You Can Let It Go [ZARRY]

Forty

Zayn:

I dressed for work on automatic, my head stewing in conflict and heartache.

I’d slogged through the last few days, trying my damnedest not to let the overthinking
control my life. But aside from the one, strained phone call, Harry and I hadn’t spoken.

He needed me to wait for him but for how long?

Thanksgiving dinner loomed on the horizon, carrying with it all of my hopes for reuniting with my dad, and Harry couldn’t be there.

I’d have to show up alone while my brother and sister were surrounded by the families they’d made.

Their “stable situations.”

“So, Zayn, where is the special someone you were supposed to bring to dinner?”

“Oh, he can’t be seen with me in public, but trust me, we’re in a very stable situation.”

I snorted a laugh, but as I headed out for my shift with Desmond, the unsettling feeling had sunk into my bones.

Nothing was stable between Harry and me.

The ferocity of my feelings for him scared me shitless. I was supposed to be protecting myself, and yet. . .

I’m falling in love with him.

“Mr. Malik, my good man,” Marcel said, meeting me in the grand foyer, startling me out of my thoughts.

“Hey, Marcel.”

“I say, it looks like Papa is going to throw a Halloween fete, the likes of which we haven’t seen in this household in years.”

He indicated the workers who were busy around the clock these last few days. Those in the foyer were lacing the banister with delicate—and realistic-looking—cobwebs and putting in light installations that I was told would suffuse the room with shades of green and purple.

I’d never been to a Halloween party thrown in a billionaire’s mansion, but I had a feeling there wasn’t going to be a lot of bobbing for apples and people dressed as pregnant nuns.

“Yeah, it looks like it’s going to be pretty epic,” I said. “Do you have a costume?”

Marcel rocked on his heels, a pleased smile cast to the marble floor. “Indeed, I am going as Charles Dickens.”

I smiled. Marcel could’ve passed for Dickens every day.

“And who shall you be, Mr. Malik?”

“Frank-N-Furter from The Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

I have no idea why that popped out of my mouth, except the sudden image of me bursting into the crowded party in full drag and sending Desmond into a fit made me want to laugh.

And I needed to laugh.

Marcel tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Can’t say I’ve heard of Frank-N-Furter. Some sort of hot dog, perchance?”

I chuckled again but it faded fast. “No, I’m kidding. I’m not going to the party. In fact, I don’t know that staff are even invited.”

Not to mention the last thing I want to do is stand across the room from Harry all night, pretending there’s nothing between us.

Marcel’s glance flickered to me, then back to the floor.

“Hmm, you seem rather down in the dumps, old chap. I have not seen Harry in a few days, myself. I was hoping ever so much we might have another outing, the three of us. Is this the cause of your melancholy as well? His absence?”