Chapter 145
Tilda
The urge to cry has been pressing against my eyes since the first time Sandra hugged me.
And now that she’s gone, hugging me twice more before she left, I’m finding it harder to resist.
Today was… everything I’ve ever wanted in a family.
Funny, snarky, peaceful.
No fighting.
No name-calling.
No shaming.
Just an enjoyable time.
Ethan even clapped Fisher on the back by the end of it. But I think we all could tell his earlier mean mugging was just show, something he did because he’s the older brother. Because he cares. Because he’s a protector.
A sparkly string wraps itself around my heart.
A string that feels like family. That wants to tie all my broken pieces together.
And I want to let it.
I want to stay here, in this family, with these people.
I want to stay with Ethan.
Here or at my house.
I just want to stay.
I want to keep feeling safe and loved. And…
And I need to tell him.
I need to tell Ethan how much he means to me.
Tell him that we may have started because of Uncle Jack’s scheme. But it’s not a scheme anymore.
Without the money.
Without an inheritance.
I’d still pick him.
I’d stay with him.
My inhale feels choppy.
You can do the hard things, Matty.
I believe in you.
I reread Uncle Jack’s letters last week, wanting to feel closer to him.
Wanting to thank him for pushing Ethan and me together.
We’d already met. And I like to think that even without the whole ruse, we’d still have found our way together. But I still feel like I owe Uncle Jack for speeding up that timeline.
These last couple months would’ve been lonely without Ethan.
“I’m gonna take a quick shower.” Ethan steps into the kitchen through the deck door. “I smell like the grill.”
“Okay. I’ll bring my bag in.”
Ethan takes a step toward the front door. “I can get it.”
“No, no. It’ll give me something to do.” I wave him off.
“Fine.” Ethan turns toward the hall. “I won’t be long.”
“Take your time.” I mean it. I need a moment to gather my composure. And a moment to decide how to tell Ethan I love him.
I slip my sandals on and step outside.
I could sit him down, tell him I have something to say. And then just say it. I love you.
Or I could wait until later. When we’re having sex, because I’m sure we will. And I could say it then.
I could cling to his shoulders and whisper it in his ear.
Opening my passenger door, I make a face at that idea.
I don’t think he’ll have a bad reaction to it. I have a pretty good feeling he might even say it back. But… what if I say it and it turns him off? Having him clam up would be bad enough. But if I told Ethan I loved him during sex and he lost his erection… I don’t know how to recover from that.
My eyes snag on the beaded suncatcher I made for Ethan, and I grab it off the seat before slinging my backpack over my other shoulder.
After sex.
Or in the morning.
One of those options.
Casually.
Good morning, Ethan. I love you.
I step back into the house, confident that’s the right choice.
Distracted, I set the suncatcher on Ethan’s dining table, then swing my backpack down.
A clatter startles me, and I spin to see a plastic water cup that I must’ve knocked onto the floor.
“Crap.” I leave my backpack on the dining table and rush toward the kitchen sink.
I grab the pair of hand towels next to the sink and hurry back.
Thankfully the cup didn’t break, but there is a puddle of water spreading across the hardwood floor now beneath the couch.
Down on my knees, I set the cup upright, away from the puddle, and start to soak up the water.
As I push the towel, I accidentally send more of the water under the couch.
Sighing, I grab the second towel and, holding one corner, flick my wrist so it spreads out on the floor below the couch, hopefully catching everything.
But it makes a… papery sound.
I drag the towel toward me, and it comes out wet. But it catches more than just water.
A folded piece of paper is stuck under the other end of the towel.
Not wanting to ruin whatever it is by dragging it through what’s left of the puddle, I let go of the towel and reach for the paper.
It’s a single sheet of paper. Folded in thirds.
Like a letter.
Unease crawls up my arms as I hold the paper in front of me.
It’s just paper.
It’s a lost piece of mail.
It’s… making my hands shake.
“It’s none of my business,” I say out loud, trying to convince myself not to open it.
But the corner of the paper is wet.
And if I flatten it out, it’ll dry faster.
Sitting on my heels, I lift the top edge of the paper, opening the page.
And revealing Uncle Jack’s handwriting.
That unease inside me turns hot.
“What…”
The paper trembles as I unfold the rest of it.
I shouldn’t read it.
I know I shouldn’t.
It’s not mine.
But it is my uncle’s handwriting.
And why wouldn’t Ethan tell me he got a letter too?
I shouldn’t read it.
But my eyes find the first line.
And even though I shouldn’t read it.
I do.
Dear Ethan,
I’m sure you’ve met my Matty by now. Sorry (not actually sorry) for misleading you. But it was necessary to get your acceptance.
You’re a stubborn man, Ethan Grant. A real ass sometimes. But your heart is good.
And Matilda needs someone with a good heart.
My heart races as I read each line. I remember now, Ethan making a comment about Uncle Jack asking him to keep an eye on me. But I didn’t think more of it.
It’s just a thing people say.
But as I start to read the next line… I feel sick.
You gave me your word that you’d keep an eye on her. And I need you to keep your word. Because even if you didn’t know it at the time, it was a promise to a dying man. And since I’m dead now, you can’t take it back.
My throat feels tight as I swallow.
It wasn’t just a thing people say. It was more than that.
And Uncle Jack wrote Ethan to remind him.
So, Ethan Grant, Park Ranger, Overall Grump, I need you to promise me one more thing.
That you will keep an eye on Matilda.
That you will keep her safe.
And for the next three months, starting tomorrow, when you fly to Vegas, I need you to do whatever she asks of you. No matter how… unconventional.
The sparkly string around my heart starts to loosen.
Ethan received this letter the day before we got married. The same day I got mine.
Ethan knew something was going to happen.
He… he agreed so easily. He…
My eyes trace over the next sentence.
And if you do this, if you play along with my plan for three months, then $250,000 will be deposited into your bank account. My lawyers already have the instructions. So, as long as there’s no bad news, three months from now, you’ll be a little bit richer.
If there is bad news, you’ll get nothing.
And I’ll haunt you for the rest of your grumpy life.
All my love, Jack
The string dulls as it unravels, releasing all the broken parts of me back into my chest.
A drip lands on the page.
Then a second.
And when I blink,
more tears fall.
Money.
It’s all been about money.
Cold seeps through the floor into my knees.
Ethan got this letter from Uncle Jack, offering him a quarter of a million dollars to… play along.
The cold spreads down to my toes and up my thighs.
Ethan got this letter before I ever set foot on his plane.
He got this before I met with the lawyer. Before the wedding ceremony.
He went along with all of it because he was getting paid.
He got this letter before…
The cold spreads to my stomach.
Ethan got this letter before we slept together.
My broken inhale feels like ice as the cold reaches my lungs.
This whole time.
This entire time.
Ethan’s had a motive.
He wasn’t just being an amazing guy. He didn’t just marry a woman he barely knew to spite my family.
Ethan did it for money.
It’s all been for money.
My fingers go numb as the cold travels down my arms.
Like my family.
Like everyone I know.
Like every other person I should’ve been able to count on, but who let me down over and over again.
Ethan needed me for money.
Despair, like I didn’t know was possible, drapes over me, making it hard to breathe.
I was going to tell him I loved him.
I was going to tell him and…
Three months.
The despair gets even heavier.
Three fucking months.
This letter says Ethan will get paid three months after that day.
It’s been two and a half.
We’re two weeks short of the deadline.
In two weeks, Ethan will get his money.
In two weeks, Ethan will be free to act however he wants.
And if I told him that I loved him tomorrow…
A sob crawls up my frozen throat.
If I told him tomorrow, would he have said it back even if he didn’t mean it?
Would he have smiled but not denied it?
In two weeks…
The paper shakes as I hold it in one hand while I press the other to my mouth.
If I found this letter in two weeks, after the deadline, and I told him then…
If I found this letter in six months and nothing between us had changed…
If the deadline had come and gone and Ethan still… if he still acted like he loved me… Maybe I could believe him.
But I didn’t find it later.
I found it now.
And I can’t pretend that I didn’t.
I can’t pretend to be okay for two weeks, just to see if he changes.
I won’t pretend for two weeks, waiting for him to break my heart.
So, I have to go.
With numb limbs, I climb to my feet.
The paper crinkles in my grip as I pick up my backpack.
And I focus on breathing as I walk out the door.