Henry and Gracie

by Marilyn Jeulin

  “Disastrous.” The word causes a fit of laughter on the other end of the line. “The dude’s just looking for someone to marry, and guess what? His mother told him anyone will do. Anyone,” I repeat, in case he’s not heard me since he’s still laughing. In the background I can hear people talking and music playing. “The whole date did marvels for my self-esteem.” I huff.

  It’s no secret where he’s at. Before embarking on his European book seeking tour, Henry mentioned he would be visiting his ex, Lilliana, for her thirty-eighth birthday celebrations. He said he would stop by to be polite. If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t know that is code for he’ll get laid if she’s feeling loose.

  “Well, he sounds like a prize catch,” he says, not even pretending to empathize with me. Then, to make sure that I know he’s not feeling sorry for me, he laughs.

  “So, how’s Lilliana?” I hit my forehead, not sure why am I asking; probably because I want the spotlight on him. The question has the desired effect, he stops laughing.

  “Boring,” he replies while I stop to get the travel card out of my purse. On the other end, a woman’s voice calls his name. I try to ignore the burning sensation in my stomach once I get the card. “Where are you at?” he asks, clearly ignoring her.

  I can’t deny the elation running through my body at the prospect of seeing him tonight. The card falls from my hand and I duck down to grab it. “Um, on my way home. Just got to the tube,” I reply vaguely as he groans and I move toward the barriers.

  “That’s not a where, Gracie,” he states in a curt tone as a door slams on his end and then the music and the people’s voices filter through the distance between us.

  I survey the surrounding area before smiling, because I’m sure he’s leaving Lilliana’s party, and the stupid delight coursing through me makes my heart hammer faster against my chest.

  “I’m at Oxford Circus,” I say as an amorous couple makes out in front of me, blocking my way. “Why?” I ask in a nonchalant voice, though a victorious smile settles on my lips.

  “Meet me at Holborn? We can walk from there to Covent Garden. I feel like going for a walk, what about you?” he asks as I hesitate. “Oh, come on, be a mate,” he says. “This way we don’t have to wait until you’re free again and dateless,” he adds, his voice hinting at annoyance, which sends a thrill down my spine.

  “Fine.” I give up swiping my Oyster card, and then double check where I’m going so I don’t end up going to Ealing Broadway instead on the other side of town. It wouldn’t be the first time I get on the wrong train. “I’m about to lose my signal, so I’ll see you soon.”

  The phone goes back in my purse before I move down the hallway to the right platform, and rush inside the train the moment the last of the passengers leave it. I don’t sit down; my whole body hums as if I’d stuck my fingers inside a wall outlet.

  When I reach Holborn’s station, I walk to the lobby. My hand lifts the phone up so I can check for messages; there are none. The crowd around me is made up of families, lovers, tourists who are lost, and the occasional musician looking for a place to sit down and play. And just like that, all of it fades as my eyes settle on Henry.

  “Hey!” I call, breathless as our eyes meet.

  Henry’s been traveling through Europe buying and selling books, fattening up his family’s publishing company’s catalog. His ginger hair has grown a few inches since we saw each other two weeks ago. It now has a beautiful curl that makes me want to run my fingers through it.

  I can’t deny that I’ve missed him.

  Once he pulls me into a hug, his sandalwood cologne mixed with the clove cigarettes’ scent hits my nose. I’m wrapped in a familiar warm embrace, one that I won’t escape from any time soon. My whole body quivers as I lean against him. His strong arms circle my waist and I know I could stay lost in this moment forever. But forever doesn’t exist. At least, not for us. Henry isn’t interested in another relationship, and I’m not one of those women who think they can change a man. Practicality is the bane of my existence.

  “I’ve missed you, Graciela,” he whispers in my ear, his hot breath sending a slight frisson down my back as I grin. My body reacts like the flame moving across a hot coal.

  Lost for words, I stare into his beautiful sapphire blue eyes as my fingers skim his cheek and the newly-grown ginger beard. I let them glide from his jaw to his chin before Henry pretends to bite me. A laugh escapes me as I pull my hand away and he, in return, offers an impish grin.

  I’ve never fancied men with facial hair of any kind, but I can’t deny how good he looks. Unable to take my eyes off him, I let my fingers brush against it again. He makes a face.

  “I’ll shave, I promise,” he assures me, running a hand through my long hair.

  “Yes, you should,” I reply with a cheeky smile, letting my hand fall to my side. Even though I don’t mind it on him, I prefer it when his lips are much more accessible.

  “Your hair always reminds me of summer… strawberries and cream on the Wimbledon lawn,” Henry murmurs against my ear before his teeth bite the skin under my earlobe.

  Once he’s pulled away, I try to navigate my thoughts through the dense hazy flow of memories attacking my brain, all involving a very naked Henry on my bed. My eyes sweep his features from the furrowed brow to his sculpted cheeks and the thick lips now hidden by the beard.

  Swoon.

  “No one’s compared my hair to strawberries and cream on the Wimbledon lawn, not ever,” I tell him, and the amusement in my voice doesn’t escape him. He groans before he takes my hand in his and kisses it, dropping it almost immediately afterwards. “So, Lilliana bored you to death?” I ask immediately, noticing the twisted sick pleasure at the thought, which I’m sure he’s noticed if the grin on his lips is anything to go by.

  “Yes, and I’m starving. Come on; let’s find something decadent; Nutella crêpes or waffles with loads of chocolate syrup and ice cream,” he says, extending his hand toward me and I accept it. Skin against skin will mitigate the craving that I have for his body. At least, for a while.

  I pull him closer until my lips are next to his ear. “Oh, yeah, talk dirty to me.”

  “You’re playing with fire, Graciela.”

  Chapter Six

  Henry pulls away to lead me down the street toward Covent Garden. “So, Leticia strikes again?” he asks, referring to my date before a short pause. I nod. “Who was it this time?”

  “A guy from the city,” I answer, hoping he’s leaving it at that, though, knowing Henry, he’s going to scratch at this piece of information until he’s managed to get all the dirty details.

  Henry’s eyes widen and amusement sparkles in those mischievous blue eyes. “A guy from the city,” he repeats before bursting into another fit of laughter.

  “Yes, Natesh,” I groan, refusing to continue looking at him.

  “Someone who works with her husband?” he presses on, having way too much fun. “Doesn’t she know that you hate snobby types?” Henry asks, his voice taking on an accusatory tone as I finally glance at him and smile. “From now on, you should tell her to consult with me before fixing you up on any more blind dates.”

  “Definitely,” I agree, but the sarcasm in my voice makes him glance my way with a playful smile on his lips before looking away. “He didn’t stop talking about his Mom.” I sigh, going for a dramatic tone. “And how he likes the very best.”

  “Wanker,” Henry replies before letting out a loud chuckle. “Speaking of mothers,” he starts as I throw my hands in the air.

  Henry’s been trying to get me to see my parents for the last few months. The way this conversation always starts is by him saying those exact words: Speaking of mothers. I don’t want him to meet my parents or my American friends in person. He’ll charm them all and then my mother will fall in love with him and wonder why we’re not a couple. Shouldn’t it be enough that they know he’s a really good and close friend of mine?

  “Not yours,” he tells me, flickin
g at my nose with a teasing smile before he looks ahead. “My mother said that if you’re still single by Christmas, we should both go to visit her in Germany,” he tells me as we make a left and walk for a few minutes until we find the small shop that sells crêpes and waffles.

  “Who is she going to pair us up with this time?” I ask, meanwhile my voice, full of dread, is met by the amusement spreading quickly over his features.

  Sometimes I hate him.

  “Get this: her neighbor has a son and a daughter, both single,” he replies.

  “No, thank you. Remember Hans? I’m done with Germany,” I remind him and he laughs harder, pulling me with him inside the cafe.

  Henry’s arm has maneuvered around me while we wait in line. My body’s against his as his hand rests against my back. His lips brush lazily against my temple, sending my pulse into overdrive.

  I force my eyes on the menu board, ignoring the way his lips brush against my ear. “It’s too bad you’re out of service,” he says, changing the subject. His voice is lethal: deep and soft. It makes me melt like vanilla ice cream under hot fudge. The weakness returns to my knees and my mind goes into a lustful haze. However, it doesn’t take long for something to stir me out of it and let the full weight of his words fall on me.

  “What?” I ask, trying hard to escape the obscene look in his eyes, which makes my body hum with renewed energy.

  “Well, I’d rather eat the Nutella off your body.”

  “For crying out loud,” I gasp when his words finally sink in. I look behind us before giving him a scolding look. “I’d like it much better if you didn’t keep track of my period,” I tell him, and I can feel my cheeks burning. To try and save face I move to the counter to order my Nutella crêpe and a chocolate waffle with ice cream for him.

  We claim a table at the back after placing our order. He takes a slim box out of his coat and places it on the table between us. My eyes move from it to him and back again before I lean my chin against my clasped hands.

  “What is that?” I ask, fighting a smile.

  “Open it,” he says as the waitress brings our order out and places it on the table before us.

  “It’s not my birthday yet,” I state, grabbing the napkin before looking his way. His eyes widen while he stares at the plate in front of him. I try not to read beyond the smile, but I swear, he’s looked at me like that sometimes: like I’m something he needs to devour.

  A laugh leaves my lips before I can stop myself. Henry arches an eyebrow before taking a bite out of the waffle. He moans, closing his eyes. A second later, a satisfied sigh leaves his mouth. Eyes hooded, his mouth half parted before he takes another breath in and then licks his lips slowly. It’s obvious that he knows I’m still staring, slack jawed. It’s hard to stop conjuring naked images of his body when he’s being this deliciously sexy.

  “You’re mean,” I whine. In exchange, he offers me the most dazzling of smiles.

  “Are you imagining me naked on your bed? Are you on top or bottom?” he asks. My head whips around to make sure no one’s listening.

  “Stop it, you’re incorrigible,” I say, getting ready to tuck into my crêpe.

  “But you love me,” he points out before having more of his waffle. “So anyway, open the box,” he commands.

  I obey, pushing my plate aside. Slowly, I reach for the box and let my fingers skim the top as Henry rolls his eyes.

  “Do I have to open the damn box?” he asks irritated.

  I lift the top up and then pull my eyes away from Henry and settle them on the box. “What the hell?” the words escape me as I lift the vintage red sapphire pendant and stare at it. There’s a diamond in the center and smaller red sapphire stones surrounding it like the petals of a flower. Next to it are matching earrings and a ring. I look from it to Henry, then back again. About eight months ago we’d been walking around Hatton Gardens, the jewelry quarter of London, and I’d pointed out how my grandmother Graciela owned a similar pendant when I was a child. “This is way too much; and I bet super expensive.”

  “No, it isn’t,” he says, taking the ring and sliding it on my right hand ring finger. “It’s a perfect fit.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I admit, staring at the ring. “But seriously, Hen-”

  “I missed Christmas,” he says matter-of-fact, ending any further discussion.

  “You could just get me tickets to see Dissonant Anonymous.” I whisper under my breath.

  “You manage them in Europe…” he reminds me. “Anyway,” he says in a dismissive tone which makes me think he wants to pick up the conversation about his mother now that he’s had some of the waffle. “I said to Mother, if we’re both still single, we’ll be shagging like wild rabbits until Christmas then ring in the New Year in bed,” he says, causing me to choke on my crêpe.

  I gasp. “You did not say that to your mother!”

  He stands up to put the necklace around my neck. Once it’s clasped securely, his fingers skim the skin of my neck to my cleavage. A shiver runs down my spine. My eyes remain on him until he takes his seat once more.

  “Ah, the embarrassment coloring your cheeks,” he says, pointing at my face. My hand lifts to it; it’s as hot as the flames in a fireplace. When he moves to touch me, I smack his hand away.

  “I do hope you didn’t say that.” I stick my tongue out, but before I can pull away, Henry’s tongue flicks mine. His hands hold the back of my head so he can kiss me and I surrender. The air’s gone from my lungs. I push him off of me and he simply smirks. “You’re terrible.”

  “Oh, come on, I wouldn’t tell my mother that. She loves you and if she knew that you use me for sex, she’d tell you to stop being friends with me. If I venture a guess, I’d say she’d recommend you to stay far away from me.” He frowns, taking my hand in his and squeezing it gently. “I hope you know that I enjoy our chats as much as I enjoy having sex with you,” he says, letting go of my hand so I can wipe the chocolate off my mouth with a napkin.

  “Sometimes you make it so hard for me to like you,” I reply. Henry arches an eyebrow before I smile. The truth is that I wouldn’t change our relationship for the world.

  Chapter Seven

  The next day, after a few long hours revising contracts and scripts for our talented actors, musicians, and models, Leticia’s in a bid to boost morale and also quiz me over the blind date. Once we’re done with the staff reunion, she suggests several of us should join her for dinner. Even though I would rather go home and enjoy a date with Netflix, I agree to join them.

  Once outside, I stare at the cloudless sky. Days like this will soon be gone once winter rolls in, I think wistfully while I wait for the others.

  The walk to the new American-style restaurant isn’t so bad, though chillier than we anticipated when we first left our building. Leticia smiles at me while we wait for a table. I know that smile; it somehow makes me cringe because I know what’s coming. There’s no escape.

  “You haven’t told me how it went last night,” she knocks her shoulder against mine when I look at her.

  For a woman in her late forties, she still looks much like a twenty-year-old, and she swears it’s all thanks to the Mediterranean diet. Her skin has that glow many people envy. Her long black hair falls in smooth waves down her back and over her chest. She winks at me while I tap my foot, hoping the Earth will open up and swallow me whole.

  “You’re terrible.” I chide her, and even though this isn’t a compliment, she wears it like a badge of honor.

  “Was it not nice?” she asks, her Spanish accent reminding me of sunny afternoons lying on a beach in Ibiza.

  “He’s not looking for a girlfriend; he’s looking for another mother,” I tell her. The silence between us is suddenly sprinkled by the sound of Leticia trying to cover up her giggles.

  “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry.” She nods, her brown eyes glistening. “I’ll do better next time.”

  “No,” I groan as the waiter calls us. “It’s fine. I’ve got so much work;
I don’t want another blind date.”

  “Sure, you don’t. You also need to get laid, or you get cranky,” she tells me while I push my hair away from my eyes.

  “That might be true, but seriously, I’m fine.”

  Joan sits beside me, winking my way. “Just get her a dildo,” she says deadpan as the girls laugh, reminding me that her Irish accent is as sharp as her wit. I playfully slap at her shoulder and shake my head.

  “Seriously, don’t encourage her!” I blurt when the menus are placed in front of us.

  “You should have roped in that hot friend of yours, Henry,” Joan says with a grin. “I would so do him,” she swoons, letting a dreamy smile settle on her face. I try hard to stop the desire to beat Joan over the head with the table. Instead, I force a smile and then wait for her to place her drink order. “I’ll have a Mojito,” she says as Ginny and Paige both agree.

  The twins, not real twins, but they’re such close friends I was sure they were sisters. Ginny and Paige work in accounting, and they’re equally beautiful. They stand taller than me, making me always feel like a dwarf even though I’m five foot seven. With their long black hair, the green eyes, plus those sun-kissed freckles, they certainly wouldn’t look out of place on Vogue’s cover.

  “I think the problem with your nonexistent dating life is that you rely on Henry. The man can’t veto the guys you go out with,” Paige wrinkles her nose, forcing me to shake my head.

  “I don’t ask him to do that!” I protest a bit too quickly, which causes them to turn to look at me.

  “Yes, you do,” Ginny chimes in. “What about Robert? He was nice, good looking, a barrister. I mean, seriously, he had everything going on, what did you do? You introduced him to Henry, and then Henry told you—” she says, waiting for me to finish her sentence.

  “That he looked like a wannabe magician,” I sigh, covering my face with my hands.

  “She’ll have a double whiskey and a glass of water,” Leticia says to the waitress while pointing at me. “And I’ll have the half carafe of sangria,” she adds, and before she speaks again, places her hand on my shoulder sitting on the other side of me. “You shouldn’t listen to him.”