"Ethan..."
"Before you argue, know that this is both a thank you gift and a completely selfish request." His arms come around me from behind. "I want to see you in something beautiful. Something that makes you feel as incredible as you are."
I turn in his arms. "You didn't have to do this."
"I know. I wanted to." His fingers tilt my chin up. "Will you wear it? For me?"
The question is phrased as a request, but there's an expectation underneath it. A gentle command.
"Yes," I whisper.
"Good girl." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "I'll give you privacy to change. Come down when you're ready."
Once he's gone, I examine the dress more closely. It's stunning. Simple but elegant. It’s the kind of dress that would make anyone feel beautiful.
I slip it on, and it fits perfectly.
Of course it does.
I look at myself in the mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back. She looks confident. Sophisticated. Like she belongs in a house like this. Among this level of money and class. The soft material caresses my shoulders and I think for a second, I can do this, I belong.
Like she belongs with a man like Ethan.
I make my way downstairs just as the doorbell rings.
Ethan opens it to reveal an older woman with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in an elegant bun. Behind her is a younger woman with Ethan's same sharp cheekbones and intelligent gaze.
"Happy birthday, Mom. Happy birthday, Claire." Ethan pulls them both into a hug.
"Ethan, darling, you didn't have to—" His mother stops mid-sentence when she spots me on the stairs. "Oh. Who's this?"
I descend the rest of the stairs, suddenly nervous.
"Mom, Claire, this is Lily Preston." Ethan's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. "She's the miracle worker who made tonight possible."
"You're the personal shopper," Claire says, her eyes sharp with interest.
Personal shopper.
The words sting briefly. What did I expect him to say to his mother and sister? Girlfriend? I’m not his girlfriend.
"I am. It's so nice to meet you both."
Diane takes both my hands in hers, studying me with a mother's keen perception. "Aren't you lovely. And this dress looks fantastic on you. Ethan has excellent taste." How? Howcould she possibly know Ethan picked it out? Do I deny it? Ask her what she means?
"He does," I agree, meeting his eyes.
The doorbell rings again, and soon the house fills with family. Ethan’s siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles. All warm and welcoming and exactly the kind of chaos I imagine Ethan grew up with.
I should feel out of place. They are all strangers.
Instead, I feel like I'm home.
Throughout the evening, Ethan stays close by my side. His hand on my back as we move through the party. His quiet "you're doing great" when I start to look overwhelmed. His steady presence that grounds me.
And when dinner is served, when the food is perfect and the conversation flows and I see Diane and Claire laughing with pure joy, something in my chest expands.
I did this.
