Page 29 of A Mistake of Worth
Michael silenced him with a kiss, pouring everything he couldn’t yet say into it. When he pulled back, Henri’s eyes were wide. “Too bad. I’m going to be ridiculous. Now, change,” Michael directed.
He helped Henri finish packing while the younger man swiftly dressed in fresh clothes. He watched, frowning, as Henri carefully placed the toy Michael had lobbed across the room earlier in what was clearly a dedicated container in his luggage. Michael grabbed the new package from Marc and tossed it carelessly into the same bag, earning a reproachful look from Henri.
Michael shrugged in response. He didn’t fully understand the dynamic between Henri and Marc yet, but it was clear Marc held some kind of power over Henri that compelled absolute obedience.
They finished gathering Henri’s belongings from the dresser drawers just as Michael’s phone buzzed with the car service notification. Without discussion, Michael grabbed Henri’sluggage and strode toward the door, leaving Henri no choice but to follow.
The Dorchester’s elegant entrance was quiet at this late hour as they exited into the muggy night. Their car was waiting, a sleek black sedan idling at the curb. Michael placed Henri’s luggage in the trunk before sliding into the backseat beside him.
Once Michael confirmed on the center console that they were ready, the self-driving car pulled away from the curb with a quiet hum.
After a few minutes of driving through London’s still-busy streets, Michael turned to Henri. “Do you have any plans tomorrow? Sunday?”
“No,” Henri replied softly. “My first meeting isn’t until Monday.”
Michael took Henri’s hand, interlacing their fingers and squeezing gently. “Good.”
The car slowed as they turned onto Chester Terrace, and the streetlights cast alternating patterns of light and shadow across Henri’s face. As they pulled up to the curb, Henri peered out the window at the imposing Georgian townhouse before them. Four stories of pristine white stucco with black iron railings and perfectly manicured topiary flanking the entrance.
Henri let out a soft laugh. “This is hardly Camden Town.”
“Close enough,” Michael shrugged.
“I doubt Londoners would agree,” Henri said, though his tone was light. “This looks as though it belongs in Belgravia, not anywhere near Camden.”
“Geography was never my strong suit,” Michael said with a grin. “Besides, it’s north of the river. That counts for something.”
The car came to a complete stop, and Michael stepped out first, moving around to Henri’s side to open his door. He retrieved Henri’s luggage from the trunk while confirming theride’s end on the car’s console, watching as the sleek sedan pulled away into the night.
“Come on,” Michael said, guiding Henri up the wide stone steps to the imposing front door. “Let me show you around.”
They entered the dimly lit foyer, and Henri’s soft intake of breath told Michael everything about what he was seeing. The soaring ceilings, the marble floors, the crystal chandelier casting prismatic light across cream-colored walls.
“Quick tour,” Michael said, flicking on lights as they moved through the space. “It’s one of the smaller ones. Only five bedrooms, four baths. And before you say anything about all this marble,” he gestured at the gleaming surfaces, “I bought it this way. Wasn’t about to live through renovations.”
Henri’s lips twitched. “I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but I saw that look.” Michael led him upstairs. “There’s an amazing view of Regent’s Park in daylight.”
The master bedroom was a study in contrasts. Deep burgundy carpet and accent wall standing out against the remaining white walls, matched by heavy burgundy drapes. The king-sized bed, however, was colorful chaos.
Henri’s pointed look made Michael waggle his finger. “Don’t judge. I don’t like strangers in my business, so no cleaners, and I don’t mind mismatched bedding.”
Henri’s laugh was genuine as Michael set down his luggage and moved to a perfectly organized drawer, pulling out two pairs of soft cotton sleep pants.
“I have my own,” Henri protested when Michael handed him a pair.
“I know.” Michael’s voice dropped lower. “But I’d rather have you in my clothes.”
Henri took the pants, running his fingers over the fabric. His eyes stayed fixed on them as he spoke. “I usually have to sleep naked...”
Michael’s jaw tightened. “You can sleep however you want here, Henri. Naked, clothed, whatever makes you comfortable. The choice is yours.”
Henri stayed quiet for a long moment, still touching the soft cotton. Finally, he looked up and met Michael’s eyes. “I think I’d like to try these.”
“Good,” Michael said simply. “Bathroom’s right there.”
Henri nodded and disappeared behind the en-suite door. Michael changed into his own pair, the familiar fabric settling comfortably against his skin.
