Text
"Henry answer your phone!
Please don't shut me out, not again
Henry please!"
Alex sees the text bubble appear, a video clip, Alex grinding with a women on the dance floor of a Salsa club.... Fuck, the staff drinks.
"Hen, its just dancing its not what it seems"
An image:
Said woman kissing him, eyes shut, her arms around his neck.
Another image:
Alex smiling down at her.
"FUCK!!" Alex spits out
"H I know it looks bad but I can explain, Please let me explain."
Message from Henry:
"I need time, space, I don't know if I can trust you anymore."
"Hen please just let me explain" This message goes unread.
Monday
6 am and Alex has been awake for hours, up and dressed for work, sipping his first blessed coffee of the day, his phone buzzes against the marble of the kitchen island.
Daily mail alert
First photos the wedding of Guilford Ambersmith–Fife 13th Earl of Westbrook and Sophie Haver-Smythe Jones. The accompanying photo of Guilford, foppish hair and too many teeth and Sophie looking so white in a lace monstrosity, that she is almost see through, smiling inanely at the camera.
Alex's eye is drawn to background of the photo, Henry sitting with his ankle on his right knee, black tailored wide leg pants, black boots and his new pale blue angora knit. Alex can hear Henry's voice sweet and posh "Not real angora darling, no bunnies harmed for this"
Head thrown back, laughing, face open, unguarded, not his staged laugh, something real and unabashed; across the small round table a figure leaning forward hair across his face, broad shoulders, firm arms, sharing the moment, touching his fingers to Henry's wrist.
Alex lips go numb, blood swimming in his ears,..."Oh god, no no no no".
Later
Daily Mail alert
A group photo from the post nuptial polo match, Guilford in his morning suit, Beatrice in a perfectly tailored jewel-toned Stella McCartney and Henry in his full polo regalia, tight white grass stained pants tucked in to tall leather boots, intricately buckled knee pads, face flushed, hair damp one arm around Bea the other flung over the shoulder of the same dark haired stranger, smiling into the camera.
Alex's stomach lurches, he is able to see him clearer now tall, a broad muscular frame, tousled crown of dark waves, firm thighs, a peek of abs from under his lifted shirt, chiselled jaw, straight aristocratic nose, skin the colour of a latte and a perfect dimpled smile.
He calls Henry, it connects, ring twice and then is sent to voice mail.
He calls Bea, she answers on the second ring.
"Please don't hang up, Alex pleaded, I know it looks bad and I know I fucked up but please speak to me. Henry is my world please."
"Alex I am so angry at you! Henry is broken, he says that its over, that you want more than him, I haven't seen him like this since Dad, he is being ... reckless."
The implication of the word hangs in the air between them.
'Who's the guy Bea, the one in all the photos?' Alex whispers voice shaking.
"Eduardo Venturini- Pelle the Marchese de Castelguelfo, he and Henry were...um... close when they were younger. We spent summers with his family when Dad was still here."
"Do I need to be worried Bea?"Alex's gut twists.
"Honestly, I don't know Alex, Henry's hurt and angry, he feels like you don't think he's enough and those tabloid photos didn't help but I know that deep down he loves you...she pauses, Give him space Alex...I have to go darling, I'm going to be late for dinner we are eating under the stars" and then the line goes dead.
Alex recalls an overheard conversation from years ago, Philip to Beatrice " If he has to be GAY then surely he can do that with someone of better standing?"
Alex feels the knife in his gut twist a little deeper.
YOU ARE READING
My Henry
FanfictionA drunken night, a forbidden kiss, a lost love, hasty works spoken that can't be unheard. Alex makes a stupid mistake, Henry insecurities compounds it. Are they able to make it back to them or is everything they fought for going to crumble under th...
