<b>Chapter </b><b>227 </b>
…
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Ethan stepped into my living room with the confidence of someone who belonged there. Connor trailed behind him, carrying bags of what smelled like expensive Italian cuisine. Walter Morrison barely had time to acknowledge Ethan with a quick nod before returning his attention to my treatment of Sergeant Ford.
Colonel Edwards, however, immediately rose to his feet. “Mr. Haxton,” he said<b>, </b>his tone carrying a hint of surprise beneath the professional courtesy. “It’s been a while.”
“Indeed it has, Colonel.” Ethan ced the thermal container he was carrying on my coffee table and made himselffortable on my sofa, as if he’d been there a hundred times before. “I believe thest time was back in September.”
I caught Colonel Edwards‘ expression shifting slightly as he observed Ethan’s ease in my home. The pieces were visiblying together in his mind–his matchmaking ns for his son were encountering an unexpected obstacle in the form of one of the most powerful men on the East Coast.
“Are you feeling unwell, Colonel?” Ethan asked, his voice carrying just the right amount of concern. “I didn’t expect to see you at a medical appointment.”
Colonel Edwards cleared his throat. “I’m just apanying Sergeant Ford for his treatment. Dr. Morrison speaks very highly of Miss Morgan’s abilities.”
Ethan’s gaze shifted to Tristan, who had just returned from the hallway. “All of you came to apany Sergeant
Ford?”
Sergeant Ford shifted ufortably. “I mentioned to Colonel Edwards how skilled Miss Morgan was, and he thought it might be good for his son to meet her. Make a few friends at Princeton before graduation.”
“And how’s that working out for you?” Ethan asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp. The question hung in the air, loaded with the confidence of someone who already knew the answer.
Tristan remained silent, his jaw tightening slightly. He clearly understood that whatever n his father had concocted was doomed from the start.
Connor<b>, </b>ever efficient, had already set up the food on my dining table. The aroma of authentic Italian cuisine filled the apartment.
“How is Sergeant Ford’s treatment progressing?” Ethan asked, turning his attention to me.
“It’s going well,” I replied, focusing on the micro–electrical stimtion I was applying to Ford’s shoulder. “The neural pathways are responding to treatment.”
“You were out of town the past couple of days?” I asked, not looking up from my work.
“Italy,” Ethan confirmed. “I was finalizing some details for your birthday gift.”
<b>8:02 </b><b>Fri</b><b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>26 </b><b>T </b>
I raised an eyebrow slightly, ncing at him. “My birthday<b>?</b><b>” </b>
“Sometime in March, isn’t it?” Ethan smiled.
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“Not necessarily,” I replied. March 8th was <b>the </b>day Frank had found me<b>, </b>but my actual birthday <b>as </b>Shadow was unknown. Not that <b>I’d </b>ever celebrated it or cared to find out the date.
“What gift?” I couldn’t help asking.
<b>“</b>A vineyard in Tuscany,” Ethan said casually, as if purchasing Italian real estate was as simple as buying coffee. “The climate is perfect for Sangiovese grapes.”
“Another vineyard,” I muttered under my breath.
Colonel Edwards watched our exchange with thinly veiled interest, his expression gradually shifting from hopeful to resigned. Tristan<b>, </b>meanwhile, seemed to be studying how I managed to carry on a conversation while performing the delicate procedure on Ford’s shoulder.
Ipleted the treatment fifteen minutester, carefully removing the electrodes and applying a specialized healingpound to Ford’s skin.
“The pain is significantly reduced,” Ford said, rotating his shoulder with genuine amazement. “I can’t thank you enough, Miss Morgan.”
“Same time next week,” I said, gathering my equipment. “The improvement should continue, but we’ll need at least two more sessions.”
Colonel Edwards rose from his seat, nodding to his son. “We should be going. Thank you for your time, Miss Morgan.” He turned to Ethan with a stiff smile. “Mr. Haxton, always a pleasure.”
‘Connor will see you out,” Ethan said, not bothering to get up. His dismissal was subtle but clear–a small assertion of territory that wasn’t lost on the Colonel.
Connor immediately moved toward the door, gesturing politely for the visitors to follow him. As they walked out, I heard Colonel Edwards mutter to his son, “That’s Ethan Haxton. The Haxton family practically owns the New York.”
‘I know who he is, Dad,” Tristan replied, his voice low. “And I know better than to trypeting with him for anything–or anyone.”
Once they were gone, Ethan moved to the dining table and began unpacking the food containers. The rich aroma of truffle and freshly made pasta filled the room.
“I brought osso buco and risotto from Tuscany’s best chef,” he said,dling a generous portion <b>of </b>soup into a bowl for me. “<b>He </b>insisted on preparing it himself when he heard it was for someone special.”
I sat down across from him, watching as he meticulously arranged the food. He ced the bowl in front of me, then selected the best pieces of meat from the main dish and transferred them to my te.
<b>8:02 </b><b>Fri</b><b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>26 </b>T
“How’s the vor?” he asked after I’d taken a few bites. “Too bold? Not enough seasoning?”
“It’s good,” I admitted. The food was exceptional–rich,plex vors that spoke of generations of culinary
tradition.
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“I was thinking,” Ethan continued<b>, </b><b>his </b>tone casual but his eyes attentive to my reaction, “we could visit the vineyard together. The estate has a vi overlooking the entire valley. The sunset view is supposedly breathtaking.”
I took another bite, considering his offer. “We’ll see.”
“Is that a polite ‘no‘?” he asked, his voice light but with an undercurrent of disappointment.
“It’s a ‘we’ll see,” I replied. “I already have several vineyards.”
Ethan’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. “You do?”
<b>“</b>Night has gifted me vineyards in France, Italy, Spain, and Argentina,” I exined. “Chris Jensen gave me two winepanies as well.”
“I should have known,” Ethan said, his enthusiasm visibly deting. “Of course they’d have already thought of that.”
“I don’t need material things,” I said, watching his expression. “But I appreciate the thought.”
Ethan nodded slowly. “I understand that. Still<b>, </b>I’m disappointed I couldn’t give you something you’d genuinely enjoy for your first birthday with me.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” I pointed out.
Ethan looked up, his eyes meeting mine with renewed interest.
I reached over and ced a piece of bread on his te. “Eat,” I said, my tone deliberately t to mask the unusual gesture of consideration.
His mood instantly brightened, a subtle smile ying at the corners of his mouth. He took a bite, watching me with obvious pleasure.
‘Did you ask me toe over because you knew Tristan Edwards would be here?” he asked after a moment. “Was I your shield against unwanted advances?”
I didn’t answer directly, taking another spoonful of the excellent risotto instead.
Ethan’s smile widened slightly. “I don’t mind, you know. I’m happy to be of service, whatever the reason.” He paused, his voice softening. “I’m just d you called me.”