Page 53 of The Black Wife Blessing

"I got you," Henry murmurs, his arm steady around my waist. "One step at a time."

The doorman rushes to help, holding the door open wide. "Mrs. Blackwood! We heard what happened. Terrible business."

"Thanks, Frank." I manage a smile despite the pain shooting up my side.

We make slow progress through the lobby. Henry's patience never wavers, matching his pace to mine, stopping whenever I need a moment. The elevator ride is silent, but his hand never leaves the small of my back.

When the doors open, I'm surprised when Henry presses the button for his floor, not mine.

"My penthouse is downstairs," I remind him, confused.

"I think it's about time you move in fully with me," Henry says, his tone gentle but leaving no room for argument. "At least while you heal. You shouldn't be alone right now."

My heart skips. We've maintained separate spaces since the beginning of our arrangement—my floor has been my sanctuary, my escape when things got overwhelming.

"I can manage?—"

"Monica." His voice is soft. "Please. Let me take care of you."

I look up at him, at the concern etched in the lines around his eyes, and something inside me surrenders.

"Okay."

Relief washes over his face. "We'll get whatever you need from downstairs later."

The elevator opens directly into his penthouse. It's familiar territory—I've been here countless times—but it feels different knowing I'll be staying.

"I want to be with you too," I admit quietly as he helps me to the couch. "I'm just not used to letting someone take care of me."

Henry kneels in front of me, carefully arranging pillows under my injured ankle. "Well, get used to it. Because I'm not going anywhere."

Henry helps me settle onto his plush couch, gently lifting my injured ankle onto a pillow. His touch is tender, almost reverent, as he tucks a blanket around my legs. When he sits beside me, there's a tension in his shoulders I haven't seen before.

"Are you comfortable?" he asks, his voice uncharacteristically nervous.

"As comfortable as someone with a sprained ankle and bruised ribs can be." I try to smile, but something in his expression makes my heart flutter.

He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. "Monica, I need to tell you something."

"Okay..." My pulse quickens.

"This whole situation with Benjamin—" He stops, shaking his head. "No, that's not right. It started long before that." Henry takes my hand between both of his, his eyes fixed on our intertwined fingers. "When I first suggested this arrangement, I thought it would be simple. Convenient for both of us."

I hold my breath, afraid to interrupt whatever confession is coming.

"But nothing about being with you has been simple." His eyes meet mine, intense and vulnerable. "I've fallen in love with you, Monica. Completely. And these past few days, thinking I could have lost you..." His voice breaks. "It made me realize I can't pretend anymore. This isn't fake for me. It hasn't been for a long time."

The words hang in the air between us. Henry Blackwood loves me. Not as part of our arrangement. Not as a friend. He loves me.

"Say something," he whispers, uncertainty clouding his features.

"I..." My voice fails me as tears spring to my eyes. "I've been so scared to admit it, even to myself."

Hope flickers across his face. "Admit what?"

"That I've fallen for you too." The words rush out, bringing with them an overwhelming sense of relief. "I've been fighting it because I was terrified of being hurt again, of trusting someone again. But you're nothing like him. You've shown me that every day."

Henry's face transforms with joy. He cups my cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a tear. "I love you, Monica West. And I'm not going to hide that anymore."

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