Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
When he told me about Taylor and I was convinced we were finally making progress.
But why did that just stop?
Why does he seem so off since this morning?
He leads me into the restaurant with a gentle hand on my back.
A waiter comes by instantly to check on us and take our order, running down a long list of specials that include the season’s finest oysters and the best coq au vin outside of France.
Once the man leaves, I reach across the table and touch his huge hand with mine.
“Ethan?”
“Yeah?” His eyes are brighter now, like he’s finally coming back into himself.
“I was just wondering… you’ve been sorta quiet all evening. Did something happen?”
He squeezes my fingers, wearing a shadow of a smile.
“I’m fine, Pages. Just drained from the heat and the meetings, I guess. It’s so much legwork making sure this deal with Daley’s viable and really benefits Blackthorn Holdings. He’s also been damnably picky about who he talks to. Daley likes to blow off my team. He only talks to me.”
That would be annoying, but his face hints at more.
It’s a half lie, I think, and something curls up in my chest defensively.
Is he having second thoughts about us?
Does he think he revealed too much and now he’s in retreat?
“I’m glad you had a nicer day than me with your books,” he says, giving me another smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. “As usual, you’re more enticing than anything on the menu, woman. I love the white.”
No lie detected in the compliment.
I blush shamelessly.
The waiter returns with our drinks a few minutes later, wonderful cocktails with oversized ice cubes and strong citrusy lime notes that fade as the ice melts. I’ve never been a smoker, but the experience is what I imagine smoking a good cigar must be like.
My earlier high from browsing bookshops fades as we sip our drinks and devour our appetizers, oysters and a nice spread of croquettes.
Despite the divine food, I’m left with a growing hollowness in my belly that has nothing to do with hunger.
We make casual conversation through the starter course.
Although Ethan tries a few times, he’s still withdrawn, somewhere deep inside himself with whatever his real worries are.
Sad.
I feel like I’m going crazy for overthinking it. But every time he looks at me like he doesn’t really see me, I feel my heart slip further into the abyss.
It’s like he’s made a private decision not to invest in me anymore.
Did I do something wrong on the flight here? Or dragging him through the bookstores?
Was that it?
Was I too clingy?
Probably not, judging by the way he laughed and gave me good-spirited crap about it.
But I keep replaying everything I’ve done for the past week, trying to piece together what’s causing this hairline crack in our easy living.
There are so many possibilities.
Maybe I was too focused on my store and he decided it bored him to death.
Or maybe he met someone else he likes more in the elite New York business circles—and he’s pissed because we’ve agreed that this thing, whatever it is, has to stay exclusive.
Or he’s seen enough Hattie Sage for this life, all my boring imperfections wearing out their welcome. And he’s wondering if he can have his grandfather ruled insane posthumously and overturn a six-month prison sentence wedded to me.
Sigh.
I should’ve expected this.
I just wish I knew why, what’s inside his mind as he looks past me, or down into his glass, swirling his drink.
By the time the main course comes with the heavenly scent of braised chicken, herbs, and rich wine, I’m not that hungry.
I can’t bear the silence anymore.
“Okay, before we dig in, you have to tell me,” I say. He looks up in surprise. “What’s wrong?”
“I already told you, nothing. I—”
“I know you keep saying that, but look at you. Look at us. Something’s eating you up and it worries me.” That comes across more accusatory than intended, but my frustration boils over.
Ethan frowns, studying my eyes with the full weight of his soul.
“You have to know? It’s ridiculous, really. Stupid family drama.”
“What drama?”
“Earlier, Margot brought up that letter I found and Mom walked in. When we asked about it, she got up in arms. Said some weird shit about Gramps ruining everything, running me off. She’s normally subdued, cold when it comes to him. I’ve never seen her freak like that.”
The waiter comes over to check on us and our meals again—man, he’s dropping by a lot, but I guess that’s just Michelin level service—which reminds me to eat. My dish is incredible, but it’s hard to enjoy it as we lapse into silence and my thoughts gather like thunderheads.
“So it’s a sensitive subject for her? Interesting.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” he growls. “She was livid.”
Wow.
I’m so curious, but I’m also a tad relieved.
At least this explains why he’s so reserved, even if it doesn’t cover the severity. I try to rally my thoughts between bites of heavenly chicken stew.