Twenty Seven
Henry
“Itold you I need the car for five p.m. sharp, I can’t be late,” I snap down the phone before immediately regretting the sharpness in my voice. I hate how I sound — cold, clipped — but the idea of leaving Matilda waiting outside the ceremony because my driver’s late is unbearable.
I’d offered to pick her up, of course, but she insisted we meet there. “Less like a date,” she’d said. I pretended it didn’t sting.
When Harrison finally pulls up, I slide into the back seat. “Sorry I was a dick on the phone,” I mumble. “Just a big night. Pressure’s getting to me.”
“No problem, sir,” he says kindly. “Not that you need it, but good luck tonight. You deserve it.”
His words hit deeper than I expect. “Thank you, Harrison.”
The drive takes twenty minutes, but it feels longer. My hands won’t stay still — straightening my cuff-links, fixing my bow tie, checking my reflection only to find the same nervous stranger looking back at me.
When we arrive, spotlights bathe the old stone of the building in gold. The crowd outside glitters with tuxedos and sequins. I take a long breath before stepping out of the car.
The moment the cold air hits my face, I glance around for her. No sign. I pull out my phone and see her message waiting:
Meet you inside. I have a surprise for you. x
My lips twitch into a smile before I can stop them. She has that effect on me — pulling light out of the dark corners I didn’t know were there.
Inside, the grand hall is alive with sound — laughter, glasses clinking, the soft sway of jazz beneath it all. The chandeliers catch the light like frozen fireworks.
And then I see her.
A vision in soft yellow, standing in the centre of the room like she owns the light. Her hair is swept into a loose bun, a few tendrils curling down her neck, and for a moment everything else fades to static. My pulse actuallystutters.
I move before I even realise it, drawn to her like gravity.
Then I hear it — a laugh I’ve known my whole life. Familiar, warm, grounding.
My gaze shifts, and there he is.
My dad.
Standing tall — shaky but standing — one hand on his stick, the other looped through Matilda’s arm. His suit is sharp, his face clean-shaven. Pride radiates off him, and beside him, Matilda beams like she’s been holding this secret for days.
The breath catches painfully in my throat. My chest tightens. For a terrifying second I can’t move. He’s here. He’sreally here.
And I know she’s the reason.
“Henry, my boy!” he calls, voice booming across the room. He starts toward me, unsteady but determined. I rush forward, meeting him halfway and pulling him into my arms.
“Dad, you’re here.” The words scrape out of me, broken and small.
“I am,” he says into my shoulder. “And you have this woman to thank for that.”
When I pull back, Matilda is standing a few steps away, hands twisted together, that nervous smile tugging at her lips. I reach for her instinctively, sliding my fingers between hers. She relaxes at my touch, and something inside me loosens too.
Her eyes flicker up to mine, a quietyou’re welcomeshining through them. I can’t stop myself — I lean forward and press a kiss to her cheek. Her perfume hits me — warm, honeyed — and when she shivers, I almost forget where we are.
“Thank you,” I whisper against her skin.
She exhales, shaky, and smiles.
Before I can say any more, Dad taps his stick against the floor. “Shall we find our seats, young man?”
