Page 38 of Vows We Never Made
But the note it arrived with—dear God.
Green like your eyes. Let me know at once if it isn’t suitable.
I’m still flipping spinning.
Also, I think I’ve stepped into a billionaire romance novel.
Kennebunkport is a small, quaint town with pretty wooden buildings and rustic vibes. The mansion that’s hosting the event bustles with the rich and famous.
Very rich, very famous people. Modern day Gatsby stuff.
There’s art plastered on the walls of the ballroom in the large mansion hosting this gathering, and I already know it’s the type that costs millions by real talents. I like the old-school paintings more than the modern splatter art, but it all screams heady and expensive.
I wonder if Ethan ever developed a taste for interpreting this stuff.
Oh, yes. Ethan.
He looks incredible.
No surprise.
Navy suit that looks like it grew onto his body organically—seriously, why is he so tall and why are his shoulders so wide?—and dark coppery hair slicked back.
Refined. Clever. Intimidating.
Someone who fits in with a crowd intimately connected to major Atlantic real estate.
Predictably, he’s barely said a single word to me beyond the brief ‘hello’ when he first saw me.
After sizing up my outfit and giving a little nod of approval to say I passed muster, he just put his hand on my arm and that was that.
But the man did stare.
A lingering, cutting glance that made me feel all kinds of confused.
His eyes didn’t match his neutral, disinterested tone, though, so maybe it’s just my imagination.
We float around the massive ballroom, moving between people like frenzied hummingbirds.
“This is Hattie Sage, my lovely fiancée,” Ethan says for the third time without a glance.
I pin on a smile at the warm murmurs of approval and the odd smile sent my way. Their eyes focus, digging in, scanning for flaws.
I know what they’re thinking—who the hell is this girl to bag the eligible Blackthorn bachelor?
All my fancy words meant to impress dry up in my mouth.
Fiancéeis such a big word. Especially when you’re suffering major imposter syndrome.
WhoamI to be here, hanging on Ethan Blackthorn’s arm?
I feel like a fraud.
Honestly, it’s a relief he isn’t paying more attention. If he did, I’d probably wilt like the delicate, out of place flower I am.
I never had an acting bone in my body, and pretending to like a man I can’t stand is a bridge too far, leading straight to hell.
Just another smile, though.
