19. All At Once （Hattie）
ALL AT ONCE (HATTIE)
I smooth down the skirt of my dress.
We’re going out to a lovely French restaurant tonight—one of the best on this side of the Atlantic—and I’ve decided sleek and elegant white was the right choice for today.
You know it’s great food when you’re willing to risk a catastrophic stain.
“Good day with your dusty books?” Ethan asks as we pull out of the driveway.
“Amazing! It felt like one long maze of surprises. Good thing I set the reminder on my phone to head back or I’d still be there.” I can’t hide my enthusiasm and I love that he doesn’t ask me to.
This Ethan doesn’t laugh at me for geeking out, he just teases. He doesn’t look down on me because my heart and soul are bound to reading, and reading forever.
It’s refreshing to be with a man who accepts me for who I am instead of cruelly brushing off my ‘unserious’ obsession.
He also doesn’t look down on me because I don’t have a master’s degree in upper class etiquette like most of the women he’s been with.
For now, I’ve decided to stop looking at the past.
Stop searching for reasons why this has to end painfully.
Today we’re together and we’re smiling and we’re good .
Why ruin that by dwelling on tomorrow?
“Thrilling, Pages. Abandoning your fiancé for fictional characters. How can I ever compete?” he teases, though there’s something a bit distant in his voice.
“Well, I’m not sure any human man can measure up to a vintage set of Jane Austens.”
“Did you buy them?”
“No. They were way expensive, even if they could sell pretty fast at the store after we reopen,” I admit sadly.
They were beautiful, and still in their original bindings, but even with all the money Ethan pays me to marry him, I can’t justify cutting that deep into my own savings. “They were just too expensive.”
He frowns, giving me the side-eye.
“Hattie, don’t you know who you’re talking to?”
“If you’d loaned me your credit card…” I don’t finish that thought.
I just grin at him, but even though he smiles back, it doesn’t touch his eyes.
And when we’re stuck in thick city traffic, his hand doesn’t drift over to my thigh.
The rest of the drive feels oddly silent.
Ethan isn’t a blabbermouth, of course, but we’ve settled into this cute routine lately where we ask each other about our days and he teases me to death.
It usually ends in kissing. Lots of groping, if I’m lucky.
At the very least, smoldering eye contact and a smile that makes my heart combust.
Although I’m respecting his quiet today, I’m a little surprised his mood continues once we reach the restaurant.
Not even a smile.
It’s like we’ve taken a step back to when he was Scowly McScowlface and he didn’t want to spend a second with me longer than whatever this obligation calls for.
Weird.
The way his eyes lingered on my chest when I came out of the bedroom earlier suggests he has some interest in being here with me tonight.
Why doesn’t that give me the usual warm glow?
Obviously, I want Ethan to want me—and he does.
Incessantly.
But I don’t want him to just want me for my body and the gravity-defying sex.
I want more.
I want him to want to open up like he did when he spilled his guts in all their bloody, sad glory.
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.
“Did she explain?”
When Ethan looks up, his eyes are frigid, blue sky turned into a field of ice.
“No, and I couldn’t begin to guess. Don’t know why she dialed it up to eleven and went off on Gramps like that. Maybe a delayed grief reaction or something. She hasn’t had one since he died. They were always estranged, but this seems odd.”
Oh, secrets.
He’s steeped in them, and finding out the people he’s closest to have plenty more probably doesn’t sit well. Who can blame him?
I might’ve chosen this fake marriage, but I’d never choose to be born a Blackthorn.
“That’s intense.” I take another bite of my food, beginning to truly enjoy it. “I never would’ve thought some old letter would be such a big deal.”
“Never.” Ethan’s frown deepens.
“Did you and Margot talk? Do you guys have any theories? Like, anything you know about your mom and grandfather that might explain it?”
Ethan’s fingers tighten around his knife before they relax.
“No, Hattie. It’s not like Mom ever came clean with either of us about her history.
With Gramps, she kept her comments brief.
Sometimes she’d get irritated or leave the room if she ever mentioned him at all.
Honestly, Margot wouldn’t know where to begin any more than I do.
And even if we did, this is family bullshit.
You don’t need to get too deep in the weeds. ”
Hurt hits me like a blow to the chest.
“You wouldn’t tell me if you knew?” I say flatly. “Because I’m not family?”
“Because it isn’t worth your time and grief. Also, yes. We need to keep it in the family.”
Ouch.
It shouldn’t feel like a bruising kick, but it does.
“So, what? You’re saying I can’t keep a secret? I can’t handle the big scary inner secrets of the Blackthorns?”
That cold blue gaze intensifies.
There’s no sign of the Ethan I know in this stranger, who’s so deep inside his own head he’s iced over.