Though they could hear distant sounds of laughing and splashing from the main pool area, the path was deserted.
“I had an idea,” Grey said suddenly, still singularly focused on the path.
“Oh yeah?”
“Should we do the thirty-six questions?”
“The what?”
She leaned her body against him a little more as she navigated a particularly harrowing stretch of terrain. Ethan hoped she couldn’t feel his heart start to pound harder.
“You know, the thirty-six questions that make strangers fall in love?” As if regretting what she’d said, she immediately tried to backtrack. “I mean. They just help encourage intimacy or whatever. Some psychologist came up with it. It might be worth a shot.”
Ethan tightened his grip on her, considering it. “You’re not worried we’ll fall in love?” he asked drily.
Grey whipped her head toward him.
“What?” she said, a little too loudly.
At that exact moment, her left heel landed squarely in a crack between the stones, and her ankle gave way. Ethan tried to catch her, but all he could do was watch her fall in slow motion as she slipped out of his arms and toppled to the ground.
“Fuck these fucking shoes,” she groaned, rolling herself into a seated position and clutching her ankle. Ethan instantly crouched down next to her, brushing her skirt aside to examine it. “No, it’s okay, you don’t have to—I’m fine—” she persisted, though they could both see her ankle was already swelling up like a balloon. “Just help me up, I can walk it off.”
Ethan was doubtful, but he still let her wrap her arms around his neck so he could pull her to her feet. She tentatively tried to put pressure on her injured foot, but hissed in pain, digging her nails into his shoulder.
“All right, that’s enough of that,” Ethan proclaimed, and in one motion swept her legs out from under her and scooped her off the ground. She gasped in protest.
“Wait! But what about our reservation?”
“Fuck our reservation,” he said, striding back toward the villa. She was on the taller side and wasn’t especially light in his arms, but they’d barely gotten a hundred feet away from the door. He could easily make it. “The only place you’re going is bed.”
Grey seemed like she was about to resist, but instead nestled her head into the space between his neck and shoulder with a small sigh. He tightened his grasp on her and tried to keep his intentions focused, repeating them over and over again like a mantra: he would bring her home. He would take care of her ankle. And he would leave her alone.
Bring her home. Take care of her. Leave her alone.
ETHAN HAD BARELY STOPPED MOVING from the moment he had dug the villa key out of his pocket, shouldered the door open, and deposited Grey on the couch. He’d immediately propped her leg up on a pile of pillows and unlaced her high-heeled sandal gently, almost tenderly. When she’d flinched in pain as his hand brushed a particularly sore spot, he’d paused and looked up at her with such concern that her heart skipped a beat.
Shortly he’d arranged her on the bed atop her pillow tower, with her phone in one hand and the television remote in the other. Her eyes were on him, though, following his movements as he paced around the room, on the phone with the concierge. He asked them politely but firmly to cancel their dinner reservation and send over the resort medic and as many ice packs as they had on hand. Five minutes after hanging up, he decided that he couldn’t wait, and barged out of the room to track down some ice himself.
With him gone, she had a chance to breathe. She tentatively flexed her foot, groaning when pain shot up her shin. Her ankle was starting to turn a charming shade of purple. Great. Three hours into her extended quality time with Ethan and she had already turned into one of those clumsy rom-com heroines who couldn’t get out of bed without falling down and breaking her nose—adorably, of course. This is what she got for trading her usual chunky heels for five-inch stilettos, the type she’d flat out refused to ever wear on the show. She swore to return those traitorous shoes as soon as she got home.
The medic showed up shortly before Ethan returned. He examined Grey and concluded that it was likely just a sprain, but she should probably get an X-ray when she returned to L.A., just to be safe. He bandaged her ankle and loaded her up with supplies: crutches, ice packs, extra bandages, little individual packets of ibuprofen. Only slightly less glamorous than her swag bag from the Emmys gifting suite.
After he left, Ethan hovered in the doorway.
“Are you okay?”
“More than okay. It’s nothing. Really. Except…” She hesitated. “I’m pretty hungry.”
Ethan exhaled, shaking his head. “Of course. Dinner. I totally forgot.”
He grabbed the room service menu out of the living room and flopped down on the bed, passing it to her. She flipped through it as he peered at it from his spot next to her, his chin dangerously close to brushing her shoulder. She examined the pages forward, then backward, then forward again.
“Any of that grab you?” Ethan asked finally.
“Honestly, the only thing that’s really speaking to me right now is Belgian waffles and bacon, but they only serve breakfast until eleven.” She flipped the page one more time. “I guess I’ll have the shiitake burger. Please.”
Ethan grabbed the menu out of her hand with a dramatic flourish. “You got it.”
He disappeared into the living room to make the call. She hoped he would come back, but she heard the television in the living room buzzing softly through the door.
She used this opportunity to hobble to the bathroom, wash her face, and fumble her way out of her dress and into lounge pants and a tank top. She hadn’t settled back into her position on the bed for long before she heard a knock on the front door, followed by Ethan’s muffled voice. A moment later, he pushed the room service cart into the room and placed one of the trays on the bed next to her.
“That was fast,” she commented, lifting up the lid of the tray to reveal—
She gasped. Two golden-brown Belgian waffles, surrounded by tiny dishes containing fresh berries, maple syrup, and butter. She peeked under the lid of the smaller dish to discover four slices of perfectly crisp bacon.
Grey looked up at him, her mouth open. “How did you—”
Ethan shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but obviously pleased by her reaction. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I’m very famous,” he said. She instantly recognized her words to him from their first dinner together.
She laughed, but only because she suspected she was about to cry. “Glad to see you’re using your powers for good instead of evil. For once.”
“It’s important to maintain balance in the universe.” He picked up the other tray, and turned toward the living room.
“Wait!” she cried out before she could stop herself. He cocked his head, questioning. She’d already opened her big mouth, might as well follow through. “You’re not going to eat with me?”
He froze. Then the side of his mouth crept up slightly.
“Sure. Okay.”
He set his tray on the table, then went out to the living room to gather some pillows from the couch, since all the ones on the bed were either behind her back or under her ankle. He opened the minibar, considered the contents, and pulled out a bottle of beer, popping the top off. He set himself up a respectful distance from her and lifted the lid off his own plate. Grey peered over to see what he’d ordered.
“Is that the shiitake burger?”
He grinned. “It sounded good.”
Grey balanced her plate on her lap and smothered her waffles with toppings. “Want to trade some fries for a piece of bacon?”
“Deal.”
They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. The waffles were everything Grey had hoped for, and once the edge was taken off her hunger, she began to relax. Maybe it was the cumulative effect of how strange the last two months had been, but something about this felt…comfortable. Natural. Words she definitely didn’t associate with her relationship with Ethan.