The drive back to Florida passed by quickly, the miles blending together as the scenery changed outside the window. Despite the speed of the journey, an air of nervousness seemed to hang between us. It was as if both of us are tiptoeing around a conversation we both knew needed to happen but aren't quite ready to initiate.
And then there's what Henry said. I was on the verge of responding, ready to lay my feelings out, when he interjected, stopping me in my speaking. He put it out there, and then he sort of took it back, leaving me a little confused. I don't know if it was just something he said in the heat of the moment and he didn't mean it, or if he genuinely meant it. So yes, I'm anxious now. I haven't stopped thinking about it the whole drive, and now that we're back in Florida.
As we pull up to Anne Rose Beach and approach our houses, Henry kills the engine, and we step out of the truck. Henry heads to the back, retrieving our suitcases from the bed and setting them down on the ground. In the space between our neighboring houses, I look back and forth, my attention finally settling on Henry, who's watching me closely.
Turning to him, I muster a smile. "I guess I'll see you in a little bit?"
He nods, his brown eyes locked onto mine. "Yeah, okay."
He takes a step towards me, closing the distance between us. His lips find mine in a sweet, lingering kiss. His arms encircle my waist, pulling me in, and I respond eagerly, my fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if trying to anchor myself in this moment. Eventually, he breaks the kiss, but the closeness remains.
He clears his throat, his fingers gently brushing my cheek. "Foghorns around eight?" he asks, his voice a soft murmur.
"Yeah, that works," I reply, a warmth spreading through me.
He leans in again, his lips capturing mine once more. This time, it's a deeper kiss, a hint of urgency in the way our mouths move together. I wrap my arms around his neck, lost in the sensation of his touch. As the kiss ebbs, he doesn't pull away far, his forehead resting against mine.
"Or maybe you could just come inside," I murmur.
His eyes light up with eagerness. "Yeah, I like that idea better."
"Okay, good. Me too," I reply, a smile curling my lips. He quickly grabs our suitcases, and we make our way to the front door of my house.
As soon as the door opens and shuts, his lips are on mine again. His hands explore the curves of my back down to my ass as he slowly guides me backward until the firmness of the entry table meets my backside. The piece of furniture rattles slightly from the impact as he lifts me onto its surface, parting my legs to position himself between them.
"What are we doing?" I ask, my mind still caught on his earlier words, even as his fingers trace the edge of my shirt. He moves swiftly as he peels it away along with my bra, throwing them behind him to the floor. At the same time, I unfasten his belt and unzip his jeans.
"I thought it was obvious," He quips, a playful grin forming on his lips as he trails his kisses from my jaw down to my neck, eliciting a soft laugh from me.
"No, I mean like, what's going on between u–"
"Oh my god!" an exclamation bursts from the hallway.
Startled, Henry and I quickly disentangle ourselves from our embrace. Our eyes swiftly shift towards the unexpected voice and I instinctively cover my chest with my arms. It's Margot, my sister, standing in the hallway.
"Margot?!" I yell in shock, "What the fuck are you doing?" I say, frantically scrambling to look for my shirt, casting a quick glance at Henry, who's hastily zipping up his pants.
"What am I doing?" Margot shoots back, as she whirls around, her hands flying to cover her eyes, facing away from us, "Do you not announce yourself when you enter a room?"
"Announce myself? Who announces themselves? And I live here," I retort, pointing to my shirt and motioning for Henry to pick it up from the floor, as I slide off the table.
"How was I supposed to know you were going to barging in, about to have sex with..." she peeks behind her shoulder to see who's with me, "... your ex-boyfriend?"
With a sigh, I shift my gaze to Henry momentarily, then redirect it towards Margot, who has once again turned away. Swiftly, I slip my shirt back on, repositioning myself to regain my composure.
"You can turn around now," I say, addressing her, and she does.
As her gaze falls on me, I give her a once-over. She's dressed in sweat shorts, an oversized t-shirt, a Yankees baseball cap, and a pair of dirty Converse chucks. Despite the nearly identical appearance we share due to our bleach-blonde hair and blue eyes, our fashion choices couldn't be more distinct.
"Is this why you haven't come home?" shooting me a discerning look before turning her attention to Henry. Her voice lowers as she greets him with a friendly, "Hey, Henry."
"Hi, Margot."
I heave a sigh, sidestepping her question, "What are you doing here, Margot?"
"Mom's been getting worried because you haven't been talking with her, so she sent Dad to come get you. I decided to tag along to make sure you weren't caught off guard when he showed up," she explains, a note of concern in her voice.
"Dad's here?" I blurt out, surprise evident in my voice. Margot nods in affirmation. "Why would Mom send Dad here?"
"Because she thinks it's his fault that you won't talk to her."
Running my fingers through my hair, a mixture of emotions washes over me. I cast a glance back at Henry, who's still there, a touch of unease playing on his features.
"How did you even know what house I was staying in?"
"After you texted me yesterday, mentioning you weren't here, I went over to that dive bar down the street and bumped into some girl who thought I was you. She said she knew you? And then told me where you were staying," Margot explains.
Henry and I exchange a knowing glance; there's no doubt about who the girl was. "Anne Claire," we both say simultaneously.
"So you do know her then?" She asks and I nod my head.
"How did you even get in? What if this wasn't my house?"
"Well, I spotted your pink silky eye mask on the entry table when I peeked in the window. Who still wears those, by the way? And after I saw that, I went around back, and the door happened to be open, so I let myself in," she says with a nonchalant shrug.
"Dad is waiting at the hotel for us. He wants us to have dinner tonight," she adds.
I look back at Henry, a whirlwind of emotions stirring within me, and nervously bite my lip, pondering the situation.
"I'll let you go," Henry says, finally breaking the silence, and I nod in agreement.
He steps towards me, his arm enveloping me in an embrace. I hold onto him tightly, desperate to keep him close. His lips press against my forehead, and I wish he didn't have to go, that he could stay here with me.
"I'll text you," I murmur against his chest.
"Okay," he says as he loosens his hold and begins walking toward the front door.
The door clicks shut behind him, and I redirect my focus to Margot. "So, Henry, huh?" she remarks with a grin.
With an eye roll, I head toward the stairs, attempting to shift the topic away from Henry. "What time is dinner?"
"He said seven," she replies, following me up the stairs. "Where are you going?"
"I need to shower," I mutter, pushing my bedroom door shut behind me and leaning against it, my eyes squeezing shut. The last thing I want to do right now is face my dad. I've just had the most incredible 48 hours, and now I come home to deal with this. And now there's a mix of irritation and frustration that's churning within me.
With a drawn-out, exasperated exhale, I make my way to the bathroom. I quickly shed my clothes, step into the soothing stream of the shower, carry out my skincare routine, and apply my makeup. I finally step out of the bathroom, ready to get dressed, and then my heart skips a beat.
"Shit," I gasp, caught off guard by the sight of Margot sitting on my bed in my room. "Seriously, Margot? Do you ever just knock?"
"Sorry, I was looking through your closet," she offers nonchalantly. Leaning over, she ties her shoelaces on my bed, then stands up, revealing that she's wearing one of my silk slip dresses.
"No."
"What?" she says, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
"You can't wear that dress with your dirty sneakers," I reply, looking pointedly at her shoes.
"Why?" She glances down and then catches her reflection in the mirror. "I think it's cute."
I just stare at her, half-expecting her to break into laughter and say she's joking. But when she doesn't, I let out a huff. "How are we even related?" I sigh as she rolls her eyes at my reaction.
I step into my closet, retrieving a dress and heels, and swiftly slip into them. "Are you almost ready? It's already 7," she questions, her impatience evident as she waits for me to finish getting dressed.
"Done," I announce as I emerge from the closet.
As we make our way downstairs, I grab my bag, and we exit the front door, ensuring it's locked behind us. I turn to find Margot on the sidewalk, already waiting. I give her outfit another once-over.
"You seriously didn't want to change your shoes?"
"Well, I did think about it, but now I kinda want to just piss you off a little bit," she admits with a mischievous grin.
I roll my eyes. "Let's go," I say, and we start walking toward the hotel, leaving the house behind us.
"So, what's Henry doing here with you anyways? Are you like keeping him hostage? Does he have Stockholm syndrome or something?" Margot asks as we stroll toward the Anne Rose Hotel to meet our dad.
"What? No, your weird," I respond, a puzzled expression forming on my face. I steal a glance at her, my lip caught between my teeth, debating how much to reveal. "His family owns the house next door," I respond, keeping it brief.
She halts abruptly, causing me to backtrack a step. "He's been right next door this whole time?"
I clear my throat. "Yes."
A smile starts to tug at the corners of her lips. "What are the odds of that happening?" she muses, and we continue walking.
"Apparently, quite high."
"And that's why you haven't come home?" She inquires.
"Y-yes"
Her smile tugs higher, "Are you guys back together then?"
"We haven't really talked about it yet."
A moment of silence lingers between us as we make our way up the main street of Anne Rose. Her curiosity gets the best of her again, "Remind me why you broke up with him in the first place?"
My steps come to a halt. "I don't know. Can we please stop the interrogation?" I implore, my eyes locking onto hers.
"Okay, okay. Sorry," she concedes, her expression softening.
"I don't know if we're back together, I don't remember why I ended things, and honestly, I have no idea what the hell is going on," I confess, frustration lacing my words.
"Because of the divorce," she asserts.
"Excuse me?" I react, my eyebrows knitting in confusion.
"You broke up with him because of Mom and Dad," she states, a touch of certainty in her voice.
"What?"
"Come on, Clo. You had a meltdown the moment Mom and Dad dropped the divorce bombshell," she presses, a knowing look in her eyes.
"I did not," I insist as I keep walking.
"I'm your little sister, not an idiot."
My irritation simmers as I walk, frustration building. Is it really so transparent to everyone what my issues are?
"God, poor Henry. How many times have you broken up with him now?" she remarks, turning to look at me. Then, her tone shifts to astonishment, "Oh my God. Does he know you slept with Sebastian?"
My steps falter. "I did not sleep with Sebastian! Who told you that?"
She shrugs nonchalantly, continuing to walk toward the door to the hotel.
"You know, everyone back in New York thinks you've completely lost your shit," she adds, and I come to a standstill as she pushes the hotel door open and strides inside, leaving me outside alone.
I pause for a moment, attempting to regain my composure. But when it doesn't come, I release an irritated, frustrated grunt before pushing the door open and following her inside.
As soon as I step in, my gaze locks on my father, who stands there. It's only the second time I've seen him since my parents decided to get a divorce six months ago. He hasn't changed; he still wears his Ralph Lauren suits with his Prada loafers, and his hair is a little grayer than the last time I saw him. But besides that, his physical appearance remains unchanged.
"There you are," he exclaims, approaching me with open arms for a hug.
"Hi, Dad," I reply, embracing him back.
"Look at you," he comments with a gentle smile, stepping back slightly to take me in. "You're just as beautiful as always."
I withhold the smile he probably expects, and a hint of disappointment flashes across his face, a clear sign that he senses my lack of enthusiasm. He's well aware of my lingering resentment towards him for what he did to Mom. The wounds from his actions run deep, and they haven't fully healed for any of us.
"Can we eat? I'm starving," Margot interjects from the side.
"Yeah, let's sit down," my dad suggests, his hand gesturing towards the entrance of the hotel restaurant.
"Mr. Kensington, so good to have you here. Can I get you a table?" The hostess greets us as we approach. I can't help but silently note how they never seemed to remember my name despite my previous attempts.
"Yes, for three, please."
The host guides us to a table overlooking the ocean and offering a view of Anne Rose. We all take our seats and settle in comfortably.
"How's everything been, Clo?" my dad inquires, and I raise my eyes from the menu.
"Fine," I reply, trying to keep my tone neutral.
"How have you been finding Anne Rose Beach?" he asks, his attempt to initiate a conversation more evident.
"Oh, I think she's been having a blast," Margot chimes in with a mischievous smirk.
My dad narrows his eyes at her response. "Why do you say it like that?"
"Because she's been shacking up with Henry this whole time," she says with a grin.
"Oh my god. I have not been 'shacking up' with Henry," I counter.
"Henry's here?" My dad turns his attention to me, a puzzled expression on his face. "I thought you two broke up?"
I release a frustrated sigh, my exasperation growing. "We did."
"That's not what it looked like to me," Margot says, raising her eyebrows up and down playfully.
"Oh, god. You're one to talk," I retort. "How long did you hide, what was his name? Dylan? In high school, in your room before mom found out?"
Margo's face flushes. "That's beside the point."
"You hid Dylan in your room?" My dad asks Margot.
"For an entire week," I say, and Margot scoffs at me.
My dad flags down a passing waiter, muttering, "Excuse me, can I get an old fashioned?" It's evident he needs something to cope with his two daughters.
"And I'll have a martini with a twist," I add.
"Can I get a gin and tonic?" Margot chimes in.
My dad looks between the two of us, clearly already overwhelmed.
We sit in a sort of subdued silence, the tension in the air is palpable, only breaking when our drinks finally arrive at the table.
After a few moments of silence, he broaches the conversation again, his voice cautious, "You both liking it here though, really?" I take a generous sip of my martini to give myself a moment before responding.
"It's nice, Dad. Do you like it here?" Margot chimes in, her tone measured. She's always been better at keeping her emotions in check.
"I love it here. I love coming here," he replies, his tone genuine. "I think it's beautiful, one of our best developments."
"You've been here more than once?" She asks.
"A handful of times, yeah."
"Was that with Mom or was it with one of your mistresses?" The words slip out, laced with a mixture of frustration and resentment.
"For Christ's sake, Chloe. Will you give it a rest?" he retorts.
I roll my eyes, taking another drink of my martini in an attempt to mask my annoyance.
"It's not like your mother didn't know," he adds, his words a feeble justification.
My father. The man who used to love taking us both to school every morning. The one who would go out of his way to get my sister and me the best strawberry ice cream in the state of New York every Friday night. The man who took me to every soccer practice, sleepover, and event without fail. He was the epitome of the perfect father, of the perfect family man—always present, never absent. This same man, my father, betrayed my mom, cheating on her for years with multiple women.
How could someone be the most perfect family man and also be the biggest cheater?
"It's not like this is uncommon, Chloe. It happens all the time. People get divorced all the time. For a multitude of reasons. You're 25 years old. Why is this still such a shock to you?" he adds, his words a mix of impatience and frustration.
I clench my jaw, shifting my gaze down to my menu so I don't have to meet his eyes. I quickly finish off my martini, a bitter taste left behind by our conversation. Deep down, of course, I love my father, but it doesn't justify what he's done.
"Are you ready to order or do you need another minute?" The waiter interrupts us.
"I think we need another minute," my father responds, returning his attention to the menu.
"Of cour–" the waiter starts to say.
"I'll take another martini," I interject abruptly.
"Chloe, do you really need another drink?" he asks, disappointment evident in his eyes.
I nod my head quickly up and down, "I think I do."
"I'll actually take another one too," Margot says, and I glance down to see she finished her drink just as quickly as I did, and the waiter departs to retrieve our drinks.
He lets out a sigh, his gaze shifting between both of us, before he returns his attention to the menu, shaking his head.
"Why can't we just have a nice evening? Why can't we just be a nice, happy family?" He vents his irritation.
"I'm pretty sure you took the 'nice' and 'happy' out of our family a while ago," Margot mumbles, causing me to snort out a laugh.
"Okay look, both of you," he starts "I'm here because your mother is concerned about you, Chloe. She wants you to come back home, okay? You've never been away from New York or your friends for this long. She's worried about you."
"I understand that both of you are upset about what's happened. And I'm sorry. I loved your mother, but sometimes life takes unexpected turns. People change, people make mistakes, people grow apart."
"People cheat," Margot adds in an undertone, her gaze fixed on her menu.
My father pauses, his gaze shifting towards Margot before he continues, "It was always bound to happen. You can't expect a marriage to be that happy for that long. Now, can we please just get along for one meal and enjoy our time here?"
And for the remainder of the dinner, that's exactly what we do. We maintain a facade of politeness, attempting to engage in conversation, trying to pretend like nothing ever happened. However, beneath the surface, I'm ruminating on every word my father has said tonight. And now it's as if his words have reopened a wound that was only just beginning to heal.
Notes
Your thoughts on this chapter?
Considering Chloe's conversation with her dad, do we think her perspective on Henry will change?
Thank you everyone for reading, commenting, and voting! ❤️