When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 32

Amelia

Ethan insisted on accompanying me to meet Noah, and eventually, he took control of the situation, choosing the lunch spot himself—the Black Rose Restaurant—and directly informed Noah.

I smoothed out my dress as Ethan and I stepped out of his car in front of the Black Rose Restaurant at noon. The place screamed money, with its understated exterior and discreet valet service. I’d been to plenty of upscale spots in New York, but this one was more luxurious than any I’d ever visited, even in the harsh light of midday.

Inside, the restaurant was a vision of elegance. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over marble floors and dark wood tables, undimmed by the sunlight streaming through the windows. A pianist played smooth jazz on a shiny grand piano, the notes drifting through the air like a calming backdrop to the lunch crowd’s quiet murmurs.

The restaurant manager appeared almost instantly, his demeanor polite and formal. “Mr. Black, Mrs. Black, welcome. If you’ll follow me.”

We walked down a short, dimly lit hallway lined with abstract art, the sounds of the main dining area fading behind us. The manager opened a heavy wooden door, revealing a private room that matched the rest of the place in opulence—plush velvet chairs, a polished mahogany table, and a smaller chandelier casting a soft light over everything. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a stunning view of Manhattan’s skyline, shimmering under the midday sun.

What threw me off was how Ethan slid into the seat right next to me instead of across the table. It felt way too personal, like we’d done this a million times. His shoulder brushed mine every now and then, sending a little shiver down my spine that I didn’t want to acknowledge.

I watched, somewhat curious, as the manager didn’t even ask Ethan what he wanted to drink. “The Dom Pérignon 2008 for Mr. Black,” he instructed a server nearby, like it was second nature.

I shot Ethan a sideways look, raising an eyebrow. The staff knowing him this well—he must come here often.

My thoughts were interrupted by some noise at the hallway entrance to our room. I turned and saw Olivia storming in, rocking a bright red dress that matched her fiery energy, with Noah trailing behind her, looking like a kid who’d just been scolded.

“I won’t let you do anything to Amelia,” Olivia hissed, loud enough to carry into the room even though she was trying to keep it down.

I had mentioned to Olivia before about Noah inviting me to lunch, and it seemed like she was worried about me, so she came along herself.

As they got closer, Noah’s eyes widened upon seeing Ethan and me sitting so close together.

“Hang on, you two…” He looked back and forth between us, totally confused. “When did this happen?” He glanced around, noticing no one else seemed shocked. “Wait, am I the only one who didn’t know?”

I felt a pang of sympathy for him. This whole mess of secrets and half-truths was getting messier by the day.

"Ethan, why don't you tell me?" Noah asked.

"Isn't it obvious, Noah?" Ethan retorted.

Olivia swooped in, grabbing a chair. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first to be blindsided, and you won’t be the last,” she said with a slick charm, tossing me a knowing wink.

“Olivia,” Ethan said with a nod. “Good to see you.”

“Oh, yeah, what a ‘shock,’” she shot back, dripping with sarcasm. “I’ve been dying to officially meet my best friend’s… husband… since that night at the bar.”

My cheeks heated up at how she dragged out “husband.” This fake marriage was snowballing, pulling more people into the act every day.

The manager returned with a couple of servers pushing a fancy cart. He served each dish himself, handling everything like we were royalty or something.

“So this is what Wall Street big shots get,” Olivia whispered, leaning in close.

I forced a smile but kept quiet.

Halfway through lunch, the manager cleared his staff out and shut the door.

“Oh my God!” Olivia’s voice snapped me out of it. She dropped her fork, staring at her plate like she’d seen a ghost. “Amelia, you’ve gotta try this. It tastes like your cooking.”

I leaned over and took a bite from her plate, curious. And she wasn’t wrong—the flavors were oddly similar to a dish I make sometimes, using the same herb mix Mrs. Hopkins showed me ages ago.

“Probably just the herbs,” I said with a shrug. “One of my grandpa’s housekeepers taught me how to cook like this.”

“Are you secretly working here on the side?” Olivia teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Doctor pay not enough for you?”

Before I could clap back, Ethan rang the service bell to call the manager.

As he returned, Ethan asked, “Did the kitchen switch chefs?”

“Yes, sir,” he answered before leaving.

Olivia’s jaw dropped as she stared at Ethan. “Hold up, you’ve got a hand in this place?”

“It's more than that,” Noah whispered beside me. “The Black family practically owns this place.”

Ethan simply nodded calmly in agreement.

“Well, look at our girl Amelia,” Olivia teased, nudging me. “Not just married into cash, but a whole restaurant empire queen.”

“Can you chill with the gossip and just enjoy the food?” I nudged her back, keeping my tone light even though I was squirming inside.

After we wrapped up, Olivia offered to give me a ride home, but I passed. I wanted to catch up with her, but ditching my “husband” would just raise eyebrows.

In the plush town car heading back to the Upper East Side, it was dead quiet. Manhattan’s midday bustle flashed outside the tinted windows, the city alive with activity as we cruised through the streets.

“That housekeeper who taught you to cook,” Ethan said out of nowhere, breaking the silence. “Where was she from?”

The question threw me. Why did he care about something so random?

“She’s a New Yorker, born and raised,” I said, watching his face for any hint of what he was getting at. “She looked after my mom before she passed. Why?”

Ethan didn’t answer. He just turned to stare out at the Manhattan skyline, lost in his head. His fingers tapped a steady beat on the window, like he was working through something I couldn’t see.

The air in the car felt heavier, loaded with stuff we weren’t saying. Something was up, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

His silence got under my skin, building a wall between us I didn’t know how to climb over.