Finley Embraces Heart and Home (Love Austen 4)

“He wrote it,” Tom says sternly, and I shiver as I inch to the door and peer around. Tom’s sitting behind his desk, staring at his open laptop, Ethan pacing before him.

“Years ago!”

“Whether then or now—”

“Ford found a couple of scenes on his desk,” Ethan blurts out. The pacing stops. “He finished the play.”

I lose my grip on my laundry and catch it against my thighs, freezing there, hoping no one saw me.

Tom looks up from his work—not in my direction. In Ethan’s. “Ford?”

“He moonlights as a writer, erotic fiction. He took off with the idea.”

He’s lying to help us, me, but . . . the opposite of pride rises in me. This time I fear I’ll come away from the door disappointed. This time, I fear it’ll push Ethan and me further apart.

“I see.” Tom hums, not entirely convinced. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

“He’s our guest, and he’s very single-minded. We figured it was very Shakespearean and went with it. Fin had little to do with it except to direct.”

“Are you saying there’s no truth to the play?”

Ethan flexes his hand at his side. “No! Never.”

“Or maybe you just don’t see it?”

Ethan shakes his head; his fingers curl. He does that when he’s panicked, trying to maintain control. “I think Fin might be seeing a guy long-distance? Someone from Wellington. Bennet or something?”

“Oh really?”

“He’s coming to visit soon. Staying here.”

“That would be the first time he’s brought anyone to Mansfield.” Tom’s approval feels like a double-edged sword.

Be with whomever you like, just not my son.

“What about you, Ethan? Anyone you’re interested in?”

Ethan swallows, and as Tom’s eyes narrow, he says, “I quite like Cress?”

“Ah, yes. She seems lovely. Must have talked over an hour about my business last night. She even enquired if there’s any possibility of internship alongside her studies.”

Tom’s enthusiasm is too much for me to take. I start backing off when the direction of their conversation takes a hard turn.

“Tell me, how was paying rent and groceries on only your part-time pay?”

I frown. Tom had made Ethan pay rent? To force his hand so he’ll—what? Work for Tom full time? Give up on his dreams?

“I made do.”

“Didn’t have to do any extra babysitting on the side to supplement?”

Ethan casts his gaze towards the door and I shrink back, hoping he hasn’t seen me. “I would have done the babysitting anyway.”

“The money you’re earning part time is as much as you’d get full time at a kindergarten.”

Ethan says nothing.

“Look, I know it feels like I’m being unfair, but I’m trying to give you valuable life lessons. I want you to understand the consequences of your decisions.”

“Like being happy?”

Tom is quiet. “You might be happy for a while.” I slink further down the hall, heart sinking for him. “Next week I’m expecting rent again.”

“Next week I’ll have moved out.”

Another week. Not the rest of summer I thought we’d have. A week is all we have left, and the first day we’re so quiet together. We lean against the parapet on our turret in the morning, the evening too, but the gap between us is as large as the skies.

Conversation is trivial, pointless. Laughter, half-hearted.

I don’t mention overhearing his plans to move out.

He doesn’t share them with me.

He spends more time with Cress, showering her with sweet compliments whenever Tom is nearby. He even helps her hire a harp from the university music department. The big instrument sits in the billiard room and in the evenings, when I hide in my room, I hear the delicate music floating through the house, sweet and skilful.

Later, Ethan and Cress’s voices.

“Listening to you in a word? Tranquillity. But aren’t you tired of playing for us?”

“As long as I enjoy it, nothing tires me.”

I grab my headphones and plug my ears.

It’s Friday. For the first time I watch Cress, Ethan and Ford perform the entire play. It’s for our final grade; I have to.

The scene at the end comes at me like a fist shoving into my chest and pulling out my beating heart.

Those words are dropped, softly, on stage, in a dark theatre. I’m not even in speaking distance.

I’m just one of a crowd looking on. Witnessing happiness that isn’t quite tangible.

And then they kiss onstage . . .

Later, we all dress up and head—me separately—to Rush’s party. It’s hosted in a historic house in town, in a large wood-panelled hall with crystal chandeliers. He’s organised a black-tie catered dinner with live entertainment. Someone plays a piano. A violin.

No harp. I’m happy.

Two-dozen guests are seated around four tables. Rush’s parents and grandparents and Maria’s sit at the table closest to the musicians.

Seeing family here puts me on edge. It’s supposed to be a celebration of their graduating. It makes sense both sets of parents are here, but . . . My gaze keeps darting between smoothly dressed, nervously smiling Rush and Maria, in a long crimson sequined gown, seated between their mums.