Own Me (The Wolf Hotel, #5)

“Did Raj help you get everything set up for next weekend?” Henry’s gravelly voice cuts into my focus.

I set my book on my nightstand and track him on his path from our en suite bathroom to his side of the bed, the cotton of his boxer briefs hugging his form. A more physically pleasing man can’t possibly exist. “Yes. He’s been a huge help.”

The moment I mentioned hosting Henry’s friends here, Raj’s eyes lit up. “Finally! Something more interesting than dry cleaning and grocery runs,” he’d said and fetched his phone. Within an hour, Sasha, with her thick-framed black glasses and clicky heels, was strolling into the penthouse with a clipboard to size up what she had to work with for the perfect Gothic-themed party. My only contribution to the planning so far.

“I knew he would be.” The mattress sinks under Henry’s weight. “Make sure you tell them everything has to be wrapped up before midnight.”

“And where are we going at midnight?” Henry said the guys fly in every year for this annual event, but he hasn’t said anything else.

“We won’t know until about an hour before when they text the ticket holders. The location changes every year.”

“Why so secretive?”

“Because it’s a secret party. Everyone wears a mask with their costume and no one knows who attends.”

My jaw hangs open. “Henry Wolf wears a Halloween costume?”

“For this party, which also happens to be on Halloween, yes.” A roguish smile curves his lips.

“What should we go as? Wait! I know! I’ll be Little Red Riding Hood and you can be—”

“No.” He settles onto his back. “Merrick’s taking care of the costumes for us.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s a themed event and the organizers are particular about the quality of costumes people arrive in. Something cheap or half-assed gets you disinvited the following year. That’s why Merrick arranges them. He always delivers.”

“But he doesn’t know my size.” Or me, for that matter.

“I told him everything he needed to know.”

An alarm bell goes off inside my head. “What exactly did he need to know?”

Henry’s smile grows wider.

“Henry,” I huff.

His eyes land on me. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes, but—”

“Have I ever asked you to do something you didn’t enjoy?”

“I guess not.”

He clears his throat.

“No,” I concede, my cheeks heating as thoughts of some of the more risqué things Henry has asked me to do flood my mind.

“Okay, then. Trust me. You will be dressed. You will look good. And that’s all you need to know until Saturday night.”

Nervous flutters stir in my stomach. But I’m with Henry, I remind myself. He always takes good care of me. “What’s the theme?”

“You’ll find out on Saturday.”

“Ugh! I don’t like this secret.”

“I can tell.” He enjoys keeping me in the dark.

I know better than to pump him for more information when he’s using that tone. I’ll have to work on him through the week to see if he’ll slip up. “I do want to talk to you about the quote for the catering company, though. It’s insane.”

“It’s fine.” Henry shuts his eyes, as if ready for sleep.

“But you don’t even know how much it is.”

“Is it more than five digits?”

“No, but—”

“Then it’s fine.”

I make a strangled sound. “People have hosted entire wedding receptions for the cost of this dinner party for nine people.” Warner and Preston are coming with dates, and apparently, Margo always comes to this annual event, too, so when she caught wind of dinner at our place beforehand, she invited herself plus Joel.

“Just imagine what our wedding reception will cost. Are you still reading?” Henry’s unspoken request that I shut off the light.

“It seems excessive.” I flip the switch, throwing the room into darkness. That’s fine, I can never read in bed when he’s here, anyway. I can’t focus on anything but him.

“So was picking you up from Greenbank in a helicopter, but you didn’t complain then.”

I search for a retort but can’t come up with a suitable one. Besides, that stunt was so worth it when I saw the look of defeat on Jed’s face.

Henry sighs. “You’re marrying me, Abigail. You need to get used to a certain lifestyle.” He only uses my full name anymore when he’s lecturing me. After another beat, he adds, “If it makes you feel better, whatever we spend on Saturday, why don’t you donate double that amount to a charity of your choice.”

I do the quick math. That does help my conscience. “Any charity?”

“Any charity your heart desires.”

I shift closer to him, pressing my lips against his bare shoulder. “What about something for ALS?”

His chest rises with a deep breath. He’s been hiding in work for most of the afternoon and evening, but I sense him hiding even deeper in his thoughts. Just last week, he was mulling over his life, feeling the pressure of being the only Wolf left. And in the last twenty-four hours, he has discovered that’s not true.

“Have you ever known anyone with it?” he asks quietly.

“No. Not personally,” I admit. “You? Before now, I mean.”

“One of my father’s best friends. He lived with it for almost ten years before his body gave up. He died five years ago.”

“Did you know him well?” I ask softly.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. We golfed together for years. He was a big man and loud. Deep, booming laugh. It was hard watching his body stop working. I kept expecting to hear that laugh.” Henry pauses. “It’s unfair that Audrey couldn’t have more time with Violet. At least see her grow up.”

“It is unfair,” I agree. “But diseases don’t care what’s fair. They don’t care if you’ve been a good person, or which god you pray to, or if you believe in one at all. They don’t care who you leave behind.”

Henry lifts his arm to wrap around me, pulling me up until my body is draped over his.

I inhale the delicious scent of soap still lingering on his hot skin. “I felt terrible for Audrey’s parents. Having to bury their child and finish raising a teenager at their age? I mean, they must be in their late seventies or—”

“Eighty-four. Both of them. They had Audrey later in life.”

“How do you …” My question fades as it dawns on me. “You had Dyson look into them.”

“Of course I did,” he says matter-of-factly. “They’re legal guardians of my child. I needed to make sure there weren’t going to be any surprises.”

Those words—my child—stir an odd emotion in the pit of my stomach that I can’t quite decipher. “From an eighty-four-year-old couple? Such as?” I struggle to hide my exasperation. Sometimes Henry is too much.

“Debts, criminal records, history of drinking or abuse. Anything that could affect Violet negatively.”

Worse than her mother’s crimes? No use speaking ill of the dead. “And what did you find out?”