Chapter Two
‘WHAT?’ IVY SHOUTED. Surely, she was hallucinating?
‘You had no idea? Ruby never mentioned anything about this to you?’ Ethan’s gaze drilled her to the spot.
She shook her head. ‘She’s left this.’ She waved a hand around the room. ‘To both of us? Are you sure?’
‘Yes!’
‘But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would she do that?’ She could have never predicted this. Without giving him time to respond, she rushed on. ‘I’ll sign it over to you. I don’t want WillowGlen. It’s yours. You’re her family, her blood relation. It’s your birthright, not mine.’
He scowled. ‘She never worried about that, nor do I. And to be clear, I never anticipated WillowGlen would be left to me, in any capacity. Ruby always said she’d leave it to an historical association.’
‘That doesn’t change the fact it doesn’t belong to me.’ She pressed a hand against her pounding heart. ‘I can’t, won’t, accept any share. It belongs in her family. With you.’
‘That’s not the way it works. Ruby left a letter for you. It’s with Peachey. He’ll give it to you before he reads the Will.’
‘Do you know what’s in it? The letter?’
‘I’m not sure if it’s exactly the same as mine, which was addressed to both of us. But Peachey was instructed to give you one separately and not to read the one I got until you’ve read your own. The one I received makes a special request.’
For one crazy moment she was almost too scared to ask. Instead, she squared her shoulders. ‘Being?’
He hesitated and shifted on the chair.
‘That she wants the two of us to stay here together, to decide on the future of WillowGlen.’
‘Us. Together?’ No amount of acting could withhold her surprise.
‘Yes, for six weeks.’
Ivy gasped. It was the only way to describe the completely foreign sound that escaped.
‘Six weeks? What? Why?’ Shock made her words high.
Fast. She sucked in a breath, mentally counted to ten and slowed down.
‘I understand you making the decision about WillowGlen. You transform old buildings into stunning, sustainable hotels.’ She jammed her mouth closed.
He didn’t need to know how avidly she followed his career designing and building boutique hotels that won countless accolades.
He’d save properties on the edge of demise, restore them into environmentally friendly spaces of luxurious delight while engaging local communities in the building and running of them.
Not that she’d stayed at any, but she’d read the articles, seen the pictures.
Many of her peers favoured them, and the waiting lists were extensive.
‘But this. I don’t understand.’ She shook her head, trying to make sense of it all. ‘You didn’t know about it? Before now?’
‘I. Did. Not.’
‘You don’t think there’s been some kind of mistake? I mean my involvement?’ Maybe Ethan had it wrong? He hadn’t seen the Will.
He shrugged—all Latin fluidity. ‘Not according to Ruby’s letter, and she wasn’t one for practical jokes. I’ll ring Peachey and arrange a time for tomorrow morning. We need to get this sorted.’
‘Would you ask him to come here? I don’t want—’ a barrage of potential headlines flashed in her mind ‘—the press to know where I am.’
He shot to his feet and stalked, the only way to describe it, to stand in front of the fireplace again.
‘You don’t expect me to believe that? Do you, Ivy?’ Legs braced, arms behind his back, he glared at her.
The ghost of that day eight years ago rose before her and, like a scene from a well-watched movie, she recalled every detail.
The setting sun spinning a golden hue around the two of them.
The heat of the folly floor beneath her bare feet after she’d kicked off her heels.
The barest hint of mint she’d inhaled greedily as Ethan had wrapped her in his embrace.
His hands pressing into her back through her silk dress.
The scorch of his stare as he’d lowered his head.
The heady feeling that he’d seen beyond the facade of Ivy Flame—the actor—and found her and wanted her. The real her, not the act she put on to hide her guilt and shame at killing her parents.
But it had been utter madness losing herself in the moment and allowing herself to feel things she had no right to, to pretend there was no pact. She clenched her hands and steeled herself to remember the rest.
She hadn’t known that her publicist, who’d been her plus one for the day, had called a paparazzo after recognising Ethan and his famous heritage.
They’d surreptitiously followed her and Ethan on their walk through the grounds.
A time when Ivy had dropped her persona, drained after hours of playing her part as the ultimate party girl, and let her true personality leak through.
Because she’d felt a connection to Ethan like no-one else, and that had made her feel safe enough to lower the exhausting facade.
To let him lead her to the folly and kiss her like their lives depended on it.
She hadn’t been aware of anything except Ethan, until all hell had broken loose, after Luc and Cam had stumbled across the hiding spot of the pap, her publicist and their long-range lens.
The pap had quickly ratted on her publicist, and her publicist had wasted no time throwing Ivy under the bus, declaring that the photos had been staged at her insistence.
Ethan had turned to her in confusion, and she’d opened her mouth to defend herself until she’d snapped back to reality.
Because she’d never have the right to a love-at-first-sight story like her parents, as much as in that moment she’d longed for it.
But it was the only way she knew how to honour them, and she’d never let them down again.
So she’d let Ivy loose, even though it had been the hardest role she’d ever played, as she’d pouted and run her fingers down Ethan’s chest, telling him to lighten up.
Even now she loathed thinking of the shock that had crossed Ethan’s face, then the fleeting devastation she’d glimpsed, until fury and revulsion had made his body stiffen as he’d made it abundantly clear what he thought of her.
And that was before the resulting media frenzy was unleashed on them all.
A nauseating frenzy, which had dragged up the tragic death of his mother, the world-renowned actress Mona Baxter, and his father, Pedro Suerte. It had also drawn comparisons between Ivy and Mona, the ultimate femme fatale, who’d played with men for fun.
Her heart had bled for him, and for her part in it, not that she’d ever let Ethan know.
Then again, he wouldn’t believe her even if she did.
The press conference she’d given three months later when she’d landed the role of a lifetime had made sure of it.
She’d made a conscious decision to defuse any speculation about him so when their kiss had inevitably been brought up, she’d dismissed it, and him, with a flick of her hair accompanied by her trademark throaty chuckle.
She pushed the past away and met his gaze with a steadiness that was far from real.
‘Yes, Ethan, I do expect you to believe me.’
* * *
The next morning, feet pounding on the gravel path, Ethan ran through the grove.
Sweat gathered at his brow and down his back, plastering his T-shirt and lightweight running jacket to his skin.
He kept up his frantic pace even though he’d been at it for an hour and the sunrise had turned the sky into a show of crimson and gold.
He’d headed outside, knowing his favoured form of exercise would clear his mind.
It always did. Still, his thoughts clung to Ivy like they were stuck on repeat.
She’d retired early last night—sans any movie star demands—to the room she always used.
And he’d gone to the large gabled one on the top floor—a room full of some of his happiest childhood memories.
Where he, Luc and Cam had stayed every school holiday from the age of eleven.
Except sleep had eluded him. The pain of losing Ruby, the surprise of her wishes and the swirling vortex of Ivy’s involvement.
Why her? And why did she get under his skin like she did?
He’d met plenty of successful, beautiful people before.
Was it because none of them had slipped through his fortress-like guard that he’d developed by his teens and then betrayed him?
The first time they’d met, his instant attraction to her, a stunning woman, had been normal.
Ignoring all warning signs as to what she was really like was unforgivable.
Someone who played you to get what they wanted.
Thrived on attention no matter the consequences.
Lived in a world of make-believe that centred around themselves and didn’t care who they destroyed along the way.
He shivered, but it wasn’t only the morning chill seeping into his bones.
He remembered the staged photoshoots he’d had with his mother, how adoring and caring she’d be to him while the cameras were rolling, and as soon as they’d gone, it was like he no longer existed.
How bewildered and hurt he’d been until he’d finally learnt he couldn’t believe her, trust her.
It was the only way he knew how to protect himself, as everything she said in front of the camera, as she looked at him so adoringly, was a lie.
She didn’t love him, didn’t hate being parted from him, because she’d never contacted him while she was away, not even on his birthday or Christmas.
For years he’d haunted the front gates, sure that day she’d come home, that she’d want to see him, would have missed him as desperately as he’d missed her.
Yet invariably it would be months between each visit and never when she’d promised to return.