Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
IVY
Torment with Asher Jameson just turned predictable. Not that I love the fact that she’s here, but—seriously. Why the fuck else would she be here.
I need a drink. If I’m going to die, I’d rather do it indulging in coping mechanisms I’ve never allowed myself.
Vines of lace decorate iron railings, matching the dark slate underfoot of Asher’s impressive rooftop terrace. I wish I could say it sucks. That it’s as cold as he is and just as beautiful. But he’ll have a better shot at getting rid of Camille than hearing me ever give him another compliment.
At least right now, while I’m still pissed from earlier.
On top of that, I can’t get the jumper I found in my closet out of my head.
There’s something about it. The texture, the small buttons, the faint smell.
I don’t know what it is. Every time I try to dig deeper into my brain to figure out why, the recognition has already evaporated like it was never there.
Jord whistles and loosens his collar. “Damn. The man knows how to put on a show.”
Champagne slides down my throat. “Mmhmm, which show are you referencing?”
He chokes on his drink. “Both.”
Warm hands land on my cheeks, and then I’m staring up at my best friend.
“Hey…” he starts, but I narrow my eyes at him into a threat. He is not about to make me look weak in front of the enemy.
His hands fall away, along with the stress lines between his brows.
I made my point.
“Jord?” I whisper, walking on delicate ground. Jord isn’t sensitive, but my family have always been a safe space. “He married me for real. Why would he do that?”
When Jord doesn’t answer, I turn to him for some joke about Asher and Camille. His confusion grounds me instead.
“I really don’t know, Ivy.” He forces a smile but it looks painful. “I’m sorry.”
Well, damn. This isn’t a good situation to be in.
“I don’t believe in marriage,” I say, shrugging. I was aiming for nonchalance, but that was not my best performance. Maybe I should care more about my coping mechanisms, considering I’ve been at this—whatever it is—for however long it takes champagne to taste like water.
Punk peers at me through the flower arrangement. “Have you had your therapy session this week?” Her grin turns evil. “I’m telling Leon if you haven’t.”
Lucinda leans over and tops off my glass like the good friend she is.
“She can’t help me anymore. The reason why I needed her was because of that.
” I wave my hand over my shoulder. “Now what? Hey, sorry, new trauma. The guy I was fucking, who I thought I killed, is actually alive, kidnapped me on my wedding day, which kicker, was where I was actually marrying him, brought me back to his mansion where I’m to live out the rest of however many days I have, as he parades around his ex in front of cameras for the whole world to see. ”
Punk’s shoulders dip. “Ive, this is merely another job. Yes, you’re on the defense instead of the offense this time, but he is just another job.”
I set the glass down gently. “I’m well out of my depth here and you know it.”
“Well,” her eyes dart over my shoulder. “The cunt you married last time would disagree, since you had no problem putting him down.” She taps the table once. “Do the same here.”
I choke on my laugh, banging my chest when I almost swallow down the wrong hole. “Punk!”
She tilts her head to the side, lips spreading into a Cheshire grin. “What? It’s true. I hated Parker. I would have taken anyone but him.”
Me too.
Jord leans into me. “What do you think?”
I do my best to clean the tears from my under eye, my cheeks still stinging. “About what?”
“You know,” he whispers. “All this?”
I go to answer when I sense someone behind me.
“I’ve gotta admit...” Atlas whistles. “Red looks good on you.”
He drags a stolen chair over from the opposite table and drops it next to mine.
“Uh…” My body is all fuzzy and limp and I just laughed the most in months. Fuck Atlas, I won’t let him ruin my vibe.
Punk reaches out and pinches one of the gold-plated leaves sprouting from the centerpiece. “It’s like Rumpelstiltskin shat on this place.”
Atlas snaps to her. “Good to see your acting skills are still spot-on, Punk.” Leaning forward, he’s clearly about to bait her. “Are you the same everywhere else? Or maybe I could inspect closer?”
Punk bats her lashes. “Actually, there’s a lot about me that you don’t know.”
Her smile widens a fraction. “Like where my G-spot is. And while we’re on the subject of my stellar acting skills…”
At least they can follow instructions enough to not get us all killed. Me, on the other hand...
And I need a refill.
Gathering the bottom of my gown, I push up from the table and my dress clings to me even further. The material swallows my every curve while the lace cups push my tits high, giving pretty impressive side-boob. I look good. Good enough to justify the obscene money and gym hours it took to get here.
Atlas’ fingers curl around my wrist.
I pull away. “I’m going to get a drink.”
He takes his time standing to his full height, slipping a hand to my lower back. “I’ll get it! You don’t need to be stumbling in front of her.” His thumb grazes my spine. “She’ll enjoy it too much.”
I angle my body closer, brushing his hip on purpose.
“Hmmm.” I tilt my face up. “Careful, baby twin. It almost sounds like you hate her.”
Atlas’s eyes brighten. Between him and Asher, I don’t know where to start. For one, I’m not going to have Asher embarrass me in front of people since everyone knows we’re married, and two? I fucking hate Camille.
His hand locks in place. “Maybe I do...”
I step in closer, enough to kiss his chin if I arched onto my toes. “I’m beginning to wonder if I fell for the wrong brother.”
I know the second Asher’s eyes find me. He’s watching, which is kind of the point, so it only makes me go harder.
Atlas breaks into a full grin, lips brushing my ear. “Thank fuck you didn’t, or it’d be me with the bullet.”
Dramatic, but I leave it. I can’t be bothered going back and forth with him right now. I’d rather just squash it into a box and save it for later or let it rot there.
Therapy starting to make sense…
A waiter passes and he switches my empty glass for a full one, directing me back down to my chair.
Maybe I misread Atlas and this situation—no. I never misread anything.
His palm glides over my thigh, flashing a small flower inked onto his middle knuckle that I never noticed before. Pretty.
“Will you be honest with me if I ask you questions?”
I trace the stem of my glass. “Depends.”
Atlas leans into my ear again, his voice tight. “Do you think she’s beautiful?”
He doesn’t have to say her name. There isn’t a single other person here he’d be referring to.
I finally allow myself to look at them. “I think she is.”
He squeezes my waist gently and I bite my bottom lip when I reconsider our earlier conversation. Alcohol is really not my friend right now. Jesus.
“But are you known to see the best in people despite their obvious red flags?”
I bark out a laugh. “I would say I’m the opposite.”
Camille’s cackle at whatever Asher just said to her kills mine instantly.
I keep talking because it’s a better distraction than murder. “I would say I purposely see the worst in people, because humans are fucking disappointing.”
My grip tightens around the stem. “And in turn, it makes them easier to kill.”
I let go and stand. I need air, silence, and a glass of water. “Don’t follow me.”
I spend the rest of the night mingling amongst people I have no idea who they are and dodging Asher and Camille. Camille isn’t so hard, since she’s doing everything she can to pretend I don’t exist.
Rustling through my clutch, I pull out my packet of cigarettes and zippo.
Ah. Sweet, sweet dirty habit…
Embers sizzle with each inhale as I dump everything back into my clutch and grab my phone—static prickles over my skin, locking me in place.
I inhale deeper than I mean to and nicotine punches my chest. “I’m beginning to think it was Atlas who spent time with me and not you.”
Ironic, really. I spent a massive chunk of my life avoiding any form of spotlight, yet the second I met Asher, I made every excuse why it wasn’t a big deal that it’s the centre of his.
His arm brushes mine and I’ve never sucked on a cigarette faster.
“Mmm. That’d be too perfect for you.”
Fuck it.
“What am I doing here?” I flick the cigarette and stomp on it, keeping my eyes on him. “If you want revenge, I’ll give it to you. Fucking take it!”
A hollow laugh slips from his chest, catching me off guard because it sounds so close to the man he used to be. Almost. It dies in his throat before I can obsess over it.
“Look at me,” he says, voice rough.
I lock onto the distant crash of the waves. “I kind of don’t want to.”
“Why?” He lowers his voice but doesn’t soften it. I’ll never make the mistake of confusing the two again.
He probably hates me even more because I killed his damn friend. A friendship I never asked about.
“Because it hurts.” Every time I’m around him, I fail. I fail to keep myself behind the concrete wall I spent so long building.
One thing is for certain, love wasn’t built for me. The second I felt it, I put a bullet in it. Now he’s here, standing in front of me as the shadow of the man he once was, and it’s my own fault.
With a finger beneath my chin, he guides my eyes up to his.
“It hurts, huh?” His grip tightens. “Probably not as painful as a bullet. So here’s what you can know. You will do as I say and live in my house. I don’t care who you fuck while you do it, but you will do it.”
His hand drops, as if touching me disgusts him.
“You won’t have to worry about feeling hurt for long,” he says, a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Because pretty soon, I’m gonna put a matching bullet right between those perfect tits.”