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“What’d you do that for?” I demand, rushing toward her and trying to take the knife. She refuses to yield.
“No, damn it. You act like you’re the only one affected by this whole thing and you’re not. One, because you’re so damned depressed I’m afraid you’re going to walk into traffic one day and not even pay attention to where you’re going. And two, I’m human and if I don’t get to see what’s in at least one of these boxes you keep getting, I’m going to lose my mind. I signed for this one, so I say this is it.”
“I don’t want to know.”
She shrugs, but doesn’t stop hacking away at the box. “Fine. But I do.”
I turn around, head back to my room like it doesn’t bother me that she’s opening my present. But within five minutes I’m back, desperate to see what’s in the package—I only have willpower with closed packages from him, I see.
By the time I get back to the kitchen, I expect to see packing paper everywhere—Tori’s a little bit of a freak when it comes to presents—but instead the box is sitting neatly on the counter. Open, but undisturbed.
Fuck.
I want to walk away. I need to walk away, for my own sanity.
Instead I find myself walking toward the box, my fingers actually itching with the need to open it. Just like they’ve been itching to open the others that have come.
I’ve managed to resist all six of those—one for every day since I walked away from Ethan in Napa—but here, now, with the box open and Tori’s words ringing in my ears, I can’t resist this present, too.
Despite all my convictions circling my head, I open the flaps and peer inside. And once I do, there really is nothing else to say. Because in the box is just one present instead of the bunch of little ones Ethan usually sends me.
With trembling hands, I reach inside and pull out the small jeweler’s box that is nestled directly in the center of the larger box. I pull it out with shaking hands, then open it, because I can’t not open it.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting. A necklace, a pair of earrings, a diamond ring, maybe—although I won’t admit that last one, even to myself. It’s none of those things, though. Instead, it’s a thick platinum bracelet in a chain design, made with links as heavy as those on my belly chain are delicate.
“What the hell?” Tori asks, staring at the thing in disappointment. “I thought for sure it’d be a ring. She reaches for it, but I snatch the box away, holding it to my chest in what I figure must be a pretty good Gollum impression. All that’s missing is me whispering, “My precious” in a creepy voice.
Because I know exactly what this is, and for the first time since I walked out on Ethan, a little spark of hope ignites deep in my belly. It’s just a spark, mind you, but it’s more than I had before. More than I’ve had in six long days. Maybe more than I’ve had in forever.
And when the doorbell rings a minute later, I feel that spark grow into a tiny flame. One that maybe, just maybe, can burn the chill away.
Chapter Twenty-four
“I’ve got it,” Tori says, and it’s a good thing, because I think I’m frozen in place. She grabs her shoes and Louis Vuitton bag on the way, then flings the front door open with great pomp and circumstance.
Sure enough, Ethan is standing on the other side of the door, looking paler and thinner than I have ever seen him. Tori looks him up and down, and doesn’t for a second betray that she’s been lobbying for him for days now. “Fuck up again and I’ll chop your balls off myself,” she says with a sniff. And then she’s gone, slipping out the door and down the hall before I can even figure out how to say hello.
Then again, I don’t have to. Because suddenly Ethan is standing in my kitchen, a huge bouquet of flowers in one hand and his heart in the other.
“You were right,” he says.
“About what?” I ask, because there’s a voice inside my head screaming that this is the most important moment of my life and I need to be very clear about it. It’s good advice, smart advice. Too bad my heart is pounding so hard that I’m afraid I won’t hear one word that he says.
Which is a problem. But one I’m willing to work around if it means I get to listen to Ethan’s beautiful voice. And if I get to stare at his beautiful face. Somehow, he’s more gorgeous than ever, despite the dark circles under his eyes and the sudden sharpness of his cheek and wrist and collarbones.
“About everything.” He sits down at the table without touching me, gestures for me to do the same. “Will you sit? Let me tell you a story?”
“Of course.” I nearly break a leg in my eagerness to comply with his request.
I expect him to start the story once I’m settled, but he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches for my hand and long minutes tick by with Ethan doing nothing more than running his thumb back and forth against the back of my hand. I wait him out, wondering even as I do if it’s the right thing to do. Should I prompt him, try to figure out what he wants to say? Should I—
“You know my dad was a soldier, right?”
I nod. “Of course.” The whole world knows that.
“And you know he died in a military operation when I was little.”
I nod again. “He got the Congressional Medal of Honor.”
