Page 86 of The Enemy of My Enemy Is… My Fake Boyfriend?

"Please don't stand so close to the edge," Ethan said.

"What?" I asked absentmindedly before remembering Ethan's fear of heights. I shoved off the rail and took a few steps back to stand beside him. "Oh, right. I forgot."

He put an arm around my shoulders. "Thank you."

"Sure." I leaned into his side, not sure what to do or say. How did one even process what had just happened, the fact that his uncle had the nerve to ask him for money. No, demand it. "I see why you never talk about that man. What a... a pompous prick."

Silence lingered between us for a moment, broken only by the hum of the city below, the frequent honking mixed with the siren of an ambulance in the distance. With a heavy sigh, Ethan finally began to speak, his voice tinged with a mixture of pain and resignation.

"As you can imagine, I don't really like to talk about my past," he confessed, his gaze fixed on the skyline. "But after what happened back there, I feel like I owe you an explanation."

I thought about saying something, reassuring him that he didn't owe me anything, but curiosity got the best of me. After all this time, I was dying to hear more about him, and besides my own selfish reasons, it would be good for him to talk about it, get it all out.

With his suit jacket on me, it was a bit awkward, but I somehow managed to get my arm around his waist, both of us still looking straight ahead, tucked into each other's sides. I felt his muscles relax a bit, the tension starting to ebb as time ticked past.

"So you know that my parents died in a car crash when I was little," he began. "Eight to be exact."

I nodded, scared to say anything lest I interrupt his flow.

"And my uncle, who is my dad's younger brother, took me in."

"Right," I whispered.

"My parents didn't have any money. They'd chosen the artistic route. I guess they were the definition of starving artists." He laughed that mirthless laugh I'd heard several times already tonight. "We lived in the tiniest apartment you could imagine, and they did that vertical thing, where all your possessions are on shelves on the wall. It's weird the things you remember from your childhood, like bikes hanging up next to the stove."

I smiled, although I doubted he noticed, too wrapped up in the past, in the memories that most likely haunted him now. "Were they nice?" I asked.

"Yeah. They were the complete opposite of my aunt and uncle. They actually loved me and we had fun together. There was always laughter, tons of music. Always music playing."

He painted such a warm picture, it made my heart clench for what was to come.

"But then, one day at school, they called me to the office, and my uncle was there. And that's when they told me... that my parents had been killed. And I was going to go home with my aunt and uncle."

"Oh, God." I couldn't even imagine.

"My mom had walked me to school that morning, like she did every day. I didn't even believe it. Sometimes, I still don't."

Tears built up and my throat tightened. "I'm so sorry."

He squeezed me tighter to his side, breathing deeply. "And the rest... well, I hate talking about that even more. I went from kind, loving parents tothat." He jerked his head toward the ballroom.

"Why were they like that?"

I felt his shoulders lift in a shrug. "Why's anybody like that? Resentment? Pent-up anger? I have no idea. But they resented me from that very first night when they had to cancel their plans.And my cousins were just as bad. Which was weird. They'd always been cool before. But they didn't want to share anything with me, and their parents were okay with that."

The gravity of his words was palpable, each syllable heavy with the weight of years of hurt and resentment. "Where are the cousins now?"

"One's in Europe, the other in Orange County also."

"Why did they even bother to take you in if they were going to be like that?" I wondered out loud, trying to make sense of feeling like an outsider in your own family.

"I have no fucking idea. Some warped sense of obligation I guess, a duty my uncle obviously felt burdened by."

As he spoke, I felt a surge of empathy wash over me, a deep-rooted ache for the pain Ethan had endured in silence for so long. If I could, I would take his pain away for myself, something I had never felt for anyone before, if I was being honest.

For a long while, there was nothing but the sound of our quiet breaths mingling in the crisp night air. And in that fleeting moment, I knew this was real. There was nothing fake about my feelings for Ethan.

In the relatively short time we'd been together, what I felt now far surpassed any feelings I'd ever had for Chase. This was much deeper, more meaningful, like a part of me had been unlocked that I never knew existed.

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