by Cole, Tillie
Giant sculptures of flowers of various hues created an indoor garden, and oversized fairy wings fluttered from the ceiling, up and down, like they were moving, flying across the sky. The floor was a mass of pink flowers, not real but illuminated by a projector hidden somewhere in the ceiling. A large crescent moon and thousands of stars hung from the walls and roof. It was like being trapped in a dream.
I brushed my hand down the skirt of my dress; then I saw him. Cutting through the crowd, Harry, in a black suit and white shirt and tie, looking as tall and handsome as any man could, stopped at the bottom of the stairs. A laugh slipped from my lips at the mask he wore.
Phantom of the Opera.
I saw him smile under the familiar white porcelain mask and wondered how I ever could have not realized it was him. It seemed so obvious to me now. I descended the steps, seeing Harry’s eyes—his true blue, not silver contacts—watching my every move.
I wore a floor-length black lace halter dress with a plunging neckline. A slit was cut up to my right thigh, and my hair hung down to the middle of my back in loose waves. My mask was the same black lace as my dress and fashioned in the shape of a cat’s face.
As I reached the bottom step, Harry held out his hand and I slipped mine into it. “Faith,” he said, awe thickening his voice. Stepping to the ballroom floor, he kissed the back of my hand.
“Maître Harry.” I lowered my head slightly, like a good siren. Harry growled playfully and pulled me to his chest.
“I like the sound of that way too bloody much.”
My temperature spiked at his husky voice. “So do I.”
Harry studied my mask and said, in that perfect French accent, “Mon petit chaton.” He playfully tapped the small pointed ears.
That name purring from his lips instantly made me clench my thighs together. “Meow,” I said, winking, and Harry threw his head back, laughing.
“Menace,” Harry said and held my hand. Shocked, I looked down at our clasped hands and the people dancing and conversing around us. He was holding my hand. In public. Where anyone could see. It wasn’t just his employees here tonight; there were people from English society too. Many, many people. But as Harry walked with me through the crowd, curious glances firing our way, I realized he didn’t care.
Neither did I.
Harry handed me a glass of champagne. “I have never seen you look as beautiful as you do now, Faith.”
“Because half my face is covered?” I teased.
Harry took the champagne from my hands, ignoring my quip. “Dance with me.”
Sheer horror filled my bones. “Erm…” I looked at the waltzing couples and Harry’s expectant stare. “Not sure I can dance like that. In case you forgot, I am clumsy. Like the clumsiest klutz that there ever, ever was.”
Clearly not taking no for an answer, Harry pulled me to the dance floor. I passed Sally, Michael, and Sarah, who all stood gaping at Harry’s hand in mine. As we hit the dance floor, the music changed. I recognized it instantly. It was slower than what had been playing, and Harry pulled me to his chest, wrapping his arms around me.
Under the crescent moon and stars, he guided me around the dance floor, Ed Sheeran and Andrea Bocelli’s song about being perfect accompanying our every move.
“Andrea Bocelli,” I whispered into Harry’s ear. “It will forever remind me of you.” Harry as “Maître” had played Andrea Bocelli every night I’d been with him. Harry had played his music in his apartment. How had I ever not known?
“I never thought I’d have this,” Harry said. I became trapped in his blue gaze, and the onlookers fell away. “I never thought you would be with me this way.”
Cupping my hands on the back of his head, I lowered it and brought his lips to mine. Harry shifted his mask to the side, showing his face so he could kiss me longer, deeper, slower. He tasted of mint and champagne, and I melted against him. We were here. No secrets. Hearts bared and no obstacles in our way. My heart thudded hard in my chest, and the music, which was so perfect for us, swept us away.
Harry’s arms were tight around my waist, and I felt it. He hadn’t said the words yet. But with every kiss, with every caress of his tongue, and with every flex of his hands on my back, he told me he loved me. I tried to show him I loved him too with my hands in his hair as I smiled against his mouth. As the song ended and our lips broke apart, I met Harry’s eyes and couldn’t look away. The music moved on to another song, but I just stood there holding him, and he held me too.
“I’m so happy you came here,” Harry whispered. Then he smiled a breathtakingly crooked smile. “And I am so very happy that damn elevator broke down.” I laughed, and Harry took my hand. “Let’s get a drink.” As we were moving through the crowd, someone took hold of my free hand.
When I saw a blond man in a black traditional mask, I recognized him immediately. “May I cut in?” Nicholas asked.
“One dance, then she’s mine again,” Harry said sternly, causing me to moan out loud at the level of dominance in his voice. I tried to smother it with a cough, but when Nicholas covered his mouth to hide his amusement, I knew it had been in vain.
As we hit the dance floor, a faster, more upbeat song played, and Nicholas spun me around the dance floor like a ballerina in a jewelry box. “How’s Sage?” he asked, not at all subtle about his feelings for my friend.
“He’s good.” Nicholas nodded, and I asked, “Nicholas Sinclair, what are your intentions for my best friend?”
Sage leaned closer and said, “Naughty ones. Very, very naughty ones.”
“Then you’ll do fine,” I said and let him spin me again.
Nicholas looked over my shoulder and said, “What have you done to my cousin and where can I buy it?” I turned to see Harry drinking champagne at the bar, looking our way, completely ignoring the people who had gathered around him to converse.
“I have no idea what you mean,” I said, unable to stop looking at Harry.
“Oh, bloody hell.” Nicholas took me from the dance floor and deposited me at Harry’s feet. “It’s no fun when your partner is mooning over someone else the entire time.” Nicholas winked at me, grabbed another woman he knew, and dragged her to the dance floor.
Harry pulled me against his chest. We danced some more, ignoring the questions and eagle-eyed guests. The champagne was buzzing through my veins, the fake stars were glittering, and Harry hadn’t let me go all night.
As a slow song began to play, I went to my toes and said, “Make love to me.” Harry raised his head from the crook of my neck and met my eyes. “Take me from here and make love to me,” I said again.
Harry slipped his hand into mine and led me through the crowd and to the stairway. We headed to my room. When we walked past it to the door at the end of the hallway, he turned the knob. With a blush on his cheeks, he confessed, “My room.”
“Next to mine.”
Shrugging, he said, “I had to have you close.” Throwing off my mask and his, I crushed my lips to Harry’s and we moved into his bedroom, locking the door behind us. Harry kicked off his shoes and guided me to the bed. He placed me gently on the mattress, and I could already feel that this moment was different. There were no jokes, no playful quips. This was him and me, our true selves, together at last.
Without breaking eye contact, Harry slipped off his jacket, followed by his shirt. I shivered seeing his sculpted chest and torso again, and I didn’t look away—not even once—when he pulled down his pants and climbed on the bed.
Harry kissed me. He kissed and kissed me until my lips were swollen and I was completely drowning in him. His mouth moved to my neck, and I lifted my hair as his fingers found the tie of my dress. The thin material fell away from my breasts and pooled at my hips. His mouth laid kiss after kiss down my neck, along my breasts, and down my stomach. My breathing was stuttered and my body felt on fire, scorched by every brush of his lips on my skin.
Harry pulled my dress from my legs, my panties following afterwards. He crawled back abo
ve me, both of us exposed and raw and free. “I love you,” he said, a tremor in his voice. Like he was fearful of being refused.
“Harry,” I whispered and cupped his face. “I love you too. So much I can barely stand it.”
He kissed me again; he kissed me and kissed me until I was breathless. His hand moved down my body, as light as a feather. I parted my legs and threw my head back as he touched me. I moaned, the sound echoing around the room. I felt Harry’s hardness on my hip and, with my hands on his back, guided him between my thighs. His lips broke from mine and, staring into my eyes, he slowly pushed inside me. I arched my back, my breasts brushing his chest.
Harry’s mouth moved to my neck, and I tipped my head back as his arms threaded around me and held me as close to him as possible. He rocked back and forth inside me, not a single word being spoken. I had never had it like this, never had it so slow and passionate and intense. I realized it was because, before this, before Harry, I had never made love. Because I had never been in love like this.
Love. I loved him. So much it was terrifying.
“Faith.” Harry’s hands moved to the top of my behind. He increased his speed, his thrusts coming faster and faster, a sheen of sweat gathering on our heated skin. I held him close, my arms cradling his head, as I felt my orgasm building, higher and higher. Then my body stilled, filled with pleasure so intense that my eyes shut and I cried out, limbs weightless, my bones nothing but air. Harry tensed then, with a low groan, came inside me. I clutched his hair as he gently rocked back and forth, until he expelled a loud exhale and dropped his forehead to mine.
He licked his lips and whispered, “I love you, Faith. I love you so goddamn much.” His breathing was heavy as he fought for air.
“I love you too,” I said again, the admission filling a part of me I didn’t even know was missing. Harry rolled off me and gathered me in his arms. I took in the rich reds and golds and the impressive four-poster bed we lay in. “So this is what it would be like?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“What?” he said quietly, so as not to break the delicate peace around us.
“Being with you.” I soaked in the heat from his chest and his arm around my waist. “Making love to you…waking up with you…loving you from here on out.”
“Yes,” Harry said, and I closed my eyes. “It could be exactly like this.” I could still hear the orchestra from the ballroom, and I let the sound of violins and cellos lure me to sleep. As darkness claimed me, Harry pressed a kiss to my head and held me even tighter. “I want it exactly like this.”
When I awoke, the sun flooding in through the windows, it was to another note on the pillow Harry had slept on.
Faith,
There are no words to explain what these past few days and, most certainly, last night, meant to me.
I wish for you to be with me. I wish for you to be by my side for the rest of my life. But I understand the enormity of those wishes. The world I live in, as I have already expressed, is not to be taken lightly. As I woke up this morning, I was the happiest I have ever been in my life. Having you in my arms, your knowing everything there is to know about me, was freedom. True freedom. No masks, no disguises, just us. To me, that is perfection.
I know you fly out this morning to New York. I will follow this evening. Please think about everything I have said. Please take as much time as you need, I will not push you. You know my sentiment. I love you like no other, and that truth will remain until the day I die.
I turned the paper over, and my heart stopped.
Publish the feature, Faith. I have given Sally instructions to publish whatever you wish as the Visage big feature. It was wrong of me to destroy your dream. I only ask that you direct the attention toward me, now that you know the truth. You deserve this, Faith. You are an excellent writer.
I love you eternally,
Yours and only yours,
Harry x
A tear splashed on the page, smudging the ink. Leaving the bed, and clutching my letter to my chest, I put on last night’s dress and went to my room. I packed, thinking over everything.
As we boarded the plane, and it leveled off, I knew what I must do. I pulled out my laptop and opened a new blank document. I wrote all the way back to New York, tears in my eyes and love in my heart.
As the plane grounded in JFK, I felt changed and the new feature felt right. I read Harry’s note again, keeping it in my bra and close to my heart all the way home.
Having you in my arms, your knowing everything there is to know about me, was freedom. True freedom. No masks, no disguises, just us. To me, that is perfection…
Perfection. I was pretty sure that’s exactly what Harry Sinclair was.
At least he was perfect for me.
Chapter Twenty-One
I checked my cell again. There was still nothing from Harry. I’d spent the morning and most of the afternoon drafting and redrafting the feature. It was going to press tonight. As soon as Sally had signed off on it, I’d sent a copy to Harry.
I’d heard nothing back.
Amelia was at work. Sage and Novah were too. Needing to get out of the house, I jumped to my feet and headed to the subway. As the train stopped in Hell’s Kitchen, I walked in the baking heat to my parents’. I checked my cell again and again like a neurotic girlfriend.
Why wasn’t he answering? Had he not read it yet? Or had he, and hated it? Tucking my cell back in my purse, I tipped my head back and shouted, “I’m too jet lagged and too fucking hot and bothered for this shit!”
With no divine sign, or even a response from Harry, letting me know his thoughts, I turned the corner to my parents’ home and my stomach fell to the ground. “No,” I whispered and ran to the steps. The sign that had said “For Sale” now said “Sold.” “No, no, no, no!” I said on a crescendo, bellowing, “NO!” as I burst through my parents’ door. Mom was walking into the living room with a tray of coffees. Papa was at the table, holding two letters in his hands. “You’ve sold it?” I asked, my voice catching with sadness. “I can’t believe you’ve sold it.”
Mom and Dad shared a look I couldn’t decipher. “What?” I pushed. “What’s going on?”
“We don’t know,” Papa said, holding the letters. “I shut the shop because it couldn’t pay the rent. And we received a cash offer for the apartment. We said yes, of course. It was even over what we had asked for it.” He rubbed his head, stressed. Or maybe confused, I wasn’t sure. “Then these came today.” Papa held up the letters. I moved across the room like my ass was on fire and opened them.
“Deeds?” I asked, reading the addresses on the documents. “Papa, these are in your and Mom’s names.” My heart started racing seeing the address of Papa’s shop on the paper too. But not just his shop, the entire building. The entire fucking overpriced New York building.
“There must be some mistake,” Mom said. “Who would buy our house and then give us the deed? And who would buy the entire building for your papa, and gift us that too. Nothing makes sense! We’ve called the lawyer who dealt with it. They told us there was no mistake. Even pushed the sale through in a couple of weeks instead of the usual allotted time.”
Mom laid her hand on Papa’s shoulder. He placed his hand over hers. There was a static feeling zipping through my veins, telling me to see something. Reading the letter again, I froze when I saw the initials of the buyer…
H.A.S.
“Oh my shitting Christ,” I whispered and my hands shook. “Oh my fucking god!” I said louder and Mom rushed to my side.
“What, Faith, what?” Mom asked, trying to keep me steady.
“Harry,” I whispered, and I saw my mom’s expression change from confusion to understanding. H.A.S…Henry Auguste Sinclair… “It was Harry,” I said, choking on the emotion clogging my throat. “He saved your house.” I looked to Papa, who had turned white. “He bought you a building. An entire fucking building!”
“Why?” Mom whispered, her trembling hand covering her mou
th.
“He loves her,” Papa said, getting to his feet. His gaze locked on mine. “He loves you, doesn’t he, mia bambina?”
“Yes,” I replied, feeling my heart expand so big in my chest I thought it might break through my ribs. “He loves me,” I whispered.
Papa put his hands on my arms. “And you, Faith. Do you love him?”
“Yes,” I said, tears spilling from my eyes and down my face. “Yes, so damn much I can hardly bear it.”
“Faith,” Mom said and wrapped her arms around me.
“I need to go.” I was already backing away toward the door. “I need to find him.” I raced from the door, only stopping long enough to give back the deeds. The deeds to their home. Papa’s building. Harry. Harry saved their home and business.
My Harry.
I waved my hands in the air, trying to flag down a cab. When one finally stopped, I gave him the address to Harry’s apartment building. It was too late for him to be at work; he had to be at home. I bounced in my seat when the chaotic New York traffic was bumper to bumper. The cab driver beeped the horn and I rolled down the window, screaming, “Get the fuck out of our way, assholes!”
“You wanna ride with me every day, lady?” the cab driver said, but I couldn’t stop my mind from racing. Harry had bought my parents’ house and business premises for an ungodly amount of money. Because he loved me. Because he loved me.
I burst out crying in the back seat, loud sobbing mixed with laughter of pure disbelief. The cab driver, who’d been inviting me to join his business a second ago, was now looking at me as though I had escaped an insane asylum and was about to wreak havoc in his city.
The driver, looking mightily pleased we had reached our destination, unlocked the doors and I burst onto the street. I ran to the glass doors and to the concierge desk in Harry’s building. “I need to see Harry Sinclair,” I said, repeatedly hitting the top of the desk. The concierge looked at me the same way the driver had. Pure fear in his gaze.
