Chapter 8
Ivy
Failed marriages create good liars.
Punk raises a brow. “So?”
“So?” I take the filled glass of Cognac.
“My man!” She gestures to her phone with her own drink.
It had already turned dark and locked itself.
I place it onto the table with a chuckle. “Hot. How'd you meet?”
She glares at me. “Wait, you know who he is!”
“Punk, I'm old.” Liquid slips down my throat like burned sugar crystalizing memories I’d much rather forget. “Despite Asher's failed attempts at keeping me young.”
She chuckles, her pixie nose scrunching. “You're not even old. You're twenty-nine, that's not old, and Asher is good for you. He always has been.”
I take a glass from her and point before taking a sip.
“Eh…” I shrug, wondering where she got her calculations from.
Twenty-nine but girl math. “Eight years older than you, and tell that to Asher who I haven't heard from for almost a month!” Not to be needy, but this is the longest we've ever gone without talking.
Her easy smile falls. “Jesus, when you put your age like that…”
I throw the pillow at her face without spilling a single drop of my drink.
“Hey!” She catches it mid-air with a throaty laugh, resting into the corner chaise. “I'm kidding. You know you look ridiculously young for your age, and also, you're fucking hot so… I don't think it matters.”
Fire spreads over my neck as I shake off her compliment. “Anyway, what were you saying?”
She wiggles her brows at me. “Don't be mad that I have the other Jameson, I know they’re twins, but--” The last name pauses me.
“What do you mean by the other Jameson?”
“Ah, you told her?” Parker enters the lounge, sipping on a glass of whiskey. “Punk is dating Atlas, Asher's brother. They'll be here—” He looks down at his watch. “—well any minute now.”
The glass almost slips in my hand, cognac sloshing against the rim. “What?”
Parker doesn't flinch. “Asher's coming.” He blinks. “With Atlas.”
My pulse kicks up. Thirty days. Thirty-fucking-days since I've heard from Asher, and now he's showing up? Without a word? I haven't heard from him since Christmas.
Punk shifts uncomfortably on the chaise. “I was going to tell you—”
“When?” The word comes out sharper than I intend.
She winces. “I thought Parker already did.”
My eyes land on Parker, who's examining his whiskey. “You didn't think to mention this?”
“I'm mentioning it now,” he says, as if it’s no big deal.
Heat floods my chest, spreading up my neck. This is typical Parker—dropping bombs with the emotional range of a fucking teaspoon. But Asher? Asher doesn't play games. He calls. He texts. He shows up unannounced at three in the morning to make sure I'm breathing.
Except not this week. Or last. Or even the past year after my birthday. There have been visits, sure, but they've slowly died out into nothing.
“Your bags are upstairs,” Parker adds, already moving toward the door. “Daniel's waiting out back.”
I drain the rest of my cognac in one burning swallow and set the glass down harder than necessary. “Thanks.”
Punk reaches for my hand as I pass. “Ivy—”
“It's fine.” I force something resembling a smile. “I'm happy for you. Really.”
She doesn't look convinced, but she lets me go. It's not a lie. If Atlas is anything like Asher, then I’m happy for her. Let's just hope he doesn't like to disappear the same way his twin does.
Cold air hits me as I slip outside. Veilarath's always been my escape—the one place where the world can't touch me, where the snow buries everything ugly and dangerous about my life. The mountains rise in the distance, their peaks cutting into the darkening sky. Beautiful. Deadly. Mine.
Except right now, even the familiar weight of this place feels wrong.
Daniel leans against the Range Rover, breath misting in the frigid air.
He straightens when he sees me, opening the door without a word.
I climb in, and he slides into the driver's seat, pulling away from the front door with ease.
I thought it ridiculous when Asher convinced me to build Daniel a watchtower.
I tried telling him he's good at his job because he doesn't need something so extreme, but he didn't let up. That was the old Asher.
“You good?” Daniel asks after a beat.
“Peachy,” I answer, tight.
He snorts. “Right.”
The watchtower comes into view with all its Gothic hard lines. Perched on the edge of the property, it overlooks the valley where Mount Crow bleeds into shadow. I've always loved it up there. Quiet. Isolated. No one to pretend for.
Daniel parks at the base, killing the engine. Neither of us moves.
“So,” he says, staring out at the snow-covered landscape. “Asher's coming.”
“Apparently.”
“With his brother.”
“Yep.” I leave out the fact that I didn’t even know he had one. I guess that’s my own fault. I enjoyed the part where he and I never felt the need to expose ourselves.
He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “You knew about this?”
“Nope.”
“Shit,” he answers, shaking his head.
I laugh, but it sounds hollow even to my own ears. “Yeah. Shit.”
“This is going to be a long four weeks,” Daniel mutters, more to himself than me. He turns, his expression unreadable. “Why didn't he tell you?”
I blink, pushing away the pain that it brings. “I don't know.”
But that's a lie. I do know. Or at least, I can guess. Asher keeps secrets the same way I do—carefully, deliberately, until they explode in his face. It's why we work so well. Neither of us push the other to spill any of them.
“Come on.” Daniel pushes open his door. “You better get the pool house ready if you don't want him and Parker to kill each other.”
My hand flies out to stop him before he can leave. “What do you mean?” I'd noticed it over the past year. Had Daniel too? I'd be dead if it wasn't for Daniel, or worse.
His smile dies. “It's my job to observe, Ivanya.”
Oh. Right. Of course.
I release his arm and slump back in my chair. He’s right. This is going to be a long four weeks.
***
I stare at my phone. No new text.
Why didn't Asher mention he was coming? I stopped answering when his messages shrank to single words, but four weeks in Veilarath? That's worth a heads-up.
I check my phone for the fifth time. Still no text.
Why Would he come back to Veilarath and not tell me?
Memories flash through my brain, all of which include the first year of us together.
The friendship we shared. The way he made me feel.
Maybe it was boredom from my mundane marriage, or maybe it was some deep-rooted trauma I unearthed without realizing, but whatever it is, it has me clutching my phone like a fucking emergency device.
As if it holds all the answers to my questions.
It doesn’t vibrate.
It doesn't light up with a text.
There's a loud rasp on the front door, and I stop my pacing in front of the fireplace, the whiskey in my glass long since warmed.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Hey!” Punk's loud greeting can be heard from the other side of Mount Crow before the door clicks closed again and three bodies round the entrance.
Asher's eyes come to mine and my stomach twists with weight it's been carrying since he turned weird. “Venom.”
I drain the whiskey, now warm as blood, and step forward when another body slides in behind him.
She flashes a wide smile, showcasing her white teeth. “Wow. This is a beautiful house.”
My eyes fly between her and Asher. Something cold unfurls in my chest.
“Ivy, this is my—”
“Fiancée.” The girl thrusts her hand forward, diamond catching the firelight. She’s all model-thin and expensive clothes.
I take her hand, forcing the shock down my throat. “Nice to meet you?”
She looks between Asher and me, insulted. “Camille. Wait, Asher hasn't mentioned me?”
“Camille.” I gesture toward the kitchen. “Welcome, and no, I don't believe he has.”
She drifts away without another word, gravitating toward Parker. Of course. She probably already knew him, since he is Asher's friend. Thought he was my best friend but whatever…
Asher’s jaw tenses. Almost two years of friendship. Of late-night texts and inside jokes and him knowing exactly which whiskey I stock.
Fiancée.
“And you must be At—” I pivot to the twin, letting my gaze rake over him. “—let?”
His mouth quirks. Amused. “Atlas.”
“Right.” I snap my fingers, stepping away from them. Distance. Always distance. “Didn't know Asher had a brother.”
I claim the sofa furthest away, desperate to put as much distance between us. I feel sick.
“Ah, that's Asher. The secretive one.” Atlas winks playfully at his brother before joining me in the living room.
“Thank you for letting us crash here.” Atlas smacks Punk's ass as she makes her way to the corner bar.
“You're welcome. We have space. Daniel!” I call out, turning over my shoulder for my driver.
Daniel is a man of few words, but when his eyes lock onto Asher, I don’t miss the seconds that they both stare at each other.
“Can you grab their bags, please?” I interrupt, turning back to the group with a forced smile, only to find that when I'm back on Asher, he's placing a kiss on Camille's temple, his eyes closed and his jaw tight.
My stomach plummets. Ugly, feral jealousy claws its way up my throat. I'm human. Most would say a tough one, but right now, I feel like less than nothing.
Camille giggles, and leaves through the kitchen. The second she's out of earshot, Asher drops onto the sofa beside me and my whole body tenses.
His arm sprawls across the back. One of my closest friends just waltzed in with a secret fiancée I knew nothing about.
“Camille seems nice.” I angle toward him, doing what I do best.
He catches my stare, sinking deeper into the cushions and spreading his knees wide. “Yeah.”
“Asher.” The whisper scrapes out of me. I know he fucking hears me, but his eyes stay locked on the fireplace, jaw working overtime. “Why didn't you text me back? Why didn't you tell me you were coming?”