CHAPTER ELEVEN
IVY
M y head pounds through my third cup of coffee. I’m not sure what happened last night. I don’t remember drinking much, but I remember feeling drunk.
Images of kissing and touching and being held by Wells flit through my mind, hovering just out of reach.
Wishes in the wind.
Waking up in Wells’s bed, wearing his T-shirt and boxers—which smelled of citrus and fresh-cut wood—should have been a clear enough sign. But it was muddied because he was nowhere to be found, and Ty was sprawled out in the leather chair, watching something on his phone.
Ty hasn’t said anything about what happened or where anyone else is. He asked how I was feeling, gave me some medicine with a veggie omelet, hash browns, and toast but told me I should talk to Wells when he returns. I would nag Ty about it, but he seems stressed and exhausted.
It’s not that I expected this to be a romantic, stay-in-bed-all-day, can’t-get-enough-of-each-other experience. This marriage wasn’t supposed to be real—not in the way of sex and feelings. Hope has no jurisdiction here.
But that wedding kiss. Sweet Jesus.
He had to feel something, right? This spark can’t be one-sided. But he wouldn’t have left if he had, so that’ s my answer.
Liam swaggers into the suite, winks at me, and saunters to his room, adding new thoughts to my downward spiral. Looks like all the guys stayed out all night, except Ty. Maybe that’s why he’s upset. They stuck him on babysitting duty while they partied.
Rena mentioned a secret club downstairs that she’s not allowed in, called Magie Noire, which means black magic. Sounds like a sex club to me. Maybe that’s where they all were. That thought has this chicory coffee singeing my throat like battery acid.
A shirtless Liam struts back out, jeans low on his hips, drying his hair with a towel.
He’s so pretty —golden skin and corded muscles.
Tattoos lining his taut upper chest, arms, and back.
He catches my gaze and smiles before walking over to Ty and smacking his shoulder.
“Go shower, bro. Get an hour of shut-eye too. I’ve got Ivy. ”
Ty nods. “Thanks, man.” Jumping up, he ambles to the kitchen, stopping by me on his way to his room. “I’ll see you this afternoon, Freckles. Pool and dinner with Rena.”
“Sounds good.” I frown, leaning in for a hug. “Sorry you had to stay with me all night. Get some rest.”
He palms my head, his face filling with what looks like sorrow.
What the hell is going on?
“I was exactly where I wanted to be,” he says with a soft smile before wandering to his room.
Liam’s voice cuts through the heaviness with a hint of excitement. “Go throw on jeans and a T-shirt. We’re going out.”
My face lights up, but I don’t ask any questions. I dart to my room, dress in my vintage Aerosmith T-shirt and ripped jean capris, dab on some lip gloss and mascara, and meet a fully dressed Liam in the living room.
“Well done, High Society. Blending in is the name of the game today. Got it?” He twirls my ponytail up onto my head and shimmies a ball cap over it.
“Okay.” I peer up at him from under the bill. “Who am I blending in with like this?”
“Sunglasses?” he asks, plowing past my inquiry .
I hurry to my room to retrieve them and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair is practically nonexistent. “I look ridiculous,” I say, returning to him.
He shakes his head. “You look perfect. We’re blending in with the masses today. Can’t be too careful.”
“Aren’t you guys the ones with the dangerous business? Why am I the one in disguise?”
He chuckles. “You’ve been spotted with Wells. There’s a target on your back. And right now, we’re hiding from the people who know you.”
His index finger moves to his lips in a shh gesture as I silently clap. I’m not sure where we’re going, but it feels like a prison break.
He tugs me into his side, instructs me to leave my phone, and ushers me out of the suite and through some back exit of the hotel, where a car is waiting. The driver drops us off on Bourbon Street, where Liam keeps one hand protectively around my waist and the other on the concealed gun on his hip.
It’s Monday, late morning, so the street is quiet.
But the lack of people doesn’t hide the eccentricities of the city—the businesses are historical row houses with wrought iron balconies and heavy two-hundred-year-old doors.
Some are brick, and others are painted in blues and greens and pinks.
Live music streams from various restaurants as we pass, but Liam assures me we’re headed to the most iconic one, so we keep on.
“I’ve never walked through a city,” I say. “The streets smell like pot, urine, and sausage.”
“Well, that’s fucking perceptive.” He grins. “Homeless people piss in the streets in cities, among other things. Never been to a city? I forget sometimes …”
“Forget what?”
He swallows, an unusual glimmer of discomfort passing through his eyes. “Sometimes, you don’t seem like such a princess—that’s all.”
“Makes sense. Sometimes, you don’t seem like such a jackass. ”
“Cute,” he snipes.
“But,” I continue as he maneuvers me past a group of drunken tourists, adorned in beads and slurping tall, frothy beverages, “if you’re referring to my lack of experiences, that’s because my father was almost as paranoid as Wells.
Crowds were a hard no , so cities, amusement parks, concerts—all places I’ve never been.
Except one night in Vegas when I turned twenty-one.
Celeste and I snuck away. Although we spent the entire time inside the MGM and Bellagio resorts, so it wasn’t quite a city experience. ”
We pause our conversation when we reach Café Beignet, which is absolutely charming—a brick courtyard with bronze statues of local musical legends, small iron tables, and a live band.
Liam takes charge, ordering two baskets of beignets, along with jambalaya and red beans and rice.
The girl taking the order hands us a number for the table, so we find a seat and wait for our food.
His eyes narrow. “So, no one knew about your Vegas trip?”
“Nope.” I puff myself up with pride. “It was the one and only time I did something like that, but we nailed it.”
He smirks, kicking back in his chair. “So, you’re a rebel after all. I’ve been to my share of cities, but no concerts or amusement parks.”
I tilt my head, surprised we have that in common. “Did you have an overprotective father too?”
“I didn’t have an overprotective anything, but let’s not talk about that today.” He tips his chin, lips curling with mischief. “How did your wedding night pan out?”
“Let’s not talk about that today either,” I quip.
“That good, huh?” he says as the waiter drops off our tray.
For a few minutes, we simply focus on eating. The New Orleans cuisine is delicious, and the atmosphere is like coming up for air. After we’ve consumed the jambalaya and red beans and rice, he pushes the beignets toward me—fried rectangle pastries, blanketed in powdered sugar.
“Mmm,” I moan, taking a bite. “These are fantastic. They taste exactly like a funnel cake from our small county fair back home. ”
Liam laughs. “Christ. Don’t let the French guy in the back hear you say that. You’ll get us banned. I can’t take you anywhere, High Society.”
“Can’t call me High Society when I’m in a ball cap and Aerosmith T-shirt. It doesn’t fit,” I correct.
He yanks on the bill. “You’re cute like this. Messy.”
This moment is cloaked with a haze of intimacy, and while it’s only friendship on my end—because I’m currently obsessed with the domineering man who seems to be avoiding me—I hope that’s all it is for Liam.
My heart rate spikes with a feeling of guilt. “How mad will Wells be if he finds out we came here?”
“Combustible.”
Not easing the guilt.
I push the pastry aside. “So, why did you do it? Why bring me here?”
“Because none of this is your fault, Ivy. But there’s also no stopping it.”
I’m not sure what he means by that. All of these men make me feel like I’m half asleep, missing vital information. “I really appreciate this, but I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“I don’t get in trouble. I cause it. Big difference.” His eyes twinkle, but then he scratches his scruff with a seriousness. “If it ever comes down to it, you throw me under the bus to save yourself.”
Irritation and confusion pump through me. “What the hell does that mean? With Wells?”
He leans into me. “With anyone.”
Is this some sort of weird trust test? “No. You’re a smart-ass, but I’m kinda fond of you. That’s not how I work, Liam.”
“Start, Ivy.” He exhales, and a frustration I’ve never seen in him stiffens his shoulders.
“Start thinking like a survivor and start listening to Wells. Fuck , by all means, give him shit. God knows it’s about time he met his match, and I’m here for it.
I just wanted you to hear it from me because you don’t seem to need to fight me on everything.
So, cooperate. Okay? The four of us will do whatever it takes for you.
This outing was my little gift, one last hurrah because everything changes when we go back. ”
“What the hell is going on, Liam? I don’t understand … any of that.”
“You don’t need to yet,” he replies cryptically.
I drop my face into my hands. My head still aches, and now, I’m riddled with anxiety, not sure if I should break the tension, bolt, or retreat into hiding. He’s trying to reveal something, and while the details are vague, his message is equal parts protective and terrifying.
“You sure know how to kill a good time,” I mutter.
He lifts my chin, smiling. “Sorry. That’s not me. Hell, I am the good time. I had a long night. Must’ve fucked me up and made me a pain in the ass like Wells. Won’t happen again.”
While I don’t feel relieved, that makes me laugh, and I don’t have the energy for anything else today. “I’ll let it slide. Lack of sleep will do that. Can we get some beignets to take back for the guys?”
His brows furrow. “It’s not a secret excursion if we bring back evidence.”