Page 133 of Vows We Never Made

Mostly straightening up while I consider baking a pie—I’m no cook—but it’s awesome having so many luxurious bells and whistles at my disposal. The man spared no expense whenever he had this kitchen updated and modernized.

He also has a great room and a lovely sitting room that doubles as a small library. I can’t help but see my books living there while we’re married.

Temporarily, of course.

What bookaholic doesn’t dream her very own Beauty and the Beast library fantasy now and then?

It’s one of those crazy things I’ve wanted since I was a little girl—and now I almost have it.

A grand reading room I can walk through and sit in and read to my heart’s content as the sun sets the ocean on fire outside the large windows.

A dream I never thought I’d taste until now, not without a lottery win.

But Ethan Blackthorn is the kind of rich most people can’t comprehend.

He has space he might not see for weeks inside this big old house. I’m not sure he uses the library much outside of treating it like an auxiliary office.

Half the shelves are empty, filled with sparse modern stone art instead of the books.

And the books that are already there?

Oof.

They’re almost all slim business paperbacks and a smattering of girthy history titles. Plus a few old, worn storybooks from when he was a kid, which make me smile.

Hungry caterpillars, Wild Things, velveteen rabbits, and fuzzy Seuss creations never go out of style. These books make you happy whether you’re nine years old or ninety.

But who even has a library this awesome and keeps it so sparse?

Then again, he hasn’t been back in Portland that long, and this old house clearly had a big renovation. I wonder if he bought the place on a whim.

For him, it’s more of a place to crash that fits the stereotype of a billionaire’s grandson and heir to local real estate royalty.

I’m not sure it truly feels like a home—at least not yet.

Most of the days he’s here, he’s moving from the office to the kitchen to the great room to brood in front of the fire before he heads into the bedroom for the night.

The empty guestrooms feel decorative, more like living on a movie set or in a museum.

For some weird reason, that makes my heart ache.

This place is beautiful. There’s no reason Ethan should feel like a stranger in his own gorgeous home.

I let myself in through the front door with the key Ethan gave me, my mom’s words still ringing in my head with warning.

Hang on to that wonderful man!

…don’t I wish I could.

And not just because I’ve fallen in love with his house.

It’s a strange thought when the whole plan is for menotto hang on to him.

This entire arrangement—the freaking contract I signed—has a fixed beginning and end. I just hope we’ll part ways as friends when our six months is finally up.

But as I walk through the hallway, heading for the kitchen so I can pour myself a nice glass of wine after my stressful lunch, there’s a nagging sense I can’t keep avoiding.

I don’twantthis to end.