Chapter 34
"Gwennie," her mother hissed into her ear. "Stop slouching. The whole world is watching." Oh please, Mother, Gwen wanted to say. Like the entire world is **that** interested in MY 16th birthday party. And stop calling me Gwennie! "Yes, Mother," she replied boredly. Plastering a bright smile on her face for the flashing cameras. So she was rich. So she was basically promised to the grandson of one of the richest men in the country if not the world the moment she came of age. This was ridiculous, and she was hating every second! Bluebloods were so dull. She tugged self- consciously at the front of her strapless, flowing gown. And she abhored the color pink! "Gwennie, stop that. You're a lady. Stop embarrassing me." "Mother," she snapped, brown eyes flashing with unrestrained anger. "The only person embarrassing you is yourself," she looked down her nose at her mother's attire in disgust. The dress was the cheapest-looking, most vulgar scrap of material her daddy's millions could buy. Her mother didn't even look like a high dollar prostitute. She looked like a thinly veiled hooker. Her mother 'hmphed' and stalked away on wobbly stiletto heels, already slightly intoxicated.
"You're not having a good time, are you?" She whirled around, nearly losing her balance, and looked down into Ethan's blue eyes. "No. But." she trailed off. If they absolutely HAD to get married, Ethan damn well better hit a last minute growth spurt soon, or it'd NEVER work. She couldn't spend the rest of her life leaning DOWN to kiss her husband on the lips. "Ethan?" she questioned as she felt his hand slip into hers. "Where are we going? What about the party?" Ethan pulled her down endless halls, past countless doors and tipsy partygoers, and her golden brown eyes darted back and forth to make sure no one-especially not any photographers-had followed them when the solarium doors clicked shut behind them. "Ethan!" she hissed when she stubbed her toe on a table corner. "Shh," he held a finger to his lips. "What is this? Your own version of Mission Impossible? Ethan.give it up. There's nothing James Bond-esque about you." Ethan shot her one of his infamous annoyed looks. "You're more the behind the scenes guy. The brai.you know what? Let's forget that right now. WHAT are we doing HERE?" she motioned to their surroundings.
Ethan tugged at the tie at his neck uncomfortably, shuffling his feet and distributing his weight from one to the other. "I wanted to give you your present," he mumbled. "What?" Gwen crossed her arms about her chest impatiently. "I didn't want to do it.I wanted to give." "Ethan, for goodness sakes! Just tell me. Spit it out. You'll feel much better." AND lose the constipated expression. Or so she hoped. "Here," he said in a hurried whisper, thrusting a medium-sized black velvet box at her. Ethan admired the pale pink polish on her perfectly manicured nails as she slowly pried the lid open, unable to meet her eyes. "Ethan," she held a hand to her mouth. "It's.it's." "I didn't know what to get you," he muttered without raising his head. "I mean, our families practically have us married already, and it's weird. But I do like you, you know. You're not." he began, giving his tie another frustrated tug. "What I'm trying to say is you're not so bad. I wouldn't mind.I thought you'd like the charms," he stammered to a finish. "I love them," Gwen answered him with shimmering brown eyes as she fumbled to clasp the bracelet around her wrist. "So.you picked this out yourself," she murmured as his fingers replaced hers, and the clasp fastened easily. "Yes," Ethan gave her a nervous smile. "Why, Ethan Crane," she teased him. "You have surprisingly good taste. Thank you," she breathed, leaning forward to brush a sweet kiss against his cheek.
They smiled at each other for several seconds until the silence got too heavy, and Gwen suddenly laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. "So." "So," Ethan's voice was like an echo of her own. "Do you want to go back to the party?" he asked. Her nose wrinkled at the very thought, and she shook her head while answering, "No." "Me, neither," he said, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets. The music was softer in the solarium, but they could still hear its faint notes over the speaker system. "Do you want to dance?" he asked, clearing his throat. "Excuse me? Did you just ask me to dance?" Gwen smirked. "I thought you hated to dance." "Forget it," Ethan grumbled. "It was a stupid idea. We should just go back to the party." "Ethan.no," Gwen stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Ethan, don't go. Dance with me. Please," she added for good measure. "Please," she repeated. Holding out her hand for him to grasp. Ethan placed an awkward hand on her waist, and after a moment's preparation, began to move. Trampling her toes in the process! But the trampling part.she was used to THAT. Not being eye to eye.she couldn't take it. "This isn't going to work," she grumbled. Ethan's hand dropped from her waist, and he stepped back. Gwen reached down and pulled her heels off of her feet, tossing them onto the sofa, and stepped closer to Ethan again. "This is better, isn't it?" she smiled into his eyes. Her skirt rustled softly as they swayed to the music, and quite to her surprise-actually, to be fair, Ethan seemed more shocked than she-they felt drawn to each other. It was not their first kiss. But it may as well have been for all the finesse it lacked, noses bumping awkwardly, hands fumbling unsurely. It took several tries, and just when Gwen was sure they were getting it right, a noise in the hall startled them both, sending them into hiding.
Crouching behind some exotic plant that made her nose tickle sucked royally, she thought with a scowl as she desperately tried to hold her breath and not alert their visitor to their whereabouts. Probably the damn media. "Ethan.," she grabbed hold of his jacket, twisting fistfuls in her hand in an effort to steady herself when she felt she was sure to topple over. "Who." Ethan shook his head, holding a finger to his lips, and Gwen strained her ears to listen to the rather one-sided conversation going down just feet from them. ".I thought I told you not to contact me. Is it an emergency.Yes. I know she's stubborn.No, I'm not surprised..Well, that's impossible right now.No one can know.It's not.I can't tell my wife and children. What would they think." Gwen felt more than saw Ethan flinch beside her as recognition washed over him. Julian. Julian was speaking to someone on the phone. And from the sound of things, NO ONE was supposed to hear. Least of all them. "Ethan," she hissed. Her dark eyes glancing toward the open double doors. Julian had his back turned, deep in conversation. If they made a run for it, and were quiet, they could escape. And no one would be the wiser. "Ethan.let's go," she squeezed his hand with her own, breaking him out of his trance-like state. At first he didn't seem to want to leave, but with each snippet of conversation that reached his ears, he became more and more amenable to the idea. Gwen wanted to laugh at the absurdity of crawling on all fours in an expensive party gown and tuxedo to make a mad dash for the only escape route open to them. Once they made it into the hall, they scrambled to their feet and hurried away. ".keep her calm. I don't care how you do it.I don't know.Tell her it's not good for the baby if she gets upset.don't use this number again unless it's absolutely necessary.I don't give a damn if she's shaved a thousand years off your life expectancy.Goodbye.No..NO.Make my sister stay put.Goodbye," he jabbed at the end button frustratedly. Leave it to his stubborn little sister to give someone looking out for her best interests unending hell. Didn't she realize it was for the best? "For the best, Sister Dear," he sighed as he walked out of the solarium, failing to notice the doors were open when they shouldn't have been. And Gwen's heels lay unobserved against the sofa's cushions. Some secrets rarely stayed secrets for long.
"Gwennie," her mother hissed into her ear. "Stop slouching. The whole world is watching." Oh please, Mother, Gwen wanted to say. Like the entire world is **that** interested in MY 16th birthday party. And stop calling me Gwennie! "Yes, Mother," she replied boredly. Plastering a bright smile on her face for the flashing cameras. So she was rich. So she was basically promised to the grandson of one of the richest men in the country if not the world the moment she came of age. This was ridiculous, and she was hating every second! Bluebloods were so dull. She tugged self- consciously at the front of her strapless, flowing gown. And she abhored the color pink! "Gwennie, stop that. You're a lady. Stop embarrassing me." "Mother," she snapped, brown eyes flashing with unrestrained anger. "The only person embarrassing you is yourself," she looked down her nose at her mother's attire in disgust. The dress was the cheapest-looking, most vulgar scrap of material her daddy's millions could buy. Her mother didn't even look like a high dollar prostitute. She looked like a thinly veiled hooker. Her mother 'hmphed' and stalked away on wobbly stiletto heels, already slightly intoxicated.
"You're not having a good time, are you?" She whirled around, nearly losing her balance, and looked down into Ethan's blue eyes. "No. But." she trailed off. If they absolutely HAD to get married, Ethan damn well better hit a last minute growth spurt soon, or it'd NEVER work. She couldn't spend the rest of her life leaning DOWN to kiss her husband on the lips. "Ethan?" she questioned as she felt his hand slip into hers. "Where are we going? What about the party?" Ethan pulled her down endless halls, past countless doors and tipsy partygoers, and her golden brown eyes darted back and forth to make sure no one-especially not any photographers-had followed them when the solarium doors clicked shut behind them. "Ethan!" she hissed when she stubbed her toe on a table corner. "Shh," he held a finger to his lips. "What is this? Your own version of Mission Impossible? Ethan.give it up. There's nothing James Bond-esque about you." Ethan shot her one of his infamous annoyed looks. "You're more the behind the scenes guy. The brai.you know what? Let's forget that right now. WHAT are we doing HERE?" she motioned to their surroundings.
Ethan tugged at the tie at his neck uncomfortably, shuffling his feet and distributing his weight from one to the other. "I wanted to give you your present," he mumbled. "What?" Gwen crossed her arms about her chest impatiently. "I didn't want to do it.I wanted to give." "Ethan, for goodness sakes! Just tell me. Spit it out. You'll feel much better." AND lose the constipated expression. Or so she hoped. "Here," he said in a hurried whisper, thrusting a medium-sized black velvet box at her. Ethan admired the pale pink polish on her perfectly manicured nails as she slowly pried the lid open, unable to meet her eyes. "Ethan," she held a hand to her mouth. "It's.it's." "I didn't know what to get you," he muttered without raising his head. "I mean, our families practically have us married already, and it's weird. But I do like you, you know. You're not." he began, giving his tie another frustrated tug. "What I'm trying to say is you're not so bad. I wouldn't mind.I thought you'd like the charms," he stammered to a finish. "I love them," Gwen answered him with shimmering brown eyes as she fumbled to clasp the bracelet around her wrist. "So.you picked this out yourself," she murmured as his fingers replaced hers, and the clasp fastened easily. "Yes," Ethan gave her a nervous smile. "Why, Ethan Crane," she teased him. "You have surprisingly good taste. Thank you," she breathed, leaning forward to brush a sweet kiss against his cheek.
They smiled at each other for several seconds until the silence got too heavy, and Gwen suddenly laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. "So." "So," Ethan's voice was like an echo of her own. "Do you want to go back to the party?" he asked. Her nose wrinkled at the very thought, and she shook her head while answering, "No." "Me, neither," he said, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets. The music was softer in the solarium, but they could still hear its faint notes over the speaker system. "Do you want to dance?" he asked, clearing his throat. "Excuse me? Did you just ask me to dance?" Gwen smirked. "I thought you hated to dance." "Forget it," Ethan grumbled. "It was a stupid idea. We should just go back to the party." "Ethan.no," Gwen stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Ethan, don't go. Dance with me. Please," she added for good measure. "Please," she repeated. Holding out her hand for him to grasp. Ethan placed an awkward hand on her waist, and after a moment's preparation, began to move. Trampling her toes in the process! But the trampling part.she was used to THAT. Not being eye to eye.she couldn't take it. "This isn't going to work," she grumbled. Ethan's hand dropped from her waist, and he stepped back. Gwen reached down and pulled her heels off of her feet, tossing them onto the sofa, and stepped closer to Ethan again. "This is better, isn't it?" she smiled into his eyes. Her skirt rustled softly as they swayed to the music, and quite to her surprise-actually, to be fair, Ethan seemed more shocked than she-they felt drawn to each other. It was not their first kiss. But it may as well have been for all the finesse it lacked, noses bumping awkwardly, hands fumbling unsurely. It took several tries, and just when Gwen was sure they were getting it right, a noise in the hall startled them both, sending them into hiding.
Crouching behind some exotic plant that made her nose tickle sucked royally, she thought with a scowl as she desperately tried to hold her breath and not alert their visitor to their whereabouts. Probably the damn media. "Ethan.," she grabbed hold of his jacket, twisting fistfuls in her hand in an effort to steady herself when she felt she was sure to topple over. "Who." Ethan shook his head, holding a finger to his lips, and Gwen strained her ears to listen to the rather one-sided conversation going down just feet from them. ".I thought I told you not to contact me. Is it an emergency.Yes. I know she's stubborn.No, I'm not surprised..Well, that's impossible right now.No one can know.It's not.I can't tell my wife and children. What would they think." Gwen felt more than saw Ethan flinch beside her as recognition washed over him. Julian. Julian was speaking to someone on the phone. And from the sound of things, NO ONE was supposed to hear. Least of all them. "Ethan," she hissed. Her dark eyes glancing toward the open double doors. Julian had his back turned, deep in conversation. If they made a run for it, and were quiet, they could escape. And no one would be the wiser. "Ethan.let's go," she squeezed his hand with her own, breaking him out of his trance-like state. At first he didn't seem to want to leave, but with each snippet of conversation that reached his ears, he became more and more amenable to the idea. Gwen wanted to laugh at the absurdity of crawling on all fours in an expensive party gown and tuxedo to make a mad dash for the only escape route open to them. Once they made it into the hall, they scrambled to their feet and hurried away. ".keep her calm. I don't care how you do it.I don't know.Tell her it's not good for the baby if she gets upset.don't use this number again unless it's absolutely necessary.I don't give a damn if she's shaved a thousand years off your life expectancy.Goodbye.No..NO.Make my sister stay put.Goodbye," he jabbed at the end button frustratedly. Leave it to his stubborn little sister to give someone looking out for her best interests unending hell. Didn't she realize it was for the best? "For the best, Sister Dear," he sighed as he walked out of the solarium, failing to notice the doors were open when they shouldn't have been. And Gwen's heels lay unobserved against the sofa's cushions. Some secrets rarely stayed secrets for long.