The Dare Collection: May 2018. Clare Connelly
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laughs, wrapping an arm around me and holding me close to him, keeping me cradled to his side.
‘Belle Nuit,’ Ethan contradicts, naming one of the hottest eateries in New York.
I’ve heard of it, of course. It’s just over the bridge, hooked into Brooklyn, with a stunning view of the Manhattan skyline—and Brooklyn Bridge.
‘Ethan,’ I say softly. This is another rule that’s being flaunted. ‘Why don’t we just grab takeout and go back to yours? Or go to Benji’s diner...?’
‘Because.’ His eyes glint as they meet mine. ‘This place is nice.’
‘Nice?’ I roll my eyes. ‘It’s better than that.’
‘Have you been there?’
‘Well, no, but I mean it’s the place...’
‘Right.’
‘Don’t you think it’s breaking even more rules?’ I push, concern obvious in my question.
‘I’m leaving in a few days, Ally. Does it really matter?’
My heart stammers in my chest. Jesus Christ. A few days. Something about the finality of that pushes all my stupid objections aside. What can go wrong in a few days?
‘I guess not.’
I’m still torn.
His eyes hold mine and my temperature shoots up. Suddenly every touch, every word, is a prelude of what I know will come, and it is hyper-charged with awareness and need. There is a heat between us that is threatening to explode.
Traffic is unusually light, and we cruise over the bridge easily. I look out at the water as we go, admiring the view, thinking what a unique place in the world this is.
The restaurant is as glorious as I imagined. Grayson pulls up right at the front and though it’s discreetly decorated, the prestige of the place is marked. There are two waiters standing by the doors, dressed in tuxedos.
One pulls the restaurant door inwards at the same moment Grayson opens the car door, so that it’s easy for us to navigate our way in. There are paparazzi—I suspect they’re almost permanently camped out at a place like this. Is it stupid to come here?
‘My mom’s going to have kittens,’ I whisper under my breath as we move inside and another waiter appears to lead us to a table.
The place is packed, and I see two newscasters, an actress, and a famous-for-all-the-wrong-reasons Hollywood director and his twenty-something wife tucked away in a corner. We’re led to a booth near the windows. It has the advantage of being private and offering an unrivalled outlook of the twinkling lights of Manhattan.
‘This is beautiful.’
He nods, but he’s distracted. Again.
‘Does that bother you?’ he asks after several long seconds. It takes me a moment to recall what I have said.
‘Kind of. Not really.’ I shrug. ‘She’ll get over it. What’s one more crime to my name?’
His smile is tight. ‘I guess it shows how much she loves you.’
I don’t want to talk about my family, though. They’re their own unique brand of messed-up. I’ll deal with them later. After. Once all this over and I have breathing space to be me again.
‘Where do you go after this?’
I ask the question almost as though talking about it will desensitise me to the fact he is leaving. As though it will make the reality more pronounced.
‘London.’
‘For how long?’ Shit. Wrong question. It sounds needy.
‘A couple of weeks.’
He shrugs and my gut clenches. The idea of a couple of weeks without him is bad enough. Thank God we had the foresight to put limits on this when we did. I imagine being with him for any longer—for another month. Two. Three. And then having to end it. My heart shrivels.
I was supposed to be engaged to Jeremy, and yet I suspect leaving Ethan Ash would be a million times harder and worse. Strange, given how much I loved Jeremy.
Is it just the sex?
I don’t know, but I do know this is for best. It will still be hard. But it’s right to end it now, before we get too attached. Before we do anything stupid like fall in love.
Nothing good can come of love. One day, when I meet a guy I think I can settle down with, he will be my safe haven, not my storm.
Jeremy was a storm, and Ethan Ash is a cyclone...
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