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“I’m not much of a drinker,” I respond as he walks toward me with a glass.
“Me either,” Ethan responds. “Sometimes the situation just calls for it.”
My nose gingerly sniffs the contents of the glass. Ooof, so strong. Meanwhile, Ethan has already taken a large swallow as he watches me over the rim of his glass. Not one to back down on a challenge, I, too, raise the glass to my lips and take a large gulp. The hot liquid burns a searing path down my throat, and I’m barely able to contain the cough that threatens.
Ethan is looking at me with a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Never had whiskey before, I’m guessing?”
“What gave it away?” I squeak, my throat still burning. “I’m more of a wine person.”
Ethan laughs as he walks back over to the bar. He grabs the bottle of whiskey and heads over to the sitting area. “Come join me. I think this situation calls for a toast.” He sits on the settee and pats the empty spot next to him.
“I can’t imagine what we’d be toasting to,” I say wryly as I sit down on the edgeof the seat.
Ethan mulls over his thoughts for a moment. Then, he raises his glass and says, “Let’s toast to never trusting the opposite sex again.”
“I’m on board with that toast for sure,” I agree as I raise my glass to his. Our glasses clink together, and we tip our heads back and swallow the remaining liquid. I feel the hot liquid pooling in my belly, already making me feel warm and toasty.
“Another?” Ethan suggests, raising the bottle.
“I probably shouldn’t. I have so much I need to do. I’m getting married in less than twenty-four hours,” I remind him.
Ethan raises his eyebrows. “All the more reason for another.” Without waiting for my answer, he pours a generous amount into each of our glasses.
Raising his glass, he stares at me with his piercing blue eyes, daring me to do the same. Unwilling to back down, I raise my glass, and we both take a healthy sip. I’m getting used to the now-familiar burning sensation.
Ethan pulls out his phone and connects via Bluetooth to the radio on the coffee table. Soft, soothing classical violin music begins drifting through the air. Feeling warm and wanting to be comfortable, I shrug off my jacket and settle back into the cushions.
The cool air brushes my shoulders as I look over at Ethan. He seems deep in thought as he leans forward, elbows on his legs, staring out into nothing. He’s holding his glass in one hand and, every once in a while, takes a sip.
I wonder what he’s thinking. His brows are furrowed, and his mouth is turned down as though his thoughts are bringing him distress. Is he missing his ex-fiancée? He must still loveher.
I’m fighting to keep my mind clear of thoughts of my fiancé. Trent and I are to be married tomorrow in front of three hundred of our closest friends, business acquaintances, political figures, and people we barely know. I’m to recite my vows while knowing that Trent is already breaking his. How can I bear it? How can I marry a man who is cheating on me the evening before our wedding?
“I don’t want to get married,” I blurt. The alcohol has loosened my tongue more than I’d like to admit.
Ethan turns his head to look back at me over his shoulder. “Of course you don’t. No sane person would willingly marry a person who is cheating on them on the eve of their wedding.”
He says it so matter-of-factly. He can’t possibly understand the pressure I’m under. I committed not just to Trent but to my family.
“I can’t back out now. My parents are counting on me. This marriage will bring our families together. Trent’s father has promised his backing when my father runs for governor. Without his political backing, my father won’t have a chance at winning.”
“You’re willing to sacrifice your happiness for the sake of your father’s political gains? Do you even love Trent?” Ethan demands.
“Of course I love him!” Or at least I did, until about an hour ago. I sigh, resignation filling me. I know what I must do. I will go forward with the plan. I will marry Trent.
Ethan must sense my thoughts. “You know what, screw this,” he says as he gets off the sofa. “We can either sit here and choose to be miserable, or we can choose to forget all of this bullshit and have some fun. What do you think?”
A slow, hesitant smile spreads across my face as I peer up at him through lowered lashes. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to forget about thewedding and Trent, even if just for a couple of hours. “I choose to forget the bullshit,” I agree cautiously.
He picks up his phone and browses through his playlist. “Good choice. Now, we need some more upbeat music,” he mumbles right before dance music spills into the air. He holds out his hand to mine and pulls me up to a standing position. I’m a little shaky on my feet. From my seated position, I hadn’t realized that the whiskey was already affecting me. But I don’t care.
I take another sip of the whiskey, and Ethan does the same.
I feel a giggle rise up in my chest. I know I should go back to my own room and leave while I’m still thinking somewhat straight.
Something about Ethan captivates me and makes me want to stay. Maybe it’s his rebellious spirit, or maybe it’s the way he seems to embrace life. He starts moving to the rhythm of the music, a mischievous glint in his eye as he holds out his hand to me again.
Inhibitions gone, I take his hand willingly and without hesitation.
