I am absolutely terrified to tell Ethan. Waiting to have children was something he felt strongly about. He wanted us to have this time to ourselves. I have effectively ruined all of his plans. And I’m not sure how he’s going to take it. Not well, I assume.
Ethan has a temper. He has never unleashed it on me, but I have observed it in action. He is the CEO of a small startup company that is taking off, and I overheard him once on the phone after one of his employees had screwed something up. My jaw was hanging open at the way he shouted at that poor man on the phone. I had no idea he had it in him. It was a worrying reminder of the fact that I’ve only known my husband for a little over a year. I don’t know yet exactly what he’s like.
So I’ve been carrying around this secret for the last week and a half. I have to tell him soon, but I’m dreading it with every fiber of my being. I don’t want him to scream at me like he did at that man on the phone. That will be the official end of our honeymoon.
I wonder if now is the right time. When he’s just successfully gotten the heat working, he is excited about the prospect of purchasing this house （even though there’s no way we will actually live here）， and he’s got a glass of wine in his hand. And he’s watching me expectantly, to see what I think of the wine.
I should tell him now. It makes sense.
But I don’t.
Instead, I tip the glass of Cabernet back and let it just barely moisten my tongue. Then I lick my lips. “Mmm. Delicious.”
“Can you taste the menthol note?”
“I… can.”
Ethan takes another long gulp from his wine glass while I take another pretend sip from mine. He reaches for my hand and I let him take it. “This is nice,” he sighs.
“Mmm.”
“I can just imagine us living here.” He squeezes my hand as his blue eyes become distant. “The two of us enjoying a bottle of wine together—a good wine—while the fireplace is raging and keeping us warm.”
“And a few kids toddling around,” I add, watching his reaction.
He laughs. “Maybe in a few years.”
Well, at least he didn’t completely freak out at the idea of it. I guess it was too much to hope for that I would mention children, and he would immediately say, Yes! I totally changed my mind! Let’s get you pregnant right now!
He scoots closer to me and throws an arm around my shoulders, drawing me closer to him. It gives me an excuse to lower my wine glass onto the coffee table. It really is nice and cozy, snuggled up with him on the couch. Maybe this house isn’t so bad. He seems to love it. And if we decide to live here, it will soften the blow of my surprise pregnancy.
But then my eyes lift over the mantle. To the portrait of Dr. Adrienne Hale. It feels like she’s staring down at us with those piercing green eyes, her hair a raging fire around her face. I let out a shudder.
“Still cold?” Ethan murmurs into my hair.
“No…”
He follows my gaze to the portrait hanging on the wall. His eyes darken the way they did when he first saw it. I smile sheepishly. “Sorry, it’s just giving me the creeps.”
“Yeah, I hate it too.” A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Let me take care of it.”
“What?”
Before I can ask him what he’s doing, Ethan has leaped off the couch and is walking purposefully over to the fireplace. He grabs the heavy wooden frame of the portrait and works it loose from the wall. He lowers the painting to the floor, and after a moment of hesitation, he lays it against the wall, facing away from us.
“Ethan.” I squeeze my hands together, which are suddenly sweaty. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not? I’ll put it back before we leave. It’s not like she’s going to care.”
I stare at the space over the mantle, unable to articulate the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Here we are, spending the evening in Dr. Adrienne Hale’s house, drinking her wine, and now messing with her portrait on the wall. And I swiped one of the tapes from her secret room. I don’t believe in ghosts, but if I did, her ghost would be pissed right now.
But Ethan doesn’t seem bothered by it anymore, now that he’s taken the picture down and it’s turned away from us. He sits down beside me again on the sofa and tugs at the top button of my wool coat. “Think it’s warm enough to take this off?”
It has warmed up considerably in the last half hour. I let him undo the buttons on my coat, and after he does that, he kisses my neck. Usually, that’s my sweet spot—I go wild. But right now, I feel nothing.