Chapter 57
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Ivan
Poppy and I lived in a Cold War. There wasn’t any open conflict, but there was strain. There were longing glances. There were things we went to say, but then changed our minds on. There were moments where her hand brushed mine by accident, and I nearly lost my fucking grip on reality.
More than anything, I wanted to ask her what my grandmothers wanted—or rather, what she wanted with them. She’d come home drunk and shiny and armed with an envelope she’d pulled out of her cleavage like a deranged stripper-magician.
When Marta showed up to do the final fitting on her gown, she smiled as if she wanted it. But as soon as anyone else mentioned the wedding or Donovan, she clammed up or ran away. I couldn’t get a good read on her; no one could. She was two different people. It was scary and worrying.
Poppy and Donovan were going on more public outings together, and I wanted to ask if she was okay, but anytime I tried, she tucked tail and ran.
I knew she wasn’t, though. I could see it in the down slope of her shoulders and the way she wore her clothes like armor now.
Every outfit was dark and… murderous. She looked like a mafia queen, and I didn’t know if it was all for show or because that was the persona she was about to don.
I knew without a doubt that I needed to heal fully, I needed to be able to kill him before she was shackled to him for all eternity.
I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit here for the rest of my days and let her down.
Marta turned at the door and handed Poppy a long list. “These are all the things you need to prepare before the rehearsal dinner. Make sure Jane wears lavender, it’s such a pretty color, and I know you don’t really want your mother in attendance, but it’s important that she’s there.
” Marta patted Poppy’s cheek, and she didn’t move a muscle. She’d gotten good at this.
As soon as the door closed behind the glorified babysitter, Poppy slumped down, practically sagging in her skin. She let out a long sigh as she read over the list.
“Poppy,” I whispered, and she immediately straightened. “Don’t do that with me. Don’t pretend with me.”
She turned around, and my heart jumped into my throat. She looked like she’d been emotionally beaten down one too many times. I couldn’t handle it.
“I have to,” she closed her eyes for a brief moment. “Because if I don’t, I’ll make a mistake, and I can’t risk that when it comes to Donovan. Not again.”
“At least tell me what you’re planning,” I tried again.
Her tired eyes met mine. “I’m planning to survive.” Something in her voice broke me, and all I wanted to do was close the distance between us and hold her, but I knew better.