Page 22 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
“You know, I like to do my research, but I’m afraid I could find very little about you.”
Honestly, Maggie was impressed that Eleanor had found anything at all. As far as Maggie could tell, Ethan Wyatt had been born five years ago, a six-foot-two-inch baby in a leather jacket. No résumé. No bio. Just a runaway bestseller and a jaw that could cut glass.
“You were born in Germany, I believe?” Eleanor asked.
Most people would have missed it, the split-second gap in Ethan’s facade—two film reels that didn’t quite line up and if you replayed the moment in slow motion, you could see the place where he was spliced together.
“I am a citizen of the world, ma’am.” His voice was low and rich, but for one brief moment, Maggie could have sworn she saw his hand shake.
“But you’re American?”
“I am.”
“And your background?Your training?”
“Oh...” He chuckled. He smiled. He did everything but wink and ask Eleanor if she came here often. “A bit of this and that.”
And so it went. No matter where the conversation meandered, it always came back to a game that Maggie liked to callWhat’s Not to Love About Ethan?
After two hours, they’d been through a soup course, salad course, main course, and cheese course and were waiting on dessert while the Duke of Stratford snapped his fingers and tried to find the words—
“What are those chaps called”—snap, snap, snap—“the dolphins?”
Ethan bit back a grin. Probably because no one could take the full force of his smile without protective equipment. It was like looking at the sun. Or handling nuclear waste. “They’re called Navy SEALs. And no comment.”
“Marine sniper!” Cece guessed.
“No comment.” Ethan gave her a wink.
“Army Ranger?” Cece guessed again.
“No comment.”
“International assassin!” Dr. Charles tried, but Ethan simply shook his head, slow enough to be a bit dramatic.
“No comment.”
“CIA?”
“I could tell you, Duchess, but I don’t think you’d like what I’d have to do next.”
And then everyone laughed and laughed and Maggie wondered how hard it would be to kill a man with a dessert fork.
Eleanor would know. Maggie should ask. But their hostess was quiet, watching, lips turned up in something that wasn’t quite a smile while her blue eyes twinkled in the candlelight. She looked... amused. Not with Ethan, but with the night. Like they were at the start of one of her favorite scenes and she was trying not to shout spoilers.
“The truth is...” Ethan rested a forearm on the table and angled closer, like they were all friends now. He might as well let them in on a secret. “I’m not vague about my background because of some marketing ploy.I don’t keep people guessing because it sells books... though it does.” He flashed a self-deprecating grin he probably practiced in a mirror every night before bed. “I don’t talk about my past becauseI’mnot the star of my books. Ultimately”—dramatic pause—“my characters have to speak for themselves.”
Maggie had heard him use that line a thousand times. It was his bread and butter, tried and true. She watched the people at the table absorb those words like the first drops of water on parched earth. They were all getting sucked into the Vortex of Ethan—swirling, drowning—but then Maggie shifted and her chair squeaked and Sir Jasper seemed to remember she was there.
“What say you, Ms. Chase? What brought you to our humble profession?”
Maggie suddenly wanted to go back to five seconds ago when everyone had forgotten she existed. That was vastly superior to the feeling of ten sets of eyes turning and settling on her.
“I... Well... uh...” Her foot banged beneath the table and her chair squeaked again and she started wondering if it would be possible to just walk back to New York. The Atlantic had to be iced over by that point.
“I liked to read.” Maggie’s cheeks flushed. “Her.” She pointed at Eleanor and, instantly, Maggie wanted to pull the words back. It was like she’d said way too much and also too little and the awkwardness descended like a fog.
It reminded Maggie of her engagement party and the three—count them,three—different society matrons who had kissed Emily on the cheek and asked to see the ring only to be told that, no, Colin was marrying the other one.
