Chapter 36 Charlie
Chapter thirty-six
Charlie
I smooth my hands over the navy silk that hugs my curves, letting the expensive fabric slide along my fingers.
The mirror reflects a woman I barely recognize.
Polished, elegant, confident. The dress is a risk: plunging neckline, fitted bodice, and a thigh-high slit that reveals a flash of leg with every step.
My hair falls in loose waves over my shoulders, and the makeup Emily insisted on applying makes my eyes look wider, and my lips look fuller than they naturally are.
"You can do this," I whisper to my reflection. "It's just dinner."
Just dinner. With my family. And Ethan. After his fiancée tried to poison me.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts.
"It's open," I call, expecting Emily to hurry me along.
But it's Bash who steps through the door, and the sight of him steals my breath.
He's dressed in a perfectly tailored black tux, the crisp white shirt underneath making his tanned skin more pronounced.
His hair is styled just enough to look intentional rather than messy, and he's clean-shaven for the first time since we arrived.
He stops dead in his tracks when he sees me, his eyes widening before darkening with unmistakable heat.
"Holy shit, Shortcake," he says, his voice dropping to that low register that makes my stomach flip.
I feel a blush creeping up my neck. "Too much?"
"I don't think I want to let you out of this room." He closes the door behind him with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving mine. "You look incredible."
"You clean up pretty well yourself," I manage, my mouth suddenly dry. "Where were you hiding that suit?"
He takes a step toward me. "Packed it just in case. Good thing I did."
Another step.
"We have to be downstairs in ten minutes," I warn, but I don't move away.
"I can do a lot in ten minutes." His hands find my waist, pulling me against him. "This dress should be illegal."
His lips find my neck, and I tilt my head to give him better access, already forgetting my protests.
"Careful," I breathe. "Makeup."
"Don't care." His hands slide down to my hips, then lower, finding the slit in my dress. When his fingers touch bare skin, he makes a sound that's almost animalistic. "Christ, Charlie."
His mouth captures mine in a kiss that's pure possession—deep and demanding. I arch into him, my hands sliding inside his jacket to feel the warmth of him through his shirt.
"We can't," I gasp when we come up for air. "We'll be late."
His forehead rests against mine, his breathing ragged. "You're killing me."
"Later," I promise, pressing one-more quick kiss to his lips. "When we don't have an audience waiting."
He groans but steps back, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. But you're not leaving my sight tonight."
I laugh, smoothing his lapels. "Possessive much?"
"Only with you." His expression softens. "You really do look beautiful, Charlie. Not just sexy—though God knows you are—but beautiful."
The simple sincerity in his voice touches me more than his heated desire. "Thank you." I reach up to straighten his tie. "You're pretty devastating yourself."
"And?"
"And I might ask you to keep it on, later." I wink. "For a little while, at least."
He laughs, the tension breaking. "Deal."
We share one more kiss, gentler this time, before heading for the door. Just before we leave the room, Bash pulls me back against him.
His smile is soft and private, just for me. Then he offers his arm. "Shall we?"
We step into the hallway and find Emily waiting, tapping her foot dramatically.
"Finally!" she exclaims. "I was about to send in a rescue team."
My sister is resplendent in a floor-length maroon gown with intricate beading across the bodice. Her hair is swept up in an elegant updo, and she's wearing our grandmother's diamond earrings.
"Em, it's just dinner at home," I say, laughing. "Not the Met Gala."
She flips me the bird but it's facing away from her. "First, it's pre-Christmas dinner, which is always special." Then she puts up her pointer finger. "Second, when do I ever get to dress up like this?" She twirls, the skirt billowing around her. "And third, I look fantastic."
"Can't argue with that," Bash says, offering her his other arm. "I'm the luckiest guy here, escorting the two most beautiful women."
Emily rolls her eyes but takes his arm. "Smooth talker."
"I try."
The three of us descend the stairs together, and I feel a strange mix of nerves and anticipation. The last time we all gathered for dinner, I ended up in the hospital. Hopefully, tonight ends differently.
The dining room is transformed. Mom has outdone herself, with the long oak table set with the good china and crystal, taper candles casting a warm glow over everything.
A fire crackles in the corner fireplace setting the mood, and garlands of evergreen and twinkling lights frame the windows.
It's magical and intimate, despite the lingering tension in the air.
My parents are already seated at opposite ends of the table, both dressed formally. Dad in a navy suit, Mom in a deep burgundy dress that makes her look ten years younger. They beam when they see us enter.
And then I see them—the Harpers, seated opposite our side of the table. Mr. and Mrs. Harper smile tightly, clearly uncomfortable, but making an effort. And Ethan, looking pale and drawn in a dark grey suit, his eyes fixed on his empty plate.
I freeze mid-step. Bash's arm tightens around mine, a silent question. I force a smile and keep moving.
"Good evening, everyone," I say, aiming for light and casual.
Mrs. Harper stands to greet us. "Charlotte, dear, you look lovely.
" She embraces me, her perfume—the same Chanel No.
5 she's worn since I was a child—enveloping me in familiar sweetness.
"I am so terribly sorry about what happened," she whispers, her voice breaking slightly.
"I had no idea what Olivia had done. I would never have allowed it. "
I pat her back gently. "It's okay, Mrs. Harper. It wasn't your fault."
She pulls back, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "Still, in my own home..."
"Really, it's in the past now," I assure her, though the memory of my closing throat still haunts me.
Mrs. Harper moves to hug Sebastian next, surprising him slightly. "Thank you for taking care of our Charlie," she says warmly.
"Always," he replies, his voice steady and certain.
Emily receives her hug with grace, whispering something that makes Mrs. Harper laugh through her tears.
Mr. Harper approaches next, his tall frame stooped with what looks like genuine remorse. He wraps me in a fatherly embrace.
"I'm so sorry for what Olivia did," he says, his voice gruff with emotion. "Ethan should have known better than to bring someone like that into our lives. Into your life."
I swallow hard, catching Ethan's gaze across the room. He looks away first.
"Thank you, Mr. Harper."
As pleasantries are exchanged, I look towards Ethan again and notice his shoulders are hunched, his hands fidgeting with his napkin. He looks... broken.
Despite everything, I feel a pang of pity. Not for how he treated me. No, that wound has healed, but for what he's lost. His fiancée is gone, his family's disappointed, and he's clearly miserable.
I excuse myself from Bash's side and approach Ethan directly.
"Hi," I say quietly.
He finally looks up, and the naked remorse in his eyes catches me off guard. "Charlie," he says hoarsely. "I didn't think you'd speak to me."
"It's pre-Christmas dinner," I say simply.
He swallows hard. "Could I... could I have a word with you before dinner? In private?"
I sense rather than see Bash stiffen behind me.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Bash says, suddenly at my side.
I turn to him, placing a hand on his chest. "It's okay." When he looks unconvinced, I add, "I'll be right back, I promise."
Bash's jaw tightens, but he nods. "Are you sure?"
"I am." I rise on tiptoe to kiss him lightly. "Save my seat."
Ethan stands and I follow him into the kitchen, acutely aware of Bash's eyes tracking us until we're out of sight. The kitchen is warm and fragrant with dinner preparations, but empty for the moment.
Ethan leans against the counter, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He seems to be gathering his thoughts, so I give him space, folding my arms and waiting.
The silence stretches uncomfortably.
"You wanted to talk?" I finally prompt.
He looks up, his eyes red-rimmed. "I'm sorry," he blurts. "God, Charlie, I'm so so sorry. For everything."
I nod slowly. "It's okay."
"No, it's not okay." He rakes a hand through his hair. "I screwed up. I screwed everything up. Breaking up with you was the stupidest thing I've ever done."
I wasn't expecting this. An apology for Olivia's actions, yes. But this?
"Ethan—"
"Please, just let me say this." He takes a deep breath. "I thought the grass was greener. I thought I wanted something different, something more. But I was wrong. You were everything I needed, and I was too blind to see it."
A knot forms in my stomach. Six months ago, I would have given anything to hear these words. Now they just make me sad.
"When I saw you with him," Ethan continues, "how happy you are, how you light up when he walks into a room... it hit me. That's what we could have had, if I hadn't been such a selfish prick."
"Is that why you were high the other night?" I ask quietly.
He nods miserably. "I couldn't stand seeing it. You, thriving without me. Moving on. Being loved the way I should have loved you."
"And Olivia?" I keep my voice neutral.
Ethan closes his eyes. "I told her the truth. That I still had feelings for you. She didn't take it well." He swallows hard. "That's why she did what she did. It's my fault, Charlie. If I hadn't said anything—"
"No," I cut him off firmly. "Olivia's actions were her own. You didn't tell her to put shellfish in that lasagna. She made those choices."
"But if I hadn't—"