11. All The Ruin （Hattie） #3
I get up and slip it over my shoulders, wrapping the belt securely around my waist so there’s no skin visible. Then I push open the door.
And sniff.
Because, unless I’m very much mistaken, that’s—buttered lobster?
But there’s no mistaking that smell.
Confused, I pad downstairs toward the kitchen, winding through the cavernous house.
Ethan stands in front of the stove in a pair of shorts and nothing else, humming to himself as he cooks.
On the floor by his feet, Ares looks up, thumping his tail a few times when he sees me.
Am I still asleep and dreaming?
This isn’t really happening.
Ethan Blackthorn is half-naked and cooking dinner? And singing to himself?
No flipping way.
I have to be asleep.
“Oh, you’re awake,” he says, gesturing to a chair by the island. “Great timing. Just finishing up. Should only be a few more minutes.”
“…you’re cooking dinner?” I say flatly, like I can’t believe my eyes.
He sends me a scolding glance.
“I’m not my parents, Pages. I don’t employ home chefs unless I’m hosting a large dinner party or a cocktail social for work. That rarely happens here. Restaurants are more practical, but when it’s just me, I rarely eat out.”
“Right,” I say, because there are absolutely no words coming right now.
“I figured you might’ve worked up an appetite after—that fuck.” His arrogant smirk cuts me in two.
Yes, that fuck.
God, this is so surreal.
I sit quietly, watching the muscles in his back ripple as he plates up food, feeling like I’ve stepped into an alternate reality. And I guess it’s a universe where literally everything is turned on its head.
Ethan smiles.
Somehow, we’ve had sex and he’s still here. He’s not fleeing the building like a man on fire with a swarm of killer bees descending.
The only thing that feels like it’s the same is me, because no matter how nice Ethan is, I’m still plagued with insecurities, uncertainties, doubts.
Like wondering how he can throw together dinner like nothing happened.
“Thanks. Smells incredible,” I say when he delivers me my plate. It’s a buttery garlic lobster pasta with a cucumber-tomato salad on the side, doused in some vinaigrette.
“Hope you’re still a lobster fan. I’m guessing that hasn’t changed since you never left the state.” He sits next to me and bites into a succulent piece of claw meat.
“Yeah. No, still a big lobster fan like any Mainer. I guess I’m just…” I sneak a glance through my eyelashes. “I thought we should talk.”
“Okay. Talk.” He keeps chewing.
“About what happened, I mean.”
“I was there, Pages. Go on,” he says, chewing more slowly this time.
“Are you, um… okay with everything? You’re not worried or anything?”
“Worried we fucked?” he asks matter-of-factly. “No. More like fucking ecstatic.”
“Ecstatic?” My brain scrambles to keep up.
“Sure. The closer we get, the easier it’ll be to pull this off seamlessly.
There’s no harm in being believable. Also, we need a sexual outlet if we’re going to survive more than six months together.
That’s only practical, and if we keep it in-house, that’s a lot less complicated.
” He takes a bite and chews happily, totally unbothered.
“An outlet,” I repeat.
He’s obliterated my entire vocabulary.
“We’re engaged, aren’t we? I’m not about to go prowling after other women in town or anywhere else. And I know you wouldn’t bring another man around while the knot’s tied.” His eyes boil with jealousy.
Whoa.
Like I wouldn’t dare.
Like it would be so disrespectful it’s almost unthinkable. The thought makes something unfurl in my stomach.
“You’re right,” I agree. “That’s not something I would ever do.”
What I don’t say is it’s not something I’d want to do.
Not while I have Ethan looking at me with those dangerously hot ice-blue eyes.
I clear my throat and look down at my plate.
He must’ve remembered the lobster mac old Leonidas used to throw together for us when we were kids. Even if his pasta is different tonight, it makes me smile.
It’s hard to believe I ever hated this man.
I can’t even put my finger on when that changed.
Maybe the last bit of hesitation faded when we went to see his parents.
I saw where he came from, and he saw my past in Mom’s antics, too.
“Sorry I fell asleep.” I think that’s a safer subject than the way he fisted my hair in his hand as he fucked my mouth.
Or the way I felt so deliciously vulnerable and bare when he pushed inside me and claimed every part of me.
The way I wanted him to.
“It’s fine.” The corner of his mouth curls up. “You snore.”
“I do not !” But I also can’t remember the last time I shared a room with anyone besides Margot, and that girl sleeps like the dead.
So what if I do snore?
He smirks at me. “You’re cute when you blush.”
“And you’re weird when you’re being nice. Is this just how it is from now on?”
“Unless you give me a reason not to be.” His eyelids lower as he looks at me. “Get used to being treated decently, Pages.”
“Why?” I whisper.
“Because. I like the way you look when I compliment you. It’s a crime it doesn’t happen often.” And although his voice is perfectly calm, totally steady, it feels a little like a confession.
Dangerous territory indeed.
But the warmth in my stomach spreads through me. I have to bite back my smile as I look down at my food and take another big mouthful, losing myself in the rich cheese and velvety meat.
“Almost as good as Leo’s,” I say.
Ethan snorts. “He’d scold me for using less cheese. Always thought the man raided Wisconsin whenever he made it.”
“So what are your bad habits?” I ask. “If I snore, you must do something unforgivable.”
“Mine happen while I’m awake. Mostly.” He shrugs. “Don’t think I have many.”
“Now I know that’s a lie.”
His laugh is quiet, turned inward, and I try not to let it carry me away.
No, don’t do this.
You can’t fall harder.
“Why don’t you tell me, Hattie? What are my flaws?”
I hold up a hand so he can see me tick them off my fingers as I go.
“You’re short-tempered, grumpy, kinda mean sometimes, and you throw your weight around when you really want something.”
“Short-tempered, grumpy, and kind of mean are all the same shit,” he says bluntly. But just as I worry I’ve offended him, I see the humor gleaming in his eyes. “And you don’t mind me throwing my weight around sometimes.”
My cheeks heat.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He cocks his head skeptically.
“Eat up.” He nods at the plate. “Then I’ll show you again.”
My thighs tremble at the memory and fresh heat pools in my core.
I try not to shovel the food in my mouth, hoping I don’t seem too eager.
“Dessert can wait. There’s ice cream in the freezer and it’ll be good later,” he announces.
The moment I’m done, he pushes back his chair and lifts me off my feet.
While Ares watches us from the floor like we’ve lost our minds, I kiss him desperately as he carries me back into his bedroom.