Ten minutes later, Rachel’s already on her second glass while I’m still halfway through my first.
She’s been ranting about some guy at work — “annoying, infuriating, unnecessarily optimistic.” — which obviously translates to “I fancy him but refuse to admit it.” Henry listens patiently, offering the occasional bit of advice, and to my surprise, the two of them actually get on. She vents for far too long. She says something though that peaks Henry interest and he glances at me like he knows something I don’t, but the moment passes quickly like I may have misread it.
He even orders Chinese food — earning instant approval from Rachel — and by the time the crispy duck and noodles arrive, my earlier frustration has faded.
By the end of the evening, I’m tired but content. Henry’s been perfect, of course. Attentive. Kind. Charming. And when he gets up to leave, promising to call tomorrow, I almost believe this could bereal.
Then Rachel turns to me the second the bathroom door closes.
“So,” she says, eyes narrowing, “care to explain what the fuck is going on there?”
I sigh. “You remember the awards ceremony?”
“Yes.”
“Well, afterwards we kind of… kissed. And then he came back to mine and kind of spent the night.”
“Okay, so you’vebanged.”
“Rachel!” I hiss, glancing toward the bathroom. “Keep your voice down.”
She rolls her eyes. “So are you two, like, together?”
The question stops me cold. The obvious answer should beyes.We’ve said we like each other. We’ve been together — a lot. We can’t seem to keep our hands off each other. But somehow, I can’t say it.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “We haven’t really labelled anything.”
Rachel sighs. “Matty, are you sure you’ve thought this through? What happens when this ends?”
“What if it doesn’t?” I say quietly.
She arches an eyebrow. “Two good bangs don’t make a relationship.”
“Two?” I grin. “Try a few more.”
She gags dramatically. “Jesus, I don’t want the details.”
I exhale. “Look, I know it’s not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. Should I be focusing on my career instead of fantasising about my boss every five minutes? Probably. But I’m tired of doing the right thing all the time. I’mhappy.I like him,Rachel. Really like him. And for the first time in years, I feel… comfortable. Safe. Seen.”
Her expression softens for a moment — then turns serious.
“And how do you know that’s the real Henry?” she asks quietly. “Not just an act to get you into bed? Maybe the real Henry is the one you worked for the last four years.”
Her words sting sharper than I expect.
And for the first time that night, I don’t have an answer.
Thirty Five
Henry
Ifinish my shower slower than usual, giving Matilda and Rachel time alone. I’m not blind or stupid — Rachel doesn’t like me. And honestly, she has every right not to. I was a complete arse to her sister for years. You don’t get to treat someone like that, then expect their family to welcome you with open arms just because you’ve suddenly decided to change your tune.
I pull on a pair of grey joggers and a black T-shirt, rubbing the towel through my hair before heading back to the living room. The lights are off. Empty.
Then I notice the soft glow coming from Matilda’s room.
Rachel must have gone.
