Page 127 of A Mistake of Worth
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Henri admitted, the confession tearing out of him. “Leave everything. Start over somewhere new. Work for—with—you. It’s all so much.”
“Then don’t think about all of it at once.” Michael’s thumb traced his cheekbone again, gentle and grounding. “Just think about one thing. Right now, in this moment, do you want to be here or do you want to be in London?”
Henri closed his eyes, trying to imagine it. London. Michael’s townhouse with the tall windows overlooking Regent’s Park. Mornings in that comfortable bed where the sheets smelled like Michael’s soap. Coffee that Michael made just the way Henri had learned to like it during those three stolen weeks. Work that challenged him in ways that felt good rather than threatening.Evenings spent curled together on the sofa, reading or talking or just existing in each other’s presence without performance or expectation.
No Marc. No Le Ciel Tower. No rules except the ones they made together. No waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the punishment to come, for the moment when he failed to be enough.
Just... life. Simple, ordinary life.
“London,” Henri whispered, and saying it out loud made it feel more real. “I want to be in London.”
Michael’s smile was radiant, transforming his whole face. “Then that’s where we’ll go. Everything else, we’ll figure out as we go.”
Henri opened his eyes, looking at Michael’s face, at the hope and love written so clearly there. This man had crossed an ocean for him. Had walked into Marc’s penthouse knowing it might be a trap. Had sat beside Henri’s bed for three days, feeding him soup and water and asking for nothing in return.
This man cared for him.
The thought was terrifying. It was also the most hopeful thing Henri had ever felt.
A knock at the door made them both freeze. Henri’s body went rigid automatically, that instinctive fear that visitors meant inspection, evaluation, judgment.
“It’s probably just Gabriel,” Michael said softly. “He’s been checking in a few times a day. He’s worried about you.”
“I don’t know if I can face him,” Henri admitted.
“You don’t have to. I can send him away.”
But Henri shook his head. He needed to see Gabriel. Needed to understand why he’d done this, needed to begin the impossible task of thanking him for something that could never be repaid.
“Let him in,” Henri said quietly.
Michael rose and crossed to the door, opening it just enough to speak quietly with whoever was on the other side. Then he stepped back, and Gabriel entered.
He looked terrible. Gabriel always looked polished, controlled, perfectly composed even in crisis. But now his hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled, and there were dark circles under his eyes that spoke of days without proper sleep.
His eyes found Henri, and something in his expression cracked. “Henri.”
Henri tried to speak, but his throat had closed.
Gabriel moved closer, stopping a careful distance away as if afraid Henri might bolt. “How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Lost. Confused. Grateful. Terrified. All of it at once.”
Gabriel’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “That’s understandable.”
An awkward silence stretched between them. Michael had retreated to give them privacy, but Henri could feel his presence nearby, solid and reassuring.
“Ten million dollars,” Henri finally said, because someone had to acknowledge the elephant in the room. “Gabriel, that’s—”
“Worth it,” Gabriel interrupted firmly. “Every penny. I’d have paid twice that if Marc had demanded it.”
Henri’s hands twisted in the sheets. “I need to pay you back.”
“No.” Gabriel’s voice was harder than Henri had ever heard it. “Absolutely not. That money was mine to spend, and I chose to spend it on you. It’s done, Henri. There’s no debt between us.”
“But—”
Gabriel cut him off. “Ten million dollars is nothing, Henri. It’s less than nothing. It doesn’t repay you for what you suffered. It doesn’t undo the years of abuse. It doesn’t make me less culpable for failing you. But it was something I could do.”
