77 - The Moment He Knew
In the afternoon, "Scarlett, dear," Clara said, "has Ethan shown you the old photographs yet? There's a particularly delightful one of him at age five, dressed as a pirate for Halloween. Patch over one eye, toy parrot glued to his shoulder—quite the little marauder."
"Mom," Ethan groaned, but there was no real annoyance in his tone.
"I haven't had the pleasure," Scarlett replied, genuinely curious.
"Well, we'll have to remedy that after lunch," Sarah declared. "I have albums full of blackmail material."
Ethan rolled his eyes, but Scarlett caught the affectionate smile he couldn't quite suppress. She wondered again about the man beneath the mask, the boy who had lost his father too young and shouldered responsibilities beyond his years.
After the meal, while Sarah and Clara retreated indoors for their afternoon rest, Ethan suggested a walk around the property. Scarlett agreed, partly out of politeness and partly because she was genuinely curious about the estate that had shaped him.
They strolled in companionable silence for a while, following a winding path through meticulously maintained gardens. Birds called to one another from the trees, and butterflies danced among the blooms.
"You seem different here,Ethan" Scarlett finally said, voicing the observation that had been building all day.
Ethan glanced at her, hands in his pockets. "Different how?"
"More relaxed. More..." she searched for the right word, "human."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "As opposed to my usual robot self?"
"You know what I mean," she said. "In the city, at the office, you're always so controlled. Here, it's like you can breathe."
He was quiet for a moment, considering her words. "This place has always been a sanctuary. Away from expectations, board meetings, shareholders. And why should I act to my family?" He paused. "Away from the need to always be the infallible Ethan Blackwood."
They reached a section of garden where Sarah was clearly in the midst of a landscaping project. Gardening tools were scattered about, and a coiled hose lay nearby.
"My mother's latest passion," Ethan explained. "She's recreating the garden my grandmother had at their first home."
Scarlett knelt to examine a cluster of delicate blue flowers. "They're beautiful."
"Forget-me-nots," he identified them. "My grandfather planted them for her on their first anniversary."
The sentiment surprised her, coming from a man who seemed to have little time for romance in his own life. She stood, brushing soil from her hands, and spotted Sarah approaching from the house.
"How do you like my project?" Sarah called as she drew nearer.
"It's coming along beautifully," Scarlett replied sincerely.
"Do you garden, dear?" Sarah asked, reaching for the hose.
"A little. My mother taught me the basics, but I kill more plants than I save."
Sarah laughed, turning on the water. "It's all about patience and attention. Plants are like people that way—neglect them, and they wither."
Scarlett couldn't help but wonder if Sarah's words contained a subtle message about marriage as well. She watched as the older woman began watering the new plantings with evident care.
"Ethan used to help me in the garden when he was small," Sarah continued, directing the spray toward a bed of young seedlings. "He had the gentlest touch with the delicate plants."
Ethan shook his head, clearly embarrassed. "Mother exaggerates. I was more interested in digging for worms than nurturing flowers."
"Nonsense," Sarah countered. "You had a natural gift. You simply found other interests as you grew older."
As Ethan moved closer to examine a rose bush, a mischievous gleam entered Scarlett's eye. She reached for the hose, and before Sarah could stop her, directed a spray of water at Ethan's back.
He yelped in surprise, spinning around with an expression of shock that quickly transformed into calculated retaliation. "Oh, you shouldn't have done that, Mrs. Blackwood."
Scarlett laughed, backing away. "What are you going to do about it, Mr. Blackwood?"
In response, he lunged for the hose, water arcing between them as they engaged in an impromptu tug-of-war. Sarah stepped back, chuckling as she watched her usually dignified son and his wife behave like children.
Ethan's superior strength soon won out. He wrested control of the hose and directed a stream at Scarlett, who shrieked with laughter as the cold water soaked her dress.
She tried to dodge, slipping on the wet grass and nearly falling before Ethan's free arm snaked around her waist, steadying her against his chest.
For a breathless moment, they stood frozen, faces inches apart, water cascading over them both. Scarlett was acutely aware of his arm around her, the solid warmth of him contrasting with the cool water, the intensity in his dark eyes as they held hers.
From the terrace came the sound of applause. They broke apart to see Clara watching their antics with evident delight.
"Now that's more like it!" the elderly woman called. "I was beginning to think you two had forgotten how to have fun!"
Scarlett felt heat rise to her cheeks that had nothing to do with embarrassment at being caught playing like children. There had been something in Ethan's gaze in that unguarded moment—something that complicated the neat boundaries she'd tried to establish between them.
Sarah appeared with towels, shaking her head at their drenched state but smiling broadly. "I haven't seen Ethan like this in years," she said quietly to Scarlett as she handed her a towel. "Thank you for that."
As they dried off, Ethan suggested a board game to round out the afternoon.
Soon they were gathered in the sun-filled conservatory, engaged in a competitive game of Monopoly that revealed yet another side of Ethan—playfully cutthroat, strategically generous with his family while mercilessly acquiring properties from Scarlett.
"You're enjoying this far too much," she accused as he collected rent that bankrupted her.
"Always a pleasure doing business with you," he replied with a wink that sent an unexpected flutter through her stomach.
Clara dominated the game ultimately, proving that business acumen ran in the family genes.
As they packed away the game pieces, Scarlett found herself reluctant for the day to end.
For a few hours, she had glimpsed what life might be like if their marriage were real—the easy camaraderie, the shared laughter, the sense of belonging.
As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the manicured lawn, Scarlett wandered to the edge of the garden, lost in thought. She didn't hear Ethan approach until he spoke.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
She turned to find him watching her, his expression unreadable in the fading light.
"I was just thinking about how different you are here," she admitted. "It's like meeting a version of you I never knew existed."
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" he asked, his tone light but his eyes serious.
Scarlett considered her answer carefully. "It's... illuminating."
A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Illuminating," he repeated. "That's diplomatically vague."
"I mean," she clarified, "it helps me understand you better."
"And do you want to understand me better, Scarlett?" The question was soft but direct, forcing her to confront the contradictions in her own behavior—pushing him away while simultaneously seeking to know him more deeply.
Before she could formulate a response, Sarah called them in for dinner, saving her from having to answer a question she wasn't sure she was ready to face.
As they walked back toward the house, side by side but not touching, Scarlett couldn't ignore the uncomfortable truth that had been growing more evident throughout the day: she was in dangerous territory, developing feelings for a man who had made it clear from the beginning that their relationship was strictly business.
A man who, if her suspicions were correct, might still be entangled with his first love.
The thought sobered her as they rejoined the family, her smile fixed in place even as her heart tumbled with uncertainty. Whatever game Ethan was playing with his sudden interest and concern, she needed to remember the rules they'd established—and the consequences of forgetting them.
—
By the time they said goodbye to the elders, the sun had surrendered completely.
Amber light bled across the countryside as dusk settled. The breeze carried wild grass and distant rain. Leaves whispered overhead.
Scarlett glanced back at the farmhouse one last time, fingers brushing the hem of her floral sundress. Warmth still lingered on her skin from the genuine embraces she'd received inside.
Ethan opened the passenger door for her.
His movements are precise.
Controlled.
His jaw looked sharper in the fading light.
Their eyes met.
"Thank you," she murmured, slipping into the butter-soft leather seat.
The door closed with a heavy thud that seemed to punctuate the end of something precious.
Through the tinted window, Scarlett watched the farmhouse grow smaller as Ethan rounded the hood, his movements precise and measured, before sliding into the driver's seat beside her.
The engine purred to life, and they pulled away, the crunch of gravel giving way to smooth asphalt.
Outside, the countryside unfolded in a tapestry of deepening blues and purples, the last fragments of sunset burning at the edges of the world.
Shadow-drenched fields rolled past the windows, broken occasionally by the warm yellow squares of distant farmhouse windows.
Inside the car, the air hung thick with unspoken thoughts. The soft hum of the climate control seemed deafening in their shared silence. Scarlett's reflection ghosted in the window as she stared out, one hand absently twisting the delicate gold band on her finger.
Ethan adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening slightly before he finally broke the silence.
"Looks like you enjoyed your time here," he said, his voice low and even, though there was something beneath the surface—a question he wasn't quite asking.
Scarlett turned from the window, studying his profile gilded by the dashboard lights. A soft smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, genuine despite the tension between them.
"I did. I really did," she said, her voice carrying a warmth that hadn't been there in weeks.
She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, eyes bright with sincerity.
"This place... and the people here, they're just—" she exhaled, the sound almost like release "—they're so warm, Ethan.
They welcomed me like I was one of them, not some stranger you brought along.
" Her fingers twisted in her lap as she added quietly, "I would've regretted not coming. "
The car rounded a gentle curve, headlights carving a path through gathering darkness. Something in her words seemed to settle between them—a truth neither had acknowledged until now.
After a moment, she tilted her head, studying him. The soft dashboard light caught the gold flecks in her hazel eyes as she arched a brow. "You said you had work. So, what changed? Why did you show up?"
The question hung in the air. Ethan's fingers flexed briefly around the steering wheel, the only indication that her words had caught him off-guard. He blinked once, twice, then shifted his gaze back to the road, his expression carefully composed.
"The meeting got postponed," he said flatly, though his thumb tapped once against the leather of the wheel—a nervous tell she'd noticed months ago. "So I figured... I'd drop by."
Scarlett hummed, a sound caught between doubt and amusement. She leaned back, arms crossing over her chest as her lips curved into a knowing smirk. "Hmm. That's interesting." The teasing lilt in her voice was a deliberate challenge. "You actually seemed human today."
Her laugh followed—light yet pointed—dancing through the quiet cabin like wind chimes in a storm. The sound made something flicker across Ethan's face—irritation, perhaps, or something deeper that vanished before she could name it.
Before he could reply, Scarlett's phone buzzed on her lap, the screen illuminating with a name: Linda.
She unlocked it with a swipe of her thumb, the blue light casting shadows across her face as she read:
"Are you back, darling?"
Her thumbs flew across the keyboard, tapping out a quick response:
"On the way, dear."
From the corner of her eye, she saw Ethan's gaze flicker toward her phone before returning to the road. His throat worked as he swallowed, the muscle in his jaw flexing before he spoke again, this time with unmistakable business in his tone.
"Scarlett, tomorrow we've got the photoshoot again—for the launch," he said, voice clipped and professional. "I want you there early."
The words landed like stones in Scarlett's stomach. Photoshoot. The word curled in her abdomen like cold metal, spreading frost through her veins. Her fingers stilled over her phone, shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly.
She didn't look at him, keeping her gaze fixed on the darkened screen. "I'll ask Linda to assist," she replied, her voice suddenly brittle. "I've got other appointments."
"I want you to be there," Ethan said, more firmly now, each word precise and deliberate.
"Why?" The question came out sharper than she intended, her voice clipped.
Ethan's grip tightened on the wheel, his signet ring catching the light as he turned slightly toward her. "Because you're the one who designed the dress, Scarlett," he said, glancing at her with narrowed eyes. "You know it better than anyone."
Scarlett scoffed, a harsh sound in the quiet cabin. She turned back to the window, watching raindrops begin to speckle the glass, mirroring the emotions threatening to spill over inside her. "I don't want to, Ethan," she said, her voice softer now, almost pleading. "Please."
A beat of silence followed, broken only by the rhythmic sweep of windshield wipers coming to life.
Ethan's brows pulled together, creating a deep furrow between them. The passing streetlights cast alternating shadows across his face as he asked, "Is there a reason you don't want to come?" His tone was laced with suspicion, an edge that hadn't been there moments before.
Scarlett turned to him then, her composure crumbling like sand castles against tide. Emotion bubbled to the surface—hurt, anger, something dangerously close to jealousy—all of it washing across her face in a wave she couldn't control.
"You're seriously asking me that?" she snapped, color rising in her cheeks. Her hands tightened into fists in her lap, nails pressing half-moons into her palms. "You really don't know why?"
He blinked at her, genuine puzzlement crossing his features. "No," he said slowly, cautiously. "What are you talking about?"
Her breath caught, trembling on the edge of words she'd sworn never to speak.
Rain pattered against the roof in a staccato rhythm that matched her heartbeat.
"You think I enjoy watching you get all cozy with your girlfriend during your so-called photoshoots?
" The words tumbled out, ragged with emotion she could no longer contain.
Ethan's foot lifted slightly off the accelerator, the car slowing as his attention divided. "Girlfriend?" Confusion colored his voice, eyebrows drawing together. "What are you talking about? It's a shoot, Scarlett."
"Oh, please," she spat, turning fully toward him now. The seatbelt cut across her collarbone as she shifted. "Do you really expect me to believe that?"
Frustration flashed across his face, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Then what do you think it is?" he demanded, voice growing tighter.
She faced him fully now, color high in her cheeks, eyes bright with accusation.
Don't lie to me, Ethan. I saw you. After the last shoot. In the studio. You and Catherine.
Catherine.
The name hit like a spark in dry air.
His jaw tightened before he even registered why.
Not guilt.
Not fear.
Something hotter.
His fingers curled against the steering wheel, leather creaking faintly beneath his grip. The road blurred at the edges of his vision—not because he wasn't looking, but because his focus had shifted entirely.
She saw.
Scarlett saw.
She noticed.
She remembered.
She cared enough to remember.
And that realization—
That was the spark.
Because indifference doesn't memorize details.
Indifference doesn't sound like that.
Indifference doesn't shake when it speaks.
But Scarlett's voice had.
Which meant—
She wasn't indifferent.
A pulse of heat moved through his chest, sharp and unfamiliar. Not anger. Not exactly.
Possession.
Raw. Instinctive. Male.
The image flashed uninvited in his mind—
Scarlett watching him.
Scarlett noticing another woman's hands on him.
Scarlett holding onto that memory.
Why would she remember that unless—
His foot lifted from the accelerator.
The car slowed.
Something dangerous uncoiled low in his chest.
She was jealous.
Scarlett Landon.
Jealous.
And that realization did something: no boardroom battle, no financial risk, no rival ever had.
It shook him.
Because jealousy meant attachment.
And attachment meant she wasn't immune to him.
Which meant—
She felt it too.
The air inside the car suddenly felt smaller. Thicker. Charged.
His pulse ticked once. Hard.
She thought Catherine mattered.
She thought another woman could stand beside him.
The idea landed wrong. Deeply wrong. Like a note out of tune.
Something dark stirred.
Before he could stop himself—
He slammed the brakes.
The car jolted to the roadside.
Rain hammered the roof.
He turned to her.
Eyes darker than they had any right to be.
"Shut up, Scarlett."
Low. Dangerous.
"Is that what's been going on with you?"
Not accusation.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Because in that moment—
He knew.
She wasn't upset about the photoshoot.
She was upset about him.