Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
“Y ou’re being ridiculous,” Ivy said, looking at Kirsty through the mirror, hands on hips. She was holding out an excessively high pair of heels to her with an expectant eyebrow arched.
Ivy looked down at the ankle boots she had on. “These are fine.”
“You’re supposed to have brought us all your big city glamour. Those don’t match.”
“It’s your night, no one cares about my shoes.”
Kirsty groaned, throwing the shoes onto the sofa and slumping down beside them. She was doing pretty well, all things considered, but still.
Ivy sat down beside her, resting her chin on her shoulder and pouted. “About the speech…”
“No! You are giving a speech.” Kirsty crossed her arms over her chest, not making eye contact, forcing Ivy to huff.
“I just— it seems weird if it’s me.”
“Too bad. It’s my party.”
“I thought it was our party?”
“Changed my mind.”
Ivy rolled her eyes, a smile cracking, unsuppressed. She stared at Kirsty’s arm and then helped pull her to her feet.
They were running late to their own party. A fact that Ally had reiterated more than once on the drive to Mòr. He was at least less frosty with Ivy than he had been of late. Not his usual self, admittedly, but getting there. She suspected Kirsty had had a word, this being a celebration and all. Remaining notably absent, was any mention of his brother.
Ivy had said nothing about seeing him last month, and Kirsty had stayed steadfast in her battle to act as if the conflict didn’t exist. Mysterious unknowns gave her lifts places, paint and pipes repaired by nameless figures, outwitting Ivy anytime she tried to steer the conversation into a dead end. Even when cornered she managed to keep him out of conversation. Ivy knew it was well intentioned. A mention of an ex— if she stretched her imagination enough to call him that— stung at the best of times, but an ex in a new relationship was more Murder Hornet than Midge. But saying nothing was still saying something. And this something might be worse in the way its massive shadow loomed over them, daring her to ask, forbidding Kirsty to tell.
When they arrived, things were already in full swing. Folk milled about, talking and laughing and making the most of the free food and drink. The band they had hired floated out to them in the car park and provided a backing track to their final checks and pep talks.
“Oh you’ve fully finished the redecorating.” Ivy said as they walked through the door, her first time in a month.
“Yes, yes,” Kirsty replied, her hand on Ivy’s shoulder, steering her to the front. “You can check it out after you’re done.”
“I—”
And then she was on stage.
The next hour or so flew by. Her remarks went down well, and the clips from the programme even better. She mixed and mingled and couldn’t have asked for a better result, as a professional or a friend. Kirsty swept her into a hug and Ally joined, only a little begrudgingly. The boys from the film crew gushed over their time up here, and their plans to return. The family and friends in attendance talked about future drinks and plans as if it was obvious she would be in attendance. She slipped away from the crowd easily when she was ready, the masses suitably distracted by an abundance of free-flowing whisky and gin.
Stepping out of the main room, into the corridor that led to the offices and storeroom, Ivy leant against the wall. The plaster was cool against her skin, and she sighed, shutting her eyes. Music and chatter drifted through the door, surrounding her just gently enough. When she looked up again, she was met with a new gallery wall. A shrine in black and white and technicolour to the Western Isles. Not just the landscapes, either. Scattered amongst cliffs and sea and wildlife, there were faces, reminding Ivy of the decor within the restaurant itself. She’d known they were his pictures, even before then, but that link, that thread of understanding the place, confirmed it. A soft smile teased at her cheeks as she continued to pass along the line up, taking what she could get— the art, if not the artist.
She stopped on one and the noise from the party fell away. Her breath caught as she drove herself from her wall to it and bringing a finger to the frame. It was small— smaller than the rest— tucked into a gap between three of the larger pieces. It would have been easy to miss. Even if you saw the canvas, the picture itself was dimmer than the rest and scuffed with motion blur, allowing eyes to skim over it. But Ivy’s didn’t. Ivy’s eyes caught on the only thing in the picture in proper focus. She looked back at herself, hair whipped across her face, legs sprawled over a rock, caught. Her gaze was in high definition, resting just above the camera’s line. There hadn’t been sun that day, yet light glinted in her pupils. She looked wild and open and so like herself, in a way she hadn’t seen in a picture before. If an observer stood just so in front of the canvas, they could angle themselves into the position that the photographer would have been, and they would know what it looked like to be loved.
“He’s pretty good, isn’t he?”
Ivy jumped, turning to see Ally standing there. She quickly rubbed the heel of her palms under her eyes and brushed her hands down her dress. She sniffed a laugh, trying to ignore the skin across her chest flush.
“They’re amazing.” She nodded, trying to gesture at the whole batch, hoping he didn’t notice the effort to drag her eyes from the one in particular.
He came to stand beside her, wordlessly holding out a glass of champagne.
Taking it from him, she remained quiet, watching as he stared intently at the gallery in front of him.
Eventually he spoke, tipping his glass of water at her picture.
“That one’s my favourite.”
“There’s like ten of you and Kirsty.” She attempted levity, but her voice caught. He smirked anyway.
“He doesn’t know it’s here, by the way. Edited them and sent them across ages ago. Kirsty and I picked what to hang.”
Right. Of course.
“My biggest fans.” She lifted her glass, swallowing though nothing passed her lips, and fiddled with the stem. “Sorry.”
He finally looked at her, leaning over to nudge her with his shoulder. “You love him.”
“I—”
“Writing’s kind of on the wall, Ives,” he replied, jerking his chin toward the photo and his eyes creased.
She ran her hands through her hair and blew out a long breath. “Red-handed.”
“There was a long time I thought we’d lost him. He didn’t take photos, he didn’t talk to anyone, nothing we tried seemed to register.”
“Ally—”
“I know he and Kirsty have gone over all of this with you, so I’ll not bore you. But it was not a good time. For any of us. Even when he started warming up again, I didn’t trust it. He had been so far gone, I didn’t think anything would have brought him back, not properly. And then that picture landed on my desk.”
He was staring at the photo intently, while Ivy just stared at him. She didn’t say anything, waiting for whatever was coming next. After a few seconds, he turned back to her.
“He got himself back from the ledge, don’t get me wrong. But I’ve spent months worrying he might eventually just walk straight back over it. Didn’t know what we could do to prove it was worth keeping up the graft. But you looked like that—” His eyes flicked to her portrait, but Ivy couldn’t look away from him, her insides fizzing. “—and I breathed out for the first time since Julia died.”
“I don’t think I can live up to that.”
“Nah, you can’t. But I think you’ll give it a go.”
There was war beneath her ribs. As her heart fought to swell in response to the warmth in his eyes, its edges were stung and scraped by the anxiety trying to smother it. Thoughts raced, fighting to keep up with the pace of her pulse.
“I hurt him, Ally.”
“And next month maybe he’ll hurt you.”
“But—”
“What’d you do?”
She squinted her eyes at him a fraction, rubbing her thumb along the stem of her glass. “Has he told you?”
“Have you met my wife? I know how to hear a story more than once.”
Ivy laughed, leaning back against the wall and groaning at the ceiling. Her stomach was battering at her throat, so freeing the confession from behind it felt the only option to allow her to say anything else, ever again.
“I told him he was trying to trap me, like he’d trapped Julia.”
Her eyes fell to him and she let out a choked laugh as she took in his wide eyes and pale face.
“You didn’t know, then.” She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers as if she could dam the tears building.
“He told you about her ashes.” His voice was quiet. Eerily level. Nowhere near accusing enough for her liking. “Even Kirsty doesn’t know about the fireplace. The funeral happened pretty much immediately, everyone just assumed…”
She stiffened, righting herself and took him in past damp lashes.
“Why would he?—”
“I think he just wanted you to know him. Get him, I guess.” He shrugged gently, a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth.
The joy and fear and confusion and hope in her fused, melding into need.
“I fucked up.”
“I’ve fucked up with him a million times in the last thirty years and I’m still here.”
“He’s done, he told me— And he just wants to be friends. Or he did. Now he doesn’t even—” She held her hands up shaking her head. “He was too checked out to even tell you why we’d fought.”
“Or,” He took a slow sip of tea. “He’s completely in love with you and would rather have you as a fuck-up than not at all, so didn’t tell us to protect you.”
A sob escaped her. “But he’s seeing someone else!”
“What?”
The corridor fell silent, and they both spun around. Ross stood there, the door easing closed behind him.
* * *
Ivy was going to be sick. Or have a stroke. Or die. Most likely all three.
All the blood in her body seemed to be flooding the space behind her eyes and things were turning black, accompanied by a crescendoing whine.
Her vision darted between Ally and his brother, who had barely edged closer. Ross’ eyes blazed at her, searching. Under scrutiny, her head swirled.
He was there. Here. He was here .
Her lips parted a second and his brow lifted hopefully.
Spinning on her heel, she fled up the corridor, toward the opposite door.
“Ivy!”
She heard the footsteps behind her but continued until she spilled into the carpark.
Outside, she gasped for breath, but finding only acid to fill her lungs. Her chest burned as she clawed at it, gulping sighs failing to quench any of the pain stored there. The ground was falling away beneath her, and she reeled over it, barely attempting to secure her footing.
Then it was quiet. Coolness spread over her, starting from her core and breath returned. Sedated, she opened her eyes to find his hands on her waist.
“I’m not seeing anyone.” He was a perfect mirror, her own anguish reflected back at her so truly as to hurt. Fingers had swept across her, dousing the scorched land between her waist and her forearms where they stopped, clutching too tightly to feel safe.
“I saw you.”
“What? I don’t— You saw me when?”
“Last month. In the castle grounds.”
He let go and flames licked again at the spot he left behind. Running a hand over his face, a desperate attempt at a laugh competed with a sob.
Hand still holding his jaw, he replied. “That’s Julia’s sister. Amy. She visits.”
Everything stopped as Ivy released her breath. Relief had a sharp edge as it filled her chest.
“Oh.”
His eyes bored into her from beneath a heavy brow. Her skin itched where it longed to be touched, but he flinched when her lips parted. Clearing his throat, he straightened and took a step back.
“So that’s cleared up, then.” His awkwardness could have destroyed her.
“I didn’t think you were coming tonight.” Her voice was artificially light. She hoped he didn’t notice. She knew he would.
“It’s my brother’s party.”
“Right.” Her eyebrows nipped together a moment, then she shook her head. “Sorry, I’ll— I’m in your way.”
She stepped aside, gaze drilled into the ground. Without looking, she heard as he hesitated a moment, then walked by her.
Released, she took a ragged breath. Seeking solace, casting her eyes upward, she found only stars. The cruelly clear night showed too many. Each alone, surrounded by dark and cold. Anywhere her sights fled, another solitary spot in the sky. Dead and burnt long ago, their final screams of light only now being heard down here. Had they been alive, they were at least too far from her to hear her own cries, as grief wracked her.
“I don’t know what to do.”
She started, looking up as if she didn’t recognise the voice. Turning, she took him in, fixed halfway between her and the door, his hands behind his head.
“What?” She replied.
“You were here a month ago, and I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me.”
“I think I’ve done my fair share of reaching out. You could?—”
“Ivy, I didn’t know! I would have— Fuck. I’m sorry I stopped answering texts again. After you came to my house that last day I was messed up. I didn’t know how to just be your friend anymore.” The look on his face meant she believed him. When she didn’t answer, he continued. “I didn’t know you were back. Why didn’t you get Kirsty to?—”
“Are you serious?!,” She replied, not knowing when her voice had gotten so loud. “You’re thirty-two year?—”
“Thirty-three.”
“What?”
“It was my birthday last week.”
It was wrong, that time would have passed. He had been thirty-two and they’d been fighting, but it had only been weeks. Now he was thirty-three and years were passing and maybe they didn’t exist at thirty-three. Those weeks that took years possessed the present, an infinite moment stretching between them silently, as if her brain wasn’t screaming at her. Everything was disconnecting.
“Happy birthday.”
“It wasn’t particularly.” He half smiled and it just made it worse. A smile didn’t fit while she swallowed tears. Everything had disconnected. She wanted to rip the smile from his lips, to drag him into her agony, to have it work and align and make sense again, but maybe he was too far gone, so she let go and smiled back.
“It’s getting cold. I’m going to go back inside.”
He groaned, pacing backwards as she attempted to move toward the door, remaining between her and escape.
“Ivy,” he urged, his palms facing her.
She continued walking but failed to close the gap.
The decking creaked when his foot hit it, shocking him out of motion. Though it took her a second to follow suit, she self-corrected, stepping backwards, maintaining the distance he had chosen.
“Can we talk?”
“What have we been doing, Ross?”
“I honestly don’t know. Fucking things up?”
“I’ve apologised. I—” Her hands flailed around her, evaded by any sort of anchor.
“I know,” He shifted forwards, then stopped. She watched as multiple filters passed his eyes, stopping on worry. He swallowed. “I meant me. I’ve fucked it.”
A beat passed. She didn’t want it to, but it did. Time still slipping through their fingertips, wasted, even though she knew.
“You haven’t.”
His eyes sprang up to hers, waiting.
She nodded just enough for them and heat flooded his gaze.
“I love you.”
Her body felt heavy and warm, her tongue sitting too full in her mouth. Her eyes danced over his face, like if she searched enough, she would find oxygen to relieve her heaving chest. Ivy stood still as he began to inch towards her, slowly, eye contact unbroken. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears, drowning out everything but him.
She wiped her face, sniffing as she watched him approach, all pain and promise.
“Do you?” She whispered, entangling her fingers around the rough hand that held her cheek now he was in front of her.
His gaze finally slipped from her shining eyes, trailing down her, snagging on her mouth on the return trip. His Adam’s apple bobbed before he nodded and looked back to her. When their eyes met again, though the heat remained, a vulnerable edge slipped in, framed by his knitted brow.
Ross’ chin dipped a second as he nodded. “I am so completely in love with you, Ivy.”
“I love you too,” she replied with a wet laugh, immediately smothered as he dragged her to him.
She barely registered herself hit his chest before she was distracted by his rough hand sweeping up through her hair. She reached back to entangle her own fingers with his, an anchor point, when their hips and chests and lips weren’t enough.
His mouth was desperately hungry over hers, his tongue painting the last things unsaid. When she lifted to her toes, tilting her chin for a better angle, he nearly growled. Want flooded through Ivy, drawing her firmer against him as if enough pressure might bond their atoms, enough that they wouldn’t have to separate again, even when it was over.
He wrenched from her, drawing a whimper from her lips with him as he moved. His hand came to rest on the base of her neck, a thumb brushing her cheek before resting against her throat. In his flushed complexion, drowned wild and heady, tenderness break through. A smile tickled his swollen lips as he nudged her nose with his and pressed a soft kiss to her. Before her own grin could bloom, she was airborne, a laugh peeled out of her as he spun her round.
Walking her back against a car, he held her tightly to his core, a hand tracing up her thigh and pulling her knee higher, electricity shooting along the course. Hitched around him, skirt high on her waist, the only thing between the evidence of their desires was lace and tartan. When she rolled her hips, Ross pressed back, recapturing her lips. His thumb tapped on her throat as his fingers massaged her racing pulse. Ivy’s hands clutched at the ties lacing the front of his shirt, huffing in frustration that they hadn’t come undone with the rest of them. She felt his smirk against her mouth so opened her own further, begging him deeper. He took her cue, but, as soon as his hand brushed the lower curve of her stomach, he tore back.
The frantic face in front of her spoke in a hoarse voice, “Public.” It looked like it hurt.
Calm washed over Ivy, and she adjusted herself. Resting a hand against his chest, she brushed a kiss against the angle of his jaw and stepped toward the door.
“Let’s go back inside.”
“Or—” He hooked her little finger, arching a brow at her. “—we could go back to mine.”
She scrunched her nose at him, her body following the buzz that started where he held her, ending up back at his chest.
“We’ve got time.”
“Time that you could use to talk to my sister-in-law or…”
He dropped his head to her neck, trailing slowly kisses up to her ear, his breath igniting her skin. Ivy’s pulse soared, her head rolling back on her shoulders.
She indulged herself a moment, running her hands up his chest just to find her target, catching his jaw.
“Ross.” She tugged him to look at her, her eyes soft. She bit back a smile as his gaze faltered over her mouth and then landed wide on her eyes. “I’m not leaving.”
“The party?”
“Amongst other things.”
He laughed, pulling her under his arm and walking toward Mòr.
“You are unbelievable.”