“I’m not his girlfriend.”
Megan raises her eyebrows before making a show of peering at the photograph she’s just taken on what looks like a professional camera. “Really? Then why was my brother’s tongue down your throat?”
Heat floods my cheeks. “I—That is?—”
“Megan!” Ethan growls at her, and she plants her hands on her hips defiantly.
“Well, am I lying?” she demands. “You two were making out. It’s not a crime. I just want to know your girlfriend’s name.”
“I just told you I’m not?—”
“What are you children doing bickering outside?” A sharp voice comes from the doorway as the front door opens. “If you want to fight, do it inside like normal folks. Not on the street.”
My eyes flicker towards the door as a man steps out. For a moment, I freeze completely.
Is that what Ethan will look like in another twenty years?
The man standing at the top of the stairs has dark hair swept back and amber eyes filled with mild irritation. He looks like an older version of Ethan, apart from the casual dress shirt and slacks he’s wearing instead of Ethan’s usual impeccable suits.
“Hey, Dad!” Megan bounces up the steps and kisses the man on the cheek. “Wait till you see what I caught Ethan doing.”
“Megan, you delete that photo!” Ethan thunders.
“Make me,” Megan mocks him before hightailing it inside the building.
Ethan’s whole body goes rigid, and I see him clenching his injured hand into a fist.
“Stop it,” I whisper to him, grabbing his hand and forcing his fingers open with gentle pressure. “You’re not supposed to flex your hand. We’ll get the camera from her later.”
“This is why I don’t like coming home,” he mutters under his breath before nudging me up the steps.
“So this is your lady friend,” his father greets me. “Harold Wilder.”
“Natalie Thorne. It’s nice to meet you. And I’m his employee, not his lady friend.”
Harold’s gaze flicks to Ethan, and he clears his throat meaningfully. “If that’s what you kids are calling it these days, far be it for me to say any different.”
I follow his gaze and see my lipstick staining Ethan’s mouth in an unmistakable smear.
Oh, God. The humiliation creeps up on me like a rising tide.
“I’ll tell your mother you’re here. Maybe you should close the car door.”
I look over and see the wine bottle sitting forgotten in the car seat. Hurrying down the steps, I retrieve it and hand it to Ethan’s father. “Thank you for having me.”
He studies the label and then beams with genuine pleasure. “Helen loves a good white. Excellent choice. I’ll go open this.”
He closes the front door and heads inside, leaving us standing in the well-lit foyer with its polished marble floors and tasteful artwork.
I wait for his father to be out of earshot before grabbing Ethan by his tie and lifting my sleeve, hissing furiously at the same time. “Come here.”
He bends obediently, not even questioning what I’m trying to do. I wipe the lipstick off his mouth with my sleeve, mortified. “Not even one minute here, Ethan, and your family already thinks the worst of me!”
“Being my girlfriend isn’t a bad thing in their eyes,” Ethan says, only for me to give him a blazing look.
“Shut up, and let me wipe it off.”
He watches me patiently, amusement dancing in his eyes like golden sparks. My face feels scorching. “Not a word, Ethan. I know how this looks.”
