Chapter 3: The fortress within

ETHAN'S POV 

The sound of my pen scratching across the paper was the only thing tethering me to reality as chaos swirled around the office. Numbers, reports, projections, they were safe, predictable. They didn’t ask questions or pry into the disaster that was my personal life. They didn’t care about the sham of a marriage I’d been forced into.

Business didn't need my heart.

The phone on my desk jingled, and I glanced over at the name scrolling on the face of the phone. My jaw was clenched. Of course it would be her.

I let it ring.

A minute later, my assistant's voice crackled over the intercom. "Mr. Blackwell, your mother is on line one. Shall I connect her?"

"No," I said curtly. "Tell her I'm in a meeting."

I leaned back in my chair and exhaled deeply. I didn't hate my mother, deep down, I really love her, but her meddling finally went too far. Her arrangement for me to marry Lila was the ultimate betrayal.

Lila.

She roused in me a confused tempest.

I did not want a wife. I did not want expectations, burdens, or exposures that came with opening the door to someone in my life. And there she'd been, bright-eyed and expectant, putting it in so much work to make sure she works things out with me. 

I had expected she'd be one of the women who'd been seduced by my name, by my fortune, by the power and comfort my name brought them. But in her, I saw something different.

Something risky.

It was a long day, interminable bottomless oceans of meetings, false handshaking and congratulations on my married state.

"How's married life working out for you, Mr. Blackwell?" a voice laughed from one of them as we sat down to lunch, there was definitely a sneer hanging on his lips.

"It's an adjustment," I tried to say with my best dead emotionless quality to the tone of my voice.

They laughed, as though I'd said some sort of joke. I hadn't.

That night, bone-tired, I got into my car. The thought of having to go back to that mansion, of going into that house did not sit well with me, the mansion was no longer a haven, a refuge; and the thought was tightening my chest.

But I went anyway.

Aside from the muted movement of personnel moving through the halls, the house was still when I came in. Untying my tie, I walked in on the new varnished wood scent blended with flowers in the air.

"Evening, Mr. Blackwell," one of the housemaids replied in a pant and crossed the hall.

I nodded, glancing toward the foyer: Lila was nowhere to be seen, but as a lingering afterimage, the presence she'd left behind seeped into each room.

I found her in the living room, all snuggled up on the couch with a book propped against her knees. Her hair spilled loose waves down her shoulder, catching reflected light as if it had been spun of gold. Her dress clung to soft, feminine lines, and I couldn't help but stare for a moment. For a moment, I wished I was the chair she was sitting on, I wanted to have her sit on my lap while I feel her soft, warm curves. But I shook the thoughts off as I approached her. 

She glanced up as I walked towards her, a smile curving over her face.

"Ethan," she said, putting the book beside her. "You're home."

"I am," I said, my tone gruffer than I had intended.

"Dinner's ready," she said, and then stood up, smoothing the fabric of her dress. "I had the chef prepare something special."

There was a supplicating tone to her voice that it tugged at something inside me.

"I already ate," I lied.

Her smile faltered but she quickly regained it. "Oh. Well, perhaps you'd like a cup of tea? I can make one for you."

"I'm all right, thank you," I said, and it came out harsher than I'd meant it to be. "It's been a very long day."

I gave her no opportunity to utter even one word, turning and making my way down to my study, slamming the door closed afterwards.

This had been my sanctuary all along. When my own world is closing in on me, I allow work to envelop me totally, so that I can forget my ills for an hour or two. Tonight, though, even the familiar atmosphere-so quietly paneled in dark wood and so lightly scented with old books-would not calm this restive stirring in my head.

Lila.

Her name echoed in my mind alone and was paired with the image of her smiling, the way her smile softened her features, lit her eyes with a fire beyond my understanding.

Why did she look at me  that way? As though there was something within me that needed to be saved?

I looked at the stack of reports on my desk,  a wave of smudged words which no longer held much sense in my mind, as my mind was somewhere else, Lila was who I had in mind, the way the waist line was cut on her when she stood before me in that body-fitting dress that accentuated her curves, her light floral perfume drew me in. I wanted to kiss her back in the living room but I stifled the desire.

I reminded myself that it was not needed. Longing stirred in my chest, bitter and unwanted. I curled my hand again, stifling the feeling.

She was lovely; no denial there whatever, but all the loveliness came at a price. A price that simply could not be paid when I still had no idea as to what her true motives towards me were. 

Was she trying to get me to fall for her so I could hand her favors or was she truly trying to build on this marriage?

The very idea caused a shiver to run down my spine.

Time ticked on. At last, when I came out of my study, the house lay under an unnatural silence. The faint light filtering through the door fell around me as I went upstairs to the master bedroom. 

I hesitated for a moment. 

Then I pushed the door open and she was seated before the bay window, knees tucked up against her chin, gazing out into darkness. The soft, gentle light from the lamps illuminated her with a gold sheen almost supernatural.

It took a long while before she even had the awareness that I was present in the room, and so I simply stood and observed her.

She looked. Beautiful. Ethereal. Delicate. Vulnerable. There was, nonetheless, a quiet strength in the manner in which she sat, a feeling that she would not let the world bear down too intensely on her.

"Lila," I spoke, my voice intruding into the stillness.

She turned to me, looking surprised. "Oh, Ethan. I didn't hear you come in."

"You should be in bed," I spoke, softly.

"I couldn't sleep," she replied, standing and smoothing her gown. "I was just. thinking."

"About what?"

She stared at the ground, her eyes refusing to meet mine. "About us. About how to make this work."

I interpreted her words as a punch to the gut.

"Lila…. "

"I know you didn't want this," she burst out, the words rushing to halt me. "But I'm trying, Ethan. I'm really trying."

She looked up at me then, her eyes enormous and desperate, and I couldn't catch my breath for a moment. The hopefulness and wistfulness of her gaze shattered something deep inside me.

I want her. God have mercy, I really want her.

But I just couldn't let her in. Not until I could figure out if she was sincere or not.

"Goodnight, Lila," I was finally able to force out my words.

I exited the room quietly, and then noiselessly shut the door behind me.

That night, sleeping in the guest room bed, her words repeatedly ran through my head like a broken record.

"I'm trying, Ethan. I'm really trying."

She was actually doing everything for this marriage, and I just kept pushing her aside.

What was I supposed to do? Open and care for her, and then have it all collapse at the end?

I redirected my attention, my eyes falling on the photo album snap of us on the wedding day. Lila smiled, glittered, and was alive. I was also smiling, I could not recall smiling, but in the photo I was.

I leaned forward, my hand extended towards the frame examining it for a long while before placing it face down.

Lila wanted to build with me but I didn't know if I had anything to give.