Finding You, Looking for Me: A Henry Cavill FanFic

Part 32: The After Party Could Have Been Better

Our encounter in the dark theatre worked to cool us off temporarily. He was still being very affectionate and we were both finding reasons to touch each other subtly.

We exited the theatre and decided to walk the two blocks to the night club that the afterparty was being held at. Henry and I were both pleasantly drunk, chatting with fans and paparazzi as we made our way down the street. Henry was playful and cracking jokes as we walked hand in hand.

"Henry! When are you going to get married?"

Henry brought my hand to his lips and kissed it.  "Very soon. I don't want to let this woman get away." I giggled at him and rolled my eyes.

"Where did you two meet?

"At a pub outside of Chicago," Henry responded, gleefully.

"And I asked him to dinner," I chimed in quickly, with a proud grin. The fans walking with us cheered at my addition to the story.

"Sarah, do you still talk to Ben?"

Henry waved the question away. "We're having a nice night, there's no reason to get nasty."

When we arrived at the nightclub, Henry began signing autographs and chatting with fans one on one. I kind of stepped back and talked to photographers—asking them about photo rates and editing apps.

"Not that he ever needs editing," I said, laughing. The few photographers surrounding me laughed along with me.

"He's a handsome bloke," one agreed with me.

I watched Henry interact with his fans. His shirt was practically unbuttoned at this point, and his chest was entirely exposed. He had a mischievous grin on his lips, along with hints of my lipstick. He posed for photos with people individually and in groups. His mood was inflated—and he was positively glowing. He looked almost edible.

I heard him wrapping up the meeting, and I stepped back to his side, threading my arm through his. Some fans took pictures of the two of us together. As I moved closer to his side, he nuzzled my ear with his nose, and the flashbulbs began to go off furiously. I laughed, knowing that his affection would be tabloid fodder the next day. He laughed as well, and planted a kiss on my lips.

After bidding goodbye to the paparazzi and fans, we entered the night club. The movie had been a sexy, stylized gangster movie set in a pre-Depression era Chicago, and the nightclub was outfitted in a Chicago speakeasy vibe. Dimly lit, red tablecloth, candles on the tables—the place looked very cool, and I felt very at home with the Chicago theme.

We spent the night mingling amongst the wealthy, famous, powerful, and beautiful. Everyone in the room was beautiful—but even in this company, Henry was still special. He was the most beautiful of the beautiful.

We would go off and chat with people we knew, and then reunite at the bar.

"Hello, handsome," I said at one such reunion, biting my lip and looking him up and down. "You come here often?"

"First time. I'm new in town," he said to me, using an American southern accent.

"Well, I'd be happy to take you out, show you around, introduce you to some people," I said, continuing the game. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Well, ma'am, I've had a few already, maybe I shouldn't..."

"Nonsense," I said, dismissing the thought. Looking to the bartender, I said, "Two 1942s, please."

As the shots arrived at the bar, I watched him through my eyelashes. "To what shall we toast?" I asked.

"To a lovely night out," he said, returning to his charming British self.

We toasted and threw the shots back. Over the rim of my glass, I saw Taylor approaching us.

"Sarah, Henry," she said as she closed in on us.

"Henry, I'm not sure if you remember, but this is Taylor..." I began.

He cut me off quickly, his tone sharp and clipped, raising an eyebrow, "Oh, I remember."

I gave him a quizzical look. Was he angry?

"I just wanted to apologize for that night. I don't know what came over me..." Taylor began.

Why does everyone want to apologize to me in person? Can't they send a card or a quiche?

"Taylor," I cut in, "let's move past this. There's no reason to rehash this entire situation..."

"No, Sarah. Let her go on. I want to hear this," Henry said.

I blinked and looked at him. He did sound angry. Taylor looked stunned by his statement, too, and and blinked rapidly before continuing.

"I was really drunk..."

"And you tried to fuck my wife in front of the paps," Henry said, finishing her sentence.

His wife?

"Henry," I said, placing a hand on his chest. It was puffed in anger.

"No, Henry," Taylor tried.

"You got her drunk and set her up. She was grieving Oliver, and you preyed on her," Henry hissed at her.

"Baby, you're making a scene," I said to him quietly, placing myself between him and Taylor.

He didn't take his eyes off her, "That's what she wanted. A scene," he seethed, his jaw tense.

I placed both my hands on either side of his face. "Baby, I don't understand..."

"Ask Taylor how she knows me," Henry said, to me, his eyes flickering back and forth between Taylor and I. I turned to face her, and Taylor reached out to grab my arm. Henry pulled me into his chest and out of her reach. "No. Don't fucking touch her again," he sneered at her. "Tell her how you met me, Taylor."

"Sarah..." Taylor began.

I was confused. Henry and I were both drunk. He was referring to me as his wife, and he was angrier than I'd ever seen him before. "I don't understand any of this..." I mumbled, trying to grasp the situation. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the other party-goers were beginning to take notice of the three of us. I saw people watching us, and talking in hushed tones. I looked up into Henry's face, "Please, I don't understand, baby," I whispered.

He looked at me, his eyes almost pleading with me. "I met her on set in Prague. She snuck into my hotel room and into my bed. Security had to forcibly remove her from my hotel," he explained quietly, almost embarrassed. "She sought you out and got you drunk, Sarah. That meeting was not happenstance."

I looked to Taylor's face. She looked frightened and regretful. "Really?" I whispered. "I confided in you. I had just lost our son..."

"Sarah, I didn't want to hurt you..." Taylor began.

Henry snorted, "You precisely wanted to hurt her. And me."

I turned my head into Henry's chest, and whispered into his skin, "I want to go home, baby." I felt tears well up in my eyes, and Henry wrapped his arms around me tightly. He stroked my hair, comforting me.

"I told you that being with me was going to be difficult," he said quietly to me, "but I never expected anyone to go this far."

"Henry," Taylor began. "take responsibility for your role in this. You invited me into your bed."

Did my heart just stop beating?

I clenched my eyes shut, but could feel warm tears spilling over my cheeks and onto Henry's exposed chest. He grasped me tighter, but I wriggled loose. I looked up into his face, my tears freely streaming, and my body slightly swaying from the tequila. 

"Henry?" I whispered. His eyes were still aflame, but his face showed another emotion now, too.

Regret.