Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
IVY
I stare down at my phone, rereading my last five texts, all left on read. Emeric hasn’t returned a single one.
Not even when I signaled that Nonna was gone.
Pick up the fucking phone.
I type it out. Delete it. Type it again.
My thumb hovers over send when the car door flies open.
Atlas stands to the side, sweat damp on his skin. No doubt shirtless and post work-out.
I don’t look away from my phone. “Do you ever wear clothes?”
Closing out the text box, I finally turn to him. There it is. Gray sweats that hang off a six pack I’d seen far too often.
His mouth tilts at the corner. “Aw, don’t act like you don’t love it.” He dips into the car to Daniel. “Thanks for bringing her home safe.”
Home.
I scoff, shuffling out of the back seat when he steps aside.
“First of all, Daniel has always kept me safe, so watch your tone.” I circle the space between us. “Second, this is not my home, and third, you’re lucky I stick to things I commit to.”
Afternoon sun hits my face, and I shade it with my hand, peering up at Atlas when he doesn’t answer. “What?”
He searches my eyes as if battling with what to say. “There’s a cockroach in the house.”
Camille.
I sigh, leaning against the car to catch my breath.
Of course. Because of course, Asher thinks like other men his age and assumes the one way to get back at me for leaving him in Désamour is with his ex.
Atlas shuts the back door and hauls my luggage out of the trunk before dragging it up the steps.
He stops when he realizes I’m not following, flashing a grin over his shoulder. “Oh, come on. I know you like to squash roaches.”
I genuinely hate this man. He reminds me of everything I’ll never have again with Asher.
Atlas draws in close, until his chest brushes mine. “Just play the game, Ivanya.”
Daniel’s stare burns into my back.
I glance over my shoulder and catch him watching Atlas, jaw tight. We’ve never talked about his history with Emeric. Never needed to. I trust him with my life. More than that. But something’s off with him lately. Or maybe I’m just paranoid, drowning in the theatrics of it all.
Atlas extends his hand. “You ready?”
Daniel nods at me, his smile thin, before climbing back into the car.
I take Atlas’s hand and let him lead me up the steps and through the front door.
Chatter drifts from the main living area, tucked behind the floating wall that separates the foyer.
I set my handbag on a side table, catching my reflection in the mirror above it. My hair’s longer than last year, tangling easily at the ends, and my skin darker than the last time I saw him, since the new “safehouse” is more of a “beach shack”.
Thirty-one years and I can’t claim a single thing that matters.
No kids. No career worth mentioning, no husband waiting at home with dinner on the table. My life has never been simple. But during jobs, I pretend it is. That’s why I love what I do. I get to slip into someone else’s skin. The neighbor, the crazy ex, the housewife, the boss. The wife.
I’ve lived a thousand lives, and not a single one of them is real.
A strapless top clings tight around my waist, dipping between my breasts, and vintage Levi’s hang loose on my hips, a sliver of skin exposed where the denim rolls at my ankles.
I’m dressed for Cuba, not Veilarath.
I slip off my Hermes flats and use my fingers to break through the waves in my hair, shifting it all to one side as I follow Atlas into the living room.
Well. One life is for real. This one. So far…
I stop at the threshold when the room pulls tight around me, everyone in it turning.
His eyes land on me and with one slow sweep, he devours my body inch by inch before settling back on my lips.
Camille drags her thumb along one perfect nail, her mouth pinching at the sight of me. “Ah, she’s back… yay.”
“You must be Ivanya.” A voice cuts through the quiet, and I pivot, finding a woman with dark hair and familiar, piercing blue eyes.
She smiles, her expression warm and open. “Oh, honey, don’t be shy. Come.”
She wraps her arms around me and I freeze.
Atlas’s hand lands on my back, rubbing a slow circle. “It’ll be over faster if you just ride it out, V.”
Since when did he decide to cut my damn name?
The tension drops from my shoulders as she gives me a soft pat before sitting back on her heels. “I’m the boys’ mom, Elea. Come, sit.”
Their mother? No one’s ever mentioned a mother. Not online, not on record.
“She likes a private life,” Asher murmurs from the corner, as if reading my mind. I wouldn’t be surprised if he could at this point.
I settle into the sofa as Elea glides in from the kitchen, a tray balanced in her grip.
“I thought you could use a drink.” She halts in front of me, her expression warm. “Asher told me about your Nonna.”
She sets the tray on the table, lifting two martini glasses. The edges of her eyes soften as she reaches up, threading a finger gently through my hair. “So beautiful.”
I smile. “Thank you.”
Goddammit, Asher. He could have filled me in on what I’m doing here. I’m always playing house, but this is the first time I don’t know the script.
Gin spreads a slow heat through my chest, releasing all the tension I'd been holding.
“Your sister wants to start planning her birthday party earlier this year.” She stirs the liquid in her glass.
Atlas moves to the spot on the other side of me, and I fight the urge to ask him what the fuck he’s doing. “She’s a brat, that’s why.”
Elea turns her attention to her son. “You are in no place to be grading your sister for her bratty antics, since she most certainly learned them from you.”
I cough, swiping the gin from my lip.
Sister… that’s right. I almost forgot they had one.
“Aw, what’s the matter?” Camille purrs from beside Asher, her eyes on mine. Not sure they’ve left since I walked in here. “Cat got your tongue?”
I don’t have the energy or the brain cells to respond, but my mouth opens to reply anyway. “I wouldn’t call him a cat, no…”
Elea rests her hand on my knee, and some of the static under my skin eases.
Who are these people. What the hell is happening…
I stand quickly, setting my glass on the coffee table and dip straight through whatever weird little family tribunal they have going.
“Sorry.” I force my best smile, gesturing down the hall. “I’ll be a minute.”
I move at a pace that would make any suspicious person, very suspicious, past the hall and under the stairs until I find the bathroom, slipping inside, and locking the door behind me.
It’s small enough to gather my thoughts, but the designs are the same as everywhere else in this house. Concrete and hard.
Shutting my eyes, I grip the counter. One glance at my own face in the mirror and I’ll either laugh or scream. Neither option seems ideal given the situation unfolding in the other room.
I breathe in, and out. Apparently we’re doing breathing exercises now. Love that for me. One ambient Spotify playlist away from a nervous system reset.
One. Two. Three.
Nonna’s blood, Luce’s screams, the body being dragged…
By seven my pulse is still trying to claw out through my throat. By nine I already know ten won’t fix anything, and I’ll need an entirely different number system and possibly an exorcist.
Pull it together.
Asher.
What do I remember about him, and what do I know now? Memories are muddled. Most of them my own doing, since I forced them behind a brick wall after I thought I killed him.
I type out a new message to Luce.
Do you know anyone else like us? Families I mean?
It’s far-fetched. Not something we’ve ever spoken of, Nonna included, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t the first time that it crossed my mind.
There isn’t. There are other corporations, sure, but none that fall under the same umbrella of a Playhouse. Why?
Another text comes through.
Even if that were the case, it’s impossible. Both live entirely too much in the spotlight to have any anonymity, and we all know that’s the only non-negotiable. Also… we know every other Family there is.
I shove my phone back into my pocket.
She’s right. I’m reaching.
A door opens and I roll my eyes, already bracing for Atlas, but the silhouette that fills the frame turns my blood hot.
Asher shuts the door behind himself, his gaze locking onto me.
He looks hot. Too fucking hot. Every second around him is a war I’ll never win.
“Not really up for the fight.” I pretend to fix my lipstick. Now that he’s in front of me, I can’t form the words I wanted to say. “Maybe go fight with Camille, since she’s always around.”
His hand lands on my throat, but I slap it away before he’s gripped it and swing with my right. He catches my fist faster than I expect, trapping it without effort.
I’m a better fighter than most, even Leon on a good day. There’s no way some rich snowboarder can block and hold. Yet another thing about him that doesn’t add up.
He uses my captured fist to tug me closer as his other hand finds my throat. The corner of his mouth curls as he glares down at me, and any other woman would wilt under the force of that stare, but I know better.
Even more? I know him.
I whisper the first thing that comes to mind. “I should have killed you.”
Shadows darken under his features. “Then do it now.”
His focus drops to my lips as his fingers find the side of my face.
I try to twist free, but he tightens his hold, wrenching my face back to his. A single grip around my chin shouldn’t hold this much force, and for the second time since arriving, I question exactly who I’m dealing with.
Our closeness lights up every nerve, and I don’t know whether it’s the poison of being this close to one another or because we both react better to violence, but every second feels longer than the last.
“You left me, at that house, to, what, Venom? Go where?” His thigh brushes my inner one. “And if you even think of slipping out from me right now, I’ll bend you over and fuck you how I should kill you.”
Heat flares through me.
Stop thinking this is attractive.
I lift a challenging brow. “And what position is that, exactly?”