BEG FOR IT

Chapter 27 - Beatrix

Beatrix :

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                        "So... ugh, is it really okay?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I sit beside Ethan in the car.

We're parked right in front of the restaurant—The place where his father is already waiting.

Ethan sighs, dragging a hand through his hair as he turns to look at me. There's a trace of a smile on his lips.

                      "You've asked me that ten times," he says, "Maybe eleven."
 
                       "I don't want to do this too fast either," he admits, his voice quieter now. "But he's been calling non-stop. I lost count of how many times he reminded me."

I nod, biting my lip as my fingers tighten around the edge of my coat. After everything that happened this morning, the last place I expected to be was here.

Ethan didn't go home after dropping me off—he just stayed. There was no plan; it just sort of happened. We talked for a while, put on a movie, and before we knew it, the afternoon had quietly slipped into evening. Everything felt easy, like it always does with him. His dad wasn't even on my mind— But then, without warning, Ethan stood up, glanced at the time, and said, "We have to go." And now, here we are, parked outside the restaurant, sitting in silence as we stare at the path ahead.

I walk a few steps behind Ethan, my fingers brushing nervously against the hem of my sleeve. I can't quite bring myself to meet his father's eyes. A knot of nerves twists in my stomach, and the uncertainty of what might happen next makes me feel like my anxiety is laced into my very boots.

Dinner is quiet—almost painfully so. We eat in near silence, each clink of cutlery amplified by the tension hanging in the air. Whenever Ethan's father tries to speak, Ethan intercepts the conversation, answering curtly and leaving no room for further dialogue. After some awkward, half-hearted small talk, the atmosphere settles into a thick, uncomfortable stillness.

Then, without warning, Ethan's father leans forward.

                        "So, Beatrix," he says, eyes flicking toward mine with surprising swiftness, "if you don't mind... Could I send Ethan outside for a bit? I'd like to talk to you. Alone."

                       "No. That's not happening," Ethan says immediately, his voice flat, final.

His father sighs.

                        "Ethan, I invited you both here so I could get to know her. You're not giving me a chance."

Ethan leans back in his chair, arms folding.
                       "I'm answering everything. If you've got questions, ask. I'll answer."

                        "But I'd rather hear it from her," his father replies.

Ethan doesn't flinch.
                       "She's not talking to you without me."

This time, his father turns to me. His gaze isn't angry. It's pleading. Desperate, even. As though he's silently asking me to intervene, to help him cut through the wall his son has built between us.

                       "Look," he says, his voice softening as he faces Ethan again. "You can't decide that for her. What if she wants to talk? You haven't even asked her."

Ethan's gaze snaps to me.

I glance between them. No, I hadn't planned to speak—not really. Letting Ethan do the talking had felt like the safest choice. The easiest path through unfamiliar ground. But now, I can feel the weight of the room shifting toward me.