Page 31 of Enemies Under One Roof

Hell.

As well as the difference Ruby and WillowGlen had made to their lives.

‘Yes, Ethan,’ she whispered gripping the arm of the chair as the significance of the moment hit.

He swallowed. ‘We’re in agreement, then.’

She nodded. ‘I think Ruby would be happy about this,’ she rasped, overcome with gratitude that they’d worked together and come up with something so fitting.

‘Me, too.’ He leant forward, placing his elbows on the table and linked his hands together. ‘And our decision to focus only on this, although she never restricted herself in any way.’

They’d discussed, numerous times, whether to support as many charities and worthwhile causes as possible, or hone in on one and really make a difference.

‘How about we honour the moment with a toast to Ruby?’ she suggested.

He grinned, a flash of white teeth. ‘With her favourite? And I don’t mean tea.’

Ivy’s lips twitched. ‘I couldn’t think of anything better.’

‘Wait here and I’ll go and grab it.’ Within seconds he was up and walking across the parquetry floor with his ground-eating stride before disappearing from view.

Ivy rose and moved the two chairs and table to remain in the sun, making the most of the weather and the few hours of daylight left.

A shiver of recognition raced down her spine, and she turned to see Ethan, carrying a silver wine bucket, a bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes.

Her belly fluttered, he looked like a big, bad bodyguard in his black jeans, jumper and boots, emanating a pulse-racing clash between safety and danger.

She dug her fingers into the back of her chair to keep herself exactly where she was, because she wasn’t going to race over and press herself against all that firm muscle.

He could never know how much he tempted her, how the feelings he evoked created a tug of war she could never win.

Like she’d telegraphed her thoughts, his eyes narrowed and his steps slowed before he placed everything wordlessly on the table.

Heat raced across her face—from the sun, she convinced herself, not her reaction to Ethan—as he popped the cork, eliciting a cheer from both of them, before filling the flutes.

‘To the next phase of WillowGlen. May it do Ruby proud and all who come here seeking solace,’ Ethan said, his voice thick.

Tapping her glass against his, she murmured, ‘To solace.’

She took a sip, then another, yet her senses were too preoccupied by him to appreciate its vintage. Desperately needing to restore her composure, she looked around the ballroom, willing its grandeur to distract her. The three enormous chandeliers glittered under an ornate coffered ceiling awash with gold leaf. Wood-panelled walls ran from the ceiling to the floor, with lampshade sconces halfway down. Red velvet armchairs and settees were scattered around the perimeter, next to various card and side tables.

She recalled the last time she was in here, the day she’d met Ethan, when as the cliché went, she’d seen him across a crowded ballroom and her life hadn’t been the same since.

He’d been standing with Luc and Cam, dressed, courtesy of the 1920s theme, in a pinstripe three-piece suit. Three tall, broad-shouldered, superb-looking men had been impossible to miss. But it was Ethan who’d tilted her universe like she’d sucked in the helium from the balloons dangling from the ceiling. An effect no-one else had ever had on her.

That’s why, she reasoned, for a few blissful hours she’d forgotten she didn’t have the right to feel like that, nor behave the way she had. She’d dropped Ivy as they’d walked out of the ballroom onto the terrace, down the sandstone steps and into the garden for some fresh air, and she’d let Annie reign.

She’d been haunted by the ultimate what ifs ever since. If she hadn’t killed her parents, and she’d been free, how would it have played out? Would they have stopped at a kiss, or one night, or something else entirely? Or had Ethan only been attracted to Ivy, not Annie? Or it wouldn’t have mattered because he didn’t do long-term relationships anyway? And now she knew what she did about his parents’ deaths, what scars was he nursing?

Her eyes misted, hating to think of him hurting.

‘Ivy?’ Her name, spoken in a deep timbre of concern, jerked her back to the present.

She blinked furiously and brushed a hand against her cheek before draining her glass.

‘I love this room,’ she said, anxious to hide her thoughts.

‘Would you care to dance?’ he asked, strangely formal.