hands me another glass of champagne as I eagerly reach for it. “Oh, he’s here!” He grins, looking to the door with no subtleness at all.

  Marc, Franky’s best friend, is talking animatedly with Henry Huntingdon the Third, waiting for his coat. A smile plays on his lips as he takes the coat off and hands it to Marc, who looks ecstatic. At least someone is laughing at what is probably one of his lame jokes. My eyes stay on Henry, noticing how his eyes crinkle when he laughs and I can’t help but smile.

  As my eyes move away from his face, I notice that Henry is rather tall. Marc and Franky are both six feet tall, and Henry towers easily over them by a few inches. The black turtleneck he wears wraps tightly around the well-defined biceps as I tell myself to stop ogling him. His crystal blue eyes scan the place before meeting mine. The smile on his perfect lips knocks the air out of me. I notice how he runs his fingers carelessly through his ginger hair, not caring that he’s messing it up. I would swoon, but I’m trying hard to remember that Franky’s pawning me like a freaking two cent hooker.

  Chapter Two

  Franky offers me a knowing grin. “I said you would totally fancy him, didn’t I?”

  I drink the contents of the champagne flute in one go before handing the empty glass to one of the passing waiters. “I hate you,” I say, taking his hand and letting him pull me toward Henry.

  “Oh, sue me,” he whispers in my ear with a chuckle before leading me toward the door. “Henry.” He gives Henry a quick nod, accompanied by a sly smile before turning toward me. “This is the birthday girl: Gracie.”

  “Graciela,” Henry says, ignoring my nickname as he reaches his hand toward mine. My name hasn’t ever sounded as sexy as it does in his Scottish accent. I expect him to shake my hand; instead, he turns my hand over, pressing his lips lightly over the pulse on my wrist, making a jolt of energy surge down my spine.

  “Henry,” I say in a teasing way, thinking he’s got his act as the seducer down to an art. His eyes widen slightly at meeting mine, and a beautiful smile rests on his lips before he lets go of my hand.

  “Wait here.” He stops Marc as he walks to the coat rack and grabs something from the oversized pockets of the trench coat. He then walks back toward me and gives me what looks like a book wrapped in white daisies wrapping paper with a simple ribbon across it.

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “Franky said you’re a voracious reader,” he replies and, I swear, mischief dances in his eyes.

  “I am a voracious reader,” I reply with a playful smile. His beautiful eyes darken, moving down my body before meeting mine once more. My lungs burn quickly, reminding me to breathe.

  “Henry, I’m sorry,” Franky states, though the smile on his face tells me he’s not sorry at all. “There are some people that she needs to say hello to. We’ll catch up in a bit,” he adds, pulling me away from Henry. I glance back to look at him, only to find his eyes still on me with an unreadable expression.

  A few seconds later when we’re done saying hello to the guests, I cross my arms over my chest. “That was rude.”

  “Not really,” Franky replies, looking as pleased as punch. “I told you he totally fancies the knickers out of you.”

  “Whatever,” I tell him, reaching for another flute of champagne from a passing waiter.

  “Well, he’s coming this way,” Franky announces with a satisfied smile. “Don’t forget you need to cut the cake first before you go shagging him.”

  “Is he avoiding me?” Henry muses while his hot breath touches my ear and I need a minute before turning to face him. I watch Franky flutter away from me and work the room as a way to give myself time to recover.

  “Not really. He likes to walk around like a peacock. You know, all pretentious and pretty,” I laugh before meeting Henry’s eyes. “I didn’t get to thank you. I mean, it was very kind of you to get a present for someone you don’t know.”

  “Well, Franky has talked a lot about you, so in a way, I feel like I know you.” An intense look crosses his eyes, making it difficult for me to look away.

  “Well, that’s a pretty good pick-up line,” I joke, trying to hide the breathlessness in my voice.

  Henry studies me for a moment, leaning closer, “It’s not a pick-up line.” He then whispers in my ear, “I don’t really need pick-up lines.”

  “Wow, you’re cocky,” I tell him before I can stop myself and a shaky laugh abandons my throat.

  “Not cocky, I just know what I like,” he states confidently, once again looking me over, making my stomach do somersaults. “And who I want.”

  I try to keep the smile on my face from faltering as he holds my gaze, but I’m sure that I look like an idiot. Instead, I do the second-best thing and finish the drink in my hand.

  Questions flood my mind: What has Franky said about me? Did he ask him to
come and have sex with me? Which totally brings my mind to another question: Is he getting paid? Gracie stop being ridiculous, I reprimand myself, trying hard to pull my gaze away from Henry’s. Franky would never pay anyone to have sex with you; with him, yes, totally, but not with you.

  “Gracie!” Joan, one of my new friends, calls with a tiny lilt of brogue in her voice. “Come and cut the cake before we die from lack of sugar.”

  I nod at her and the rest of my colleagues before returning my eyes to Henry. “I should.” I point toward the room, but he doesn’t move. “I mean, the cake,” I add and wait for what feels like an eternity before he actually pulls away from me.

  When I’m a few feet away, I turn around and notice his eyes are still on me. A delighted chill moves down my spine. Maybe a one-night stand won’t be such a bad idea.

  The plastic knife looks like it’s going to break as soon as it touches the beautifully decorated Little Women inspired cake. My eyes settle on Franky before I mouth a quick thank you. Little Women has always been one of my favorite books. Perhaps, because I’m an only child and the March sisters always felt like my invisible playmates.

  Right after the Happy Birthday song ends and I blow the candles, I hear Franky’s voice yelling, “Speech!” Soon most of the guests join in. “Come on, we all want to hear that American twang.” I move to the side of the table as the waiters quickly start plating up the cake slices. “I hate you,” I tell him as he shrugs.

  “No, you don’t, and you wish I was straight,” he kisses the side of my temple before walking to help the waiters.

  “Well, I …” my voice shakes a bit, overcome with emotion rather than nerves. Years of training in Community Theater and one Off-Off Broadway play under my belt have taught me a thing or two about public speaking. However, all that training goes out the door when my friends do nice things for me. Then, I have a hard time controlling my feelings. “Thank you for coming. I know many of you were probably wondering why Franky invited you over.” A laugh escapes my lips as several people join in. “The truth is, Franky’s like my brother. He sort of adopted me on a cold and wet afternoon in college when I bumped into him trying not to lose my umbrella. We became inseparable. So much so that when I got a job back home, he went and talked to Leticia Cárdenas and convinced her to give me a chance.” I look at him and just when I think I’m going to lose my nerve, he sticks his tongue out. A smile pulls at my lips as I nod. “Thanks for making my birthday a happy occasion. I miss my parents a lot, but knowing you took the time to organize all of this.” I look around, taking the time to get my emotions under control. “It’s touched me deep inside.” My voice breaks softly as Marc hugs me before letting me go.