Page 9 of A Mistake of Worth
The coward’s way out.
Gabriel’s sending me to London today.
The response came before Henri had even set the phone down.
No.
Henri’s breath caught. One word. Simple. Final. But Henri couldn’t obey, not this time. Gabriel had made that impossible.
Henri’s hands trembled. He forced his fingers still and replied carefully, watching each word.
I don’t have a choice. It’s my job. If you interfere, it will look suspicious.
No answer. That was worse than rage.
Henri scanned the email from Brenda carefully, his stomach sinking further with each detail. The Dorchester in Mayfair looked lovely in the attached photos. All clean lines and modern furnishings that reminded him uncomfortably of Marc’s aesthetic. A car would be waiting at Heathrow.
Then he saw the dates: July 15th to August 17th.
Thirty-two days.
Henri stared at the screen, the number tilting sideways in his mind. Thirty-two days away from Marc. Thirty-two days without being touched, corrected, claimed. Marc hadn’t gone more than three days without him since—God, when was it? That conference in Chicago? Even then, Marc had flown in for the weekend, unwilling to let Henri stay away too long.
His breath caught. He was supposed to keep Marc calm. Keep him satisfied. Keep him interested. If Henri left, if he abandonedMarc for thirty-two days, what would Marc do? Who would he turn to?
Worse: who would he hurt?
Henri had already fulfilled Marc’s promise twice. Once with Solano, the Spanish banker who liked them pretty and pliant, and once with Matthieu Lacroix, who’d started asking if Henri came with the portfolio. He’d bought time by offering himself instead of letting Marc search for Jean’s replacement. But that only worked because he was here, because he could intercept Marc’s plans, redirect his attention.
From London? Henri would be powerless to protect anyone.
Henri fired off a text to Gabriel, his fingers cold.
A month? What the hell?
Gabriel didn’t respond, but half an hour later, Lucas returned, closing the door behind him with controlled force that meant someone was irritated.
“Gabriel wants to know if you actually read the acquisition packet. You’re doing a full inspection of their warehouses and production line.”
Henri clenched his jaw. “I haven’t gone through all of it yet.”
His voice was too controlled. Too calm. Reading from a script.
A month. Over a month without Marc’s voice in his ear, Marc’s hands on his body, Marc’s rules to obey. He couldn’t remember what it was not to be managed. To not be watched. Even the thought of choosing his own clothes for more than a day felt alien.
Thirty-two days of freedom should have felt relief.
Instead, his foundation was cracking beneath him.
Lucas sighed, not moving from his spot by the door. The pity in his eyes made Henri want to scream. Not anger, not disgust.Pity. As if Henri were something fragile. Something already broken.
“Jean told me. About you and Marc.”
Henri’s face burned. He looked away. “Jean has no idea what he’s talking about.”
“He saw enough.” Lucas’s voice softened, and that gentleness was somehow worse than accusation would have been. “This London trip... it could be good for you. A chance to—“
“To what?” Henri snapped. “Break away? From someone I’ve been with since I was seven?”
