Page 54 of Tormented & Tulips
An exhibit assistant hands us a catalog. Making our way through the displays, we discuss the various attributes of the pieces. A carved walnut hall mirror catches my eye. The arms of the wood climb along the edges of the mirrored glass, delicately holding it in place. Lennox’s voice behind me breaks my concentration.
“Are you feeling quite well, my dear?”
Looking up into the mirror, our reflections nearly overlap as he steps closer. Concern wrinkles his brow sending a pang of anxiety to my stomach.
“Yeah, I feel fine. Why?”
“Oh, nothing…nothing…” He shakes his head and continues to walk on.
I abandon my examination of the mirror to catch up with him.
“No, really, why?”
“Well, you look a bit tired. I’m really not trying to be rude. It’s just…I’m an old man. I worry about you.”
I loop my arm through his, internally cursing the concealer failing in its duty after I painstakingly applied it.
“I’m fine! I’m just working so much that it’s starting to be a bit stressful. When this season dies down, I’ll be fine.”
His brow furrows deeper in disbelief, but he isn’t willing to press the matter further.
“Okay, good. You can always tell your boss to shove it. I’ve told you many times I would gladly hire you and pay better, too.”
Laughing, I shake my head at that thought. He’s made that offer half a dozen times in the last year. I have no doubt he means it. He wanders off to look at an antique breadboard while my mind drifts back to the mirror.
I make my way through the crowd, stopping before it. Intricate curves mimicking roots have been carved into the wood. The base of the mirror swells outward to accommodate the singular built-in drawer. Reaching down, I slip my fingers through the ornate metal handle, sliding the drawer open with ease.
When I rise, a pair of ice-blue eyes stares at me from the mirror.
If I thought I looked bad, Ethan looks far worse. The normally crisp line where he parts his hair is absent, leaving it to spike in every direction. His eyes hang heavy and swollen. A bluish tint pools beneath them, a stark contrast to his perfectly tanned skin. His trimmed beard—usually a flawless line along his cheek—now bears a jagged edge. Poor beard.
Even in this state, my body warms at the sight of him. The corner of his lip tips up, sending a ripple of arousal through me.
“Good morning, Ethan.” Smiling, I turn to find his shoulders drawn up in a tight breath.
“Don’t say that.”
“Don’t say what?” I flutter my eyes for a brief moment before taking a step toward him.
His back stiffens.
Do I know what he’s referring to? Absolutely. Am I going to stop? No. I have months of fun to catch up on.
“Have you seen the papers this morning?” he bites out through gritted teeth.
“Oh, did your marionette finally make the headlines? I knew my added flair wou—”
“No.” He pulls out his phone to show me the headline: “Girl Taken. Police Believe Same Person Responsible.”
I knew it. I knew this would happen. This cat-and-mouse game with Ethan has hijacked my common sense long enough.
“Son of a bitch,” I whisper more to myself than anyone else.
Ethan leans in closer; his intoxicating scent a comfort, given the circumstances.
“Might I suggest you tame any simmering animosity between us while we sort this out?”
“Tame my animosity? And what do you mean we will sort this out? We aren’t doing anything. Except avoid each other. Or rather, you avoid me so I can handle this.” I shove the phone into his chest, hoping it sends him on his ass.
