Page 9 of Kept

Today though, his face is creased in a smile as he steps out, carrying a large brown bag. He’s sharply dressed as usual, his gray suit buttoned neatly over a crimson shirt, the color a few shades darker than his hair. Although his hair has a few more strands of gray now than it used to.

The bag crinkles under his touch as he pauses, doing his customary sweep around the room. His smile widens, showing all of his teeth when he pauses on me. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Crossing to the counter, he sets the bag of groceries down before walking over to me, pausing a foot or so away as his hazel eyes sweep over my dress, my body, my hair.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, and my muscles relax. “Your hair looks more beautiful every time I see you, Zella.”

Smiling, I rock back on my heels. “Thank you. How was your trip?”

“Productive.” He casts an assessing glance at the statues. “I may have another to join my collection soon.”

My lips part. A new statue. He hasn’t brought one for a long time, his frequent trips abroad as a renowned art dealer often unsuccessful. He’s very particular in his tastes.

“We might need to make some space, though. It’s looking a little busy in here.” Ethan walks over to where Dante sits, and my heart pulses inside my chest.

“There’s some space over there,” I blurt out, waving my hand. “Next to Maria.”

He tilts his head. “Hmmm. You may be right.”

I bite my lip as relief fills me.

I can’t lose Dante. Maybe it’s a little strange to have a statue as your best friend, but beggars can’t be choosers. And he’s a good listener.

“Now, then,” Ethan says briskly, turning to me. “Get those groceries packed away while I take a look around. There may be a little something in there for you.”

“Really?” Excitement curls around me as I try to move elegantly towards the bag, despite wanting to run over and rip it open. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says distractedly, already moving towards my bedroom. “Get yourself together, and I’ll be back.”

As Ethan carries out his inspection, I keep my ear out for any disapproving sounds, but it’s quiet. The whole apartment is spotless, my bed made, the bathroom back to its original clean state after the chaos of washing my hair earlier. Nothing for him to pick apart.

Unpacking the goods, I take a moment to thank the coffee gods when I spot a fresh bag of ground Italian coffee inside. A trophy from his recent trip.

Everything else gets packed away quickly, and I don’t find what I’m looking for until I reach the bottom. My fingers graze the brown paper, and I tug out the rectangular parcel with a grin.

“I know what this is,” I say delightedly to Ethan as he comes back in. Crossing his arms, he raises his graying eyebrows at me. His face looks more tanned than usual.

“You’d better open it then.”

Despite my excitement, I take my time unwrapping it, savoring every moment as the pretty red and white cover is revealed, embossed with gold foil that spells out the title.

“Jane Eyre,” I read out. Ethan nods.

“It’s a classic. You’ll enjoy it, I think.”

“I’m sure I will. Thank you, Ethan.” I add it to my shelf, and Ethan clears his throat. Taking the hint, I pull the small leather stool from the corner and set it up in front of my armchair. Ethan takes a seat as I head to my bedroom, taking out the special silver brush he brought me after a trip in Vienna several years ago.

When I’m seated, Ethan lifts his hands to my hair. I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of the brush moving through. So much nicer when my arms aren’t aching from the weight of trying to do it myself.

He gently works his way through, always starting at the ends and moving upwards. I can almost feel his fingers brush my back, but he’s careful to keep them away from me.

My hair is the only way he can touch me. We’ve never hugged, and as far as I know, he hasn’t picked me up since I was old enough to walk.

For a second, I try to imagine Ethan with a crying baby. The image doesn’t fit.

“Ethan?” I ask quietly. He hums an affirmative, so I take a breath. “How did you… look after me? When I was a baby, I mean. How did it work?”

His fingers pause in their work. I expect him to dismiss the question as he so often does, but he surprises me when he actually answers it. “I hired a nursemaid.”

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