Chapter 15 #2
I’m about three seconds away from screaming. From asking what the fuck is wrong with this family and why—why—do they all seem so…
Calm. Like hey, it’s cool that you tried to kill my son but didn’t, also how’s the room he’s keeping you hostage in?
I tip my glass in her direction. “Swell.”
My eyes wander before I can stop them, finding Asher with his face buried in Camille’s neck.
She giggles, melting into him.
My cheeks grow hot, darkening the edges of the room.
I’m going to kill her. And then I’m going to kill him for not killing her.
My phone buzzes against the table with Punk’s name lighting up the screen. No doubt bikini photos, margaritas, and fucking confetti. Yet here I am, back in this house at my own will.
I drink more.
“Here!” Khloe taps at my thigh. “Selfie. I know all the Ashvy fans wanna see it since this fucker hasn’t posted you again yet.”
I lean into Khloe as she snaps a range of shots and Aléia and Elea bicker down the other end of the table.
Khloe flips through the selfies, scrutinizing each one as I sit here with my wine and my rapidly deteriorating grip on civilization.
“Ivy, you look insane!” she shakes her head with a smile. I’d otherwise cringe at the compliment, but I’ll take what I can right now, especially since Camille is within earshot.
Atlas leans over the table. “Lemme see.”
She jerks the phone away. “Back up, predator.”
He glares. “I’m family.”
She shrugs, baiting him. “Which somehow makes it worse…”
I snort into my glass before I can stop myself, and Asher’s eyes land on me.
Camille laughs at something he doesn’t say, sliding her hand up his forearm like she’s trying to win a contest only she’s participating in.
It does the job, because now he’s turned back to her, their performance stealing my appetite.
I cut into the meat on my plate again, biting the piece into my mouth while being careful not to smudge my lipstick.
How long do I have to endure this? Another hour? Two minutes?
Asher lowers his mouth to her ear and says something to make her smile turn lazy.
My wine curdles in my stomach.
I hate him. I fucking hate him.
Khloe makes a wounded noise. “Rude. We are literally curating perfection over here and those two are putting on a show.”
Was that a smirk from Sinead? I’m drunk.
Elea sighs, lowering her knife and fork. “Khloe.”
“What?” she glances around the table. “I’m right.”
“You usually are,” Atlas mutters, chewing his food.
Khloe beams proudly. “Thank you.”
My phone buzzes again. Punk. Then Luce right after. They always have impeccable timing to rub in my suffering.
Atlas nudges his head toward my plate. “Eat something, V.”
“Are you worried about me?” I tip my chin up, all wide eyes and zero sincerity.
He huffs a breath through his nose, amusement ghosting across his face. “No. I’m worried you’re going to stab somebody with a steak knife and ruin dessert.”
I glance at him. “There are worse losses.”
His mouth twitches.
Across the table, Camille leans into Asher again, fingers brushing the open collar of his shirt, and he lets her.
More than lets her. Encourages it. He goes lazy in his chair, one hand sliding onto her thigh, angled just right so I have a full, unobstructed view of exactly how little he gives a fuck.
The worst part is that he knows I’m watching.
He can probably feel it the same way I do.
I empty my glass, swallowing it in one go, before Khloe gasps from my side. “Oh, this one is it. Ivy looks hot. I’m posting. If I have to sit through this weird incest-adjacent jealousy pageant, I deserve joy.”
Camille stiffens, and Elea closes her eyes for one brief second like she’s speaking privately to God.
Atlas holds out his hand. “Phone.”
Khloe finally gives it up, and he studies the screen, then whistles low. “She’s right.”
I don’t need to see the photo. I know what I look like.
Shaking my head, I let Khloe have her fun, since she’s right. Tonight is fucking weird enough.
Khloe points at me like she’s presenting a prize. “Tell me she doesn’t look hot.”
“Khloe,” Elea warns, but I see the flicker of a grin. Huh. Could little chaos have earned this trait from her mother?
“What?” Khloe widens her smile, eyes glistening with absolute mania. “I’m asking the table.”
We all kind of know she isn’t…
Atlas turns the phone a little, angling it away from the candles. “Smash.”
Khloe bursts out laughing, and the tension in the air just cracked up a notch.
Camille says something to Asher, but he doesn’t answer, too focused on Atlas, before shifting to me.
Oh, oh… have we rocked his perfect boat?
Before I can give him my widest smile, a weight drops in my gut. I should look away. I don’t.
Asher’s mouth curls, his voice low. “You having fun?”
The whole table goes still, and Khloe leans back with her lips pressed together like she’s biting down a grin.
My eyes land on him. “Oh, are you talking to me?”
Blood rushes behind my ears, muffling out the sound of Atlas cussing beneath his breath.
Asher raises a brow. “I am, actually.”
Being the absolute fool that he is, Atlas further baits his brother, winking at me with a smirk.
“Are you done?” Asher snaps at him, his body rigid as he leans back.
“With dinner?” Atlas teases, testing his boyish charm.
Asher glares at him. “With acting like a fucking idiot.”
Silence.
Atlas’s smile thins. “You’ll have to narrow that down.”
Is Atlas purposely pissing him off? Or is this all an act?
Camille places a hand on Asher’s arm, soft and soothing and fully suicidal. “Ash, don’t.”
His gaze doesn’t leave Atlas. Or me. Hard to tell who he wants to kill more. Kind of wish it was me so I could at least be out of this dinner.
Khloe, because she was clearly born without fear, picks up her phone again. “Wait, no one move. I need one candi—”
“Khloe,” Elea whines, rolling her eyes. “Must you be—”
Too late.
The flash goes off, snapping the slow curl of Asher’s smile. If I was a better woman, I’d tap out here. I’d pack up my things and go to bed.
Leaning back in my chair, I swirl the Pinot in my glass.
I’m not a better woman. I’m barely half of one.
“I mean,” I let the words marinate in my mouth. “I’m not even sure if I would have turned you down, Atlas. You know, had I seen you first…”
Everything stops. The chatter, movement, even Khloe’s giggle dies an instant death.
Not literally. Sadly, nobody bursts into flames.
Tension breaks when Asher leans one elbow on the table. “And if you had?” he asks, his tone calm. “Seen him first.”
I could lie. I could turn this into a joke, smooth it over, throw Khloe another one-liner and let the moment pass. Instead, I look right at him and say, “Then maybe I would have saved a bullet.”
Khloe mutters, “Jesus Christ.”
Camille shifts closer to Asher. “This is ridiculous.”
“You are free to leave, Camille. It’s Ivy that isn’t,” Sinead says matter-of-fact. I kind of love them for it. I shouldn’t because they basically just announced that I am locked here.
Asher continues glaring at me, and the pressure of it gets under my skin. Maybe I should throw my drink in his face, or climb into his lap, or fuck this whole night off and go for a twenty-mile run and hope it kills me.
Atlas reaches for his wine. “To be fair, I am objectively less emotionally catastrophic.”
Asher doesn’t spare him a glance. “Nobody asked you.”
“I think she did, actually,” Atlas whispers, so low it makes me wonder if his self-preservation is finally kicking in.
My mouth twitches, ignoring Camille rubbing up on Asher’s arm like she has any control over this man.
I’m not jealous. I’m homicidal. It’s different.
“Okay, children! Are we quite done? I’d like to go back to the normal chatter.” Bless Elea, because what did she expect? This is a damn Crime Documentary waiting to happen.
Lifting his glass, Asher keeps his eyes pinned on me over the rim. I need to move, need to hit something. Need to get out of this chair before I combust or turn this into a blood dinner.
Stretching my legs under the table, I knock the pointed toe of my heel into Asher’s shin.
His eyes narrow at me, his hand pausing near his mouth.
Reaching for my wine, I smile sweetly. The room shrinks to that inch between his leg and mine, my stomach pulling tight.
A second later his foot drags slow along my ankle.
I almost choke.
Everything happening around us blends into nothing. Khloe is saying something to Daniel. Aléia is answering Elea with enough annoyance it’s the first thing I pick up, and I don’t even know what Atlas is doing because I don’t give a fuck.
Levelling my stare, I keep composure. “How’s Camille?” I ask Asher, because apparently I’m committed to making bad choices tonight.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Camille answers, most likely giving me her dirtiest look.
I wasn’t talking to you. I just need a distraction.
Asher’s mouth shifts like he hears the thought. “The same.”
I slide my foot farther and jab him harder in the shin, but his knee parts and his hand disappears under the table, catching it.
Oh, absolutely not.
Twisting my foot out of his grip, I smile into my wine as I drive it forward again, this time slightly to the right just in case he decides to try to dodge me again. It lands with a loud thud, and he jerks back.
Motherfucker. Okay. I need to leave.
“Ivanya?” Aléia’s voice drags me back. “It’s a shame you and Asher don’t get along. We could really do with your… expertise in Dovecrest.”
I don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about, but I file the word for later.
I’m about to ask more questions when Asher cuts in. “Khloe.”
The table goes quiet for the hundredth time tonight, and Khloe snickers under her breath, hooking her arm through mine. “Come, let’s go raid big brother’s expensive whiskey and dance naked on OnlyFans.”