MERRY 15

His sour attitude annoyed me, so I decided to make him work. I stopped by three more clothing stores and dumped all my bags on Ethan. He looked a bit incredulous, but he took the paper bags without a word of protest.

I felt like some rich guy dragging a private assistant around on a shopping spree. I’d seen people like that since I was a kid.

Deborah Quinn

As it happened, there was a missed call from that very person. I went looking for a restaurant, both to call her back and to give my legs a rest. I was starving, having kept an empty stomach all day for the shoot.

I vacillated between a pizza place, a burger joint, and a sandwich franchise before ducking into an alley. There was an Italian restaurant with a pretty decent atmosphere. I passed through the narrow terrace and took a seat inside.

“I’ll give you the honor of dining with me. If you feel like crying tears of joy, go to the bathroom and weep alone.”

Ethan gave a small smirk and sat across from me. He neatly organized the paper bags and set them on the floor.

“Regrettably, my tear ducts aren’t functioning well, so it’ll be hard to meet your expectations.”

“Check the function of your sense of humor. That’s more urgent.”

“That was a lost cause from the start.”

“And your tear ducts weren’t a lost cause from the start? Have you ever been easy with your tears? Did you cry a lot? Were you in pain?”

I had intended to shoot back dryly. But the moment he touched on an area I knew nothing about, my excitement got the better of me, and questions started popping out one after another. What’s more, I realized I was leaning forward without thinking. Damn it.

Ethan watched my over-the-top reaction for a moment, then took off his glasses and started cleaning them with his tie. If there was a speck on the lens that bothered him so much he couldn’t stand it, then the dust did me a favor; if it was his way of being considerate to buy me some time, I’d rather pretend I didn’t notice.

Ethan was as serious as a master craftsman while cleaning his glasses. With his eyes cast down and his long lashes drooping, he meticulously inspected the state of the lenses. While he was busy huffing huff huff breath onto them, I sat up straight. I cleared away the unanswered questions and changed the subject.

“Just take the free meal. The world won’t end because of it. Besides, you had no problem accepting that lemon candy yesterday.”

“I believe that belonged to Ms. Whittaker.”

“Susan gave it to me, so it was mine. If it really bugs you, just think of the meal as your daily wage. Since I’m the one ordering you around. We’re basically in an employer-employee relationship.”

I forced a stubborn, persuasive argument on this fastidious man—who had brought up “taking advantage” and being a “bad guy” over me just trying to buy him clothes—and scanned the menu. I ordered a pasta dish, a wood-fired pizza, and a cocktail with a hint of alcohol. Ethan chose a salad and a zero-calorie drink.

“Aren’t you eating too little? Then again, you always did eat like a bird.”

“I ate lunch while you were working.”

Traitor. I spat out a phrase in my head that was practically synonymous with the name Ethan Reed like a curse word, and pulled out my phone.

“I’m going to go make a call.”

Ethan stopped me as I tried to move.

“Just do it here. I am your stalker, after all.”

Is he really determined to eavesdrop on my call?

“Isn’t the perpetrator being a bit too bold with the victim? I’m the one who gets to weigh whether to grant a favor even if you were groveling.”

“If I were a person who followed common sense, I wouldn’t have become a perpetrator. And a victim who becomes generous just because a perpetrator grovels would also be someone lacking common sense.”

Lacking common sense as I was, I sat with poor posture and made the call right in front of him.

“Can you hear me? No? How about now?”

When I kindly cranked the volume to the max for the stalker’s benefit, a familiar voice flowed from the phone.

— Somerset.

The sound was so loud it felt like it was hitting my ear, so I lowered the volume slightly. Watching my fingers fumble with the buttons, Ethan covered his mouth with his hand. Hey, if you’re going to laugh, just laugh. It’s obvious even if you pretend you aren’t.

— Somerset?

Since I’d been quiet while glaring at him, my name was called again. I opened my mouth before the other person’s thin patience ran out.

“You called, Mother.”

Deborah Quinn. The woman who gave me my maternal DNA. I still call my mother “Mother” even though I’m fully grown, not because we have a cuddly relationship, but because of a past where she found it uncomfortable when I called her that in front of others.

I still had that bratty habit of doing exactly what my mother hated. So, it would be troublesome if anyone misunderstood me as a mama’s boy just based on the title.

However, seeing the slight flicker in Ethan’s eyes, it seemed he had already made a terrible misunderstanding. He moved his hand up to touch his eye area, but it was too late. I had already witnessed his agitation. I’d have to clear up the misunderstanding properly as soon as I finished the call.

— When are you free?

“Why do you care about my time? I think it’s polite to state your business first.”

— Your father contacted me. It seems he has business in New York. He said he wants to see your face for the first time in a while.

While I was mentally scanning my schedule, Ethan moved his chair and sat right next to me. He looked determined to eavesdrop. Was turning up the volume not enough? I scratched my forehead while glancing at him sideways. My neck felt stiff for no reason.

“When is he coming?”

— Next week.

“How about Tuesday or Wednesday evening next week?”

— Tuesday would be good. I’ll hang up now.

As soon as the brief call ended, Ethan moved back to the opposite side. I followed him with my eyes as I explained why I call my mother “Mother.” I even checked to see if he was taking it in.

“Got it? Do you understand?”

“You’ve been like that since before, so it’s nothing new.”

“I was young back then. I’d just become an adult.”

“Right, that’s possible. I understand. Though I’m not sure if you need my understanding.”

He gave a dull reaction and then asked:

“Is the father mentioned on the phone your biological father?”

“Cedric Beaufort.”

“You made plans with Mr. Beaufort?”

“Why are you so interested in… oh, right, you’re a stalker, so of course you’re interested. That makes sense. Yes, I’m meeting Cedric. I’ll let you know when the place and time are set. You’ll be following me anyway.”

Despite my kindness, he was indifferent. Really, he was impossible to pin down. For a stalker, he didn’t act like a stalker; then he’d act like a stalker and suddenly change; and just when I thought he wasn’t one, he’d do something stalkerish.

More than anything, Ethan is the stalker and I’m the victim, so why am I the one watching him more closely?

“Put the phone away.”

I told Ethan as he toyed with his phone, and he obeyed.

“We already ordered. It’s too late to check the menu.”

Again, he followed my lead and looked away from the menu.

“It’s an alleyway, so not many people pass by. There’s nothing to see.”

I nagged him as he looked outside. Just then, the server even placed the salad and drinks on the table, yet Ethan’s gaze didn’t move toward the table. Furthermore, he didn’t give even a crumb of a glance to me, sitting right across from him.

“The food you ordered is here. Eat.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t just say ‘sure.’ No, really, what are you looking at so intently out there?”

I scanned the area to see if there was actually something there, but nothing stood out. It was just an ordinary alley, with tables and flowerpots on a narrow terrace. Even those seats were empty, and since it was an awkward hour, there were no other customers.

“I don’t get it.”

“There are things you can’t see.”

“We both have eyes, what do you mean I can’t see it? Besides, my vision is better than yours, since you’re wearing glasses.”

“Well, I suppose that could be true.”

After my persistent coaxing, Ethan finally moved his gaze back to me. He was the first to end the brief eye contact and picked up his fork. His movements as he poked through the sauce-covered vegetables weren’t very enthusiastic. He stabbed a vegetable with his fork, then shook it off as he asked:

“Is Mr. Beaufort someone who can be trusted?”

I thought of a tall, large middle-aged man. He was a handsome man who had sublimated even the marks of time on his hollow cheeks into a dignified charm. I could clearly see him trying to command the room with a self-assured attitude. To him, who stood with his back to his son—who was receiving a concentrated fire of scandals, let alone whispering people—I had willingly given a sneer.