Chapter 2: Bridges unbuilt

Islands of golden light in the morning streamed in through floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling out onto plush carpeting in the master bedroom. It was one of those odd, teasing moments when I could have been anywhere. There were hazy memories hovering just beyond recall, marriage vows, champagne toasts, and whispers about our "unlikely match" that seemed like fragments of a dream.

And I rolled over to the other side of the bed, and the cold, intact sheets spoke in gory words. This wasn't a dream.

I was Mrs. Ethan Blackwell.

There was something in the heaviness of that realization. The husband to whom I had married, a stranger in so many ways had walked out after our strained showdown in the honeymoon suite last night and hadn't been back until very late last night. I'd heard the muffled sound of his footsteps down the hall, the firm click of his study door, and then nothing. He hadn't gone to bed.

I looked out over the sea of empty space on either side of me and sighed in exasperation. This was not the life I had envisioned. Marriage to Ethan had been a dream, a hope even, born of the spark of possibility that had glowed for one fleeting moment in his reserved eyes when we had first met. But now the dream seemed as cold and inaccessible as the man himself.

But I just wasn't going to let them go like that. Ethan hid behind an imaginary wall, and I wasn't ready to give up yet.

Hours slipped away as I navigated the tour of the mansion, taking whatever time I could, waiting for Ethan to arrive. There were just too many things unsaid, too many spaces that hung between us in the air. I had packed in my belongings that morning, folding dresses and putting them away in the massive walk-in closet.

I stroked my hair in the mirror in slow motions, the diamond bracelet that Ethan's mother had given me at the wedding glinting in the light. It was heavy on my wrist, it was more a shackle than an accessory, but I wore it on in stubborn silence.

If only I could reach Ethan, cut through the barriers he had constructed, then I might be able to convince him of the potential for this marriage to be something other than an imprisonment.

In the evening was when I had it all worked out in the finest detail. We would dine candlelit in a real dining room with sterling silver and fine china. I explained it to the workers and they helped me prepare one of Ethan's favorite food which I managed to learn by off-hand remarks of his mother then, while we were engrossed with wedding preparations. Then, I picked a deep green colored gown which would show off my body in ways that I hopefully prayed he would be unable to overlook.

I gasped as the front door finally opened. Ethan's footsteps were slow, echoing down the marble hallway. I smoothed the material of my dress and turned around when he entered the room.

His presence filled the room, attracting even in silence. His jacket was open, and he unfastened his tie as his eyes swept around the table to land on me, his eyes raked up and down my body sending a flush through me then his voice broke the silence. 

"What's this?" He asked gently, his voice a mix of curiosity and wonder.

"Dinner," I told him, trying to keep a casual tone, though I was getting butterflies dancing in my gut. "I thought we should have dinner together, as a couple."

One of his eyebrows crept higher up, his face a momentary flash of incredulity. For a split second, I assumed he'd sit down, but he shrugged off the jacket and hung it over the back of the chair. 

"I've already eaten at the office," he announced in a reserve that was almost acceptable.

Disappointment ensconced itself like a clenched fist within my chest. "Ethan, please," I pleaded softly. "Just for a little while."

He paused, his gaze locked with mine. The intensity of his gaze sent shivers sprinting down my spine, his eyes softened as he stared at me but they hardened instantly. 

"I'm exhausted, Lila," he answered at last, his voice softer but no less firm. "It's been a long day."

And with that, he turned and vanished into his study, the door clicking into place behind him.

I sighed and sat down to eat, staring at the other chair, empty on the opposite side of the table as candlelight flickered teasingly off the walls. I leaned back in my chair, staring down at the plates of food untouched in front of me. He wasn’t with me but his presence loomed strong and unyielding over me.

The days blew by in a blur of determination and unspoken rage, recklessly into each and every project that would cross Ethan's desk and remind him I wasn't an obligation he had in his life.

I determined one morning to get the kitchen staff to prepare him a sophisticated, gourmet meal to take into work. When he came downstairs, fastening cufflinks, I caught him at the front door.

"I had this made for you," I said to him, holding out the black box.

He paused, his fingers brushing against mine as he took it from me. That brief contact sent shivers down my flesh with electricity. He stared at me as if wondering if I also felt the jolt of electricity. 

"You didn't have to go through that trouble," he said to me, his voice soft as ever.

"I wanted to," I told him, feeling the heat on my cheeks from his intense look. "I thought it would brighten your day at least a bit."

For an instant, his face eased. His eyes caught mine, and in silence, something moved between us-an understanding, or, rather, curiosity.

"Thanks," he whispered softly but before he could open the door,I placed my hand on his arm and planted a peck on his cheek.

He looked at me with shock and wonder in his eyes, then he smiled weakly, and left.

That tiny fissure in his defenses was enough for me to proceed.

But it was two steps back for every step forward.

One evening as I passed through his study, I could hear the sound of his voice across the open half of the door, and it was crisp and brusque and irrationally grouchy.

"I told you I don't have time for this," he said with annoyance coloring his tone. "No, I am not going to play house with anyone. Yes, I understand what is being demanded of me, you don’t have to keep reminding me of it."

I was numb, and my heart sank with each sentence, each of them stung like a whiplash that cut tidily through me.

"I'll fix it," he went on. "Leave it alone until I fix it in my own way."

The chair groaned, and I took off down the hall, grabbing the wall for support, trying to act as if I hadn't heard anything. But his words lingered with me, resonating in my head long after I had slammed the bedroom door shut.

By the end of the week, I was bewildered. Nothing I did got through to Ethan. As remote as I'd always believed him to be, his words were polite but icy. But even in iciness, fleeting, charged moments had lingered between us with the thrum of something hinted and unspoken.

One evening, facing away from the bay window of our bedroom, staring out into the dark shrouded garden, the only noise was the gentle hum of crickets. I felt hollow and unloved.

I recalled the day I had first met Ethan, how closed off he was but there was something, some sort of flame within him, the way he stood and the intensity in the way he gazed at me, it took my breath away. That alone was enough to make me believe that there could be something between us. 

But now, leaning my forehead on the cold glass, I could not help wondering if it all had been only a dream.

But still, I was not going to abandon hope. Not yet.

The next morning when Ethan descended for breakfast, I received him with the warmest smile I could muster.

"I hope you have a good day," I said to him as he picked up his briefcase.

He stood there for a moment, his eyes on me, assessing me up and down. He moved towards me as if to hug or kiss me but he caught himself as he moved back and cleared his throat. "Thank you," he replied, his voice low in his throat.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

And for now, something was enough.