Chapter 9
1090words
"Marco's father treated my mother," Ethan explained as we settled in. "When I was in medical school with no money, they fed me. Now I send them patients who need good food more than they need medication."
I looked around at the warm, inviting space. "It's perfect."
"I thought about taking you somewhere fancier," he admitted. "But that felt like pretending to be someone I'm not. And we've both had enough pretending."
His honesty was disarming. "I appreciate that."
Marco brought wine without being asked, along with fresh bread and olive oil. "On the house for the doctor and his beautiful date," he insisted when Ethan tried to protest.
As we shared antipasti and homemade pasta, conversation flowed easily. Ethan told me about his childhood in South Boston, raised by a single father who worked three jobs after his mother died. I shared stories of boarding schools and summers in Europe, but also the loneliness of being the Hamilton heiress.
"People always wanted something," I explained. "That's why I left. I needed to know I could be valued for myself, not my name or money."
"And now?" Ethan asked. "Do you regret coming back?"
I considered the question. "No. I needed those years away to appreciate what I have here. To understand that running away from privilege doesn't solve anything—it's what you do with it that matters."
His eyes held mine. "And what do you plan to do with it?"
"I'm still figuring that out." I twirled pasta around my fork. "But seeing your clinic last week got me thinking. The foundation currently focuses on research, but maybe we should expand into direct care initiatives."
"That would make a real difference," Ethan said, his expression thoughtful. "Research is vital, but people need help now, not just future breakthroughs."
"Exactly." I felt a surge of excitement. "We could establish clinics in underserved areas, fund training programs for healthcare workers, create scholarship opportunities for medical students from disadvantaged backgrounds."
"Careful," Ethan warned with a smile. "You're starting to sound passionate about something other than quarterly projections."
"Maybe I am." I returned his smile. "Would that be so terrible?"
"Not terrible at all." His hand found mine across the table. "Just unexpected. And intriguing."
The warmth of his touch sent a pleasant shiver through me. For a moment, we simply looked at each other, the connection between us almost tangible.
Marco interrupted with dessert—tiramisu to share—breaking the moment but not the mood. As we lingered over espresso, Ethan's expression grew more serious.
"Isabella, there's something I need to say."
My heart quickened. "That sounds ominous."
"Not ominous. Just important." He took a breath. "I like you. More than I expected to. More than is probably wise, given who you are and who I am."
"Who we are doesn't matter," I began, but he shook his head.
"It does matter. You're Isabella Sinclair-Hamilton. I'm a doctor from Southie who still has student loans. Our worlds don't typically intersect."
"They're intersecting right now," I pointed out.
"Yes, and I'm grateful for that." His thumb traced circles on my palm. "But I need you to understand something. I won't change who I am—not even for you. I won't become some society doctor who attends galas instead of clinic hours. I won't give up the work that matters to me."
"I would never ask you to."
"You might not, but your world might." His eyes were intent on mine. "I've seen what happens when people from different worlds try to make it work. Usually, someone ends up compromising who they are."
I pulled my hand away, suddenly defensive. "Is that what you think I want? For you to compromise yourself?"
"No." He caught my hand again. "I think you're extraordinary precisely because you don't want that. But I needed to say it out loud, to be clear about who I am and what matters to me."
The sincerity in his voice melted my defensiveness. "Thank you for being honest. And for the record, I like who you are. I wouldn't want to change that."
His smile returned, warming his usually serious features. "Good. Because I like who you are too—both versions. Isabella Matthews had courage. Isabella Sinclair-Hamilton has power. Together, they make a formidable woman."
We left the restaurant hand in hand, walking through the narrow streets of the North End. The night was clear and cool, stars visible despite the city lights. When we reached my car, I turned to face him.
"I had a wonderful time," I said.
"So did I." He stepped closer, one hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from my face. "May I kiss you, Isabella?"
The formal request made me smile. "Yes, you may."
His lips met mine gently at first, then with growing intensity. I found myself responding with unexpected fervor, my arms sliding around his neck as his hands settled at my waist. When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing faster.
"I've wanted to do that since the hospital," he admitted, his voice husky.
"That long?" I teased. "I've wanted it since you insulted me in that café."
He laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "I was a jerk that day."
"You were honest. It's your most infuriating and attractive quality."
He kissed me again, briefly this time. "I should let you go. Early surgery tomorrow."
"Of course." I hesitated, then asked, "When can I see you again?"
"I'm free Saturday. Dinner at my place? I make a decent lasagna."
"It's a date."
As I drove home, I couldn't stop smiling. For the first time in months—maybe years—I felt truly happy. Not the fleeting happiness of achievement or acquisition, but something deeper and more authentic.
My phone rang through the car's speaker system. Michael.
"Hey," I answered. "Everything okay?"
"Just checking in on your date," he said, not bothering with preliminaries. "Did the good doctor sweep you off your feet?"
"None of your business."
"That's a yes." I could hear his grin. "Good. You deserve someone who sees you clearly."
"He does," I admitted. "Sometimes more clearly than I see myself."
"That's rare. Hold onto it."
I thought about Ethan's honesty, his integrity, his unwillingness to compromise his values even for me. "I intend to."
