Only in Dreams(7)

Once we moved in together, this habit slowly changed, and I began to see the Henry that is restless. Where I will, without much thought, sleep ‘til noon on a Saturday morning, Henry can’t sleep in, no matter how late he is up the night before. While I miss his warm body next to me in the morning, I can’t complain, because he is always ninja-like in his exiting skills, allowing me to rest as long as my heart desires.

I sit up and reach for my robe, smiling as I think about Henry. When I first moved in, he never realized why I always wore his t-shirts to bed. I’ve always lived like a college student. I don’t waste money on sexy pajamas, oh no, my funds are reserved for real clothes or going out. Once I moved in, my nighttime wardrobe became evident to him. He could see I was embarrassed by the revelation, so we spent the entire day shopping together. I now have more gowns and robes than I can ever possibly wear.

It’s odd that something so simple can make me feel so sophisticated. I don’t come from money like Henry. Everything I have in life I clawed out and grabbed onto for myself. To spend money on such luxurious, and in my mind, frivolous things, is hard to accept in some ways, but empowering in others. Henry is always good about sharing his wealth without flaunting it, a rare quality I’ve discovered over my lifetime. I can’t say the same for his grandmother—ugh—it is far too early in the morning to think about that woman.

Speaking of too early, what time is it? I glance at the clock on Henry’s side table. 9:38. I raise my eyebrows, impressed I haven’t slept the Saturday away.

I slip my feet into the cozy shoes next to my bed and make my way into the kitchen. Being back in New York, after spending the last six months in Paris was unsettling at first, but it hasn’t taken Henry and I long to fall back into a comfortable routine. When I first left for Paris, he sent me images of all the possible condo choices in Manhattan. Part of me wishes I could have been here for the process, but thanks to Henry, I got to feel like I was a part of it all from afar.

I have Henry to thank for most things in my life right now. He got me the apprenticeship under one of my favorite designers, and now I’m about to have my very own runway show. It’s still hard to believe my own designs will be out in the world.

When I walk into the kitchen, I catch sight of Henry sitting at the breakfast table near the window, thumbing through the pages of his paper, sipping a cup of coffee. I stop dead in my tracks, drinking in the picture of him. His sandy hair is tousled; I smile as I see him clench his jaw. This is something he does as he reads the financial section. Just the hint of some facial hair casts a shadow on his jaw line—a rare sight as Henry is always clean-shaven.

My breath catches in my throat as he looks over at me, a smile spreading across his handsome face and a slight twinkle in his blue eyes. Oh, those blue eyes. I still remember the first time I saw them. It was like getting lost in a vast ocean. They swallowed me up, and their power has never released me.

“Good morning beautiful,” Henry says. That has become his new normal. Every morning when I walk out for breakfast, he greets me with those words. My heart still floods with warmth when I hear it.

“Morning,” I reply, walking over to him and pressing my lips against his forehead. When I pull away I see him wince slightly. “Are you all right?”

He nods. “Yeah, it’s this headache. I just can’t seem to shake it.”

“Have you taken anything for it?” I ask, walking over to pour myself a cup of coffee.

“Yeah, but none of it seems to work,” he replies, glancing back at the pages of his paper.

I grab one of the croissants from the plate on the counter and shove it in my mouth, using my free hands to add cream and sugar, before making my way over to Henry, taking a seat across from him. I pull off a piece of the delicate pastry and set the remaining piece on the table.

I see Henry eye the plate-less food. Though I know things like this annoy him, I also know he will never say it to me. I grab a napkin from the wire holder in the center of the table and place it as a barrier between the table and my food. This seems to please him as a smile tickles the corners of his mouth. I find his various quirks endearing.

“You don’t take care of yourself,” I insist, a fact I have argued since early in our relationship. “You never shut off.”

“Sure I do,” Henry dismisses my statement.

“Oh yeah? It’s a Saturday, and what are you doing right now?”

“Sitting across from the most beautiful fiancée a man could ever hope for.”

“Boy, you’re laying it on thick this morning.”