Isla
Ethan. I’m so glad to see him I immediately burst into tears when he walks into the room.
“Shhh.” He sits on the side of the bed and strokes my cheek with the back of one knuckle. It’s an oddly tender gesture for him.
My foot is out of the covers and raised in a contraption. He blinks at it twice. “What happened to your foot?”
“It’s my ligament. They say I may need more surgery, but a foot specialist is coming to see me tomorrow or the day after.”
He rubs at tired eyes. “I feel terrible, Isla. All of this is because you tried to save me.”
I smile. “Actually, the foot thing happened before I saved your life.”
He laughs a little. “You’re amazing. But I still ought to put you over my knee and spank you for your stunt. Jesus, Isla, what were you thinking? You could have called me and talked it out. You didn’t have to redecorate my house and run off.”
God. How embarrassing. I cringe now to think of it. My face heats. “I’m sorry. But you shouldn’t have kept it from me and lied.”
He nods. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have kept it from you, but I knew you worried about that side of my life, and I thought you’d not trust me if I told you. Stupid of me. We both need to be more open, though.” And then he fixes me with this serious look, his eyes darkening. “I’m not the only one keeping secrets am I, Isla?”
It’s not a question, and I know exactly what he means. But, how did he find out? Now he’ll reject me. Who wants someone like me? The scars, and the accident, and losing Mummy in a car crash is bad enough. The minute people find out about the cancer, too, they start to get weird. It’s honestly as if people think I’m a bad luck charm, cursed or something.
I lost a lot of friends after getting sick. They treated me differently. Didn’t help that I missed a ton of school, but still, the way they dropped out of my life hurts. The taunts and ugly name calling of the bitchy girls even more so. Those who did care couldn’t look at me without tearing up. Dad was the only person to be there for me. He didn’t see me as broken, or someone deserving of pity. He used to tell me I was strong and brave, and that he admired me more than anyone else.
Now I’ll probably see that same scared pity on Ethan’s face I saw on so many others. I turn away as tears begin to pour silently down my cheeks.
“Baby.” His voice is the softest I’ve ever heard it. “Please, don’t cry. It’s okay. But I don’t get why you didn’t tell me.”
“Because ever since the cancer everyone in my life has treated me like a porcelain doll. Or worse, like some sort of cursed object. As if you can catch bad luck. They avoid me, don’t know what to say. Or they treat me as if I’ll break. You didn’t. In a way, you’ve been harder on me than anyone, and I liked it. You demanded something of me. I didn’t want to tell you and see the usual pity. I’m sorry. And I understand completely if you want to walk away.”
“Why would I walk away?” He pulls my face around to look at him. “Hey, look at me, Isla. Why would I walk away?”
I try to stop crying, but it’s hard. Here I am asking for respect, and I’m crying my eyes out. “Because, I got sick, really sick, and it can happen again. And I can’t have kids. I have to take HRT because I lost my reproductive organs early. I’m cancer free, and I’ve been told my chances of staying that way are excellent, but I still must be checked regularly for breast cancer. I’m not a good bet, Ethan.”
I try to turn my face away again, but he won’t let me, and his expression is killing me. His usually hard look is gone, softened, and I don’t want to see pity on those handsome features. But when I wipe away more tears and focus on him, I see something else in his eyes. Something new.
“I was pissed at you earlier,” he says, voice low, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “But once I knew you’d been taken it all went out the window. It made me realise something, too. I understood then that I couldn’t lose you. I don’t know how you’ve done it, but you’ve wormed your way under my skin completely.”
He scrubs a hand through his hair and glances to the window for a moment, before looking back at me. “I don’t find this shit easy to talk about, but I want you in my life. Not to date like we said. Fuck that, I’m a thirty-four-year-old man, and for the first time I’ve met a woman who matters to me. But, I get you’re in a totally different place, and if you want to do the dating shit, I will. But for me, this is it. I want you. I want you in my house. I want you in my bed. Every night. And every time I learn something new about you, it only makes me admire you more.”
He smiles at me. “I said we should meet this head on and then move on. Now I just want to meet this…us, head on and stick with it. Fuck it, Isla. I want to do this.”
His words send a thrill down my spine. “I can’t have kids, Ethan. Didn’t you hear me? I need to have checks for breast cancer on a regular basis. I lost my mum. It’s like I’m cursed or something.”
“I heard you, and I’m sorry you’ve been through so much. But for me, the kids thing is not a big issue. And if you decide one day you want kids, we can adopt. There are tons of kids out there who need a loving home. But, I’m kind of happy with my dogs, and I look after Katie a lot.”
I don’t know how I feel at his words. I’m ecstatic he doesn’t see me as some fragile thing, but as someone strong. I’m also over the moon we’re on a similar page about having children.
But talk about laying some heavy things on me. He wants me with him, all the time. That means moving in, and we barely know one another. Can a relationship work from that sort of beginning? I voice my fears. “I want to keep seeing you, but I’m not sure about the moving in part of it. I mean, what relationship is successful when people move in together after only knowing one another mere weeks…days even.”
He laughs then, and I’ve never seen him laugh like this. He laughs so hard tears start to fall from his eyes. After a while he gets himself under control.
“Baby, the whole way we met was fucked up beyond belief. You’re worried about us moving in together too soon? Have you forgotten how we met?” He laughs some more, but then sobers up. “I get it, though. I don’t want to push you. Why don’t we agree to this? You go home to stay with your dad. I’m sure he’s going to need some time with you after all this, and we’ll date. But I’m going to ask you now and again to move in with me, and I hope one day you’ll say yes.”
He’s asking me to move in with him, but he’s not told me he loves me. Maybe he doesn’t, or maybe he thinks it’s too soon. Do I love him? I think I’m falling for him. But I need some time and space. I want to be with Dad, too. But I don’t want to give Ethan up. This way I get to have the best of both worlds, and time to get over everything that’s happened. I wonder if life will ever stop throwing shit at me. Maybe I am cursed. Maybe Ethan would be better off without me.
Soft lips brush over mine, stirring me out of my thoughts, and I sigh into his touch.
“I’ll stay with you, until your dad gets here. Rest now.”
I nod and close my eyes. I’m exhausted, and with Ethan here I finally feel safe.
*****
It’s been three months since I got shot and Ethan is taking me out tonight for a slap-up meal, as he put it. True to his word, he’s given me space, but he also asks me every few weeks if I want to move in with him yet. I always say I’m not ready, but I spend a lot of time at his house, and I’m starting to think I’m ready. Maybe. Except, he still hasn’t told me he loves me. And I don’t want to just be his roomie, because I do love him. I’ve fallen for him so hard it hurts.
Dad went apeshit at first when he heard everything, and he forbade me to see Ethan. But once he found out exactly what went down, and how Ethan had sorted things out, both for me and for Dad, helping him avoid possible jail time, he came around.
It’s been hard to adjust to knowing my dad isn’t a perfect man. He’s flawed, deeply flawed. He may have been a loving father, but his business dealings were seriously unethical. Still, he’s been trying to claw his way out of that for years, and now thanks to Ethan, he’s got an out.
Uncle Dave was badly beaten one night, while walking home from the pub. No one knows who did it. The local paper carried the story, but Dave swears he didn’t see his assailant. Ethan didn’t say a word, but his knuckles were scraped and bloodied the day after. I know he did it, and I don’t care. I’m glad he did. I hate Dave now. And he’s received a warning--come after Dad and me again and he’ll get worse. So maybe I’m not all that ethical either? Rick has moved away, suddenly and again, mysteriously. I think Ethan had something to do with that, too.
I glance at my reflection. I’m wearing a floaty tea dress, but one I own this time, with block heeled sandals, a few bangles on my arm, and on my left wrist a new Tag watch my dad bought me. I’ve curled my hair for a change and put on some light make-up. I look much better these last few weeks. It took me ages to recover from the surgery. I was so exhausted. The doctors said my body had been through so much it needed more time than usual to recover. Ethan was great in those early days and would come around, once Dad had thawed out to him, and sit on the sofa with me watching cheesy movies and eating ice-cream.
My foot is finally starting to feel better, and my rehab has got to the stage where they say I can begin to properly exercise again, and do some strength training. I want Ethan to help me train. I want to be strong. I want to learn how to fight, too.
With a quick spritz of Clinique Happy, I’m ready to go. Just in time, too, as I hear the beep of Ethan’s horn.
“I’m off, Dad.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Have a good night. See you tomorrow.” Dad comes out of the living room and kisses my cheek. He knows I’ll most likely spend the night tonight at Ethan’s. He holds me at arm’s length, and gives me a once over, a long lingering look, as if he’s trying to remember me in this moment or something. I give him a hug, a little unsure as to why he seems emotional. I hope all is okay.
“Go on. Be off with you. Have a nice meal.” He half shoos me to the door.
I do as he says, and head for the door, but I give him one last glance before I step outside. He’s still looking at me, an almost wistful expression on his face.
I approach the car and do a double take. Ethan is lounging against the passenger side door, and he’s wearing a suit. Oh, Lord, he looks amazing. More handsome than I’ve ever seen him. He smiles at me, and I suddenly feel horribly underdressed.
“You look gorgeous.” He pulls me into his arms and kisses me, messing up my lipstick.
“You didn’t tell me to dress up.”
“You look great as you are.”
I’m curious as to where we’re going. “Are we off somewhere special? I know you said a slap-up meal, but I’ve never seen you dress so smart.”
He holds the door open for me and grins at me as I climb in. “Are you saying I’m a scruff, babe?”
I laugh. “Not a scruff, but you don’t wear suits.” He doesn’t even wear a suit for work when he’s meeting and greeting VIP’s who need close protection.
He shuts my door and heads around to his side. Once seated, he checks my seatbelt. It’s this thing he always does, and then puts his arm over the back of my chair as he looks behind him before pulling out into the traffic.
We head along the main road, out of the new development complex me and Dad live in, and instead of heading into the market town itself, Ethan takes a left. We follow a country road for about two miles and pull up in front of what looks like a converted barn. It’s covered in strings of lights, and I think it must be some fancy new restaurant I’ve never heard of. But as I step out of the car and look in through the windows, I see only one table. Confused, I glance to Ethan, but he simply puts his hand on my lower back and guides me to the door. A young man opens it and we walk inside.
Once we’re seated at the table, I lean in toward Ethan. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“I’ve brought you for a special meal. A friend of mine, he’s a head chef at a fancy place in London. He’s here visiting his family for two weeks and he agreed to come here and cook for us tonight. This place is usually a meeting room for local craft groups and such things, but it has a kitchen in the back. We’ve got it all to ourselves.”
Some music fills the room, and I don’t recognise it. “What’s the music?”
“Mozart.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise.
“What, you think I’m some uneducated yob who doesn’t know classical music?”
I flush and look at the table.
“Hey.” He tilts my chin up. “I was joking, Isla.”
Sometimes I feel bad though, because he’s always doing things that surprise me, or showing a side of himself I hadn’t thought existed, and I know I have some preconceived expectations of him because of his past.
The man who let us in comes to our table and puts a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice down, along with two flutes. I’m debating whether to try a little of it for once, when Ethan touches my hand.
“Alcohol free champagne.”
I smile at him, and love how he thinks of me all the time. I love him. Full stop. I need to tell him, but I’m terrified the words will change things between us. Worst case scenario, make him run from this.
The non-alcoholic champagne is poured and we both take a sip. Ethan’s eyes widen. “Not bad, almost like the real thing.”
The waiter is back and he’s brought a large platter groaning with meats, cheeses, olives, all sorts of vegetables, and some tiny pastries, along with a few bowls of dips and sauces. Then he’s gone again and it’s the two of us.
“He’s making steak for the main because I know it’s your favourite.” Ethan seems a bit unsure somehow. I’d almost say he was nervous, if I didn’t find the idea ridiculous.
We eat and chat a little, and he clears his throat. “I asked you to come out tonight because there’s something I want to ask you.”
I think he’s going to ask me to move in with him…again. And I don’t know what to say because while I want to say yes, badly, I also want more.
“I was chatting with Katie the other day,” he says, taking me by surprise with the turn of the conversation. “And she asked me something. She said, do you love Aunty Isla?”
I stop mid-chew, holding my breath.
“And with that one question, she made me realise something profound.” He looks at me, his blue eyes full of emotion he rarely shows. “I’ve been asking you to move in with me, and I’ve not once told you how I feel. I love you, Isla. I’m in love with you, have been since the first week we met. But I love you on a deeper level, too.”
Tears prick my eyes, and I look away for a moment trying to get myself under control. I swallow the food in my mouth and take a sip of my drink. When I look back at him, he’s watching me.
“I’m in love with you, and I want more. I want you to be my family.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box, which he places reverentially on the table between us.
“I want you to live with me, Isla. I want you to be my home.”
He opens the box and I gasp. It’s a gorgeous ring. Not big and flashy, but beautiful. It looks antique almost. In the centre is an aquamarine of the brightest blue, and it’s got two baguette cut diamonds either side of it. It’s a classy, art deco piece of jewellery. Now the tears won’t stop and they start to fall. I look to the ring, and back to him.
“Do you like it?” He frowns a little.
“I love it.”
He smiles and the relief in his eyes makes my heart warm. “I didn’t want to take you to a crowded place and do the whole down on one knee, making a scene thing, because I know you’re shy. And it’s not my thing either. I did ask your dad’s permission though.”
“You did?” It strikes me as an awfully old-fashioned thing for Ethan to have done.
He shrugs. “I wanted to make sure he was okay with us. Although, if he’d have said no, I’d still have asked you. But I didn’t want him to feel I’d try and come between your relationship with him.”
He pauses, takes a sip of his non-alcoholic wine, and looks up at me, dark lashes framing those deep blue eyes I love so much.
“So…what do you say?”
I jump up and run around to his side of the table. “Yes, I say yes.” I pepper his face with kisses and he laughs as he pulls me onto his knee.
“Put the ring on,” he tells me.
I pull the box toward me and take the ring out, putting it on my left hand and fumbling it twice, as I shake.
Once it’s on, I admire it.
“I hope you’re okay with it not being all diamond? But the aquamarine reminds me of your eyes.” He smiles at me, and I beam back, so full of love…wait. I realise I’ve not told him something important.
I lean in and whisper in his ear. “I love you, too, Ethan. And I want to be your home more than anything, and you can be mine.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
I pull back to look at him in surprise. “We haven’t had the steak yet.”
“I’m hungry for more than steak now,” he growls at me. And there he is, the rough, alpha male I know and love. And I realise he’s all these different sides. Rough and smooth, strong but gentle.
Most of all though, he’s mine.