Page 71 of Romantic Hero
‘Please let me take him somewhere private,’ River says through gritted teeth.
‘You go on up, River.’ I hand him the keys. ‘I’m fine. Promise.’
Not looking at all pleased about it, River curls his lip at Henry, takes the keys and lets himself into the building, closing the door behind him.
‘What do you want from me, Henry?’ I ask once we’re alone.
‘You haven’t been texting me back.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I texted you to see if you were all right and you didn’t text back. You always text back eventually.’
‘My phone’s been broken. And I am all right. Actually, I’m more than all right. I just got back from the—’
‘I value you,’ Henry says then. ‘You know that, right? I value you so much, my Gert.’
Value me?
‘What does that even mean?’ I tilt my head to the side.
‘It means I don’t see why this has to turn sour.’ His face softens. ‘I want you in my life. And while it may no longer be in a … romantic way, I simply can’t bear the thought of losing you.’
My chest starts to heat up with indignation. ‘You put me on hold, Henry!’ I sputter. ‘You put our relationship on hold even though you had zero intention of resuming it. Your “break” kept me in this horrible limbo because you wanted all the options while I had none.’
‘That’s a little rich, don’t you think?’ Henry laughs through his nose. ‘You’re seeing someone else too! You took great pleasure in parading him in front of me at Little Crumpet Manor, in fact.’
‘Iaskedyou that night in the hotel if you were involved with anyone else. You said no. You said you needed time to consider our relationship. But you were lying. You knew exactly what you were doing. You wanted to keep me on a string. A back-up, just in case. How long have you been involved with Marisol?’
I notice then that my stomach is churning, my shoulders hunched. I feel nervous. Not in a light, excitable way when something new or inspiring is happening, but in a way that means I’m suddenly hyper-aware of what I look like, what I sound like, what I say and if it’s silly or clever enough or useful enough or too emotional. It’s a heavy feeling that makes me immediately tense. I rub the back of my neck. Had I been so consumed with melancholia and self-pity thatI failed to realise that when Henry disappeared, so did the constant bracing for correction or ridicule? I wonder if that’s why I didn’t cry when I saw him kissing Marisol. Was some deep-down part of merelieved?
‘Why are you getting angry?’ Henry says, reaching out to lay a hand on my arm. ‘Just relax. Goodness me.’
I shake him off.
‘Because maybe I am angry.’ I glare at him. I never glare, but I suspect I’m good at it because Henry flinches a little in response.
‘You’re behaving very out of character.’
‘Yeah? What character is that? The sidekick? The back-up option?’
He sighs and pinches his bottom lip between thumb and forefinger. I wonder if he’s about to say sorry. A real, genuine sorry for keeping me on a string for so long, for dangling the possibility of us recoupling so expertly when it’s blatantly clear now that he never actually intended for us to get back together at all. He just didn’t want me to know that. He wanted to hedge his bets, in case he changed his mind or, more likely, Marisol changed hers. Keep me mooning on the back burner, which I would have done. Would have kept on doing.
I take a deep breath, ready to hear what he has to say.
But Henry doesn’t apologise. Not at all. Not even a tiny bit. Quite the opposite, in fact.
He leans back onto his heels. ‘Fine. I was seeing Marisol before I moved out, but you have to understand, I wasn’t sure if she was what was best for me. I thought I wanted more excitement, someone more independent … butMarisol … she’s perhaps a littletoostimulating … I like your energy in my life. I need it. You ground me. Say we can still be friends, Gertie.’
I blink at him. ‘Yeah, I have to go now, Hen. Thanks for checking on me. No need to text again because I won’t be answering.’
As I climb the steps to the front door, Henry says, ‘What about the pages?’
I turn around slowly. ‘Sorry?’
He shoves his hands back into his pockets. ‘Possibly not the best time, but since I’m here … have you had a chance to look at my pages yet? Even just a teeny tiny peek? Any feedback would be appreciated – I have a meeting with my agent this week, so …’
I remember those liminal weeks after Josie died. Being so wrapped up in this man, desperately using his affection for me to distract myself from the way I was feeling. I even stopped my grief counselling because I thought he could make all of my pain go away. That he could somehow heal me with love and flattering romantic gestures and the comfort of his arm flung across me in the middle of the night. I know better now. He never made the pain go away. It’s all right there, in every cell of my body, still waiting to be acknowledged.Yellingto be acknowledged. All being with Henry did was put the worst of my pain on hiatus.
