Chapter 95 Half in Love
Elena: POV
The restaurant was one of those places that looked effortlessly elegant—exposed brick, soft Edison bulbs, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Biscayne Bay. The kind of spot where people came to celebrate anniversaries or close deals.
I felt out of place immediately.
Ethan's hand settled on the small of my back as we followed the hostess to a corner table. The touch was brief, professional, but it still made my skin prickle with awareness.
"This okay?" he asked, pulling out my chair.
I nodded, sinking into the seat. The view was stunning—Miami's skyline glittering across the water, boats bobbing in the marina below. But all I could focus on was the knot in my stomach.
Just dinner. You can do this.
Ethan sat across from me, and for a moment, we just... looked at each other.
He'd aged well. The boy I'd known in college—always a little rumpled, perpetually buried in design theory books—had sharpened into someone who looked comfortable in his own skin. Confident. Settled.
Everything I wasn't.
"You look beautiful," he said quietly.
I glanced down at the black dress Mom had picked. "Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself."
His laugh was soft. "I had to impress you somehow."
The server appeared with menus and a wine list.
"Any wine tonight?" Ethan asked, looking at me.
I hesitated for a moment. "No, I'll pass."
Then he ordered sparkling water for both of us.
"You don't have to skip the wine because of me," I said.
He smiled. "I want to drink what you're drinking."
His gaze was too intense, so I looked away.
"So," he changed the subject. "How's your mom doing?"
The question hit like a fist to the gut.
I forced my expression to stay neutral. Casual. Like he'd just asked about the weather.
"She's good," I said. Kept my voice light. "Really enjoying the Florida sunshine. She's been gardening a lot."
Liar.
The word echoed in my head. But I couldn't tell him. Couldn't put that weight on this dinner, on whatever fragile thing we were building here.
Stage four pancreatic cancer. Six months if we're lucky.
No. He didn't need to know that.
"That's great." Ethan smiled, but something flickered in his eyes. Like he knew I wasn't telling him everything. "I'm glad she's doing well."
I nodded, gripping my napkin under the table. "Yeah. She's... happy. Settled."
The lie tasted bitter.
Ethan studied me for a moment longer, then seemed to let it go. "And you? How are you settling in?"
"Fine." I grabbed the menu like a lifeline. "It's nice to be somewhere warm. Quiet."
Away from New York. Away from Julian. Away from the ghost of a baby I'll never hold.
The server returned. Ethan ordered the grilled snapper. I chose the risotto, mostly because it was the first thing my eyes landed on.
When the server left, Ethan leaned back in his chair, and I could feel him watching me again.
"What?" I asked, defensive.
"Nothing." He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just... I'm glad you came."
"Yeah, well." I shrugged. "You were persistent."
"That's one of my better qualities."
We fell into an easier rhythm after that. He talked about Miami—how different it was from New York, the art scene, the architecture. I contributed where I could, grateful for the distraction.
But there was something off.
Every few minutes, Ethan would pause mid-sentence, like he was about to say something, then think better of it. His fingers drummed against the table. His gaze would drift to the window, then snap back.
I recognized the signs. I'd spent three years watching Julian wrestle with words he didn't want to say.
"Okay, what's wrong?" I finally asked.
Ethan blinked. "What?"
"You've been acting weird since we sat down." I set down my fork. "Is something wrong? Whatever it is, just say it."
"No." He shook his head quickly. "God, no. That's not—" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Shit. I'm that obvious?"
"Kind of."
He let out a breath. "Okay. Yeah. There's something I need to ask you, but I don't want to..." He gestured vaguely. "I don't want you to think I'm using you or—"
"Ethan." I cut him off. "Just say it."
He met my eyes. For a moment, he looked exactly like the grad student who'd stumbled over his thesis defense, brilliant but terrified.
"My family won't stop calling," he said finally. "My mom, my sister, even my grandmother. They're all on this crusade to set me up with someone. Anyone." He grimaced. "Last month, they tried to arrange a date with my cousin's dentist."
Despite everything, I felt my lips twitch. "That bad?"
"Worse." He leaned forward. "They think I'm lonely. That I've been single too long. And they're not entirely wrong, but..." He paused. "The women they keep introducing me to, they're not—" He stopped himself. "They're not you."
My heart did a stupid little flip.
Don't. Don't do this to yourself.
"So I had an idea," Ethan continued. "And you can absolutely say no, but hear me out first."
I waited.
"What if we... pretended? Just for a while." He spoke quickly, like he was trying to get it all out before he lost his nerve. "You pretend to be my girlfriend. I tell my family we're dating. It gets them off my back, and you..." He hesitated. "You get a buffer. A reason to dodge questions about what happened in New York."
I stared at him.
The word bounced around my skull. It felt both absurd and... safe.
"I know it's weird," Ethan said. "But think about it. No pressure. No expectations. Just two friends helping each other out."
"Your family would buy that?" I asked slowly. "That we're together?"
"Why wouldn't they?" He smiled, and this time it was real. Warm.
"If they knew I had such a beautiful, smart, and kind girlfriend, they'd be thrilled." He paused. "Just pretending, of course. I wouldn't pressure you into anything."
"So... would you consider it?"