From a Wrong Turn to Mr. Right novel Chapter 16

“Shower?” Ethan Carter asked, sounding casual, as if he hadn’t noticed the tension in the room.

Olivia Bennett practically jumped to her feet. “Yeah, sure.”

Without another word, she grabbed her pajamas and hurried into the bathroom.

The door clicked shut behind her, and she let out a long sigh.

Sure, they’d already slept together once—done things even more intimate than that—but those had all happened when she wasn’t exactly sober or aware. Now, with her mind crystal clear, it hit her: even though they had a marriage license, Ethan Carter was basically a total stranger she’d met this morning.

Just the two of them, alone in a hotel suite, and soon enough, they’d be sharing the same bed. If she said she wasn’t nervous, she’d be lying.

When she finished her shower, Olivia took a deep breath, steeling herself with the “get it over with” mentality, and stepped out of the bathroom.

Ethan was already in his pajamas, lounging against the headboard, his eyes glued to his phone. His lashes cast soft shadows on his cheeks, and without the daytime edge, he actually looked kind of gentle and thoughtful. Suddenly, she didn’t feel quite so anxious.

Olivia stared at him for a moment before quietly slipping into bed, careful not to disturb him. He didn’t even glance up.

She lay on her side, facing away from him, and slowly her nerves started to fade, even if sleep was nowhere in sight.

After what felt like forever, Olivia tugged at the covers and whispered, “Mr. Carter?”

“Yeah?” His voice was just as calm as always.

“I wanted to talk about something.”

He hummed, still not looking over.

“In a couple of days, I’m going to reopen my studio.”

Another nonchalant “Mm” from Ethan.

He had literally put his name on the house deed for her. Wasn’t that obvious enough?

He seemed genuinely curious now—did she really think he was the controlling type?

Olivia hesitated, then admitted, “I just thought maybe you’d want me to stay home and focus on the baby.”

In families like his—wealthy, old-money, the kind that hosts Thanksgiving dinners with silverware and crystal glasses—kids were kind of a big deal. Most of them expected the mom-to-be to stay home, bake banana bread, and knit tiny sweaters.

Ethan studied her for a moment, then finally spoke, his deep voice filling the quiet bedroom.

“You’re you, first. Being a mom comes second. You should do whatever makes you happy. I have no right to hold you back. And besides—” He glanced at her, his gaze steady. “You’re the baby’s mom. No one’s going to care more about its safety than you. I trust you not to do anything dangerous, right?”

Olivia blinked, caught off guard by how simple he made it sound—and how much he meant it.