Before I can ask him what he’s doing, Ethan has leaped off the couch and is walking purposefully over to the fireplace. He grabs the heavy wooden frame of the portrait and works it loose from the wall. He lowers the painting to the floor, and after a moment of hesitation, he lays it against the wall, facing away from us.

“Ethan.” I squeeze my hands together, which are suddenly sweaty. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not? I’ll put it back before we leave. It’s not like she’s going to care.”

I stare at the space over the mantle, unable to articulate the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Here we are, spending the evening in Dr. Adrienne Hale’s house, drinking her wine, and now messing with her portrait on the wall. And I swiped one of the tapes from her secret room. I don’t believe in ghosts, but if I did, her ghost would be pissed right now.

But Ethan doesn’t seem bothered by it anymore, now that he’s taken the picture down and it’s turned away from us. He sits down beside me again on the sofa and tugs at the top button of my wool coat. “Think it’s warm enough to take this off?”

It has warmed up considerably in the last half hour. I let him undo the buttons on my coat, and after he does that, he kisses my neck. Usually, that’s my sweet spot—I go wild. But right now, I feel nothing.

“We should christen our new house,” he murmurs into my neck.

I kiss him back, trying to muster up some enthusiasm as he fumbles with the button on my jeans. But I can’t seem to enjoy it like I usually do. Even with the portrait turned around, I still feel Dr. Hale’s green eyes boring into me.

Chapter 9

Well, we do manage to christen the house. It might not be our new house, but we christened somebody’s house.

Ethan is in a predictably good mood when we’re finished. No matter how many times we’ve had sex, he still acts like it’s the greatest thing in the world and he can’t believe he got to score with me. It’s sweet. He’s a sweet guy. My friends were totally wrong about all the red flags. He’s not perfect, but who is?

Maybe this is the right time to tell him about the baby. He’s in a great mood, he’s excited about the house—how can there possibly be a better time?

“You’re quiet,” he notes as he zips up his khaki pants.

“Am I?”

“Yeah. You look pensive.”

My lips twitch. “Pensive?”

“Like you have something on your mind.”