I Would, Wouldn't You?

Chapter Five

Day Three

Elizabeth

Elizabeth snuggled further into the mattress. Henry was nestled behind her, knee hooked over her hip, arm slung across her waist, their fingers knotted together and clutched against her stomach. He enveloped her; his weight, his warmth, his scent—sandalwood and cinnamon. And the beat of his heart echoed through her, the rhythm a lulling hum.

Her eyelids fluttered open. Greeted by the white light that scattered through the net curtains, she winced and her head throbbed. She groaned and buried her face in the pillow. Who knew you could get a hangover from crying?

Henry shifted behind her, and his grip across her waist tightened. He nuzzled against her neck, his voice groggy and muffled by her skin as he spoke. "How're you feeling?"

The top ten photos, the poll, 'I would, wouldn't you?'; they all flashed through her mind, far harsher than the sunlight. "Like today's gonna suck."

Henry rubbed his thumb over her fingers.

She lifted her head from the pillow and turned to catch his eye. "It's gonna suck, right?"

"Probably." His lips tugged into a sorry smile, and the corners of his eyes crinkled—so concerned, so kind. "And tomorrow might too."

She let out a sharp sigh and fell back against the pillow.

Henry squeezed her hand. "Hey, how about I take you out for lunch? Take your mind off things?"

"I can't." Elizabeth propped herself up, and Henry sat up too. She eased back against the headboard and raked one hand through her hair. "I have that presentation today, honouring the girls who wrote those essays about the importance of empowering women..." Her stomach sank, and she shot Henry a grim smile. "...seems a bit ironic."

Henry laid his hand against her thigh. "Things will get better, babe."

She nodded, and her gaze lowered to her lap. "I know." And they always did, though sometimes they had to get worse first. She met Henry's eye. "Can you tell I've been crying?"

Henry's expression faltered.

She winced. "That bad, huh?"

His lips tugged to one side. "A little puffy."

She toyed with the buttons of the shirt she had acquired. "I guess that's what you get when you save it all up..." And her heart ached so much that it felt empty. Henry rubbed her thigh, but before he could say anything, before they could broach that again, she shook her head to herself, and forcing a smile, she looked him in the eye. "I'm fine."

He nodded. His hand stilled. "But if you're ever not..."

"I know." She cupped his cheek and leant in to kiss his lips, gentle but lingering, like a pool of sunshine surrounded by shadow as clouds sailed by. "Thank you." Then she crawled past him and clambered out his side of the bed.

The air was brisk after the embrace of his body and the covers, and she hugged his shirt around her, though the cotton did little to fend off the chill that shivered through her skin. On the bedside table, there was a business card emblazoned with a news network logo—one with a more tabloid slant. Henry's gaze must have followed her own, because before she could ask, he said, "They wanted me to make a comment, but I said no."

Elizabeth nodded. Good. Though at what point did silence become condonation?

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