Page 32 of Assistant to the Assassin

“It’s a date, then.” I reluctantly pull out of her embrace, hating the look of disappointment that fills her gaze. But she said herself we need to focus during the day, and I am not going to be lax about it. I can’t be.

For our date, Henry makes me a charcuterie board of Cocoa Pebbles, beef jerky, cashews, and dried mango slices, topped off with a large glass of merlot. He puts on Downton Abbey, drapes me in a fuzzy blanket, then settles on the couch next to me, a glass of white in his hands. As we snack on the hors d’oeuvres and drink our wine, I snuggle up against Henry’s side, and I love how he holds me, like I’m the most precious thing in the world to him. I’m practically giddy.

In the episode we’re watching, the Dowager Countess gets reunited with a Russian prince just after the revolution. Many refugees are without homes and separated from their families, the prince included. It’s incredibly sad.

Has Henry ever seen something like this? I wonder. I’m sure he has. He was never a part of a war, but from what I’ve heard of his assignments in the SEALs, he saw situations just as devastating. “You’ve never told me how you got into the military,” I begin, hoping he’ll let me pry into his past a little more.

He looks down at me, startled by the sudden question. “I was sent to military school when I was sixteen, by court order.”

I stare at him, mouth agape. “Really? Why?”

“I kept getting into fights and causing trouble. My teachers and foster parents all agreed an attitude adjustment would do me good. I was ordered to stay there until I turned eighteen, but military service grew on me in the two years I was there. With a little help from my school, I got into the United States Naval Academy. I got a degree there, took the ASVAB test, passed the MEPS exam, then I became part of the Navy.”

“Well then how did you become a SEAL?”

He sighs as he stares at the screen, not in frustration, but in reminiscence. “Lots of training and pulled strings.”

“Do you ever miss it?” I ask, wondering if this is the part where he’ll shut me down. Henry and I have talked about our pasts before, but there always comes a point for H when the details get too personal, or a nerve is hit too severely. It’s made getting to know him quite difficult, and even harder becoming his friend. Relationships of any kind take a level of trust and openness Henry has never experienced before, and I think his walls have less to do with an unwillingness to open up and moreso about not knowing how to open up.

Or maybe I’m just overanalyzing him.

Surprisingly, he answers me. “I miss the idea of it. I miss the mission, the purpose to do good that drove all of us. I met some good people there. The best people.”

“Like Ian?”

He nods. “The other members of my team were great too. Ian was the leader, naturally. Grant was a tricky bastard that cheated at every game of cards or chess we ever played. Atticus was a complete psychopath, but he was weirdly sweet and loyal. Claire was a ball buster that knocked us down a peg when we needed it…I usually hate people, but I never hated any of them. I think they’re what I miss most.”

“What happened?” I ask quietly.

He keeps his eyes on the screen, but his jaw flexes a few times. “I left the Navy for the same reason I left the CIA. I loved the mission, I loved the people I worked with, but the system itself wouldn’t allow any of us to save those we swore to protect.”

“Was there a specific thing that happened to make you realize this?”

I watch his chest rise and fall in a deep breath, then he gives a shallow nod.

“Did someone die?” I whisper.

“Someone wasn’t found,” he responds, and I know deep in my gut who that someone was.

His mom.

“H—”

“Don’t.”

“I’m not going to ask you what happened,” I promise, pressing my body closer to his. “But I hope you know that you can tell me anything. You can trust me.”

Now, he finally looks at me. “I do trust you; it’s not about that.”

“Then what is it?” I plead, wanting to understand.

“It was my fault,” he admits. “All I didn’t do, and all that I did…You’ll never look at me the same way again.”

I bring my hand up slowly to his face, and when my palm touches his cheek, his body quivers. I’ve never seen Henry like this before. I’ve never seen such vulnerability in his expression or body language. He’s been open with me before, but quivering from my touch? Speaking so lowly about himself? He’s always wound so tight, like metal coils in a machine, but right now I’m witnessing those coils coming undone.

I don’t know who moves first, but as I bring my other hand up to cup his face, he wraps his arms around my waist, and our lips crash together. His lips are firm and hot; his tongue slips into my mouth, and the way he caresses me, the way he nibbles on my lips…it’s like he’s making love to my mouth. He cradles my body in his arms with a gentleness that makes my heart sing, but that all changes when I bite his lip; it unleashes something in him. He pulls me into his lap, and then his hands fly to every part of my body he can get access to. Our makeshift dinner and the stuffy Brits on the screen are completely forgotten.

I’m currently wearing sweatpants and a shirt with Harry Styles wearing his Vogue photoshoot dress on the front, but everywhere he touches makes me feel naked, completely laid bare before him. This feeling only intensifies when H thrusts his hands under my shirt, feeling around for the clasp of my bra, which he manages to undo with a single pinch of his fingers. Suddenly, my shirt is rolled up and my bra is being pulled off my arms. Henry is a man on a mission, but even in the heat of the moment he’s still careful to extract my pump from my bra and my stomach, laying the device on the coffee table. His hungry expression doesn’t falter for a moment. In fact, it only increases when he lays his eyes on my bare chest and stomach.

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