19. All At Once （Hattie） #2
“Did I say that?” he snaps.
“It’s what you implied,” I whisper, putting down my knife and fork. My hands are on the verge of shaking. “But you can tell me personal stuff, Ethan. I’d never tell anyone.”
“Does Margot count as anyone?” The acid bite in his voice flays my already raw nerves.
“Margot—what? I never told her anything.” I’m so confused. “I mean, I might’ve asked her a few indirect questions about your dating history. But that has absolutely nothing to do with—you know.”
“Yes, I do know,” he snarls back. “She told me.”
Crap.
Classic Margot, never able to keep her nose out of things. Then again, she probably had no clue this was such a sensitive subject for Ethan.
I had no idea.
Taylor, yes, but everything else…
“I’m sorry if it bothered you.” I try to keep the words steady. “I just wanted to know you better, to understand—”
“Understand what? I told you fucking everything,” he clips. In his anger, Ethan’s voice sharpens. People from nearby tables watch us, though I don’t think they can hear the discussion. But I don’t dare tell him to keep quiet.
I swallow around the rock in my throat.
“I know, but—”
The way he leans forward stops me in my tracks.
“I told you I got a woman killed . Isn’t that enough, Hattie? What else do you need?”
Silence.
And that’s right when our annoyingly attentive waiter pops up from behind me and asks if everything’s lovely, the dessert menu in his hands.
“Give us a minute.” Ethan waves him off, still glaring at me.
All the tension that’s been simmering under the surface braises the air between us now, and my throat goes so tight.
I can’t cry.
Not here.
Not now.
“Why isn’t that enough?” he demands, quieter now. “Why do you need my whole goddamned life story?”
“For… for me .” My words feel like mud, thick and disgusting. My eyes burn from holding back the tears. “So I can understand what sort of women you dated and dumped before, and so I can—” I’m choking, shaking my head.
Believe me, I know confessing my real motives—searching for a snowball’s chance in hell of being with him for real—would be like opening my chest for an Aztec sacrifice.
His frown changes from broody mad to just uncertain, wary.
“Pages—”
“Just forget it.” I toss down my napkin as I stand.
“Fuck, wait,” he mutters under his breath as I storm through the restaurant, unable to see through the blurry veil of tears.
I need air. I have to get outside.
Should’ve worn waterproof mascara, too.
More importantly, I should’ve known fairy tales don’t come true.
Everything was going too well before I opened my fat mouth.
I clatter through the door into the warm summer evening, pressing a hand to my unsettled stomach.
Breathe .
Not as easy as it sounds.
My body seizes up like I have invisible ropes wrapped around me tight. Leaning against the wall, I try to remember how my lungs work.
Every breath is suffering.
Even though the cynical part of my brain insists this was bound to happen, I can’t believe how everything fell apart so quickly.
Ethan doesn’t trust me after all.
I’m not sure he ever did.
And that feels like someone slamming a ten-pound art book square into my ribs with enough force to fracture them.
All because I asked Margot a few innocent questions about his dating life.
Because I just had to figure out if there was any chance he’d ever be interested in me after this sham expires.
Because my self-confidence is more brittle than a wafer.
Thanks, Mom.
Now, I have my answer, and it’s a resounding hell no.
“Hattie,” Ethan says, crashing after me through the doors.
I straighten up and look brave—I try—my spine cracking and my chest aching.
“Fuck, Hattie.”
I blink back some tears with mixed success.
“Ethan, it’s—it’s fine.”
The pathetic way my voice cracks gives me away.
He caresses my face with both hands, smoothing away the tears.
“I never meant to make you cry like this, Pages. I’m sorry. It’s been a confusing day and I—fuck, never mind. No excuses.”
“It’s fine,” I lie, pulling away and wiping the back of my hand on my cheeks.
Moisture wets my skin like the soggy mess I am.
“Too many damn surprises lately,” he rumbles, taking my hand and clenching it tight. “I never meant to go off on you. If you’re questioning your looks, then—”
“No.” I take a step back. “No, don’t say it.”
“You’re gorgeous. You know that, right?”
Gorgeous .
Normally, just hearing it would make my heart flutter.
But now, it feels like one of those code words men only use when they want to screw you over.
At least Ethan still wants to screw me, even if that’s all he wants.
“I really should get out of here. We’re making a scene.
I’ll get an Uber back,” I say coolly, relieved to find my voice is finally calm.
“You’ve got all your family business here and you’re right, I’m not a part of it.
It’s none of my business. I got a few ideas from the booksellers in New York, so I’m going to head home early and work on planning, if that’s okay? ”
He nods slowly.
It’s a flimsy excuse, but it feels right.
This is what I need.
Space.
Time to clear my head and try to do something productive, without pushing anyone’s heart through a cheese grater.
Ethan threads a hand through his thick hair.
“You don’t have to leave alone, Hattie. Just because we had an argument.”
“Actually, I wouldn’t mind heading home early, if there’s any way I can fly back to Portland?” I ask. “I don’t want to put you out, and if you need to stay and touch base with Margot or your family… I understand.”
“You won’t be in the way,” he growls.
“I’ll take Ares, too,” I say, thinking on my feet. “I think he’s happier in Maine. More seagulls to chase. Or, y’know, tire himself out barking.”
My lame joke falls flat.
“Pages,” Ethan says, but there’s a resigned sigh in his voice.
He knows this isn’t an argument he’ll win.
“It’s fine. It’s okay. I’m okay. I promise.”
He pulls me in for a kiss, still wet from the salty tears on my lips.
His tongue flicks over the seam of my lips and I open for him, letting him hold me against his body.
For the briefest moment, I pretend everything’s fine between us.
I let his kiss reassure me in ways I wish it truly could.
I’m just not sure any kiss can bridge the canyon between us tonight.
But God, I want it to.
Desperately.
So I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss my delusions right back, losing myself in the hot sweep of his tongue and the greedy way his hands wind down my back.
Mine , they say.
But only yours for now. That’s what my kiss says back.
I’m frantic, breathing into his mouth in a way that’s inappropriate for a public sidewalk outside a rock star restaurant in a major city, but I don’t care.
And when he pulls away, he rests his forehead on mine.
“Just for a couple days. I’ll be back soon,” he says. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“Y-yeah.” I run my hands through his hair. “Fine. See?”
His fingers trace my jaw. I shiver with want.
It’s not fair how good he is at pushing my buttons after a fight.
Even after knowing he doesn’t trust me, his touch melts me like butter.
“I’ll miss you,” he says in a way that makes it clear what he means.
He’ll miss the sex when he’s permanently horny.
That has to be it, I tell myself.
My heart throbs harder, torn between desire and disappointment.
“I’ll miss you too,” I whisper.
I mean something totally different when I say it back.
Oh, if this walking contradiction only knew.
Ares flops down with his head in my lap for the short flight back to Portland.
I stroke his long ears absently as his weight slowly makes my thighs go numb.
Ethan insisted I use the private jet.
For Ares’ sake, I couldn’t turn him down, even if I’ve never felt this out of place in my life on this fancy plane alone.
Flying away from Ethan is one of the hardest things ever.
As the plane takes off, the engine force vibrating my stomach, I bite my lip and punch a few words into Google on my phone.
Taylor Rollins, Portland, ME.
The AI search tab pulls together a whole list of results, complete with photos.
It was just a little over ten years ago, so the articles are still online.
Taylor’s obituary. Her youthful, round face, forever frozen with her arched brows and the kind of shiny lip gloss young, showy women like.
She was pretty, never mind the makeup.
In one pic, she’s smiling at someone holding the camera like she’s holding in a belly laugh. She looks so heartbreakingly alive, like it could’ve been posted on Instagram yesterday.
It makes my stomach lurch and my heart plummet.
She also doesn’t look anything like me.
Yes, it was a whole decade ago.
No, I’m not self-centered enough to feel jealous over a dead girl.
I just wish I could pin down the restless, melancholy feeling I get when I study her.
She was a vibrant young woman who never had a chance to grow up.
If she’d stayed with Ethan, maybe everyone would have been better off.
If she’d just waited one more day , if she’d cried it out before she got behind the wheel, if she’d taken a different road, she would’ve lived to see Ethan swallow his emotions.
And he’d be a dad now to a preteen and a very different person.
I swallow hard, trying to imagine that.
Would they be together after all, reunited by their accidental baby?
Everything could be different.
None of the news articles mention a baby, though I think they must’ve known if there was any kind of autopsy.
Maybe the police didn’t release that info publicly.
It’s not clear from Ethan’s story if her parents knew either.
It’s very possible they never did until it was too late.
Such a tragic, senseless ending to a young life that could’ve risen to the challenge. I believe she was smart enough, determined like most women get when motherhood activates dormant instincts like hidden superpowers.
Poor Taylor.
Poor flipping Ethan.
My heart breaks for her and the agony she endured before a terrible end. It had to be terrifying, and I hope she didn’t suffer long.
No doubt feeling like she’d hit rock bottom, this all-consuming pit where hope could never live.
Ethan said he was never truly interested in her, yeah, but I wonder. He was certainly a selfish bonehead with an ego like a wrecking ball.
The pictures show a beautiful, vivacious girl.
Seriously, if he wasn’t interested in her for more than a few hookups, what kind of girl captures his attention and holds it?
“Stop it,” I mutter, slapping myself so hard the flight attendant leans forward in her jump seat by the galley to look.
I smile and wave stupidly, signaling I’m fine.
We’re not doing this, Hattie.
We’re not reading more than we should into an ancient history hookup that just so happened to end horrendously.
But sitting here on his private jet, I want to lie to myself.
I want to believe I could be the magic girl who charms Ethan’s heart, not just his dick.
Oh, I know the odds.
I’m not as pretty as the girls he went for, especially back then.
I’m sure I can’t be nearly as sophisticated as his more recent dates.
I’ve never been so scared of losing a man who was never mine in the first place.
When we started sleeping together, I thought I knew what I was doing, but now it’s clear I’m in way over my head.
Maybe Mom was right.
I need to find ways to impress him, to enchant him, to keep him.
But it almost feels like it’s too late, and desperation is not a good look on me.
If he doesn’t trust me, no amount of fantabulous sex will ever change that.
I belong in the Blackthorn’s alien world for six months.
No longer.
Ares grumbles in his sleep, shifting and burrowing against my belly.
Smiling, I stroke his warm head with one hand, still scrolling articles about Taylor Rollins, feeding the growing lump in my throat with every ghostly crumb of her existence.
Her Facebook page is still up. The privacy settings let me see her old feed.
A couple people tagged her in posts as late as last year, sharing happy memories and stricken grief to mark occasions like her birthday.
I want to throw up.
Margot and I have been besties forever, but I was an escape for her. Someone who isn’t part of her inner world and doesn’t need to be.
As Ethan’s wife, I do need to be part of his.
And right now, choking on grief that isn’t mine makes me feel so helplessly out of reach I could scream.
I’m not from their world.
I’ll never be part of it.
And I’m a hilariously bad liar.
How do I survive this?
How do I get through six months, living an illusion that’s breaking down before my eyes?