Chapter 27 Chapter 27: Ethan’s Proposal
I arrived at Ethan’s suite with Derek glued to my shoulder.
Ethan was sitting in the armchair with a glass of something amber-colored and a switched-off phone beside him. When the two of us walked in without knocking, he raised his head with the calm of someone already expecting bad news at night.
—Boss.
—Cavalier.
We said it at the same time. Derek stepped aside so I could speak first.
—Cavalier, Marcelo was in the garden. He called Vanessa. I heard him from the bathroom window. He said, exact words, we have a serious problem, he woke up and got married, we need to move on the marriage before it becomes legally solid. And then he said, move the other piece, the one who came in through the other door, she’s still inside.
Ethan set down the glass. Slowly.
—Repeat the last part.
—The other piece. The one who came in through the other door. She’s still inside.
—Again.
—The other piece, Cavalier. Marcelo has a woman planted inside this mansion. Ramón wasn’t the only one. Beatriz wasn’t the only one. There’s a third.
Ethan looked at Derek.
—The female staff who came in during the last seven months?
—Twelve, boss.
—How many are still here?
—Nine. One left before your transplant. One died.
—Beatriz.
—Beatriz.
—And one left after the guards were fired.
—Yes, boss. She resigned two weeks ago.
—We’d already put her on the suspect list.
—Yes.
—But according to my brother, the piece that matters is still inside. That means it’s one of the nine, not the one who left.
—Yes, boss.
—And she sleeps under the same roof as my mother and my wife.
—Yes, boss.
Ethan stayed silent for fifteen seconds. I was still standing beside the armchair, without sitting down, mascara half-smudged, still wearing the black dinner dress. Derek waited without moving.
—Derek.
—Yes.
—The nine women. By tomorrow at noon I want to know which one of them changed behavior in the last two weeks. Which one left the mansion more often than usual. Which one received outside calls. Which one asked for time off. Which one changed her routine. I don’t need all nine, I need the one who stands out. Andrés and two of your men go into domestic staff tomorrow dressed as new hires. They come in as extra garden and kitchen help. Understood?
—Understood, boss.
—One more thing.
—Yes.
—I don’t want my wife or my mother pouring themselves tea unless you or I know who made it. Repeat Gloria’s protocol, expanded.
—Yes, boss.
—Go set it up now.
Derek gave a slight nod and left. Closed the door behind him.
The two of us were alone. Me standing. Him in the armchair.
—Laura, sit down.
—Cavalier, give me two minutes. I need to take off these shoes before I can think.
—Take them off.
I sat in the armchair across from him. Slipped off the shoes. Left them beside the chair. Took down the bun Marcela had done for me at five that afternoon, let my hair fall loose. Breathed.
Ethan watched me for a while without speaking.
—Laura.
—Yes.
—What you did tonight, in the bathroom, coming straight to Derek. That wasn’t in the contract.
—No.
—Why did you do it?
—Because my mother-in-law sleeps in this house, Cavalier. And because two weeks ago somebody threw boiling tea at me in this very building and I was left not knowing who sent her. If there’s a third person inside, I’d rather know. That’s for me, not for you.
—Good.
—Good.
Pause.
He took a drink from his glass. Looked at me over the rim.
—Laura, I need to propose something to you. Not tonight. But I’m warning you now.
—Cavalier, this is not the moment.
—It’s the only moment I have. Tomorrow at noon Derek brings me the names. The day after tomorrow, the press again. The next day, Vanessa is going to try whatever she can to get herself inside this story. I need to tell you something before everything piles up on us.
I looked at him. His face looked tired. He’d gone through an entire day of balcony appearances, dinner with Marcelo, and nighttime conspiracy. And at eleven-thirty he was asking me for two more minutes.
—Go ahead.
He set down the glass. Leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. At first he didn’t look me in the eyes. He looked at the floor. Then slowly lifted his face.
—Laura. You signed a five-year contract for your mother’s heart, with property at the end and a clean exit. That’s what you have now. That doesn’t change. I respect that.
—Fine.
—But I want to offer you something else on top of it. Separately. It doesn’t cancel the contract. It adds to it.
—Go ahead.
—I’m offering you a real marriage. Public fidelity. Private loyalty. My house open to your family, your friend, your things. My name available if you want to use it. My bed available if you want to share it—or not, that’s your decision. Separate rooms or together, however you choose. Attendance at public events as my wife, not as my nurse. A voice in the family’s security decisions, because you’ve already earned it. And respect.
Pause.
—What I can’t offer you yet is love. That’s not my decision, that belongs to time. Maybe it comes. Maybe it doesn’t. I’m not going to lie to you ahead of time.
A longer pause.
—Laura, I can give you respect, loyalty, and a safe life. And the day any one of those three breaks, you can leave without signing anything else. No lawyers. No fight. The property and the money stay yours. I’ll sign that tomorrow in an addendum to the contract.
Pause. He looked me in the eyes.
—Three days, Laura. I’m giving you three days to decide. Don’t answer tonight. I don’t want an answer from a tired woman in a tight dress. You have until Sunday night. Agreed?
I looked at him. For a long time.
His hands rested on his knees, blond hair fallen over his forehead, blue eyes lighter than they’d been out on the balcony. The new heart—my mother’s heart—beating beneath the black shirt. And the face of a thirty-year-old man asking something of a woman who had already saved his life once without knowing it.
I took two deep breaths. The anger I’d carried since dinner with Marcelo faded. The anger I’d carried since discovering the bruised knuckles five days ago faded too. What remained was exhaustion. And something else.
—Cavalier.
—Yes.
—I heard you. And I have two things for you.
—Go ahead.
—First. The offer is decent. More decent than most offers I’ve had in my life, and most of those came from Alex, who was a pediatrician and boring. This one isn’t decent just because of the money. It’s decent because of the sentence. Respect, loyalty, and a safe life. Those are three different things, and you named them separately. I respect that.
—Good.
—Second. I’m not answering you Sunday night. I’m answering sooner, not because I’m in a hurry, but because until I answer you, I’m not going to sleep peacefully. And I need sleep.
—When then?
—Tomorrow at sunset.
—Good.
—And before that, one more thing, Cavalier.
—Go ahead.
—I still owe you… sorry. You still owe me eleven days. Those don’t disappear because of the proposal. That’s old debt. If I accept your offer, I’m still collecting.
—Good.
—What do you mean, good?
—Good that you’ll collect. That’s the woman I want the real marriage with, Laura. The one who collects. If you were the kind who forgives quickly, I wouldn’t be making this offer.
I laughed despite myself. A short, exhausted laugh.
—Cavalier, you’re a bastard.
—I know.
—And according to my mother, that’s the worst thing you can say to a man before going to bed.
—I’m not offended.
—I know.
I stood up. Picked my shoes off the floor. Walked to the door.
—Cavalier.
—Yes.
—One thing.
—Go ahead.
—If that third woman inside the mansion lays a hand on your mother this week, I’m not waiting for you to decide. I decide. Do you understand me?
He looked at me for a long moment. Nodded.
—I understand you.
—Good.
—Laura.
—Yes.
—Goodnight.
—Goodnight, Cavalier.
I left.
I walked barefoot through the east wing hallway, shoes in hand, the black dress weighing heavier on me than when I’d come downstairs in it. I didn’t go to Marcela’s room. I went to my suite, the one officially mine even though I almost never slept there. Closed the door.
I let myself fall onto the bed fully dressed. Didn’t bother taking off the half-smeared mascara.
I stared at the ceiling.
He had proposed marriage to me. Not like in the contract. Like between two people. And he’d given me three days to decide and promised that the day his decency ran out, I could leave without signing anything.
And I, thirty years old, emergency room nurse from Mount Sinai, raised by my mother in seventy square meters in Brooklyn, widowed in advance and married by contract, was going to answer him tomorrow at sunset.
—Mom —I said out loud, speaking to the ceiling—, this I really didn’t expect. And honestly, I’m going to tell you all about it the day I visit you.
I closed my eyes.
I didn’t fall asleep.
But for the first time in two weeks, I didn’t cry either.