Thoroughly Whipped

Putting down the cell and wiping my history of any Harry-themed evidence, I wiped at my tears, just as he came through the curtain to the booth.

“Faith?” He put the coffees down and rushed to my side. “What’s wrong? Is it your head? Are you in pain?”

I tried to think of something but those sorrowful blue eyes. “Erm…I’m…I’m premenstrual, okay?” Harry took a step back, as men do at any mention of period-related issues. “And this,” I said, pointing to my head. “I’m not sure I can pull off a giant horn on the side of my head.”

Harry fought a smile, which was as welcome as a blindfold on a nudist beach. “I’m sure you’ve been told this plenty in your life, Faith. But you’re beautiful, and I’m pretty sure that beauty wouldn’t lessen no matter how many horns you sprouted on your head.”

I dried my eyes and blinked up at him, his words landing like arrows in my now Harry-exposed heart. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Spots of red burst onto Harry’s cheeks. “Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “Exceptionally.” Our gazes were locked and, for once in my life, I had no jokes to crack. In fact, only silence hovered between us.

“Okay, Faith,” the nurse said, opening the curtain. “Here’s your prescription for your pain meds.” She placed a clipboard on my lap. “If you just sign these forms, you’re good to go.” I forced my attention away from Harry and to the forms. I signed my name robotically.

An orderly came through next with a wheelchair. “Do you have a ride home?” he asked.

“I’ll take her,” Harry said, standing and gathering my belongings and our coffees. “That okay?” he asked.

“More than.”

Then Harry smiled. Not a whisper of one, not a smirk or minute cocky grin. But a true smile. I was glad I was sitting or that sucker would have dropped me straight on my ass.

Exceptionally.

As the orderly led me to the underground parking lot, all I heard in my head was Harry’s voice saying exceptionally.

Harry brought the car to the curbside. I slid inside onto the passenger seat. “Home?” Harry asked, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

A strange sort of tension had filled the car. Not a bad tension, but one that felt like a weird kind of purgatory. Confusion and unfamiliarity crackled in the air like an old wireless radio trying to find a station. I used to know my place with Harry. I didn’t like him. He didn’t like me. He was cold and arrogant. I was loud and annoyed him. Now…we were in a no-man’s land. One I couldn’t find my way out of.

“I’ll go to my parents’ house,” I said as Harry pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street. “It’s two blocks from the rec center.”

Before we’d left, the nurse had explained to me that I needed someone to watch me for the next twenty-four hours. Amelia and Sage were working late. And I just wanted to go home. I was a twenty-five-year-old woman who wanted her mom to spoil her while she recovered. Sue me. I was high maintenance. I knew that. I couldn’t friggin’ cope with caring for myself; I’d annoy me too much.

The ride was silent as we cut down the dark streets of Hell’s Kitchen. People filled bars and restaurants, spilling out onto the streets. Coming back to Hell’s Kitchen was as comforting as grilled cheese and tomato soup. It wrapped its magic around me with a forceful hug and welcomed me home.

“Just here,” I said and pointed at the apartment block. Mom and Papa lived on the ground floor. “Thank you,” I said. “For today. You didn’t have to stay with me and then bring me home. I’m sure you had other places you had to or wanted to be.”

“Nowhere,” he said again, those intense blue eyes conveying unspoken words. Ones that I was sure I was misinterpreting.

“Okay, well…” Harry opened his door and walked around the hood of his car. He opened my door and held out his hand. As I took it, I said, “Shouldn’t you be saying ‘Milady’ as you do this?”

Harry’s nose crinkled and, in my bruised brain state, I thought it was the cutest damn thing I’d ever seen. “Tad too servitorial,” Harry said, regal chin in the air. “I normally have a member of my staff do this kind of menial thing.” Just when I thought he was cute, maybe not the pompous prick I’d pinned him up to be, his wannabe-royal ass says something to prove me wrong.

I opened my mouth to tear him a new rim; then I saw his mouth twitch and a smirk pull on his lips. “You are such a twat.”

“High praise.”

Harry linked my arm through his and we traipsed up the stoop. If I closed my eyes, I could believe we were in Georgian Britain and had just departed our carriage to enter the ball. He would be a dashing duke, and me the servant he had fallen in love with and was defying society to be with. And—