I studied the room as the feather-soft bed cradled me, white plaster walls soaring above, cathedral-height ceilings capped in glass. The room was simply styled in hues of gentle grey, the polar opposite of the man it belonged to. The man who had my head and heart embroiled in World War III.
A cool breeze drifted in the open balcony doors, coaxing me to sit up. Ethan was standing at the far end of the space, his back to me as he surveyed the landscape with his hands resting on the steel railing, the right one still partially shielded by a cast. A hand he broke fighting for me, intent on destroying the threat on my doorstep.
I rolled off the bed and wandered outside, the wind off the water below whipping my hair wildly. Ethan didn’t hear me coming, not turning until I was a heartbeat from his side.
“I guess I’m not so stealthy,” I mumbled, settling in beside him along the railing. The water ahead was churning violently as the wind ripped across it.
“You are,” he assured, blue eyes searching my face. “Your perfume, however, is a smoke signal.”
“Vanilla and white flowers,” I murmured, the notes forever my favorites. So much so that Dad had a custom perfume made when I graduated high school, a scent I still wore, a bottle delivered by Santa every Christmas according to the package.
He leaned into the railing, body rigid as his attention returned to the distance. A king at home in his castle. A king still retreating from me. “I love it. I always have.”
I was in knots, unsure what to think as I studied him. Anger and affection were battling for attention, one screaming for me to leave while the other coaxed me to stay. I’d waited days between texts when he was gone, hanging on each word, desperate to see him. And when he walked in the front door the night before, I didn’t have time to get mad or demand answers. I just needed him.
A dark shadow coated his jaw, hair a touch long at the collar, subtle reminders that he had been gone for three weeks. That he severed contact with me like a dead arm, circling back once or twice to nudge me, making sure I was still there. Still waiting.
But waiting for what? For him to come back like nothing happened? For things to return to normal? Newsflash: there was no normal. There was nothing to go back to.
“Who are you?” I blurted, needing to silence the voices in my head. I needed truth. Something to justify his actions. Anything.
“You know who I am,” he said softly. “The whole world knows who I am.”
I gritted my teeth. “Enough with the damn riddles. I want answers. Now. You owe me that much.”
His hands gripped the railing tightly, even the broken one, its freed fingers curled around the metal just as brutally. It hurt me just looking at it. “Ask away.”
“Why did you ask me to that event?” I demanded. It made no sense. It was the main reason he couldn’t be Ever. He never would have gone into the belly of the beast with someone he knew. Let alone someone who could be so easily identified. Most press offices in the city still had a dusty magazine lying around with my face inside.
“I didn’t mean to,” he admitted, focusing on the water for another moment before turning to me, his blue eyes finding mine with a calm I hadn’t expected. “The text went to the wrong person, but in the end, it ended up right where it belonged. That night was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
The kindness of his words did little to soothe the stinging sucker punch of truth to the gut. He hadn’t felt the same. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded. I deserved to know. I’d gone into that night thinking he wanted me, not another woman. “I’m not someone’s plan B.”
“You were never plan B,” he growled, fists balling at his sides. “You’ve always been the one I wanted, Kee.”
I gripped at the hem of my dress nervously as a snap of wind lifted it. “Always?”
He nodded, running his tongue along his inner cheek as he studied me. “Ever since I saw a pretty girl on a train with a nose ring and an edgy veggie bag.”
I cocked my head, unsure of what he was talking about. We met through a job offer at school. He’d needed a blog writer. After sending a writing sample through email, he hired me on the spot when we met for coffee. The rest was history. But none of it involved us meeting on a train.
“A pretty girl wearing a plum romper in the rain.”
Alright. He’d lost me completely. Maybe he was losing it himself. I hadn’t noticed it at first, but circles shadowed his eyes, hinting at sleepless nights.
“Not ringing any bells, huh?” he chuckled, stroking my cheek with the back of a chilled hand. “That’s okay.”
His fingers skimmed my jaw, thumb drifting across my lower lip. “My sweet little Plum. As beautiful as the first night I saw you.”
My heart was pounding, his blue eyes casting a spell on mine, and as convinced as I was that he was off his rocker, he had me hooked on every word. Every dip of his voice sent shivers down my spine. “Night?”
He leaned close, lips a breath from mine, a slight nod sending them brushing together. The first contact since he reappeared on the darkest day of my life so far, coming to my aid in true Ethan style. “A rainy night on the Red Line.”
I shook my head to break free, to clear the clouds he was creating. “You’re supposed to be answering questions, not making more.”
“You never wondered where I
