Thoroughly Whipped

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.”