Henry waits outside the door as I reach for the light switch.
The moment the lights come on I find that every possible space that could be used is taken up by vases with Burgundy Red Peonies in them. I take the flowers in before the scent of Lamb curry hits my nose. I turn my head to the right and arch an eyebrow at Henry.
“How do you ever cook in here?” He moves the flowers to the floor and then starts plating up dinner.
“I don’t,” I say, staring at him before placing my bag on the sofa, and then moving to take my coat off.
“Yes, I forgot about that.” The sarcasm in his voice is noticeable as I touch the petals of the peony.
“Henry,” I say before biting my bottom lip. “This is too much,” I tell him, meeting his gaze.
“No, it’s not,” he says defiantly as I arch an eyebrow. “I’m apologizing for the stupid things I said the last time,” he explains before turning to look at the plates.
“Apologizing for having your wicked ways with me?” I ask, confused. “Last time I checked, I was a willing victim.”
“Yes, but perhaps I’ve abused your trust, somehow. Maybe a few years ago…”
“Oh, please. Did Leticia call you?” I ask, hoping my annoyance is palpable.
“We ran into each other,” he admits, bringing the plates to the table and placing yet another three vases on the floor.
“Great.” I walk to my bedroom to change, because if I stay near him, I’ll end up calling Leticia and chewing her out.
“The food’s ready,” he calls.
“I’ll be there in a second,” I say after a pause and before closing the door behind me. Henry, of course, has never learned that closed doors are barriers, and as I undress and search for my yoga pants and an oversized shirt, he stands there in silence. The moment my eyebrow shoots up, he sighs.
“Maybe Leticia is right,” he says as I give him an are-you-kidding-me-look before I scoff.
“How long have you known me for?” I ask, his eyes widening slightly. “Do you not know me at all?”
“I know you well enough to know that you want something that I can’t give to you,” Henry says simply.
“Have I asked you for something, Henry? Anything at all?” I ask, more hurt than annoyed.
“No, but…”
“After we met, you told me all there was to know about you, and so did I. Five months after meeting you, didn’t I start dating Hans? Did I sleep with you then? No, I had a boyfriend. Did you badger me for sex? No, you knew I had a boyfriend.”
“And you two only lasted six months together,” he points out as I roll my eyes.
“Because he was still shagging his ex in case things didn’t work out with me,” I explode.
“Yes, but …”
“A year after we met, didn’t I start dating that stupid ass Pietro? Who was so into his looks I’m pretty sure he’s advocating to marry himself right now.”
“And a day after you were done with him you were back in my bed.”
“Do you not want to sleep with me? Because it’s very easy.” I motion between us. “See not sleeping together.”
“That’s- That’s not what I meant,” he says, and I can hear the frustration in his voice. I throw my hands in the air and push past him.
Once I sit down and dig into the curry, he brings the naan bread and the mango pickle and places it on my side of the table.
“It’s been nine years…”
“What the hell did Leticia tell you?” I ask, fuming as I fix my eyes on him once more.
“It’s not as bad you think …”
“Do you remember Roger, right? She set me up with him and we dated for two months before he hit me. The only person I could think of calling back then was you. Because you’re my friend and I know I can tell you anything and you’ll not judge me. Especially, when I beat the shit out of him and the cops wanted to arrest me. Who came to my defense and found a lawyer who made Roger crap his pants and drop the complaint?” I say.
“That’s not what this is about.”
“So, what is this about? Does she think I’m so in love with you that I can’t see past the fine print that says you won’t commit?” I ask before putting a mouthful of rice and lamb in my mouth to stop talking.
“Are you?” he asks softly, dropping his fork and leaning back against the chair.
“Of course, not.”
Chapter Thirty-One
I break the naan bread and dunk it in the mango pickle, ignoring the heavy feeling in my chest. Henry’s eyes haven’t moved away from me, and I feel as if I have to further explain my words.
“I love you, but I’m not in love with you, Henry,” I say, picking up a piece of the lamb with the bread and chewing so I don’t have to expand on that.
“Then you should probably tell her that because she thinks you are and she thinks that I’m in love with you.”
“But you aren’t,” I state as he nods. “Then there’s no problem here,” I say before I have more of the food.
“None at all.”
After dinner, I get the plates while Henry puts the rest of the food away. He cooked enough food for a small army, but neither of us actually ate that much. He does the dishes in silence and I dry them, still seething. Leticia’s a nice person, I remind myself. She really does have my best interests at heart; however, I could do without all of this crap. I don’t need someone mothering me. My own mother who lives in New York doesn’t mother me. She’s happy if I’m happy. Never once has my mother asked me about my love life. It’s not that she doesn’t care, but she’s always allowed me to be the first one to come to her rather than jumping down my throat.
I finish putting the plates away and notice the box of Indian sweets on the counter. Henry skims his finger over the top of the box and then clears his throat.
“I’ll make tea,” I say, turning around as he reaches for my shoulder.
“No, don’t. I have to go.”
“Okay,” I say, hoping the disappointment isn’t etched in my features.
“My dad’s having another dinner-slash-let’s-just-ignore-my-son night later on in the week.” He rolls down his shirt’s sleeves as I nod. “He cancelled today probably because there weren’t enough people going so he could really humiliate me.” He chuckles without humor.
“Henry,” I turn to fill the kettle for one because I can’t really tell him his dad’s a dick and he shouldn’t expect anything from him.
“I can come and pick you up, if you want to go with me.”
“If?” I ask, arching my eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I come? Just because you’ve been listening to Leticia’s advice about how you should probably keep your distance so I can marry someone else,” I tease him, but the atmosphere around us is so dense it feels like I’m trying too hard to sound normal. “Doesn’t mean that I have to.”
“Right,” he says, nodding. “I’ll call you, then,” he says, and like that, he’s out the door. I lean against the counter, my eyes taking in the sea of peonies, a foreboding feeling settling in my stomach.
***
After cleaning the kitchen, I feel invigorated in a strange way. I can’t go to sleep because I’ll only toss and turn. After changing, I take the tube to the gym. Instead of socializing, I head straight for the punching bags. The thought about maybe warming up runs through my head as I tie the first glove. It’s not until a familiar voice echoes around me that I look up.
“Whoa, Gracie, who do you want to kill?” Franky asks, taking over the whole lacing up the glove.
“Henry,” I spit out. “No, Leticia…”
“Uh-oh. What did they do now?” He moves on to the next glove.
“Nothing, I-I don’t know why things get so complicated,” I say and he fixes his midnight-sky eyes on me, arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow.
“You don’t know why things get complicated? Girl, you need to stop sleeping with that man,” he says in a stern voice.
“Can you keep your voice down?” I as
k, looking around us.
“You got it bad,” he says, standing up and then moves to hold the smallest of the bags for me.
“No, I don’t,” I protest, standing up.
“I think you’re protesting way too much, darling.”
“Oh, shut up,” I say, landing the first punch on the bag.
“I know he’s got the body of a Greek god, and actually his chiseled good looks belong in a magazine somewhere between naked and aroused.”
“Oh, please,” I say, unable to stop myself from laughing. I try to throw another punch at the bag, almost hitting Franky instead. “It’s not his fault,” I say before I swing at the bag once more, landing a punch in the middle of it. “Leticia had the talk with him.”
“Mhm. I bet Leticia told him to move in with you,” he snickers.
“She should mind her own business. Who cares why we’re not a couple?” I say, punching the bag so hard, he pushes back with it.
“And why are you two not a couple?” he asks as I hit it again, and again, and again. “That bad, eh?” he asks and I stop before throwing my gloved hands in the air.
“Because when we hooked up it was just that, it was meant to be just that night. I didn’t think I would see him again.” I lean against the wall while Franky lets the bag go. “Didn’t you tell me, he’s a serial one-night stander?” I ask him, taking a deep breath.
“Almost nine years, darling. That’s a relationship; a very toxic, albeit sexy relationship.”
“I know,” I mutter as I move to hit the next bag once Franky stands behind it and holds it. I punch the bag once, twice; soon I lose count, because try as I might, I can’t bloody find a single excuse for my behavior or Henry’s. Is it possible we’re simply just two horny idiots who are also commitment phobic?
Chapter Thirty-Two
It’s been over a week since Henry turned up at my place. The silence on his end is deafening. Instead of calling him or trying to understand what has been going on, I’ve been working non-stop getting my clients to go to auditions, booking events and signings, and spending every free minute at the gym.
After printing the last of the documents that I need, I walk to the printer and gather them before letting my eyes fix on the London skyline before me. At least my relationship with this city is still untouched and I’m still in love with it, as I was back when I was a ten-year-old dreaming of living in England.
A knock on the glass door makes me turn around, a half smile on my lips as I see Joan. She walks in with a tray; on it there is a small teapot, a cup, and a scone with strawberry jam and clotted cream.
“I’m going to have to go run for a thousand miles on the treadmill,” I tell her, but she casually shrugs.
“You’ve been going to the gym every night for the last week. I’m sure you can eat that without thinking of the calories,” she snaps back.
That’s true; not only have I been going to the gym with Franky, I’ve tried to kill the punching bags there, I’ve also sulked around my flat.
For the first time in a long time, I want to take control of my romantic life. Or rather, the lack of it; and that starts with admitting that I can’t continue to have a friends-with-benefits relationship with Henry. Franky made a good point of telling me that I’m no longer a teenager, and as a woman, I need to start listening to my internal clock. Because maybe when I want to listen to it, it’ll be too late. I think he’s full of it; I’m nowhere near ready or wanting children, but he does make a good point. I need to get out of the rut and learn to be just Henry’s friend.
After taking a bite out of the scone, I sigh. For years, I’ve blamed my failure to find a partner on luck; my bad luck. I should have known the first time I had sex. The problem wasn’t that it lasted less than five minutes. The problem was that I’d felt nothing. The pressure to lose the v-card during my freshman year in college pushed me to be another statistic of rush week, losing my virginity inside a toilet stall. The boy in question, the newspaper editor and debate team leader, Rafael Bonilla, never looked back. He didn’t even say thank you.
For a while, I thought that was the worst that could ever happen to me until two months later when I discovered I was pregnant. I didn’t even have time to process what that meant to me or think of what to tell my parents as a miscarriage followed soon afterwards. And the doctor’s news that I would probably never have children of my own sealed all thoughts about the subject and quite possibly killed any baby fever that could develop in my mind with time.
The fact that the only person who knows about that is Henry probably says a lot about how I feel about him.
“You’re awful quiet.” Joan’s voice brings me back to reality.
Once I wash down the scone with the tea, I stand up again and walk to the window. I don’t know why it’s so soothing to look at the Thames. There are tourists littering the street in front of our building, but the moment my eyes look at the Thames, and later at the scenery before me, I feel better. I feel at home.
“I feel so tired,” I tell her with a shrug.
“Why don’t you come out to dinner with the twins and me tonight?”
My phone pings again and I sigh before turning to the desk and grabbing it. I need to get out of my head and stop thinking about Henry.
“I don’t know, I still have a mountain of things to read for Tom Murphy and Candy Clark,” I say, looking at the phone. I expect another hourly update from Diana and Bernie about the party, but instead, I’m pleasantly surprised to see my mother’s texted me a picture of her and my father in front of the Angel fountain in Central Park. They look like a pair of teenagers in love and have perfectly recreated their engagement picture wearing similar clothes.
“Tom’s here!” my assistant announces and that’s the cue for Joan to stand up.
“I’ll see you later; call me if you need me.” Joan says before walking away.
I nod at Joan before looking at my assistant. “Send him in.”
“Hello, Ms. Marquez,” Tom says, closing the door behind him.
I turn to face him and grin. “Hi, Tom. So good to see you. I got the contract ready,” I say, moving to the in tray and then get the pens before motioning for the small table beside the window.
“Wow, you’ve got an impressive view.” He sits down after I do.
“Thank you. I arm wrestled Leticia for the office,” I say proudly before placing the contract on the table.
“You did? Wow, that’s-that’s amazing.”
“Well, have you seen her view? I don’t want to look at the market.” I get the pens ready.
“You’re full of surprises,” he says, taking the contract in his hand.
“I try.” I lean back against the chair.
Tom sits across from me, still turning the pages so he can start reading.
“Are you okay?” he asks in a soft voice, keeping his eyes on the contract.
“Yes, just-just waiting to see if that’s a satisfactory contract,” I say, clicking my pen.
“You seem a bit stressed out,” Tom presses on. I lean forward, letting my arms rest on the arm rests of the chair and gaze into his eyes for a second before he returns them to the page.
“My job is to make sure that you make money, and you do what you love,” I say. “And your job is to worry about signing the right contracts.” My hand moves to pick up the pen waiting for him to finish signing.
“Well, I don’t want you to be stressed out,” Tom says, picking the pen up.
“I’m not,” I blurt out, trying to sound reassuring, but the lines on his forehead tell me otherwise. “It’s personal stuff.”
“Is it that fella; what was his name? Henry?” he asks and I instantly regret having taken him to the pub and introduced him to those old gossip men.
“It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t that always the case?” Tom asks, signing the copies and initializing where he has to before handing over the contract.
“It shouldn’t be that complicated,” I say, a
nd he peruses my eyes almost as if he was trying to read my mind. “I mean, that’s what people say, right?”
“I don’t know. Relationships are hard. You have two people from different backgrounds, or well, just two different genders, trying to co-habitate and be happy. That in itself is very hard,” he states. “But I guess when you know someone is the one, then things just fall into place and we learn to see past the complications.”
“Maybe.”
“I guess you’ll have to wonder then if he’s the one.” Tom leans back in the chair.
“We’re meant to be talking about your career,” I say, picking up the iPad and looking for his file.
“Fine, then we can do dinner tonight and talk about you.” Tom’s expression tells me he’s not taking no for an answer. Still, I have to try.
“We don’t have to do that.”
“I insist. We’re going to be working closely together, and we need to get to know each other well enough to know when not to overstep the boundaries. Of course, I do that all the time. I’m rather nosey,” he says, standing up and walking to the window. “I can see the Shard from here,” he says with a smile, pointing at the window.
“The monstrosity watching over London?” I sigh.
“You sound like Prince Bernard.” He chuckles and I shrug
“Well, he’s right. There are so many new buildings, and London doesn’t look very much like London with all of them in the middle of the amazing sights.” I stand up and walk over to the window. “Still, there’s no place I’d rather be.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Tom whistles London Town before I lean against the window. “You’re a Londoner through and through, huh?”
“I love this city as if it was my own; though, that probably sounds crazy.”
“What about your friends and family back in New York?”
“They want me to go back home. However, it’s hard to think about it, because I’ve been here for a decade. It’s hard to go back when everything here has shaped me into the person that I’ve become.” I shrug, pressing my forehead against the window. “That sounds like a load of … stuff.”
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