CHAPTER THREE
CELESTE
My grandfather’s famous dazzling grin flashes on my phone screen. His photo is a candid shot, all charisma and charm. Thick hair that’s given over to the salt, concealing any remaining remnants of pepper. Eye crinkles, showcasing a life of boisterous smiles. Some of them genuine.
I groan but swipe the Answer button while I finish dressing in my two-toned camel-beige outfit—form-fitted top, slightly darker than my compression breeches. It’s as sexy as equestrian attire comes, slimming while accentuating my curves.
“Hello, Grandfather.”
“Celeste, dear. You sound well. Are you recovered from your lengthy trip and the holidays?” His gruff voice filters through the speaker, conveying a buoyant tone, but his reminder is threaded clearly into that question. It’s time.
My shoulders pull back instinctively, my body well acquainted with the poise expected. “Yes, sir. Thank you. I trust the new year is treating you and Grandmother well.”
“Quite. Your father has informed me you’re in New Orleans.”
Fully dressed, I pluck my eye makeup out of my cosmetics bag and apply my liner. “That’s correct. I’m visiting a friend.”
“Wonderful,” he chimes. “I have an assignment for you, although I have it on good authority that you’re well aware.”
Not yet.“Well, I—”
“Save the excuses, honey. You’re getting off easy here, mixing business with pleasure. There are two gentlemen eager to take out the coveted Miss Carver who have some engagements in the New Orleans area. It would mean so much to me.”
I don’t have it in me to begin this dating expedition when the only prize is landing a plastic man. The entire male species has been off my radar for months. Nearly all of them. I need to breathe. Accept. Prepare.
Play their game.
My eyes widen in the mirror as I sweep on my lash-lengthening black mascara. “That’s flattering, Grandfather. Perhaps on another trip. My days are already so packed.”
“So packed that you can’t return a call? You were raised with better etiquette than that,” he chides.
So, Mr. Scott Filmore is a snitch. Strike one. Although who can blame him for saving his own ass?
“I’ve been intending to, Grandfather.”
“Please do so. Soon,” he urges. “Two dinners. That’s all. You might not be able to keep the Carver name alive in the political scene, but you’re so bright. Should have gone to law school, but regardless, you have a voice.”
The should’ve-gone-to-law-school bit has been the chorus for the past two years of my life. A familiar refrain since before I even received my undergrad degree.
I wind a heated round brush through my thick locks as he elaborates on my Carver duties.
“Marrying into a political family affords us the opportunity to carry on our influence. It’s in your blood, Cee. I’m so proud.” After a beat of heavy silence, he adds, “You’re all we have.”
He knows how to twist the dagger—that’s for sure. It always comes back to the ache.
Always.
“Of course. I’ll do what I can to make the time.” Noncommittal, but hopefully appeasing.
“That’s my girl.” The lump in his throat is audible, which is why I can’t fight him. After all this time, everything is still so raw. “Your father may have sidestepped his Carver legacy, but he gave me … you.”
So much more was said in that pause than his words. My grandfather’s hopes and dreams were pinned to my uncle and brother, two men who exemplified Carver genes. Two men who met their demise before fulfilling their legacy, leaving the responsibility to my father and me. Neither of us has performed accordingly.
My temples throb. It’s too early to bear the all-too-familiar heartbreak. “I have an appointment, so I’d better run.”
“Certainly.” He clears his throat, and the polished senator reemerges. “Please return the gentlemen’s calls promptly and keep me abreast on how the meetings go.”
“Yes, sir. And give Grandmother my love.”
“Will do, dear. I assure you, it is very much returned.”
The rich are often depicted as having no decency or love when it comes to family. It makes sense. To hold on to wealth, ambition must take center stage. But lack of connection isn’t the issue with my family.
The Carvers heap love in plenty. It’s just accompanied by ladder-climbing deals and guilt. And somehow, I seem to always be entwined in those manipulative escorts.
As I’m applying my matte smoky-mauve lipstick, Ivy knocks softly before peeking her head into my room. “Ready?”
“Yes.” I spritz my Creed Wind Flowers perfume in a last-minute flurry. “Let me grab my purse and camera bag so I don’t have to come back up,” I tell her. She steps all the way into the room, so when I glance up, I’m taken aback. She’s all business in a knit navy dress, blue eyes sparkling. “Ivy, you really own being pregnant, don’t you? You’re absolutely glowing.”
She laughs—her ebullient, sunny warble—while rubbing her palm over her belly. “Thanks. I feel like a whale. And I was just thinking how gorgeous you are. Seriously, Lettie, you grow more stunning every year.”
“Maybe it’s the time apart.” My lungs crash with a blistering pang. We used to overlook changes because we were there for them all.
“Yeah,” she whispers with a hint of melancholy.
I don’t want her carrying anything other than that bundle of joy, so I smile big and tow her, my bags, and my riding boots toward the stairs.
“I hope you’re hungry,” she sings.
“Famished,” I say even though I find meals here rather stressful—like I’m in the midst of an identity crisis among Ivy and her men. I don’t know them well enough to let loose like I do with her, but not being myself makes me feel light-years away from her. And they don’t seem interested in knowing me at all. Every interaction with the four men in this house feels forced and unnatural. Not that it matters; I’m here for Ivy and her baby.
Natasha was a good buffer yesterday since she treats me as a daughter. It felt like I had another ally, which is a bizarre viewpoint, but I’m flailing here. Unfortunately, she ran out to meet a friend early this morning, so I’m on my own.
The back staircase dips into the edge of the kitchen, and the smells of bacon, cinnamon, yeast, and butter smack into us before we reach the biscotti-tan ceramic tile.
Gage and Ivy prepared quite the spread together, which I’m informed is fairly normal. Wells is flipping protein pancakes and droning on about how he’s the only one paying attention to nutrition because everything else, other than the eggs and fruit, is garbage. He’s not wrong. There are four variations of pastries, biscuits, gravy, bacon, and sausage. It’s a feast, but seeing as I’m not knitting a human or training to be an assassin for the underworld, I bite a piece of greasy bacon with a goading moan and plate up.
Liam snickers on the other side of the island, seizing his fill along with me. At least we agree on something. And I can’t deny the jolt zipping up my spine, having produced that subtle smile climbing his cheeks. As usual, he’s clad in his casual attire—jeans and a muscle-hugging forest-green T-shirt, which makes his eyes glow like glimmering sea glass, the gold flecks dancing. So, I avert my gaze as much as possible. I’d prefer to rove them over his trim swimmer’s physique, noting every dip and bulge and sculpted edge, much like he did to me the first night, but that seems dangerous.
Liam Graves is a faulty spark plug, ready to throw me off course by blowing up my whole damn life.
I’m not signing up for that ride.
Once we’re all settled at the table, Wells addresses me. “Ivy says you’re expecting calls from a couple of politicians, Celeste. Heard from either yet?”
“Actually, yes. One of them called on my way here.” I sip my coffee, hoping the conversation moves to someone else at the table, but having no material in my arsenal to deflect with.
“Oh,” Ivy says, setting down her fork. “You didn’t tell me. Who? Did you make plans?” Her disapproval is shining through that inquiry, as is her concern.
I haven’t told her much of anything, other than my grandfather’s plan to set me up on dates while I’m here. This conversation would be better held privately, especially since I have yet to internet-stalk the guy, as he suggested.
“Scott Filmore. He left a message,” I supply, hoping that’s sufficient.
“Cary Grant,” Ty provides, to which Ivy finishes, “An Affair to Remember, Nick Ferrante.”
I bust up laughing, understanding this nonsense more than anyone should. “He’s a playboy?”
Ivy pushes her plate away and wipes her hands even though it’s not even half consumed. “Absolutely. As magnetic as they come. He’s toned down the last few years, trying to get serious. In his early thirties. Running for lieutenant governor and expected to be a presidential candidate in the future. He’s well loved, but I wouldn’t trust him.”
“That could be said about all the yahoos you deal with,” Liam quips. He’s not eating either now, posture rigid.
“Yahoos?” Gage jeers, the shiny bronze skin of his bald head scrunching. “Who the hell are you?”
That loosens Liam up. He presses his back into his chair and chuckles. “I’m working on my language, blockhead.”
To that, Ty and Ivy crack up, Wells mutters, “Jesus Christ,” and Gage snarls, “Natasha’s not even here, dipshit.”
“The baby is,” Liam reasons. “And we can’t earmuff the kid for the next eighteen years.”
Ivy lifts her decaf pumpkin coffee, pausing the cup in midair before taking a drink. “That’s valid. He or she can already hear everything we say. Wells plays his classical music to my belly every night.”
Liam quirks a cocky brow. “See, Big Guy.”
“I call bullshit,” Gage huffs, biting into a powdery beignet.
“How do you guys get anything done?” I ask, mesmerized by the chaos that so quickly ensues.
That wins me favor with Wells, who tips his head to me as he slides Ivy’s plate in front of her and places the fork in her hand in what appears to be an order to keep eating. “It’s like herding fucking cats, Celeste.”
Ty chirps, “Earmuffs, baby,” at the same time Liam snipes, “Language, Chief,” the whole table dissolving into a fit of laughter.
Maybe I do see a bit of the appeal to this crew.
“Back on topic,” Wells barks. “Do you plan to meet up with this Mr. Filmore?”
Before I can answer, Ivy shoves her plate away again. “I just said I didn’t trust him.”
“Ivanna,” he growls like some sort of caveman warning while shooting daggers at her half-eaten protein pancakes. “What basis do you have for that?”
“Because he’s a politician, Gavin,” she snaps through her clenched teeth as he hands her the fork. Again.
“They all are, Little Storm. That’s who she’s being set up with. Give me facts or gut instincts to convince me, not prejudice for an entire profession.”
“He’s right, Ivy,” I venture as her creamy skin pinks. Maybe I should’ve worded that differently. “All I mean is, I know what I’m signing up for. He seems like a catch even though I’m hunting cheetahs.”
“The fuck is that analogy?” Gage asks between bites. His appetite doesn’t waver with the discussion, although he’s built like The Rock, so it must work for him.
“My father hunts. Safaris sometimes,” I explain. “Cheetahs are beautiful, but the meat is useless. Can’t eat it. Kind of like a pretty face on an empty shell.”
Gage strokes his thumb and index finger over his goatee, squinting his eyes in approval. “I like it.”
There’s no time to bask in the Big Guy’s validation because Liam’s hazels land on me with burning scrutiny, his stiff jaw screaming condemnation.
“Seems dense to chase something you already know ends with you starving, princess.”
How dare he fucking judge me. Prick.
“Goddammit, Graves.” Wells pushes his chair back from the table, more exasperated than makes sense for this conversation. It isn’t his battle. Unless he’s that upset on my behalf, which I doubt.
“Ivy’s right, Chief,” Liam says, glaring at me while addressing Wells. “Those guys are bad news.”
I whip my phone out of my pants pocket, texting my security team that I’m ready and to pull the car around. “Look at that; it’s time to go. Thanks for breakfast. Maybe at the next meal, we can rate sexual compatibility of my dating prospects.”
With that, I stand, pluck my purse, camera bag, and boots from the corner and rush toward the front door.
Unfortunately, because this house is so damn mammoth and Liam’s legs are so absurdly long, he catches up to me. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
I balk, completely flabbergasted as to who this guy thinks he is, while still scrambling toward the foyer. “I see I don’t rank with those worthy of your language overhaul, and it’s none of your damn business.”
“The hell it isn’t,” he snarls.
Spinning with what can only be described as the fervor of a cyclone, I reel on him, my dark brown hair curtaining my vision until I whisk it away. “I don’t know what your problem is, Graves, but where I go and whom I go with is of no concern to you.”
He grabs my hip and pushes me back against the front door with a thump, his heavy coffee-infused breaths hitting me like a spewed accusation. “While you’re in this house, everything you do is my concern.”
My heart thrashes wildly. Every fiber of my being is infuriated at his mere existence. And yet that ardent gaze searing me has my every nerve jumping in exultation. Another meal in this house resulting in an identity crisis.
God, I hate him.
“I’m not your houseguest, cheetah,” I sneer. “I’m Ivy’s.”
His grip tightens on my hip, and I swear his rosy lips twitch as his thumb dusts back and forth tenderly, which is an utter dichotomy to the venom glazing his voice. “And where you go and whom you associate with affects her safety. Either answer my question and play by our rules or get the hell out.”
Never let them see.
Tears prick the back of my eyes, but I’ll be damned if I let Liam Graves have even one. “Says the man whose life choices are actually putting her in danger.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Carver. They aren’t just my life choices. They’re Ivy’s too. She’s one of us now. She belongs in our world.”
That last sentence lands exactly as he intends. The message loud and clear—I don’t belong here.
My mouth opens for a vicious response, but I catch Ivy’s brimming blues, hand over her mouth. The sight of her anxiety breaks me. I used to be the one to wipe her tears, not cause them.
Wells steps forward, his voice a low rumble. “This fighting stops today. You’re both putting Ivy and the baby in danger with this goddamn stress.”
I nod, and my voice quivers as I whisper, “I need to go,” because he’s right. And I don’t know what to do about it.
“Where are you headed, Celeste?” Wells asks. Or demands. Much like Liam still boxing me in against the door, he’s leaving no room for me to avoid the question.
“Whispering Pines Stables. I’ll text Ivy the location,” I concede.
Liam steps back, but only a hairsbreadth. “That’s right, dollface. You go have fun while the rest of us work for a living.”
“God, you’re such an asshole,” I mutter, wrenching away from him and plopping onto the wooden entryway bench to shimmy into my boots, my arms shaking through the task.
“You can’t go now,” Liam declares, glaring down at me. “Not until one of us can go with you, and we have business to attend to this morning.”
Other than a side-eye glower, my attention remains on my tall honey-brown boots. Gage ushered Ivy away, but Wells and Ty still loom behind Liam, so I keep my voice hushed and steady. “I have my own security and play by my own rules. You want me out, discuss it with your girl, Graves.”
“You’re. Not. Going.”
“I’m taking her,” Ty announces, overriding Liam and maneuvering to grab my bags and clutch my elbow. “C’mon, Celeste.”
I follow Ty without looking back and stupid tears pool in my eyes. He informs my security guards he’s transporting me in his armored Mercedes-Benz S-Class. Rex flings objections at him until finally relenting, so I saunter behind Ty to the twenty-car garage and climb in. After giving him the address, I drop my elbow against the windowsill to rest my head while my team follows behind.
“Rough morning,” Ty says, so I glance up. His face exudes kindness. Honest brown eyes; neat, barely-there scruff; and short curls—all somehow expressing a virtuous spirit that has no place in the life he’s chosen. I don’t get it.
“It wasn’t until it was,” I allow, recalling the fleeting morsel when it felt right. “My life isn’t as meaningless as he makes it.”
I’m not sure why I add that, but something about Ty has me eager to spill. And I hate the way Liam makes me feel worthless. As if living a life without criminal exploits is frivolous. What positive change is he evoking in this screwed-up society?
“Your life is as meaningful as you believe it to be, Celeste.” He clicks his turn signal on and checks the rearview mirror before turning right onto another country road. “Don’t let anyone make you question yourself. Certainly not Liam.”
“He’s kind of an ass,” I say.
He regards me with a sidelong glance and raised brows. “There’s no kind of about it.” We both laugh before he adds, “But it’s only to cover an emotion he doesn’t want anyone to see.”
That’s true for everyone to some degree, I suppose. “Must’ve been something big that he was covering today then. He’s never been such a blatant, savage dick.”
Ty chuckles but steers the conversation in a different direction as we hurtle toward the stables. “Taking riding lessons?”
“No,” I reply, not sure I want to fill in the pieces. I’m still salty that Liam acted like I was on my way to shop with Daddy’s credit card while he digs trenches. Asshole. He certainly makes Scott Filmore more attractive.
“So, we’re headed to a horse farm for what reason then?” Ty asks.
My attention snags on the fields, bald cypress trees, and homes blurring into a sea of greens as we hasten down the road. Life unfolds so differently when you’re moving through it than it does when you still a snippet. I thought this month would be like the thousands of snapshots I hold in my heart of Ivy and me. Instead, it’s a mess of past and present. Future and pain. Changing souls and fracturing friendships. Images, fuzzy and dull, lost to the wrong shutter speed.
“If you really want to know, you can come in with me,” I offer.
“I’d love to,” he says, and I believe him.
A few minutes later, we pull into Whispering Pines Stables—a family-run horse farm providing lessons and boarding. The facilities are beautiful—an indoor and outdoor riding arena and top-notch stables—but that’s not why I chose them. Thankfully, they were warned in advance that I’d have an entourage, so they pay no mind to the men in suits escorting me to the indoor arena.
A middle-aged man waves me over as we enter. There’s a slew of kids crowded around three horses behind him as he sticks out his palm. “Celeste?”
“Yes,” I confirm, shaking his hand. “Jeremy, it’s so nice to finally be face-to-face. Thank you for letting me join your team while I’m in town. It seems we’ve got some excited kiddos already.”
“So excited.” He smiles, his gray eyes creasing. “I can’t thank you enough for contacting us with such a phenomenal idea and your willingness to document the magic for them. We’ve hired a specialist in equine-assisted therapy. Our team has been hard at work and counting down the days for the past six weeks.”
“Me too.” I sneak a peek behind him. “Remind me which group we have today.”
“The Autism Academy. Thursday, we’ll have Better Days, a cerebral palsy support group. And next week is Thriving Kids, the foster care program, and New Hope, women-and-children abuse recovery. I’ll email the schedule.”
“Perfect,” I say as Ty clears his throat behind me, and I realize how rude I’ve been. “I’m so sorry, Jeremy. This is my friend Ty.”
Ty steps forward, and I catch the sheen glistening on his brown eyes. He’s swallowing the same soupy emotion I am, which is a connection I needed far more than I realized.
The next four hours are spent snapping pictures of the kids in alternating groups with the horses—painting, riding, grooming. After capturing a plethora of fantastic shots, I take time to ride with the kids. Jeremy assigns me a horse named Winnie. She’s a regal chestnut with a hint of sass that I appreciate.
Ty and I head out to lunch afterward in much better spirits.
“Fuck, Celeste, that was incredible.” His features twist in astonishment as he grips the steering wheel. He’s clearly moved.
“I got inspired during my photography internship in Europe, and now, I’m hooked. You’re welcome to come with me anytime.” I grin. “And next time, you don’t have to hang back. My security can handle it. You might enjoy painting a horse if you’re not into riding.”
“Thanks. I’ll definitely come again.” He swallows, and I see the heaviness in him that Ivy’s mentioned before. He masks it so well most of the time. “Actually, I’d love to do something like that for the abuse victims we house.”
Ty handles the pro bono work in their erasing business, which is separate from KORT. While they earn millions erasing identities for nefarious persons on the run, they also hide abuse victims for free. It’s another reason why Ty stands out in the life he leads. Much like my best friend.
“Ivy told me about the new housing.” I keep my tone upbeat, hoping to feed his excitement for his project. On the far end of their acreage, they built a home to house up to twelve women comfortably. I haven’t seen it, but Ivy said it’s beautiful. “How’s that going?”
“It’s new yet. We’ve only had a handful so far. But it gives them comfortable accommodations until we can find proper placement, which is far better than all the frantic moves we had to make before.” He pulls into the parking lot of a small diner, cuts the engine, and glances at me with a pensive smile. “I’m glad you’re here, Celeste, but I need a nickname for you.”
Something about that tugs at my heartstrings, much like the day I met Ivy. I’d like to keep Ty.
“You can call me Lettie.”
Ty and I filled up enough at our late lunch that I was able to cite exhaustion and retreat to my room for a shower and some rest. Now, it’s after ten, and I can’t seem to relax. Knowing Ivy is already snug in her bed, I select a bottle of wine I brought with me, snatch a corkscrew and wineglass from the upstairs snack kitchen, and sneak down to the library.
This is the coziest room in the house—two-story shelving composed of rich woods, a rolling ladder, French doors and a Juliet balcony, crinkly leather furniture that hugs deeply, draped in cream and sea-salt pillows and throws. Not to mention, the vanilla aroma emanating from the endless array of books. If that isn’t enough, a crackling fire blazes beneath a stone hearth.
I wish I could soak in the peace it’s yearning to gift me, but after an hour, not even the cabernet and smutty romance novel are soothing my nerves.
Wells strolls in with a scotch in hand, wordlessly sinking into the chair beside me. He’s quiet for so long that my anxiety skyrockets. This is his space, and I’m intruding. I stand, gathering my things, only to be startled.
“Sit,” he orders.
I’m not sure why, but I don’t even question his command. I resume my seat, too exhausted to fight.
He swishes the amber liquid around his glass in a hypnotic swirl. “Did your day improve?”
“It had nowhere to go but up,” I quip, finding my strength again.
“Fair point,” he concedes, so I pour myself another half glass of wine while he continues, “You need to make an effort, Celeste.”
“Make an effort?” I ask with an edge, promptly sipping to drown my simmering.
“With the guys,” he goes on, as if this isn’t insulting after the way Liam conducted himself. “Won’t be easy. We’re an intense bunch. But Ivy and the rest of us are a package deal.”
Internally fuming, I calmly set my eyes on him. “She was mine first, before your package was involved at all.”
Maybe that’s a childish response, but I’m tired of feeling like the intruder in Ivy’s life.
He chuckles, trading his scotch for a handful of candy he must’ve pulled from his pocket. “That may be so, but it’s irrelevant. I’m trying to help you, Celeste.”
“I don’t need help with Ivy,” I scoff. “I’m grateful for you welcoming me into your home and for how happy you make my best friend. Ivy means everything to me—always has. But we’re us, with or without you four.”
He scrubs his hand slowly over the dark stubble on his chin. “I’m sure this last year and a half has been challenging.”
“You have no idea,” I breathe.
“I never considered your angle.” His head slants as though that’s what he’s doing right now. “We had so much happening with Ivy. Much of it was survival mode.”
“I’m not one to play a victim, Wells. You did what you needed to protect her. Every sacrifice made for her well-being was worth it.” My lip wobbles as my heartache finally gains purchase. “But it feels like she was stolen from me, and I don’t know what to do with that. I just want her back.”
“You haven’t lost her. Looking at it that way is naive,” he muses, reaching for his scotch again. “It’s like someone loving Ivy without acknowledging the importance of the child she’s about to bear. Not impossible, but that love would never reach the depths it could because they’d be discarding a significant part of who she is. Any disconnection wounds Ivanna.”
That does make sense to a degree. My eyes track the burgundy liquid in my glass—the subtle stain on the walls, tiny drips crawling down the sides, all of it eager to be part of the whole—while I ruminate on how to answer. The old standby never let them see, always keep them guessing, and play their game doesn’t seem to fit here. Not with Wells.
“I understand that as far as you go. You’re her husband. I respect what the two of you share. Andhonestly, I’m so grateful. I see how you love her. It’s what she deserves. But I don’t see how that applies to the other three.”
Ty is amazing, special. But Gage is terrifying. And Liam is unbearable.
Maddening.
“That’s the problem.” He frowns, like he’s commiserating with me but also irritated. “Ivy loves you too much to harp on this, but, Christ, open your eyes. Those men are a crucial part of who she is now. Denying that will only strain what you have with her. And I’d hate to see that because my wife needs you.”
Ivy is right. Underneath that domineering bravado is a cinnamon roll who’s madly in love with her, whichmakes his admission all the weirder.
The warmth of the dry, fruity wine trickles through me as I hitch my gaze to his. “Does it ever make you jealous?”
“Always,” he confesses, downing the remainder of his drink and abandoning the tumbler.
“Then, why?” Why let them be here, stealing moments?
“Because I love them all,” he reasons, returning to his candy with a wistful gape. “We each have our roles with her. I know where I stand. I get the most intimate parts of her, the parts no one else sees. She’s mine first and foremost, my partner, my wife. My everything. The mother of my children.” His lips quirk with an amused breath. “Yes, there will be more.”
He shuffles a few Skittles in his palm. “But it doesn’t mean she isn’t theirs in other ways. Took me a while to accept that. I wanted to lock her away, not let anyone else even look at her. But Ivy makes everyone better. Those men are my family, but we were a familywith a fuck ton of scars. Some so deep that I’d long since given up on mending them. She swooped in and healed us. We all need her. So, my jealousy takes a back seat to my awe and gratitude for how she rescued the men I’d been trying to save for nearly a decade.”
Ivy told me once that passion rolls off Wells in everything he does. It’s undeniably true. He loves hard. Ivy and the guys.
“That is exactly who Ivy is.” I sigh, relinquishing my claim on her a little. “She’s always changed people. I’m glad you see her.” My eyes flit back to his with a promise because he earned my utmost respect with that explanation. “I’ll make an effort. It’s not only one-sided though. Ty’s wonderful, but the other two aren’t thrilled that I’m here. Which I’m sure is obvious by the spectacle Liam made earlier. What if they don’t try with me?”
Maybe I shouldn’t lump Gage in with Liam, but his props for the cheetah comment this morning was about as friendly as he’s ever been to me. And I spent two weeks around him when they visited me in Europe.
“They will,” Wells says simply before rising and strolling toward the doors.
“How do you know?” I ask, wondering suddenly if they’ll be ordered to play nice.
“Because they’d do anything for Ivy.”
“Right.” Even tolerate the friend they loathe.
As if Wells senses my thoughts, he stops in the doorway and turns to face me. “One of my favorite qualities about my wife is her impeccable taste. She’s picky. Absolutely won’t choose something unless she’s convinced of its worth.I trust it over anything—her flawless gut instinct. Situations. People. If Ivy says something or someone is gold, that’s all there is to it. She’s always spot-on.” He pauses a beat before adding, “Everyone in this house knows that, Celeste.”
I’m not sure what the hell is wrong with me because I only have one question floating through my mind.
Does Liam?