Page 23 of King of the Weld
I recognize the stubborn set of his jaw, the defensive wall rising again. Pushing further now would only make him retreat more completely. Instead, I change the subject.
"The piece you're making… It's beautiful. Even unfinished."
The tension in his shoulders eases slightly at the redirect. "Functional first, beautiful second. That's the rule of good craftsmanship."
"Like a metaphor for life," I muse.
Ethan gives me a curious look. "How so?"
"Build something solid first, something that works, that serves its purpose. The beauty comes from that foundation, not the other way around." I smile slightly. "At least, that's how it should be. My world tends to prioritize appearances over substance."
"And yet here you are," Ethan points out. "Choosing substance."
The observation warms something in me. "I'm trying to."
Ethan returns to his work, and I continue watching, fascinated by the transformation taking place under his hands. Raw metal becoming something functional, strong, even beautiful in its utility. So different from the ornamental, decorative world I come from, where beauty often masks structural weakness.
"Were you ever married?" I ask suddenly, the question emerging before I can consider its propriety.
Ethan's hands still for a moment. "No."
"Engaged?"
He sets down his tools and turns to face me fully. "Why the interest in my romantic history?"
Heat rises to my cheeks. "Just curious. You don't have to answer."
He sighs. "There was someone before my last deployment. Serious enough that we'd talked about a future. When I came back..." He gestures vaguely to himself. "I wasn't the same person. Neither was she. We wanted different things."
"I'm sorry," I say, meaning it.
Ethan shrugs, turning back to his work. "It was the right decision. For both of us."
But I wonder if it was, or if it was just easier. Another way for Ethan to exile himself, to reinforce the walls he's built around his life.
"What about you?" he asks unexpectedly. "Besides Harrison. Was there ever anyone you chose for yourself?"
The question brings a sad smile to my lips. "Not really. Dating isn't simple when you're a Valentine. Every potential partner is evaluated for what they bring to the family—connections, bloodlines, business opportunities. Romance was never part of the equation."
"That sounds like a lonely way to grow up," Ethan observes.
"It was," I admit. "But I had books. Hundreds of them. Stories where people found love based on character, on connection, not bank accounts or social standing."
"Is that what you want? The kind of love you read about in books?"
"Not the idealized, perfect version. But yes, I want to choose someone for my own reasons. To be chosen for myself, not my name or what I represent." I pause, then add quietly, "I want to matter as a person, not a possession."
Ethan's eyes meet mine. "You do matter, Sophia. As a person."
Chapter 8 - Ethan
"You do matter, Sophia. As a person."
Her eyes widen slightly at my statement, surprise flickering across her face as if no one has ever told her this simple truth before. Maybe they haven't.
She looks beautiful. More beautiful than any woman I've ever met.
The welding mask sits pushed back on her head, her dark hair slightly mussed. There's a smudge of soot on her cheek from where she touched her face with a gloved hand. She shouldn't be beautiful like this. Disheveled, in borrowed clothes, sitting in a metal workshop, but goddamn, she is.
