Chapter Fifty-Six
Byron’s face is still. Eyes far wider than they should be after such an explosive orgasm.
He has his phone up to his ear, a vice-grip in his fist as I pull myself together. We just fucked on the kitchen counter, and it was brilliant, as it always is. Not only that, we were really getting lost in the marriage talk.
I’m not sure what came over me with the whole obsessively demanding that he ask me to marry him while he was pounding the life of out me thing. Call my standard possessive jealousy, after bumping into his ex… Michelangelo.
Daft ninja turtle wannabe.
Yes, I’m salty, but that’s only because the bloke is gorgeous, and the way he was looking at my sweet fury was a bit too reminiscent of the things I read in Byron’s Book of Secrets—before it was an actual book.
Back when it was just a journal, full of his secrets that only I knew. Well, me and the people in them.
Not only that, I may have a dusting of marriage fever, since all of our mates are doing it. Literally. Velle, Rook, and Joy are the only ones who seem to have no interest in tying the knot. But Felix and Lem did it.
Dascha and Kemper did it.
Luthor and Ren are in the process of planning their extravagant nuptials.
We’re the only ones left, and I suppose I went a bit cuckoo for a moment there. Still, I don’t feel that it was entirely ill-received. At first, we were rowing over it, but naturally it turned to hot, aggressive and slippery sex, as it does.
Maybe it was just sex-talk, but I don’t think Byron is horrified by the idea of marrying me.
That’s what we should be celebrating right now. The fact that we’re in love and moving forward—away from Michelangelo.
But now our post-coital cuddle time is being interrupted by whomever is on the phone.
“Um… hi,” Byron grunts into the phone, clearing his throat. “Hello. How, um… are you?”
My forehead lines. Who could he possibly be speaking to that way?
Unless… No. No bloody way.
That’s not Michelangelo, is it?? He wouldn’t immediately call Byron after running into him, would he, that little slag?!
Wrenching the phone away from Byron, I place it on speaker, ready to tell that pretty, blue-eyed hussy that Byron Kang is mine, and he’s going to lose his fingers, his tongue, maybe even his life, if he doesn’t fuck all the way off!
But my raging is interrupted when a familiar voice not belonging to Michelangelo Russo croons over the line, “I’m quite well, actually, thanks for asking. How have you and Trevel been?”
“Ivory?!” I croak, gaping at Byron, who’s still in a bit of shock.
None of us have heard from The Ivory in well over a year, since he left the mansion—his mansion—in the middle of the night, flying away with his little bird to an undisclosed location.
His mansion has since been inherited by the Chevelle’s and the Love’s, the island having been turned from a rock of misery into a beautiful and quite lovely place to live. And visit, when those of us who left are able.
Byron and I haven’t spoken with The Ivory, and neither have any of the guys. We suspect that Velle has been in contact with him, but he hasn’t mentioned it to us. His money, however, is still very present in all of our lives.
Byron and I enjoy making our own. I wouldn’t mind accepting a check from Daddy Ivory Warbucks, but my sweet fury is stubborn and doesn’t enjoy taking handouts.
So we work our menial jobs, knowing that living in Byron’s grandfather’s penthouse means we no longer have to worry about rent.
It’s strictly to pay for our elaborate vacations and our lifestyle that just borders on bougie.
Still, we’re no Luthor and Ren. Those two spend other people’s money like it’s their job, which apparently it is.
Hey, I don’t judge. Do you, kweens.
“Trevel Fenwick!” The Ivory chirps. “How lovely to hear your voice. I take it you and Byron have been getting on well? How are you enjoying the penthouse?”
Byron and I share a look, gazing around at the ceilings as if we expect to see the cameras that used to follow us around the halls of the Pen.
“How the hell did you know we moved?” Byron snaps.
The Ivory chuckles. “Did you really think I wouldn’t be keeping tabs on all of you? You’re like my children, as weird and potentially inappropriate as that may be, all things considered.”
“How’s Angel?” I ask, changing the subject because Byron looks as if his head might pop off.
“He’s perfect, as usual,” he sighs dreamily. “He’s right here, actually.”
“Hi!” Angel’s melodious voice chimes, and it’s a breath of relief, honestly.
I grew to really like Angel during our limited interactions, and I was sort of sad when he and Ivory just took off without a word.
I know I have a much less complicated relationship with Manuel Blanco than the others, but I wouldn’t have minded staying in contact with them.
But they vanished without leaving any contact info.
But now, here they are, having reappeared over a year later.
I suppose the question is…
“Why are you calling?” Byron pulls the sentiment right out of my head.
“I wanted to ask you both for a favor,” Ivory rumbles, and Byron’s first instinct is incredulous laughter.
“Of course…”
“Alright, maybe not a favor,” Ivory mutters. “I would pay you for your time.” We peer at one another. “I would like for you both to write the complete history of Alabaster Isle.”
Henry David Thoreau-my God.
What the hell?!
“I read your book, Byron,” Ivory goes on, smirk audible in his voice. I can bloody see it in my head. “It was… quite scandalous.”
“Yea, well… you were the mastermind behind more than a few of those anecdotes,” Byron growls through clenched teeth.
“Mhm,” Ivory grumbles in amusement. “But not only that, your writing is inspired. You have an exceptional talent, Shadowman. I think you’d be the perfect author for the story of that mysterious otherworldly place.
And Trevel, your poetry, what I’ve read of it anyway, is excellent.
If the two of you worked on it together, this book would be hauntingly beautiful, I’m sure. ”
I’m flattered—because I’m a simp. But Byron is inherently skeptical.
“Why… why is that something you’d want?” His brows furrow. “What would you… do with it?”
“It wouldn’t be published if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ivory says.
“But I would like for there to be a record of what has occurred on that island. The history is rather important, but no one aside from us will ever know about it, and I think that’s a travesty.
Someday when we’re all dead and gone, the memory of Alabaster Isle should live on… don’t you think?”
Byron’s face smooths out a bit, as if he’s seeing the point in this request, though he’s still unsure.
I personally agree with The Ivory. Despite its sordid past, Alabaster Isle is a remarkable place…
Even just the limited history that Ivory told us, around the fire, after the war ended. It was fascinating.
Add to that what happened after he took over the prison, the fall, the war…
It’s an extraordinary story, and it deserves to be told; to live on as part of history.
“A lot of that story would incriminate you, Ivory,” Byron retorts. “Greatly. Are you sure you want it all… written down and whatnot?”
Ivory chuckles. “Trust me, dear, if I haven’t been hauled away in handcuffs yet, it’s not going to happen.
That said, this book is something we’d sort of just hang onto…
pass it on over generations to our beneficiaries.
It will serve as a record that will hopefully be added to over time as the island continues.
Because, as I understand, its story has not yet come to an end. ”
No, it hasn’t.
And I’m sure it never will.
“Ivory, please hold,” I mumble, muting the call. “Baby…”
“I think we should do it,” Byron finishes my thought once again, and it fills me with such an epic sense of connection, I’m momentarily dizzy.
Grasping his face in my hands, I lean down to brush his perfectly enigmatic and wonderful lips with mine.
“I love you, sweet fury,” I hum, holding his dark eyes. “You are truly perfect.”
“I love you too,” he chuckles, one of his tiny, grumbly things, as if he thinks I’m a nutter and he’s simply obsessed with it.
“I agree, love. We should do it. I think it’s…”
“Important,” he says, again stealing the word from my mouth.
I kiss him once more, and we get lost in it for a moment, until we hear a grumbling, “I don’t have all day, ninos. If you want to suck face, do it on your own time.”
We look at the ceilings again. Prying away from Byron, I pick things up, peering into appliances to check for tiny hidden cameras.
Byron unmutes the call. “How do you keep doing that?!”
Ivory chuckles. “So, do we have a deal?”
Byron smiles at me. “Yea. We’ll do it.”
“Excellent! This is exciting. I can’t wait.” Ivory says jubilantly. “I’ll have Yari send over the research that I have. Also, we are planning to come out to New York soon. Hopefully, we can get together then. It would be great to catch up.”
We exchange another look. “Okay… sure,” Byron hums.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you guys!” Angel chirps from the background.
“You too, love!” I swoon. “Miss you, little bird!”
Angel and Ivory both rumble an adorable laugh, reminding me that Ivory is human, and smitten enough that he’s nowhere near as scary as he used to be.
Just a big softie… Who still runs a criminal enterprise.
But, like, shmoopily.
“It was great catching up, you two,” Ivory hums.
“Not so fast, Senor Blanco,” I grunt. “I believe you mentioned something about payment for this job…”
Byron scoffs, shaking his head. I wink at him.
Ivory laughs out loud. It’s a sound that tickles your insides. “Oh, Trevel, my dear boy… I will be forever grateful for the mix-up that sent you my way.” I grin, listening to Angel giggle. “Now… name your price.”
“That’s crazy. Can you pass the pepperoni?”
I hand Dascha the box of pepperoni pizza, while Dog jumps all over him.