Addicted (Ethan Frost #2)(63)
So even though he’s withdrawing his support now, much of the damage is already done. Or much of the success, depending how you look at it.
Maybe it’d be smarter to walk away. Actually, there’s no maybe about it. It would definitely be smarter. But not easier. And not better.
Not when I love Ethan the way that I do.
Not when I need him just to breathe.
He leads me through the house to the nearest bathroom, and though I’m intent on freshening up and getting out the door to eat, I can’t help being awed by the parts of the house I’m seeing. I thought nothing could be as perfect as Ethan’s La Jolla house, all high ceilings and huge picture windows in every room that make the most of the ocean views. But this place is just as beautiful, in a different way.
Whereas his La Jolla house is light and modern, this one is warmer, more ornate. With its antiques and elaborate furnishings and warm, cherrywood in every room, it should be a little over the top. But the decorator was brilliant and somehow knew exactly what he or she was doing so that each room seems elegant and warm instead of cold and overdone.
I can’t wait to explore—and maybe even match the La Jolla House for number of rooms we’ve made love in—but right now I’m definitely more interested in eating than I am anything else. Even sex with Ethan. And I never thought I’d say that. But I was too upset to eat lunch or dinner yesterday and since today started with a helicopter ride, after a twenty mile run, I think I’ve got a right to be famished.
A quick look in the mirror tells me that my six minute shower did me no favors this morning. My hair has dried in frizzy waves that make me look a little like a crazy person—okay, a lot—and my super late night followed by no makeup routine has left me with circles dark enough to look like actual bruises.
I’ve got to give Ethan credit that he even suggested taking me into town looking like this. I’m seriously one minuscule step away from scaring small children with a single glance.
After digging in my purse, I come up with a banana clip and a small bag of makeup. It’s more than I expected to find, to be honest, so I twist my hair up and then do the best that I can with some BB cream, lip gloss and mascara.
I’m certainly not going to win any beauty contests but maybe the small children won’t scream quite so loudly …
Our trip into town is quiet. This is my first time in Napa and I’m kind of overwhelmed at how gorgeous it is. All rolling vineyards and warm sunshine and flowers as far as the eye can see. And while it’s horrible what’s happening in San Diego right now, I can’t help being grateful that I have these few days with Ethan in this beautiful place. Just the two of us, trying to reconnect after all the crap that’s been thrown at us these last few weeks.
He takes me to a charming little bistro with rock walls and striped awnings and a truly astonishing menu, which Ethan seems to know quite well. He offers to order for me and does a really nice job of it, considering we’ve only been on a few real dates.
We dine on rustic French soups, followed by a gorgeous beet salad and the most delicious coq au vin I’ve ever tasted. It’s a lot of food, but I’m hungry enough to do it justice—even with the different wines Ethan insists on ordering to accompany each course. I do draw the line at dessert, so Ethan has a couple packed up for us to eat later, and then we’re on our way.
We spend a couple of hours walking around the Historic Napa Mill, a shopping center filled with quaint little boutiques and gourmet food stores. It’s a lot of fun strolling hand in hand with Ethan, who knows more about the area than I had ever imagined. He regales me with story after story about Napa Valley and the only moment of discord we have is when he wants to buy me a silk scarf I admire.
It’s hand-painted by a local artist and absolutely gorgeous—very impressionistic in style and even the color scheme reminds me a lot of Monet’s The Rose Walk. And while I like it very much, I’m not inclined to let Ethan spend close to two thousand dollars on it. Not after everything else he’s bought me. And not when the lavender bath oil from the shop across the way is just as charming of a souvenir for literally one percent of the cost of the scarf.
On the way to the car, I can tell Ethan’s a little annoyed by my refusal to let him buy me the scarf—which in turn makes me anxious. Not anxious enough to change my mind, but more than anxious enough to talk to him about why I refused.
“I’m really not trying to be difficult,” I tell him after he pulls into traffic.
“Yeah, well, you’re doing a pretty good job of it for not trying.” His tone is crisp, acerbic even, but a glance at his face shows me that the right corner of his mouth is twitching just a little—the way it always does when he’s struggling not to smile.
“Look, I know you have money. I know you have a lot of money and that buying that scarf would mean less than nothing to you—”
“Of course it would.” He looks surprised that I would think otherwise. “Everything I buy for you means something.”
I nearly melt, which I’m pretty sure is not what needs to be going on here. But it happens anyway and by the time I have my emotions under control, he’s pulling the car into the parking lot of a local market. “Can I buy the food?” he asks after he comes around and opens my car door for me. “Or do we need to go dutch on that? I don’t want to step on your toes.”