Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
I shake my head, stand, and go to the window. I set my forehead against the cool glass and look down onto the street, at people coming and going, doing their last-minute Christmas shopping. Living their normal lives.
What I feel for Ethan is friendship, I think. It’s two kids growing up together like we did. He’s not the one I wake in the middle of the night reaching for. He’s not the one that makes my stomach twist and turn with an ache so powerful, I think I will die of it.
I hate myself a little for that, for what I know is a betrayal. Ethan deserves better than I’m giving him, and tonight, before we head to Sinistral, I am determined to give him the ring back. This time, it will be me who won’t take no for an answer.
The doorbell rings and I jump. It’s barely noon. Ethan is picking me up after work, but I hear the key in the door and a moment later, I hear his voice. It irritates me that he lets himself in. I never gave him a key. His dad did, and since the apartment belongs to the Foxes, I’ve never felt like I could ask him to give it back.
When I did ask that he not simply let himself in whenever he feels like it, he rolled his eyes and reminded me who owned the place. Now every time he rings the doorbell, it just grates, like he’s doing it for show. Like every time it’s a reminder of just how deeply indebted I am to the Foxes.
I walk into the living room to find Ethan carrying a big box.
“There you are,” he says, closing the door with his foot. He looks surprised I’m still in my pajamas. “Get a late start?”
He sets the box on the counter. When he comes to give me a kiss, I turn my face, so he kisses my cheek. Guilt gnaws at me.
“You’re not supposed to be here until later,” I say, setting my coffee mug in the sink and keeping my back to him while I wash it.
He wraps his arms around me from behind, and I know he feels me stiffen. He must. He kisses my cheek. “Can’t I surprise my fiancée?”
“Of course,” I say, forcing a smile before turning and moving out of his embrace to dry my hands. “What’s that?”
“Invitations.”
Ah. His gaze moves to my hand, and he raises his eyebrows when he finds my ring finger empty. “Where’s your ring, Phee?”
Here we go. This is it. I have to get through this. If I don’t, well… I don’t want to think about that.
“I want to talk to you about that,” I say, forcing the words out, the coffee bitter on my tongue, in my stomach.
His expression changes, eyes narrowing as if he somehow knows what’s coming. He raises his eyebrows and waits.
“I can’t do this. I can’t go through with it. I’m sorry.” I hurry through the words, and as soon as they’re out, I feel a little better. My heart is hammering, I’m sweating, and I’m no less nauseated, but they’re out.
“What are you talking about?”
“The engagement. The marria—”
“Yeah, I get that part, but what the fuck are you talking about?”
“We’re not in love. We’re good friends, if anything.”
“If anything? Jesus Christ.” He pushes his hands through his hair and shakes his head. “Are you fucking kidding me?
I turn around and walk into the bedroom, dropping to a seat on the bed. I lace my fingers together nervously, telling myself to breathe. I hate confrontation. I always have. I know it makes me a pushover but all my life, even when I was little, I remember if Dad was angry or anyone was upset with me, I would do anything to diffuse the situation. I’d apologize for anything, agree to everything. It’s really the trait of a coward. Look where it’s gotten me.
Ethan follows me into the bedroom. “Phee? You can’t do this.”
“I can’t marry you, Ethan.”
“Great fucking time to figure that out.”
“And you can’t marry me. It’s not what either of us want.” I pick up the ring from the nightstand and get to my feet. I hold it out to him.
“You don’t know what I want.” He pushes my hand away.
“Isn’t that a problem?” I ask.
“You’re tired, that’s all. Look at you.” He lifts my glasses off my face. “Are you getting any sleep? You look fucking exhausted.”
“I am exhausted, but it doesn’t have anything to do with this. I can’t marry you. I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t love you, Ethan. Not like that. I’m sorry.”
He snorts. “This isn’t about love. It has nothing to do with love.”
“What?” I ask, taken aback. It’s not the response I expect. I was afraid I’d hurt him with those words, but that doesn’t seem to be it at all.