Chapter 9
The night after they broke the news of the engagement to Wells, Ethan helped Charlie get ready for a casual dinner party, the guest list to include her butler friends and their men, his own buddy John, and Charlie’s PTA pal, Liz, who was bringing her husband and kids. The impromptu event had been Ethan’s idea. He wanted their friends on board for this marriage.
His parents had already been informed of the upcoming nuptials. He’d called his mom and dad first thing in the morning, Hawaii-time. They’d expressed surprise, but then offered a warm welcome to Charlie. She’d been her gracious self, serene and sweet, and with her in a biddable mood, Ethan had quickly moved on to the next item of his agenda. The ring.
They’d spent the morning at jewelers in Beverly Hills and found the perfect set that he’d had sized on the spot. From there, while she was still dazzled by the diamonds, he’d driven straight to the Los Angeles county branch office a few blocks away and obtained the marriage license he’d applied for online at the break of dawn.
Some instinct told him to keep the ball rolling.
The doors to their oceanfront terrace were flung open, and he carried plates to the long table. Returning to the kitchen, he passed the familiar framed photo of Michelle, and his feet paused of their own accord.
He probed for his pain like a tongue exploring a sore tooth, but the long-time, acute ache had faded.
“Is this happening too fast?” a voice asked softly.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Charlie, a basket of napkin-wrapped cutlery settings in her hands. His gaze shot to her left ring finger, and the sparkle of his ring there infused him with a distinct sense of satisfaction.
“I was the one to bring up marriage,” he said, lifting his eyes to hers. “I insisted we get the ring and the license today.”
“But you don’t really know me. What if—”
“I’ve essentially lived with you for nearly a year,” he reminded her. “I can’t imagine you have any skeletons in your closet.”
She worried her bottom lip, not looking reassured. “Maybe I forget to cap the toothpaste. Or sing off-key in the shower.”
Smiling, he cocked his head. “I’d like to hear you sing in the shower,” he said, “off-key or otherwise.”
“The toothpaste—”
“I don’t believe for a second that Charlotte Emerson, graduate of the first all-female class of the prestigious Continental Butler Academy ever forgets the cap on the toothpaste.” He folded his arms over his chest. “What else you got?”
“I don’t like watching baseball,” she confessed, then hung her head.
He laughed and crossed the distance between them to take the basket from her and set it aside. “Charlie, we have something like sixteen other TVs in the house. If the game is on, you can go to another room, though I won’t mind switching to what you like so we can enjoy time together.”
“No man wants to watch ‘Call The Midwife.’”
“I’m made of stern stuff.” He lifted her chin with his hand. “Marriage is a compromise. I get that things will be different now that you’re going to be my wife and not my butler. You need to get that too.”
“I’ll work on it.”
He kissed her lips and felt it stir him like it always did, a flash of heat and that ardent need rising in his loins. On a quiet groan, he lifted his head and looked into her dazed eyes. “Come to my bed tonight.”
Despite having announced their engagement to Wells the afternoon before, she’d still insisted on sleeping alone in her bungalow.
“I don’t know.” She glanced to her right, where Michelle’s photograph sat on the shelf.
“Should I put that away?” he asked. There were others around the house as well. “I can move them all into Wells’ room—”
“Oh, no!” Charlie shook her head. “Never think that. It’s only…I can’t help feeling as if I’m taking what was hers.”
Ethan supposed this would take time too. “She would have liked you.”
Charlie’s face flushed. “You think?”
“Not the least of which is because of Wells.”
Under his hands, she stiffened.
“Sweetheart,” Ethan said. “I have ferreted out at least one of your mysteries—you do dote on that boy.”
And even as he said it, footsteps thundered down the stairs.
“I can see Emmaline on the beach,” Wells yelled. “I want to talk to her about dogs.”
“Remember to wait about the other thing,” Ethan called back. “We want to tell everyone at the same time.”
Not long later, there was a throng on the terrace. Wells, his friend Jake, and Jake’s little sister were horsing around on the sand. Jake’s dad sat on the bottom step, watching over them. Ethan passed around beers, and the three butlers took him up on his offer of margaritas. When everyone was served, during a lull in the conversation, he looked at Charlie.
Then he moved to join her even as he saw her eyes pop wide with nerves. He slid his arm around her, encouraging her to quarter-turn so he could kiss her forehead.
That got Emmaline’s attention. He heard her little gasp, so he followed it up with a full-on kiss to Charlie’s lips. As he indulged himself, he found her left hand and lifted it high in the air. Glacing upward, he saw the diamond of the engagement ring catch the light of the early evening sun.
Instantly the butlers and Liz pounced, breaking them apart.
High-pitched female chatter followed, the words indistinguishable to Ethan’s male hearing. So he just stood back and watched them, grinning, until the men on the terrace strode over to deliver handshakes and backslaps.
In the middle of the knot of women, his gaze found Charlie, her flushed face and shining eyes hiding nothing from him. That was happiness written all over her, and he was damn glad to see it. The situation might be unconventional, but he had plans to make sure she never regretted pledging herself to him and his son.
Soon enough, they were all around the table, the detritus of the consumed meal in front of them. The kids had departed to the adjacent room, where they could see them stretched on the couch watching TV. The adults relaxed with their drinks and the view of the slowly-setting sun.
His buddy John leaned over to give his attention to Charlie, seated beside him.
“I suppose I better give you all the down and dirty scoop on the man,” he said, indicating Ethan with his bottle of brew.
“Now don’t scare her off,” Ethan cautioned, feeling beyond mellow as he slugged down another swallow of beer.
“We’ve been friends since kindergarten,” John said, undeterred, “and I know everything.”
Charlie shot Ethan a look, her eyes brimming with amusement.
God, Ethan thought, as lust punched into his system. She was beautiful. His.
“There was this girl in high school. He had it bad for her—”
“Hey,” Ethan protested. “I paid you never to tell that story again.”
“There’s not enough pirate’s treasure in the Pacific to not share it tonight.” He glanced around the table. “Ethan fancied himself a poet.”
“He planted a microcassette recorder in my car,” Ethan said. “On the night of my big date. When I planned to recite it to her.”
“So I got to hear the whole thing.” John nodded. “The entire ode to one Samantha Gish, a veritable paragon of young womanhood with her ‘sweet cheeks and velvet thighs, sticky mouth waiting for a kiss.’”
The assembled group broke into laughter.
“Sticky mouth!” Liz exclaimed, nearly snorting.
“Hey, she liked that I noticed her signature lip gloss,” Ethan said, then shot daggers at his oldest friend, “until that rotten guy played the recording over the school’s intercom system during homeroom. I didn’t get another date for six months.”
“Poor baby,” Charlie said, not even trying to hide her snicker.
“I’ve got some dirt about Charlie too,” Emmaline piped up.
Ethan’s butler narrowed her eyes at her friend. “You’ve had one margarita too many, Emmaline.”
“Two,” she said, fingers in a V as she hiccupped. “Two too many.” Her smile widened anyway, and she leaned over the table as if to disclose top-secret intel. “Charlie’s an imposter!” she said, then sat back in her chair, as if exhausted.
Sara giggled, but when Ethan glanced at his butler it was to see her gone suddenly still. Tension crackled in the air around her.
“What’s the—” he began, but then Emmaline was talking again.
“It was the velvet thighs story,” the brunette said to Ethan’s fiancée, in the deliberate way of the near-tipsy. “Now I’m afraid I have tell your velvet secret too.”
Charlie’s eyes rounded. “Em, please…”
Ethan stood, suddenly troubled.
“I bake them,” Emmaline said, thumb to her chest. “Wells’ favorite cupcakes that she passes off as her own…those come from my kitchen!”
With a groan, Charlie threw her balled-up napkin at her friend. She followed that up with a leftover roll on the table, and then another, until Emmaline was hooting with laughter, her hands up to protect her face.
Ethan dropped back to his seat, grinning at the relaxed and amused crowd around the table. After four years of stagnation, this felt like living again. Thank God for Charlie.
Later, after the crowd had gone home following a final round of congratulations, Charlie put her hands on Wells’ shoulders and directed him toward the stairs. “It’s past your bedtime, my man. It’s past my bedtime.”
They both trailed him up the stairs and followed him into his room where Charlie placed pajamas in his hand. “Wash up.”
Wells glanced over his shoulder. “You’ll stay to tuck me in?”
When she nodded yes, he went into the attached bath and returned ready to get between the sheets.
“I think we’re all too tired for a story tonight,” Ethan said, noting his son’s sleepy gaze. “And tomorrow’s a big day—your birthday and your birthday party.”
“Mmm,” Wells mumbled.
Ethan adjusted the covers, then kissed the boy’s forehead. “’Night.”
“G’night.”
Charlie moved in, slipping the favored stuffed koala into place and then brushing her lips on Wells’ cheek. He caught her hand as she straightened again.
“You’ll be sleeping in Dad’s bed now, right?”
Charlie froze. “I…uh…”
“That’s what parents do,” he said. “Jake’s mom and dad sleep together.”
“Um…” She appealed to Ethan for help, but he just held up his hands.
“In the morning, if I wake up early, I want to see you there with Dad.”
Ethan’s lips twitched. He wasn’t saying a word. He didn’t need to, when his boy was on his side.
“I guess…I suppose…oh, all right,” Charlie said, with just a hint of exasperated huff in her voice.
Biting back his grin, Ethan turned off the overhead light and wished his son sweet dreams. Charlie, obviously flustered, did the same.
“I suppose you could sneak over at dawn and slip into my room,” he said, once they were halfway down the hall. “But I’d much prefer your company for the entire night.”
She worried her hands, uncertainty in her eyes. “I want to do the right thing. Not confuse Wells…”
Ethan pulled her into his arms. “Wells is not confused. Parents belong in the same bed.”
She melted against him, and he kissed her, tender and lingering.
“Go get what you need,” he said. “And I’ll meet you in my room.”
Maybe he was humming, and why not? Ethan moved about his suite, taking time for a quick shower. Then he pulled on a pair of pajama pants, folded back the covers on each side of the bed, and re-stacked the pillows. After a second’s thought, he jogged downstairs to the living area where he retrieved the political thriller he was reading and the romance she’d had her nose in lately. On the second floor again, he put down his book on one nightstand and hers on the other. Then he turned off the overhead lights and left the room bathed in the low glow of the bedside lamps.
The domestic details should put her at ease.
His hand slid down the outside of his light cotton pants, over his half-hard cock that hoped there’d be more than book-reading in the hours ahead. He thought of Charlie, on her way up to him. She’d be nervous, he knew, and belted into a robe, beneath which was…what?
All her smooth skin and slender limbs, the heat of her sex and the sweet warmth of her kisses. Blood rushed to his groin, and he stroked himself again, anticipation fizzing through his veins.
Then a light knock on his half-closed door. Charlie slipped inside.
He had to grin. He’d guessed right about the belt, and beneath it he could make out a pair of no-nonsense, man-styled pajamas. If she thought to turn him off, she didn’t know anything about the feminine allure of a woman in layers, how they made a man itch to unknot, unbutton, unfasten. To bare her for his gaze and his touch.
Her eyes grew big as he started for her. Wariness there, he knew, but more than a touch of yearning, too. He wasn’t the only one eager for another sexual encounter. His mouth watered as he thought of going down on her again, of the taste of her sliding down his throat.
Toe-to-toe with his butler, he drew one fingertip across her eyebrow and down her cheek, then curled it under her chin to angle her face toward his.
“Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me—”
And then the door swung open and a six-year-old walked inside. He and Charlie sprang apart.
Damn. They’d forgotten to lock the door.
“I decided I need a story after all,” said the pint-sized cold shower. Without another word, he climbed onto the bed, making himself a place right in the middle. Putting the book on his lap, he patted either side of himself. “Come on.”
Charlie peeked at Ethan from under her lashes, a hint of a smile curling one side of her mouth. “You said it before. I guess you were right.”
What? But then he remembered the night of Wells’ nightmare. Tonight’s little interlude as well as the inconvenient interruption? Get used to them. I guarantee both will happen again.
Ethan swallowed his sigh, and then they both did as instructed, getting in bed on either side of his son. They read from the book he’d brought in, alternating pages. By the halfway mark, he was blinking sleepily but protested when Ethan suggested they save the rest for another time.
“It’s time to get you back to bed, Wells.”
“Let me stay until I fall asleep,” his boy said. “Between you and Charlie. Can I?”
Hesitating, Ethan shifted his gaze to his butler, only to find her focused on his son. He stared, noting her expression was one he hadn’t seen on her before, and one he couldn’t immediately identify. The golden wash of light from the bedside lamp bathed her elegant features, now softened. Her usually bright eyes were liquid, blue pools that stole his breath even as they shot a warning through his system.
What about that look on her face was bothering him so?
Vulnerable, he decided. That’s how she appeared in this moment. Hurtable, if there was such a word. And Ethan felt his skin prickle as a primitive instinct rose inside him, an undeniable urge to protect her, shelter her, to be her shield from harm. Forever.
Serious, serious shit.
Then, perhaps sensing his sudden new mood, she glanced at him. Her countenance instantly changed, and she was his butler again, self-possessed Charlie Emerson, level-headed and practical. She even managed her usual easy smile for his son.
“As long as you promise you won’t snore, Wells,” she said, causing the boy to giggle even as he snuggled deeper into the pillow.
Ethan only kept staring. For the first time he no longer doubted if his fiancée truly had her secrets—only how deeply they were buried.
And what they meant for the man she would marry.
Early the next morning, the day of Wells’ seventh birthday party, Charlie poured a cup of coffee and leaned against the countertop, looking over the list she’d made for herself. The guests were due at eleven.
At the sound of footsteps, she tensed, but then forced herself to relax.
“Good morning,” she said, glancing over her shoulder as Ethan walked into the room.
“You skipped out on me.”
She had. When he’d lifted Wells, out like a light, from the bed to return him to his own room, Charlie had scampered back to her bungalow. Leaving only a text behind, his phone on the nightstand chiming with it as she escaped.
Some other night.
“Hey,” he said, coming closer. One of his big hands landed on her shoulder, gave it a light squeeze. “Don’t worry about it. Whenever you’re ready. Whenever it feels right. We have a lifetime ahead.”
A lifetime ahead. Then an inner voice whispered, a lifetime of your lies.
The words made her want to cringe, but then Wells came running into the room, distracting her from that disturbing thought. It was the boy’s day, she reminded herself, and she needed to be on her game to make it a fabulous one.
“Waffles?” she asked, smiling down at him. “Sausages?”
His answering smile lifted her heart. He beat his chest with his good hand. “I’m a hungry man!”
So she bustled about making the breakfast to fill his stomach. Ethan set the table, and soon they were gathered around it, a cheery threesome, discussing the final party details. It was to be a casual affair for the twenty kids of his second grade class who’d said they could make it. Any parents who wanted to stay were welcome, and Sara, Joaquin, Emmaline, and Lucas had promised to be on hand to help with the grilling of hot dogs and hamburgers and to watch over any children in the pool or surf. Soccer goals would be set up on the sand, as well as cornhole boards and bags and a horseshoes set.
After cake and ice cream, each child would go home with a sports water bottle filled with treats and trinkets—from little bags of trail mix to pencil erasers shaped like soccer balls.
She started to rise from her chair, when Wells spoke up. “Ritual time?”
Ethan nodded. “Ritual time.”
The boy ran from the room and returned seconds later with a pale blue album. Charlie’s heart stilled.
“It’s my first-year baby book,” Wells said, turning it so she could see the cover was a photo of a newborn in a striped mesh cap and flannel blanket.
Without looking, she knew the soft material had been printed with turquoise seashells and pink starfish. Though she’d not asked to hold her baby, she had seen the nurses wrap the infant with the fabric and tug on the tiny cap.
“Have you seen it before?” Wells asked now.
She tried to find her voice. “Uh…I think I’ve noticed it on the shelf in your dad’s office.”
Though she’d had plenty of opportunity, not once had she dared to slide it from its spot. Wells stood at Ethan’s shoulder and placed the book in front of the man. At his right, Charlie had an excellent view as he turned over the cover.
A photo of the newly made family—Michelle, Ethan, and Wells. The baby’s weight and length recorded for posterity. Seven pounds, ten ounces, twenty inches long. The information was written in blue ink, the handwriting feminine but spare.
“It was the happiest day of Mom’s life,” Wells said in the way of a child who knows the story by heart.
“That’s right,” Ethan said, flipping to another page filled with photos of the baby cuddled by his mother. “I’d never seen her wear a smile so bright.”
Wells looked over at Charlie. “She and Dad really wanted a baby, but Mom couldn’t make one. The lady who had me in her tummy needed good parents for hers.”
Wordless, Charlie nodded, then her gaze went back to the pages of the book as Ethan slowly turned them. First bottle. First bath. First time in the stroller on a walk. Michelle and Ethan wreathed in smiles in every shot.
Charlie had done the right thing, the best thing, going through with the adoption.
And she was doing the right thing, the best thing, now. Wells needed a woman’s presence in his life. Ethan needed a wife. That she happened to be the boy’s biological mother didn’t change the practical reasons for the marriage.
And yes, she “doted” on Wells, as Ethan had perceived. Didn’t that just mean the family they were building would be that much stronger?
There wasn’t time to ponder over that question, though, not with the hands on the clock moving with what seemed like warp-speed. She jumped up from the table as father and son continued pouring over the baby album.
After a short while, though, they put it aside in order to help her prepare for the party. By 10:45 the front gates were left to stand open. Her friends and their men had arrived via the beach. Then the doorbell rang. Wells raced to greet the first guest.
Within an hour, Charlie knew they had a success on their hands. She brought out another tray of hamburger patties, veggie burgers, and hot dogs to the long grill, manned by Ethan. He took it from her, grinning. “Where do these kids put all this food?”
Shrugging, she inspected the buffet table with a practiced eye. “More fruit salad, more potato salad, and I’ll bring out more chips and salsa.”
As she was retrieving the additional goods, her PTA friend Liz wandered into the kitchen, a smear of ketchup on her shirt.
“I’m a mess,” she said, going to the sink to dab at the stain with a water-soaked paper towel. “And so is everyone else. The kids are having a great time.”
“Good.” Charlie pulled another bowl from the fridge then took a longer look at her friend. “But maybe you should get out of the sun and put your feet up for a while. You look tired.”
The other woman glanced down at her baby bump. “I’d forgotten how much energy this process takes.” Over her swelling waistline, she rubbed her hand in little circles.
Charlie responded with a vague smile. When she was pregnant, she’d never touched her belly like that, trying not to connect, even in that small way, with the child growing inside her. The entire length of the pregnancy, she’d tried to always think of the baby as someone else’s, never hers.
Her gaze shifted to the window, and through it she saw Wells seated at the head of the long table, stuffing another hot dog into his mouth. Soon, though, he was going to be her boy. Her little guy.
The secret of his parentage could be kept locked inside her heart forever. No harm done to anyone.
“What’s put that melancholy look on your face?” Liz asked. “Is there something the matter?”
Charlie made an effort to brighten her voice. “What could possibly be wrong?”
“Well…” Liz started, then her eyes drifted over Charlie’s shoulder. “Don’t look now, but here comes Piper Taylor.”
The woman glided into the room as if straight from a spa day—her hair professionally straightened, her nails gleaming from a fresh coat of polish. She glanced around the kitchen, clearly absorbing every detail. “I know the party isn’t over for a while—”
“You’re welcome any time,” Charlie said, pinning on a smile. “If you’re hungry we have a ton of food, and there’s iced tea in the cooler on the deck. You’ll find some of the other parents out there too.”
“Perhaps I’ll join them,” Piper said. “But first I must offer you my congratulations. I didn’t get a chance the other day. You’ve managed to nab the most eligible bachelor dad in elementary school.”
And you’ve managed to make it sound like a criminal act, Charlie thought.
“Best wishes,” Liz put in coolly.
Piper raised her brows.
“You give the bride-to-be your best wishes. Only the groom is congratulated.”
The other woman’s lip curled. “Who knew we had Miss Manners on hand?”
“I live to serve. And speaking of hands…” Liz crossed to Charlie and grabbed her left wrist to flaunt the engagement ring Ethan had purchased. “Check this out, Piper.”
“Very nice,” the mom said, as if the words were torn from her throat.
“I guess the most eligible bachelor dad in elementary school wanted his fiancée to know he considers himself very lucky too.”
“It’s a sweet story,” Piper said, as if it was anything but. “The peasant gets the prince.” Then she sailed out of the room.
Liz made a face. “Dang it, she got the last word!”
“In about fifteen minutes you’ll experience l’esprit de l’escalier.”
Her friend clapped her hand over her belly mound. “Is that another term for indigestion?”
“Never mind,” Charlie said, laughing. “But boy, she is a mean lady.”
“I try to feel kindly toward her,” Liz said on a sigh. “I truly do. When her rat of a husband moved out, he didn’t tell her right away that his new mystery girlfriend was actually their nanny…whom Piper continued to have in her home every day until he ’fessed up six months later.”
“Ugh,” Charlie said.
“Yeah.” Liz nodded. “That lie of omission didn’t do much for the divorce.”
What would a lie of omission do to a marriage?
“Now you’re looking a little queasy,” Liz said.
Charlie thrust a bowl of pasta salad into her friend’s hands. “Help me carry these out, will you?”
Then, carrying her own burdens, she waded back into the party, still determined to make it the best one ever.
Finally, all that was left on the beachside terrace was Wells—asleep on a lounge chair beneath an umbrella—and Charlie and Ethan, gathering up torn wrapping paper and gift bags. Even the crash of the surf on the sand and the raucous cry of the gulls seemed like a profound silence compared to the cacophony that had been the last few minutes of the event, as parents arrived to collect their children.
Ethan crossed to Charlie and took the wad of paper in her hand, pitching it into a half-full trash bag a few feet away.
“Score!” she said.
He glanced over at her, and he smiled a little, his hand reaching toward her face to cup her cheek. “I sure did. Seven years ago when my son came into my life, and a few days back, too, when you agreed to be my wife.”
Charlie’s heart swooped toward her stomach. “I…”
He moved closer and pulled her into his arms. “For the last years I’ve had to put on this party by myself. Having you to partner with…” Leaning down, he brushed his mouth along hers. “Thank you. You made it special. You make everything special.”
She opened her mouth, closed it. The man was stealing her words. Her breath.
“I called my friend Skye at Crescent Cove. Next Sunday afternoon, we can get married on the deck of Beach House No. 9.”
Her heart stuttered.
“The one with the magic,” Ethan continued. “Where we shared that first kiss.”
Then he pressed his lips to her forehead, her nose, her mouth. She was dizzy with the sweetness of them. “Ethan…”
“Will you? Will you marry me next Sunday afternoon?”
Swallowing hard, she nodded, then, leaning into him, she offered her lips again.
He took her up on the invitation, and the kiss spun out until their tongues were tangling and she’d wrapped her arms around his neck. He held her by the hips, his erection hard against her belly. Her nipples stiffened, and she trembled, need building inside her.
Breaking the kiss, he pulled her head against his chest and blew out a long breath. “Keep that up, and we’ll be shocking the beachcombers, not to mention the new seven-year-old.”
Charlie didn’t answer, just pressed her face against him, absorbing his strength and warmth. “Maybe tonight,” she murmured, and her body went all-in with the idea, the place between her thighs throbbing.
“Tomorrow night,” Ethan countered. “You and me. By ourselves. All night long.”
She lifted her head to look at him. “Wells—”
“Emmaline invited him for an overnight. They’re planning to talk dog breeds, and she’s going to show him how to make those red velvet cupcakes.”
Charlie grimaced. “I was going to confess to that. Some day.”
His soft laugh brushed along her spine, and he slid his hands down to her bottom, tilting her hips and giving her a better feel of his thick shaft. Her panties went wet.
He must have seen her reaction, because he let loose a low groan. “Baby. Your face.” Glancing away, he put a bit of distance between their bodies. “Tell me something to get my mind off fucking you all night long.”
The rawness of his comment jolted through her, a sharp spear of more heat. God, she wanted this man.
“Charlotte…” he said, low and tortured.
“Sorry, sorry,” she answered, guessing he could see desire stamped on her face. “Um…culaccino.”
“Wait a minute.” His eyes narrowed. “That sounds dirty.”
She laughed. “It’s the circle left on a table by a wet glass.”
He considered. “Okay, I feel slightly less combustible now.”
“Good,” she stepped away from him, “as long as you can relight that fire tomorrow night.” She gave him an especially lascivious once-over, very un-serious and un-butlerlike, lingering on his crotch.
He groaned again, then snatched her arm to drag her close once more. Instead of kissing her, though, he just stared into her eyes.
“Age-otori,” he murmured.
“Which means?” she asked, smiling.
“Wait, not that one. That one’s Japanese for looking worse after a haircut.”
She laughed. “Have you been on the internet again?”
“Yes,” he said. “I want to impress you.” Then he touched his lips to her forehead to again. “I meant to say forelsket. It’s Norwegian—and I’m likely butchering the pronunciation.”
“Is that a fish dish?” she guessed.
He shook his head. “Look it up later.”
Then he moved off toward Wells, who was coming awake after his short cat nap.
Charlie managed to make it until night, alone in her cozy bungalow, before doing a search on the word forelsket. She expected to find it was something funny. Or maybe something a little bit filthy.
That raw, sexual side of Ethan had come as an exciting surprise.
Her lips were curved in anticipation as the results scrolled onto her screen. When she read the definition, she fell onto her bed, her world rocked.
Forelsket described the giddy exhilaration one feels when beginning to fall in love.
Did Ethan mean...
Her head reeled and her stomach roiled too. She put her hand there, at the place where her secret had been planted and then grown.
Surely he didn’t mean it. He’d told her he’d had his love of a lifetime—Michelle. That his marriage to Charlie would be a practical arrangement between two people with a fierce attraction to each other.
But either way, she was beginning to realize that her lie of omission could too easily become a wedge between them—one capable of destroying the exact thing she wanted to build.
Oh, God. Did this mean she was going to have to find a way to tell Ethan the truth?