Chapter 10
Ivy
Irack my gear on the stands and brush snow from my pants. The small gate to the backyard creaks as I push through, yanking off my gloves.
I need a drink. And a night out. Luce would lose her fucking mind.
“I like you,” Atlas says, jogging up behind me and slumping an arm over my shoulder.
I chuckle. “You don't know me.”
He ignores my answer as we come up to the cabana beside the heated pool, and I place my things on top of the table, hoping he removes his fucking arm.
“Ah, but you know, sometimes you don't have to know someone to like them. You can just… hear a lot about them and like them.” He’s playing cute, but I don’t find it all that cute.
I slip my beanie off. “Asher?”
Atlas's smile turns to a full grin. He reminds me of that cat in Alice. Cheeky, full of life, and completely unhinged.
“I mean truly, impeccable for someone to work their way under his skin so badly he has to bring a distraction, but I mean…” he lowers his voice as he draws closer.
I’m immune to flirty men. It’s hard-wired into my brain to ignore them.
Until Asher.
I unclip my suit and shuffle it over my waist. “You’re overthinking it.”
His expression flickers with momentary confusion as I move. As far as similarities between him and his brother go, they stop at their looks.
Where Asher’s tattoos are all black and gray, Atlas’s are an explosion of color.
Where Asher's turquoise eyes burn, Atlas's sparkle.
Interesting.
I push my clothes away, the cold air leaving teeth marks over my exposed skin.
Atlas jerks away with a gulp, as if I’m naked and not in a bikini. “See you later, Ivy!”
The faint sound of the gate closing in the distance rings out, but I’m too focused on the water to care.
I dip my toe in and sigh, before pushing off the rim and diving in. Encased by warmth and silence, I wish I could anchor myself and stay here, alone with my thoughts.
Kicking off the bottom, I resurface, raking my hair back and finding myself face to face with Asher.
Just Asher.
My heart does that weird thing in my chest again and I'm getting seriously fucking sick of it. Close to tearing the bitch out if I have to. It's because you're friends. Like Leon. Like Punk. Like Luce. Like Jord.
Lie. None of them make my chest ache. My stomach gnaw at me from within. Like I’m damn well dying a slow, tedious death.
He tilts his head. “Can I ask you a question?”
No?
“You're going to anyway,” I say, swimming across the way until I'm closer to where he stands.
He drops down, testing the water with his palm, and I sink lower, submerging my lips beneath the surface as his attention lingers.
“Why did you marry Parker?”
He’d never asked before, and it throws me off a little.
“What?” I brush him off, placing my hands on the rim of the pool and pushing myself out. I'm close enough for water to fall on his boots.
He chuckles, but I ignore him, squeezing the water out of my hair and walking back to the cabinet to grab my towel.
His words follow me. “Yeah, didn't think you'd answer that.”
I quickly wrap the towel around my body, turning to face him. “Then why ask?”
He whistles, shaking his head and brushing past me. “Because I was hoping your answer would make me feel less guilty about my wanting to fuck you, Venom.”
I squeeze my items to my chest, turning to watch his retreating back enter the house.
He's never openly said anything to the extent of that. Have we both flirted? Sure. Pretty fucking badly? Also yes. But lines have never been crossed. More work on my part than his, I'm assuming, since the two times we almost kissed resulted in my being the one to pull away.
My steps are quick as I continue down the path that leads to the patio, before opening the glass doors. Grease, bacon and eggs fill the house, with the distant sound of an old rap song.
Jord's voice gets closer until I find him leaning against the wall, flicking a dish cloth over his shoulder with a broad smile on his face.
“Hungry?” He smirks, wagging his brows. I hate him. “Bet you are.”
Asshole.
I pinch a strip of bacon and chew slowly, watching Asher disappear through the back. “What's the deal with him and Camille?”
Jord doesn't hesitate. “She's a friend, never been uploaded by the Lord himself, mainly because his fandom is still all Team Ashvy.
By the way, they're all getting antsy that you've not been spotted together much lately.
Lucky for you both, the Veilarath Privacy Law is still going strong, but I wouldn't put it past his fans to snap a photo or ten while you're both here.”
She's a friend. Because that makes sense. Because that makes all the sense.
He put me on his profile multiple times, but they were mainly photo dumps, and they were all with subliminal captions that would send Punk into a frenzy of a PR squashing nightmare in order to conceal what she could.
But he hasn't put her on his socials at all…
“So!” Jord claps. “Am I getting laid tonight or what?”
* * *
I knew the night would end like this. Me, home early, and those two, still out partying.
I toss the keys onto the side table and slip off my boots, bracing against the wall to keep steady.
My heart fucking jumps when I spot the outline of someone on the single wing sofa, closest to the fire. His back is bare, turned away from me. He hasn't noticed me yet… maybe I can just—
“How was your night?” The muscles in his back ripple as he leans back, glancing over his shoulder.
“Uneventful.” I take the two steps down into the open-plan living room. “What are you doing up?”
He slouches to the side. “Haven't been sleeping much lately.”
Heat licks at my skin from the fireplace. It should be a distraction, but all it does is remind me that it’s not him doing the licking.
Okay. We’re beginning to be a little ridiculous now.
“Hmph. That's no good.” I snag the whiskey bottle and pour two glasses, setting them on the mantel.
Shit. Bad fucking idea. Now I've got a front-row view of all of him.
And I mean all of him, considering the only thing between us is a pair of gray sweats hanging low on his hips.
I've caught glimpses before—naked, half-naked, more times than I can count.
But never after he's flat-out said he wanted to fuck me.
And never while he's watching me like I'm something he wants to devour.
“Your night of drinking wasn't enough?” he asks, nodding toward the glasses.
I snort. “I didn't drink.”
Silence. My fingers graze his when I hand over the glass, and the contact sparks—electric, reckless.
“Ah, right,” he chuckles, taking a sip. “The whole Ivanya-doesn't-get-drunk-around-strangers thing.”
Shrugging, I swallow a gulp. “Some of us don't change that quickly.”
He raises a perfect brow. “That a stab, Venom?”
A strangled snicker escapes me. “I have plenty more. Wanna hear them?”
He assesses me for a moment. Questions swarm beneath his surface, unspoken and raw. It's the first time I notice how disheveled his hair is, as if he'd been pulling at it not long before I got home. Not your problem, Ivanya. Stop. But then his skin glows against the flickering light of flame.
“Why do you look at me like that?” he asks, and the words would sound harsh from anyone else, but they're barely a whisper, and it snaps me out of my daze.
“Like what?” I tilt my head for effect, letting the question hang between us like a challenge. I wish I had been drinking, then I could blame the alcohol for the way I'd clearly just been caught gawking at him like some starved beast.
He holds my stare and shifts forward, slow and deliberate, until his elbows rest on his thighs. The movement only deepens the shadows carved around his features, making him look like something pulled from the dark corners of my most dangerous thoughts.
“You know what.”
I laugh, cutting him off, and rest back against the cold stone. My hair falls over my shoulder, and I rake it out of my face and onto one side.
“Trust me.” I blink, swallowing past the pain of never being able to have this man. “I probably wouldn't be in the position I'm in right now if I did.”
I hesitate when I realize I've said too much, then swallow the remainder of my drink. “I should probably go to bed.”
We both stand at the same time, forcing any space out from between us.
I stumble into him. “Shit, sorry.”
He takes my hand, igniting a flurry of heat through my veins. “Stop fucking acting as if we didn't spend a whole year getting to know each other, and enter into another hurting because we didn't see each other as much.”
I try to pull back, but he holds me in place. The movement is out of character.
My attention drifts up his chest, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, before settling back on him.
“What?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, but it comes out weak. So fucking weak. Not like me at all. “Like you cared that we went a whole bunch of time without really seeing each other. Judging by the fiancée upstairs, you were obviously busy.”
Something dangerous flicks behind those storm-colored eyes before his tongue sweeps across his bottom lip. Slow, deliberate.
Then he releases my hand like I've burned him. “Yeah, you're right. We should go to bed.”
I don’t hesitate, making my way to the stairs. I quickly pass portraits, landing on the glow of the gold door handle that leads to my bedroom.
I backpedal fast, retracing my path, praying I don't crash into Asher and spark that fucking mess all over again.
Before, it was simple. Clean lines. We knew the score, flirted around the edges, kept it manageable.
Now? The wires between us are twisting into something I can't untangle. As strong as the chain to an anchor…
He took me to a yacht. I wish I believed in fairytales like the ones friends used to talk about. Maybe I'd be able to talk myself into pretending this is just a detour to see Dad. But I don't read fairytales. Happily Ever Afters aren't for me.
Water rocks against the hull, swaying me from left to right. Salt clings to my nose. From the sea, or/ from crying too hard. I slowly slip to the side, ensuring I have the door in view. I just have to keep an eye on it. Make sure I can see who enters and who leaves.
I wake up with a jolt and someone screams. Maybe it was me. My back is against the wall when I see someone in front of me. She’s tall. Very tall. Adult tall. But has something covering her face, a kind of veil. Sheer, kind of like the ones you marry with.
She raises her hands in a way that reminds me of surrender.
“What do you want?” I snap. If I’m going to die, I’ll at least go down fighting.
Her head shakes from side to side before she gestures to a chair.
I look between it and her, conflicted on what she’s implying.
Did she want me to sit? It’s the first time I notice the room.
It’s not as small as I thought. There’s a bed, a makeup vanity and a dresser.
There’s a small fridge that’s directly beside me, and bedding that seems unused.
When she gestures again, I decide to do as she asks, if anything to see what she does.
Lowering to the small cushion chair, she takes a shorter stool beside it and begins opening and closing the drawers in the dresser.
“What is happening? Why am I here?”
The girl doesn’t answer.
She lines trays of makeup out on the vanity before finally grabbing a brush set and turning to me.
“Do you not talk?”
My face is hard from tears, my skin cracked.
She plucks out a wet wipe and gently starts working on my cheek. I’m not sure if this is a typical occurrence. “Do you know my dad?”
The girl doesn’t answer. After the twelfth question, I give up and go with what she’s doing. It beats being manhandled by a monster.
She finally finishes and begins putting the makeup away. Turning to the mirror, I stare back at myself, reaching to touch my cheek. I look… different.
Why?
I turn to ask the girl one more question, but she’s already beside me, gesturing to my feet. I decide to follow her again, since she’s gentle. Are all women like this? Gentle.
We leave through the door that I was not long forced through, and the sun smacks me in the face. Squinting my eyes, it takes me a moment to adjust. There’s an ocean bed of endless water in front of us. We left the dock? Dread fills my belly again. I’m so lost. Alone.
Strong.
The girl tugs my hand and I follow her upstairs and to yet another door. She presses it open and stands to the side, waiting for me to enter.
With a lingering look on her, I step through the darkness with a gulp. What the hell am I doing? No. I need to—I turn around to go back, but the slam of the door cuts daylight.
Turning, I rest against it, willing my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but every time I blink, I make it worse.
“Hello, Ivanya. I’m so glad to see you again.”
It’s him. The man in the suit.
His hand drops to his zipper, his ring catching my eye. Old and ugly. Like him.