Ethan. He’s talking to . . . someone. As if similarly compelled, he glances up.
I lose track of my conversation with Brandon in this new game of gaze tag. Ethan’s mask frames his eyes beautifully; everything about him lights up when he laughs.
Eventually, Ethan’s friend drifts away and Brandon goes after the guy with a polite “be right back.”
Ethan pushes off the wall and crosses to me. His eyes are taking in the Venetian mask and every inch of me bursts into goosebumps.
“What do you think of my place?” he says.
“Hardwood floors, stained glass windows, skylights. That’s about what I’ve seen so far.”
“Want a tour of the rest?”
I swallow. Nod.
He swallows too.
Tentatively, he hooks a finger around mine and an explosion of giddiness fires through me. I stumble as I follow him, and laugh.
He flings open door after door. Spare room—small, might be better as a study. Bathroom. Laundry. Linen cupboard. The hall extends around the corner and leads back to the kitchen, and across from it—
“Master bedroom,” he says and slowly opens the door.
The first step inside is dark, and the one point where we touch hums. “Do you sleep with the door open and the hall light on?” I whisper.
A soft chuckle. “Nightlight.”
Something stirs in the room, from the large queen bed in the corner.
“Ethan?” the voice is Cress’s. She sits up and like lightning our fingers drop.
“Cress?”
“Sorry,” she murmurs. “Some tipsy idiot opened the kitchen cupboard into my face.”
My vision adjusts to the light and I see her now, her mask off, holding an icepack to her face.
“I figured you wouldn’t mind me resting here for a bit?”
Ethan hurries to her. “Are you okay?” He turns his side lamp on, set to very dim, and he’s on his knees before Cress taking in the extent of her injuries.
I fight the flattening in my chest. I want to tell her she’s fine and send her back to the party. I want to race out and drown my frustration in a half-dozen mimosas.
I sit next to her and pat her hand and ask if she needs anything.
“Just some rest.” She looks at Ethan. “You don’t mind me in your bed, do you?”
Yes. Yes, he does.
“No, not at all.”
I lurch to my feet. “I’ll, ah, bring some water.”
I’m out of his room in seconds and then I’m wading through guests, desperate to get to the front door and order a taxi.
I’m typing Bennet an apology text when I bump into a cascade of red hair.
“Fin!” Maria throws her arms around my neck and kisses my cheeks. Her mask bumps against mine. “Finally, someone I know. Stick with me now.”
“Where’s Rush?”
“Parking the car. Hopefully not too far, our housewarming gift is heavy.”
She hooks an arm around mine and steers me back toward the drinks.
“How does it feel being engaged?” I ask, watching her reactions carefully.
She laughs. “I love all the attention. It’s very flattering.”
“I hope . . . I really hope you’ll both be happy.”
“Why wouldn’t we be? We have everything we could possibly need.”
“Love?”
She hesitates. “That too.”
“He’s a good person, Maria,” I say quietly. “I hope you’re both serious about making it work.”
She bristles. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve been with Rush since high school. Of course it’s serious. I even signed a pre-nup at the request of his parents. That’s how serious I am.”
“Well, good.”
“You know, you’re not a very nice friend, Fin. You’re constantly judging me. Oh, there’s Ford. Ford!” She calls out to him, waving, and I swivel quickly and slink in the opposite direction. Rush comes through the front door, struggling under the weight of a massive potted tree, and I help him settle it in the spare room.
“That’s beautiful.”
Rush looks pleased. “Hope Ethan likes it.”
“He will. Ah, Maria’s in the kitchen last I saw.”
His smile wanes and he nods.
“You okay, Rush?”
He waves the question away. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine.”
He heads off to find his fiancé, and I head outside, relieved to find Bennet again. He’s sitting on one side of the porch, sipping a drink and enjoying the violet streaks in the darkening sky. I sling myself beside him.
“What happened with the guy?”
“His girlfriend called.”
“Oh.”
“Not interested in complicated. Or closeted, thank you.”
I look away. “I’m not sure we always get a choice.”
“Is something going on, Fin?” he asks softly. “I feel like there’s more I’m missing.”
I open my mouth and shut it again. “I . . . No. Nothing’s going on.”
He raises a brow, then claps a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to share. But if you ever want someone to talk to . . .”
I nod, and he excuses himself to find the bathroom. He’s passing through the door when Ford emerges, sidling past him. He’s smiling like he’s found his favourite plaything.
He misinterprets my apprehension as he settles on my other side. “You’re sad that Bennet’s leaving.”