Stepping around me, King stopped right by my side. “You seem like a good girl, Faith. And I genuinely hold no animosity toward you, but what you have with Harry can lead nowhere. You are from two very different worlds, worlds that will inevitably collide, and not in a good way. I want him to be happy, and I know what’s best for him. That will not be you.”
He waited for me to say something, but I was mute and, mortifyingly, my eyes were filling with tears. “Good day, Miss Parisi. I really do wish you well.” With that, King Sinclair walked back to his fancy box with his son and his betrothed.
I know what’s best for him. That will not be you.
Turning on my heel, I rushed into the bathroom and wiped my eyes. I dug deep within myself to find my outrage, to find my spark, but it had gone out. I thought back to Harry and me. I thought of his posh English accent compared to my thick New York twang. How he fit in like a hand in a glove at the charity ball, and I smashed into a champagne fountain with the grace of an ox. I compared his spacious penthouse to my converted brownstone apartment in Brooklyn. His ancestral home to my parents’ in Hell’s Kitchen. I didn’t want to face the truth, but King was right. We were from two very different worlds. Louisa had been born for that kind of life.
Wiping my tears, I left the bathroom, only to find my friends waiting for me. Amelia saw my red face and held me in her arms. “I say we take this party home, what do you think?” I nodded, safe with my best friends. I felt Novah holding my hand and Sage’s hand on my back. They didn’t let me go, and in the apartment, we ate junk food and sprawled out on the couch watching Drag Race. It took all I had to convince Amelia that she didn’t need to stay with me overnight.
“He loves you, you know?” she said in my doorway. My heart kicked into a sprint. “I get I’m no love expert and, frankly, am terrible at dating, but he loves you. I can see it in the way he looks at you.”
“How’s that?” I whispered, lump in my throat.
“Adoringly,” Amelia said and sighed. “He just adores everything about you. What else could you ask for?” Amelia closed the door and I lay on my bed.
I listened to the rain begin to pour outside, the heavy summer drops bouncing on the fire escape just outside my window. I closed my eyes, but I rolled them open a while later, hearing the sound of someone trying to open my window. A flash of fear cut through me, just as the window slid open. But when a dapper, suited man climbed through, that fear was replaced with a heart so full I thought it might explode.
Harry closed the window then stood at the end of my bed, hair soaking wet and dripping to the floor. Without saying a word, he stripped out of his clothes and climbed on the bed. He gathered me in his arms and held me close. I wasn’t sure he would ever let go.
Safe in his arms, his body heat lulling me to sleep, I closed my eyes, cheek to his chest. Just as slumber began to pull me under, Harry whispered, “Faith? I need to tell you something. Something about who I am.” I thought I heard trepidation, maybe fear, in his tone, but my drowsiness felt too good to resist after the long day we’d had.
“Another time,” I said sleepily, my arm tightening around his waist. Harry’s hand stroked though my hair, taking away the last of my fight to stay awake.
“Okay,” he said, and I went under, weirdly dreaming Harry added, “I just hope you understand.” He sighed. “I just hope you don’t hate me.”
When I awoke the next day, there was a note on my pillow.
Gone to meet my dad. Didn’t want to wake you.
I will see you tomorrow,
Yours, and only yours,
Harry x
Gripping the note, which faintly smelled of his cologne, I pulled it to my chest and fell back to sleep, a contented smile on my lips.
Chapter Seventeen
I shook out my hands and took a deep, steadying breath. I pressed the button for the top floor. The elevator doors opened and, thankfully, I was the only one inside.
Sally had called for me. I had no idea if she liked my article or not, but in minutes, I would find out if I was actually going to have a feature published in Visage magazine. I remembered Papa, at Sunday dinner, saying one day and prayed that my one day had finally arrived.
As I exited the elevator onto the management floor, I looked at Harry’s door and wondered if he was okay. He hadn’t talked to me yesterday besides the note. But I knew he probably didn’t want me going into his office. I didn’t know where we stood, and although I believed he liked me as much as I liked him, I knew that wasn’t always enough.