Page 32 of Painted Truths

Shooting him a watery smile, he nods, silent and stoic as always, before smoothing his hand across his fair brow and turning in his seat to start the car. I’ve never been more grateful for his lack of aimless chatter as I am at this moment, and I curl up into a ball in the backseat as he whisks me home through waterlogged empty streets.

I arrive home to an empty apartment, soaked through, and head straight to the DeMarco Holdings website to confirm the fact that Henry, my Henry, is indeed Alex’s brother, Enrico DeMarco, CEO of DeMarco Holdings. Seemingly the same Henry that Martha had visited earlier this week, but judging from several more Google articles, he goes by Enrico, at least in the business world.

A little more digging unearths the information that his father had died three days after our meeting at Velvet two years ago. I’d obviously known that Alex’s father had passed away around the same time as my parents, but he’d not attended the funeral, citing that as his father hadn’t wanted to know him in life, he didn’t want to know him in death either.

It all just seems too crazy to be factual. Having been friends with Alex for years now, it’s beyond frustrating to discover that his rarely mentioned older brother is the man who has kept me up so many nights, lost in memories.

The McHottie we joke about on the regular!

Alex and I have an easy friendship. We’ve always had an unspoken understanding between us that our families are most definitely the Mariana Trench of deeply complicated drama. So, over the years, we have never delved too deep into the nuances of why we are the way we are.

I’d met Alex’s mum, Lauren, many times. She’d initially volunteered at St. Fintan’s, which was how I’d met Alex, who she’d forced to accompany her, but had taken to volunteering like a duck to water. It always felt like her actions were disingenuous. Which was later confirmed by my best friend. So, in a move orchestrated by Father T, he’d encouraged her to help out by sponsoring several homeless who resided at the shelter. She’d accepted by giving a handful a place to stay and a job on her staff.

It was kind but wholly selfish as she’d used it as an excuse to never darken the shelter doors again, having felt she’d done her bit in the sponsorship.

She’d shocked the hell out of me by showing up at my parents’ funeral, perfectly made-up like she’d stepped off a catwalk in Milan, albeit cold and aloof as usual. Now that I know she had been the older Enrico DeMarco’s second wife, call it a hunch, but I could see how a woman like her wouldn’t take kindly to being second at anything.

Thinking of Lauren as Henry’s stepmother was strange; she barely seemed old enough to be Alex’s mum.

I still can’t let my newly acquired knowledge impact my work. I need the job, end of story. And having signed a lease last weekend for my new apartment closer to the office, my desire to get my own place trumps all else.

Arriving at work the following Monday, I’m on edge, but after some subtle questioning, Freya lets it slip that Mr DeMarco, Enrico, not Alex, flew to New York over the weekend and won’t be back for a while. According to the absolute queen of office gossip, our CEO spends rather a lot of time stateside, which allows me to relax ever so slightly.

I still spend the week with my ear to the ground and glancing over my shoulder.

Finding it strange to hear Henry referred to as Enrico, my nosiness gets the better of me, and I ask Freya what the story is.

“His father was Enrico. Named after him obviously, though from what I’ve heard, he goes by the English version, Henry, with his inner circle. I don’t think even Alex calls him Henry, though…” She tilts her head to the side as though this realisation has only become apparent to her before lifting one shoulder. “Strange that!”

Seeing my eyebrows knit together, she goes on. “You seem very interested, Miss Parker! Have you happened to catch sight of him around the office? He’s unmistakable. Just watch for the most gorgeous man you’ll ever see.”

She bursts out laughing, and I join in, but only half-heartedly. Yeah, I’ve seen him, alright. Balls deep in the most enormous pain in my ass.

Andrea basically runs the show on 25, and, while I have no idea why she’s the only one who so openly doesn’t like me here, having witnessed her performance upstairs, I hate to admit it, but the feelings are reciprocated or at least in part. Though I don’t like the idea that I’m capable of actually hating someone, so maybe I just dislike her.

Intensely.

It’s the middle of the week when I get a call from Alex informing me that he wants to catch up over lunch at our favourite Italian place, so I gather my stuff and head out to meet him, Samuel at the ready obviously because, well, Alex, duh.

Lunch is a quiet affair, both opting for our own food today, smiling slightly at each other at how predictable. Alex gets a call after ordering a Tiramisu to share, and when I say share, I mean he’ll take a bite, and I’ll finish the rest.

“Hold on one second, sweet girl. I absolutely must take this.” Then, sliding the button across before the third ring, he puts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Rico, is everything okay?”

Lo-and-behold, it’s none other than the CEO of the moment. There’s indistinct chatter before Alex flushes slightly, then nods. “Yes, yes, of course, Henry. I apologise.”

Hmm, that’s interesting.

There is more chatter from the other end before Alex raises his eyes, meeting mine across the table. “Well, I’m at lunch with Liv. Can’t it…”

More chatter, and Alex’s flush deepens. “No, no, no. It’s not a date date.”

Silence follows for several long beats as my stomach bottoms out at Alex’s words. Does he know who I am? That his brother’s best friend is the same girl he’d ghosted in Velvet two years ago?

Get a grip, idiot.

“Is it okay if I get to it tomorrow, Henry?” The stilted hesitance in Alex’s voice is so sweet. And it makes me a little angry that his own brother would strike such apparent fear in my kind, dear friend.