gaze wanders over my form, down my neck, my dress, my espadrille wedges. “You’ve been holding out on me too,” he says. “Are you planning on opening the gate or am I doomed to admire you from a distance forever?”
Laughing, I push it open, stepping out onto the sidewalk and into the waiting crook of his arm. “I wouldn’t doom you to anything.”
Ethan presses a kiss to my temple. “You’re stunning.”
“And you’re sure this isn’t overdressed for a barbecue?”
“No,” he snorts. “Trust me, Cole and Skye rarely do casual. This might be called a barbecue, but it’s really their version of a summer party.”
Perhaps he notices my nerves, or he can anticipate them, because he tugs me closer. “Sure you want to go? I don’t mind staying home. I know what being seen together with me can mean, sometimes.”
“No, no, of course I want to go. I was just wondering if you’re sure, actually,” I say. “You’ll get questions from your friends, you know.”
Ethan’s smile is a slash of white. “As opposed to the lack of questions I got when I was single, you mean?”
“I guess I’d forgotten about that.”
“And so what if they have questions? I meant what I said… I do want to try. And being my date to a party is part of that.”
It’s a statement, but Ethan’s deep voice makes it a question. It’s the same question he’s been asking me all week—either with his words or his touch. Can we make this work? And at every turn I’ve said yes, yes, yes. This time is no different.
I slip my hand through his. “All right, then. I’m ready.”
“We have one stop to make first.”
“We do?”
He tugs me along toward his house, the gate already half-open. “Someone is very excited about seeing you in your dress.”
Haven comes running down the hallway toward the open front door. “Bella!”
“Haven!”
Her eyes widen as she takes in my dress. I wonder if I should pull my hand out of Ethan’s, but he keeps his grip firm around mine. Has he spoken to them yet?
“You look so pretty!”
“Thank you,” I tell her. “Do you like the color? It’s not purple, but it’s pretty close.”
“No, no, it’s still pretty,” she assures me. Her eyes snag on our intertwined hands. “Daddy, are you taking Bella to a ball?”
He reaches out and musses her hair. She darts back, shooting me a can-you-believe-this-guy? look. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “It’s not a ball,” he says, “and I’m not a prince.”
Haven rolls her eyes and looks straight at me. “I know Daddy’s not a prince, but you look like a princess.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, because just like that, Haven has banished my nerves entirely. The only thing that really matters beyond Ethan is his daughters, and if they’re fine with us, I can handle whatever questions his Greenwood Hills friends might have.
Ethan keeps his hand in mine on the walk over to Cole’s house. The summer air is warm, and the sun won’t set for hours still. It’s the perfect evening for a party.
I push the faint, incessant guilt to the back of my mind—but only for tonight. I’ll tell him tomorrow. And besides, house-sitter, the Gardners’ niece… does it really matter so much, in the grand scheme of things? Ethan has been coming over nearly every evening this past week, and the things we’ve spoken about, the things we’ve done… He’ll understand when I tell him.
We pause outside of a house that is the size of a small castle. If I thought mine or Ethan’s was imposing, this is…
Ethan snorts beside me. “Big, isn’t it?”
That’s an understatement. It looks like the kind of house people who’ve never been to Greenwood Hills think are in Greenwood Hills.
“Wow,” I say.
“It’s even worse on the inside. Come on, let me show you.” He keeps his hand in mine as we walk up the massive driveway, nodding to some of the people milling on the front porch.
It is even worse on the inside. Double staircases, marble floors, interior design that looks too casually thrown together to be anything but planned—likely the work of an interior designer. No one actually owns fourteen coffee-table books.
Skye sees us first and reaches out to hug us both. “Thank God,” she says. “Familiar faces!”
Ethan raises an eyebrow. “It’s that bad?”
She glances over her shoulder. “Not at all. Just… well, a little, actually. I’ve just spent the better part of an hour debating publishing models and while that’s fascinating, I could use