9. All The Apologies （Hattie）
ALL THE APOLOGIES (HATTIE)
H e’s. Kissing. Me.
Ethan Blackthorn is flipping kissing me!
And not just any kiss.
His mouth is volcanic, hot and demanding and greedy.
My toes never had a chance.
They curl up like caterpillars in the sand, trying to keep me tethered to the ground before this man flings me into the heavens.
In Regency books, the heroines always have weak knees when the brash rake or the noble prince finally breaks down and claims what’s his.
After reading a few dozen books like that, I sometimes scoffed and skipped past the all-consuming first kiss.
Not one kiss in my life has ever made me airborne.
Until now.
Until I taste pure sorcery.
Until Ethan shatters the laws of gravity.
With one rough hand in my hair, cupping my neck, he urges me closer.
His other hand slides to my waist. Although he’s not after anything else, I know he could take it so easily.
A shiver rips through me.
This is my first time kissing a man this tall, too. The way he looms over me, his body practically surrounding mine, makes me dizzy.
There’s a delightful power imbalance here.
If he wanted, he could do almost anything.
But he doesn’t, of course.
Ethan isn’t totally senseless, and this is a public beach.
No matter what we’re feeling in the moment, we’re not so drunk that he’s about to throw common sense to the wind.
But the thought is there, and it leaves me breathless.
Along with a sharp pulse between my legs I haven’t felt in ages, especially with kissing.
But this isn’t just kissing .
This is a ruthless conquest.
My nipples peak, my skin flushes, and before I know it, I’m wrapping my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life.
Chest to chest.
Heart to heart.
Breath to breath.
Ethan groans, shifting his hand to the small of my back with a hunger that’s insane. I had no idea it was such an erotic place until now, and I’m pressed flush against him.
I can feel a bulge I’m almost certain might be—
Oh my God, is it?
I’m very, very lucky his arms are snug around me, holding me up.
Otherwise, I’d have fallen and face-planted in the sand.
Ethan, you madman, what have you done?
He pulls back like he’s asking himself the same question, freeing his hand from my hair to steady my waist as I stumble slightly.
Cool air floods the space between us.
Reality bleeds back in.
The upside-down life where I just kissed Ethan Blackthorn .
Oh, boy.
On my list of no-good horrendous ideas, this is top tier brainless material. Gold medal imbecile stuff.
He’s breathing so raggedly, though, and—
Do not look down .
Do not.
I swear, if I get one glimpse of the enormous package he’s sporting, if I even acknowledge it’s there , I’ll go down in a fiery blaze, mortified forever.
Yes, he kissed me first, so it’s not like there’s a reason I should be feeling so embarrassed.
But something warm and liquid churns in my belly and I don’t want to think about it.
“Good practice,” he says after a torn second.
“Huh? What practice?” I shake my head, trying to get my senses back. “Oh. Because we’re dating, you mean? Fake dating. Fake engaged. Fake—whatever!”
I’m so flustered I’m rambling, sweat coating my palms like sticky syrup.
“We need to kiss sometimes, Pages,” he says flatly. “To make it more believable.”
“Y-yeah.” A broken giggle slips out of me.
God.
After a kiss like that, I can’t disagree.
I can’t do anything except feel like a lovestruck little fool.
But I also need him to go back to being the Prince of All Asshats fast. Just so I can remember all the reasons why I don’t like him.
He’s been too nice today.
And not his usual ‘nice’ where he cynically buys me an entire freaking bookstore just to streamline schedules, but nice-nice.
He’s being sweet and that’s not supposed to happen.
Rushing to my defense with Mom’s nagging about calories.
Open with the reminiscing about better days.
Intense when he told me I had to be crazy to think there’s anything wrong with me.
This isn’t the Ethan I know.
It’s not even the Ethan from roughly a week ago when I signed on to be his prop.
And then that kiss.
Holy. Hell.
I have no idea how to interpret anything that’s unfolding now.
Practice, fine, but was that really what was on his mind when he kissed my face off?
I don’t know why he kissed me.
But he definitely felt like he liked it, if the battering ram in his pants is anything to go by.
I shake my head a little to clear my thoughts.
Ares shakes off sand and yawns, watching us through his big, handsome, slightly gloomy brown eyes.
You’re right, boy , I tell him silently. This is bad. Catastrophic.
This mess is already complicated enough.
How bad will it be if I start catching real feelings?
Two days later, it still feels like a dream.
We’re home now, back in Portland, and I’m trying not to think about the fact that Ethan hasn’t called.
Not once to decompress from the strangest evening of my life.
Which is fine. Obviously.
It’s not like I’m expecting him to be clingy, and he has no obligation to check in for a daily update or whatever.
We’re fake engaged.
Everything we do together is for show.
That’s the only logical conclusion, and if certain knees start going weak and wibbly again at the mere thought of kissing him a second time—well, that’s just what good practice kisses do .
A lot of rom-coms with this silly plot say so.
So does my recent experience with one bad-tempered man.
At the time, I thought he liked it—or at least, he didn’t hate it—but the more time that passes with crickets from him, I’m starting to question everything.
Maybe he walked away in horror, thinking it was gross.
Maybe I’m such a bad kisser he never wants to look at me again.
Ugh!
After the kiss, we just went back inside his parents’ mansion and said our goodbyes after another hour of conversation.
On the plane, he got out his laptop and started working, barely looking up for the brief flight.
Meanwhile, I was stranded in my own mind. Alone and distraught while he behaved like The Kiss never happened.
Or maybe he quietly wished it never happened the whole way back.
Which makes me feel bonkers for having weak knees.
Is this a preview of what’s next?
I’ve offended him so bad with my rotten kissing technique that he never wants to see me again, and now we won’t meet until our wedding day.
That should not make me feel like I’ve swallowed a geode.
“Hattie,” Margot says, tying her hair into a messy bun on top of her head. She’s dressed in a baggy shirt and leggings, yet still looks effortlessly chic somehow.
Me? I’m in a white tee and jeans and covered in all the dust from the bookstore’s back room. Margot has some weird natural immunity to dust, magically repelling it.
“Margot,” I say, wiping my forehead.
Technically, the bookstore is closed until we figure out what happens next. Margot, bless her heart, volunteered to sift through all the inventory I’ve inherited.
Turns out, Mr. Sneed had a mountain of it in storage, years of acquisitions I didn’t even know about. Finding the gems worth selling is like searching one haystack after the next.
“You’re not listening.” She pouts at me.
There’s no point lying to her—and I’m a terrible liar anyway. “Sorry. I was just thinking…”
“About?”
I sigh.
“Meeting my parents?” she guesses.
“Yeah, that. I guess.”
“How was it? Ethan keeps freezing me out—typical annoying older brother stuff—but I’d like to know what happened. Don’t tell me you’ve taken a vow of silence too?”
I fight to keep the blush off my face.
“Nothing, Margot. Pretty boring day.”
For a long second, she stares at me. Then her eyebrows slowly lift.
“Come on, what was it? It’s my parents . What did they do?” She flicks her fingers dismissively. “At least you were dressed up. Did you mess up your hair? Oh God, did Mom say something?”
I wish.
My hair stayed perfect until Ethan kissed me .
I try not to shudder, remembering his fingers threading my hair, the way he brushed my skin, claiming and strong and delirious.
Holding me against him while he kissed me like I was his for one brief, reckless, totally awful fit of bad decisions.
That’s not something I can ever tell Margot.
“Um, no,” I say.
“You took Ares, right? Ethan shot me down when I offered to watch him. Mom loves the doggo more than us.” Margot rolls her eyes even though she loves Ares just as much.
“Yep, he was there, licks and all. He got plenty of sushi.”
She beams like the sun.
“Cool. It sounds like everything went great, then. Did Mom drop any hints about wedding planning?” Margot gives a snort that sounds bitter.
“No, nothing that easy,” I say, running my finger down the inventory list—all on paper. Mr. Sneed never did digital. He wouldn’t even put up a Google business listing. “Actually, my mom decided to join us.”
“What? Your mom ? She invited herself?” Amused, Margot drops the book she was holding.
“Yup.”
“Oh, man.” She pulls a sympathetic face. “I take it back. Things were not great. How did you guys survive?”
“Well, obviously she thinks the thing with Ethan is real, so we were covered there. And she was busy sucking up to your parents about eighty percent of the time.”
The memory makes me want to shrivel up like a prune.
“I mean, it could’ve been worse. Mom probably loved that part.” Margot shrugs. “She’s a big fan of anyone who’s a fan of her.”
“Yeah. Your folks were polite enough—in their own way.”
So was Mom, reminding me not to eat too many carbs. Or, really, any carbs at all.
My skin tingles at the memory of Ethan reaching under the table to take my hand, shutting Mom up with one headshot comment.
And then later, on the beach, telling me I’d have to be crazy to think there’s anything wrong with my weight.
“Hmm, you’re doing that again. I thought it was just the books at first, but no.” Margot squints at me.
“Doing what?”
Margot bends down and peers at me closer, narrowing her eyes to slits. “Blushing, Hattie Sage. Why?”
Ugh, nothing gets past her beady little eyes.