Too Late To Want Me Back

Chapter Five

Charlie woke slowly, the first thing she noticed being the unfamiliar softness beneath her and the second being the weight of an arm draped across her waist.

Her eyes opened. For a moment she didn’t move.

The room was quiet, washed in pale morning light. The sheets were twisted around her legs, and the memory of the previous night returned all at once, too much champagne, the ride back from the gala, the half-drunken conversation in Henry’s apartment, the way one kiss had turned into something far more dangerous.

Her throat tightened.

Henry was still asleep beside her, one arm thrown over his face, the other resting against her.

Without the carefully arranged suit and cold expression, he looked younger. Less guarded. Almost ordinary.

Charlie carefully lifted his arm and slipped out of bed, gathering the nearest piece of clothing she could find.

Her heels were somewhere near the sofa. Her dress lay half inside out on the floor. One of Henry’s cufflinks glittered beneath the bedside table like evidence she had no idea how to explain, even to herself.

By the time she found the bathroom and shut the door behind her, her pulse was racing. She stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Her hair was a mess. Her lips looked slightly swollen. There was a faint mark near her collarbone that made heat crawl up her neck.

For a long moment she just stood there, both hands braced against the sink.

What had she done? No, that wasn’t the right question.

She knew what she had done.

A wave of irritation washed over her as the memory settled in. She knew exactly the kind of man Henry was, controlled, detached, the sort who treated emotions like inconveniences, and yet she had let her guard fall completely.

Worse, a quiet warmth crept through her when flashes of the night returned: the way his hands had held her, the heat of his mouth against hers, the intensity in the way he had touched her like nothing else existed.

The thought made her stomach twist. She hated that a part of her had enjoyed it, hated even more that the memory still sent a small, traitorous thrill through her before she forced it down with a sharp breath.

A knock sounded softly against the bathroom door. “Charlie?”

She closed her eyes briefly before answering. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

There was a pause.

Then, “Alright.”

When she stepped out a few minutes later, Henry was standing near the window in a white shirt and dark trousers, fastening his watch as if this were any other morning.

The sight of him looking that composed only made her more aware of how unsteady she felt.

Neither of them spoke at first.

The silence was not hostile. It was worse than that.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen,” Henry said finally.

Charlie nodded. “Thanks.”

She started toward the door, but his voice stopped her.

“About last night—”

Charlie turned too quickly. “We don’t have to do this.”

Henry studied her for a moment, then nodded once. “If that’s what you want.”

So she forced herself to say, “It was the alcohol. We both know that.”

Something unreadable moved across his face, but it was gone almost immediately.

“Yes,” he said. “We do.”

Charlie hated how much that answer bothered her.

She grabbed her bag and left before the conversation could become harder than it already was.

The restaurant felt smaller that afternoon. Maybe it was because she had spent the night in Henry’s penthouse, where every wall was glass and every surface looked expensive enough to frighten her.

Orders, receipts, suppliers, customers asking for extra sauce, all of it gave her something practical to focus on.

Something that didn’t involve Henry’s mouth on hers or the way he had looked half-asleep in the morning light.

But even with the rush of lunch and the comfort of routine, she couldn’t ignore that things had changed.

Especially when a florist arrived just before four with a bouquet of white lilies.

Charlie frowned as the young delivery boy held them out.

“These are for Charlie Brooks.”

Mia appeared instantly. “Take them.”

Charlie accepted the bouquet with a suspicious expression. There was no card at first glance, just clean white ribbon tied around the stems.

Then she noticed the small folded note tucked beneath the flowers.

For the kitchen. Charlie stared at it.

Charlie tried not to smile as she carried the flowers into the kitchen and set them near the window.

Noah looked over his shoulder. “Those from your husband?”

Charlie nearly dropped the vase.

“What?”

Noah shrugged. “The delivery boy said your husband sent them.”

Henry was different after that.

Not in dramatic ways. He didn’t suddenly become sentimental, and he certainly didn’t try to talk about the night they had spent together. But his attention shifted in subtle places Charlie couldn’t ignore.

He started asking about the restaurant more often, and not in the detached way of an investor protecting his money.

He wanted details. Which supplier was still giving her trouble. Whether the freezer had been fixed. If the new menu insert had improved dinner sales.

Once, when she mentioned offhand that the espresso machine had started making a strange noise, a technician appeared the next morning before she had even opened the restaurant.

Another time, she came in early and found fresh produce already delivered and paid for.

She stood beside the crates of tomatoes and herbs, staring at the invoice marked SETTLED in neat black print.

It would have been easier if Henry had remained exactly what she first thought he was, arrogant, careless, emotionally unavailable. It would have been easier if the night at his apartment had stayed a mistake they could both dismiss.

But now he was becoming harder to define. And that made him harder to resist.

A week after the gala, Henry showed up at the restaurant just before closing.

He wasn’t dressed like a man stopping by after a board meeting. No tie. Sleeves rolled. The top button of his shirt undone. He looked tired.

“You’re closing already?” he asked.

“In ten minutes,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. “Why?”

“We’re hosting a small event tomorrow night. At the penthouse.”

Charlie paused. “An event?”

“A few investors. Nothing large.” He leaned lightly against the counter. “My uncle will be there.”

Understanding flickered across her face.

“He still doesn’t believe we’re serious about this marriage, does he?”

Henry didn’t deny it. “He thinks I rush decisions,” he said. “So he wants to see us… together.”

Charlie folded her arms. “Meaning?”

Henry’s mouth curved slightly. “Meaning we need to look convincing.”

“And you came here to warn me?”

“I came to pick you up.”

She blinked. “Pick me up?”

“We’re going shopping.”

Charlie stared at him like he had spoken another language.

The boutique Henry took her to was the kind of place Charlie had only ever walked past, bright windows, elegant displays, and clothes that probably cost more than her monthly rent.

Charlie had barely stepped inside before assistants appeared, measuring, adjusting fabrics, bringing dresses she was almost afraid to touch.

Henry sat nearby, watching quietly.

The first dress she tried was elegant. The second was stunning. The third made her stop in front of the mirror.

The deep emerald fabric fell perfectly over her frame, catching the light every time she moved.

For a moment she barely recognized the woman staring back at her.

When she stepped out, Henry looked up.

And went still.

Charlie lifted an eyebrow. “Too much?”

Henry shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “That’s the one.”

Something warm flickered in her chest.

For the rest of the evening he stayed beside her, choosing shoes, insisting on dinner afterward, even walking her to the car instead of sending a driver.

Charlie found herself watching him differently. There was care there she hadn’t expected.

And that unsettled her more than his arrogance ever had.

The event at Henry’s penthouse the next night was smaller than the engagement party, but no less polished.

Soft music drifted through the rooms, investors talking quietly over glasses of wine while the city lights glittered beyond the windows.

Henry barely left Charlie’s side. His arm rested at the small of her back. His fingers brushed hers whenever someone approached them.

Once, when she laughed at something one of the guests said, he leaned down and murmured something in her ear that made her smile again.

Anyone watching would have believed they were deeply in love.

Even Charlie almost believed it.

Then the door opened.

The woman who stepped inside moved with effortless confidence, her cream-colored dress hugging her frame as though it had been designed only for her.

Henry’s posture changed instantly.

Charlie felt it before she even turned her head.

The woman walked straight toward them.

“Henry.”

Her voice was warm, familiar.

Before Charlie could react, the woman slipped her arms around Henry’s shoulders in an intimate embrace, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek.

“Missed you,” she said softly.

Charlie forced a

polite smile as Henry introduced them.

“Charlie, this is Lena.”

Lena’s eyes flicked over her, amused. “Of course,” she said.

But something about the way she looked at Henry made Charlie’s stomach tighten.