Chapter 2He Remembers My Touch Not My Face

"It's said that during your illness, Ms. Sutton here was by your side through it all. Is it true that you two are close to tying the knot?"

The air in my lungs turned to stone. I watched Ethan on the stage.

He let that small, controlled smile grace his lips again. He raised his left hand, the ring on his fourth finger catching the light.

It was a simple silver band. Plain. Unadorned.

…It was the one I’d bought him. The one I worked two part-time jobs to afford, just to see him smile.

On the finger of the heir to the Prescott fortune, a ring that cheap was a paradox. A riddle.

He didn't seem to notice. His thumb stroked the worn metal, a gesture so familiar it made my chest ache.

"Yes," he said. "She and I are getting engaged."

As he spoke, his gaze swept the audience once more. It was a calculated, sweeping glance, but it paused, for a fraction of a second, on me. In my corner.

Then it was gone.

The microphone was passed to Olivia. "Ms. Sutton, we hear you're currently filming Director Hayes's new picture. He rarely casts newcomers. Did Mr. Prescott’s influence play a part in that?"

She smiled, a portrait of gracious honesty. "Of course."

"I've always been confident in my own abilities," she continued, "but I won't deny that Ethan has opened so many doors for me. I believe I've earned that kind of devotion."

Her candor won a ripple of appreciative murmurs.

Someone else called out, "Could you tell us a story from that time? About how you supported each other when he was at his lowest?"

The radiant smile on Olivia’s face froze.

In the strange, suspended silence that followed, time seemed to slow down.

After a long moment, it was Ethan who broke the tension with a soft laugh. He took the microphone. "There’s not much to tell."

His voice was smooth, dismissive. "The memories she and I share… they’re ours. That’s all that matters."

A sudden, hot sting filled my eyes. I gripped my pen, my head ducking down in a panic.

If I closed my eyes, I was right back there.

Ethan, in his youth, had been arrogant and reckless, making enemies easily. After his fall from grace, some of them came looking for trouble, showing up at our small apartment to torment him.

I'd thrown myself in front of him, and they'd shoved me down a short flight of stairs. I landed hard, my body a canvas of scrapes and blood.

The sight of it scared them off. They scrambled away, shouting insults over their shoulders.

I gritted my teeth, pulled myself up, and tried to pretend nothing had happened. I walked back to him. "Let's go. We're going home."

But Ethan's hand shot out and grabbed mine. "You're hurt. We have to go to the hospital."

"I'm not—"

"I can smell it! I smell blood!"

His voice cracked, rising in panic. A tear escaped from one of his clouded eyes and rolled down his cheek, like a star coated in ash. His arms, still the lean arms of a boy, wrapped around me in a desperate, tight embrace.

And when he spoke, the name he whispered was my sister's. "Olivia."

"When I get better," he vowed, his voice thick with emotion, "I'm going to give you the biggest wedding the world has ever seen."