Chapter 18 #2
“You can’t.” Parker’s chuckle dies in his throat, his eyes landing on Asher with a hatred I’d never seen from him before. “There’s only one hotel here, and it’s booked out. That’s why the guys have to stay here.” The guys. Egh. I hate that term. The guys. Such a fucking douchebag term.
Lucinda’s thigh taps mine again. Once. Twice. Three times. When I turn to ask what’s the matter with her, she’s looking pointedly at Asher. When I turn back to him, my heart slows in my chest and something that feels like electricity touching water prickles down my spine.
Asher matches his chuckle, the corner of his mouth curling up only enough that you can’t call it a smirk, but you can’t call it a frown. “I’m sure they’ll make space.”
What the hell is happening? How did everything go from cordial and timid, to tension and testosterone?
Parker’s shoulders square and his mouth sets in a hard line. Every warning in my body sets off.
Still.
Unmovable.
“Sorry. No one cares about how Instagram famous you are, son.” He takes a step forward, grass crunching beneath his shoe.
I don’t know who Parker thinks he’s talking to, since last I checked, he himself wouldn’t be allowed to step foot on this land if it wasn’t for his being married to me.
Speaking of fragile masculinity…
“Hold.” I push to my feet. “No one’s leaving, and if it came down to it, I’d call Chateau le voile to prepare you a room, Asher.”
It wasn’t supposed to come out as carelessly as it did, and as soon as it does, I want to shove it back down because now Parker’s attention is on me with narrowed eyes.
I meet his gaze head on. “I just mean that, like Parker said, they don’t care for fame and all that here, but apparently my family who owned this place has been around for generations, so…” Why the fuck am I making excuses for caring for a friend?
“—so nothing,” Parker snaps through gritted teeth.
Atlas whistles, chuckling and rounding the fire pit. He’s trying to ease the tension, but it won’t work around here the same way it does at a frat house.
Breathe.
“What I mean—” I pause, thinking over my words.
Skin brushes my arm. Fire. Heat. Crimson…
Asher’s beside me, his voice pulling me out of my inner turmoil. “It’s fine.”
When did he move?
I force my attention elsewhere, away from him. I’ve never questioned the strength of my mask or whether it slips out of place. Until I met Asher.
Warmth curls around my arm and stays there. “You can make that phone call.” Softness. No… Gentleness. “I appreciate it.”
Punk shifts, angling her body to pin Parker with her stare. “They'll be here every day anyway, because of Mount Crow. And me.”
She's ready to draw blood on my behalf, and the knowledge settles wrong in my chest. My peripheral vision catches my friends, their stillness too deliberate, too controlled.
They're one wrong word from detonating this entire charade, from tearing through Parker's polished exterior and exposing the rot that lives beneath.
I keep my eyes forward. Can't risk meeting theirs. Can't risk them seeing how deep this particular wound goes.
Parker’s mask slips back on, his smile dazzling and eyes bright. “Of course, Punk. They’re always welcome here. It’s just, I guess, overcrowding.” Then he’s gone.
My eyes still burn from being unable to blink as I remain frozen in the spot. I know this isn’t going to go to sleep with any of them. Parker showed a smidge of his true self. They’re going to have questions. Demands. Most of which they have the right to know.
I turn back around with a sigh, but pause when my eyes land directly on Asher.
With pupils blown wide and his jaw stone, it’s enough of a confirmation that this conversation is far from over.
Camille’s high-pitch snicker pierces through mine and Asher’s stare down as she shuffles up beside Jord.
She looks between the twins. “What? You had a perfect opening then, Ash. Why didn’t you use it to embarrass him? Or are you still hoping to mend the friendship?”
Mend? So they did have a falling-out.
Asher uses his thumb to brush beneath his lip, shrugging. “What and sit here for hours going back and forth on who has the bigger dick?” His tone stays light, but his eyes lock on mine. Watching. Reading. Like he can see the cracks spreading beneath my skin.
It’s you. You’re the one with the bigger dick, just FYI…
Asher pulls away, taking his body heat with him and lowers back down beside Camille.
Lucinda stares between Asher and Camille, her brows pulled in. “What do you mean?”
Camille’s ruby red lips stretch wide. “Let’s just say he knows the owner.”
Atlas interrupts before anyone can say anything else. “So. You don’t cook, Ivy?”
I blink out of my daze. What do they mean they know the owner of the Chateau?
Every business here is operated by companies and trusts.
Something like the Chateau le voile is old money.
It’s generational. It’s older than this house, and this is one of the original buildings here.
The fact they know who owns it is either a lie or both my friends are right.
I’m missing something.
***
The Games provided Veilarath with the exact kind of chaos that’s to be expected. People. Everywhere.
“You okay?” Luce asks, parking the car out the front of a bakery.
I sigh. “Yes. I don’t want to get into any of that right now.”
“That’s fine,” Luce says, turning further toward me. “But you know we are going to have to talk about it.”
Reaching for the door handle, I nod, pushing it open.
My boot hits pavement and Punk's voice cuts through the arctic air, her arm already up, flagging us down. Bodies turn, tracking the twins' movement down the street. I sometimes forget Asher's that athlete everyone loses their shit over.
Except here, usually nobody gives a damn. Parker had that part right at least. Veilarath doesn't genuflect for celebrity or fat bank accounts. That's the whole point of this frozen rock floating off the US coast. The only currency that matters here is who you know and what you can survive.
The island's savage when it comes to privacy and protecting their occupants, whether you own real estate here or visiting.
Snap a photo without permission and they don't just confiscate your equipment—they throw your ass on the next boat out with a lifetime ban stamped across your forehead.
The kind of ban that follows you home, destroys your career, makes you unemployable.
Most paps aren't stupid enough to test it. The ones who are? They learn fast that Veilarath's elite don't just protect their privacy, they weaponize it. One wrong click and you're not just losing a paycheck. You're losing everything.
I appreciate the brutality of it. The absoluteness. No second chances, no negotiations, no bribes that'll make it disappear.
For obvious reasons.
Asher’s stare brands my cheek as we trail Punk and Atlas toward the store. Lucinda's already taken point, shopping list clutched like a battle plan.
I skip to the front and away from Asher.
“What are you doing?” Luce asks, her eyes flying over my shoulder when I interrupt her search for herbs and spices. “Are you two fighting already?”
“What?” Shit. Are we? No. Surely not.
“—Nah,” his voice brushes the nape of my neck as he curls an arm around my waist, pulling me into his chest. “Right?” He nips at my throat.
Turning in his grip and coming face-to-face with his chest, my fingers trace their way up his neck, tracing the leaves that disappear behind his ear.
I bury my hands into the back of his hair. “I'm sorry about Parker.” I’m testing the words before I ask the one question I want to know. “What happened between you two?”
His face remains passive, mouth set in a straight line. His jaw locks tight, throwing shadows in all the wrong places that somehow work.
My thumbs rest on either side as I study his eyes. I once thought they reminded me of the ocean, but that isn't it. They're winter. The color of ice with fracture lines running deep beneath the surface.
His grip tightens, pulling me in until our heartbeats collide. He dips his forehead to mine. “Don’t apologize. Not to me. Parker and I are nothing serious. I’m sure we’ll work it out.”
We have a bad habit of never checking our surroundings any time we’re together. I’ll blame it on the fact that I have Luce, and Punk…but deep down I know it’s because whenever we’re together, the world doesn’t exist.
His tongue swipes his bottom lip. “Can I ask you something? Since we are testing this no zone thing?”
“Anything,” I say, but my smile dies quickly because why the hell did I say that? I walked right into a trap. Weak.
His thumb traces my cheekbone. The touch feels too soft for the violence gathering in his eyes. His pupils blow wide, and the air shifts around us.
Time stretches. Luce's warnings crawl up my spine. Jord's doubts sink into my ribs.
What if they see something I'm too close to recognize? What lives under all that careful control?
“Does he hurt you?”
My smile slips. The words hit harder than a blow to the ribs.
“You don't need to lie to me,” he adds softly, the veins in his neck swelling to the surface.
This is deep. Too deep. It’s a danger zone if I’d ever felt one. It also shows just how much he’s been watching. More than I gave him credit for.
“Uh.” I clear my throat. “No, he doesn’t hurt me.”
I step out of his grip, reaching for the first thing I can find. “So! Are you going to teach me how to make this famous dish you were talking about?” Changing the subject has never worked on Asher, and when it does, he makes sure that I know he isn’t letting it go.
But right now, he’s not letting up. The twitch in his jaw only hardens, his eyes dead on me.
I sigh, lowering the herbs to the rack and stepping back into his space. His breathing is measured, but it’s barely controlled.
“He doesn't, okay?” I say, leaving the words out in the open between us. It’s not enough. He's still staring down at me with that same expression. The one that has the power to strip away every single wall I’d ever built around myself.
I know there are people watching.
I know this will look really fucking bad from the outside looking in, but I don’t care.
My fingers join behind his neck as I lean up on my toes so that only he can hear me. “I promise he doesn't hurt me merely as much as I could hurt him.”
I skim my lips over his, kissing him so light only he could tell.
Kneading my fingers into the strands of his hair, I angle my head to the side.
His restraint crumbles like a fortress under siege, his muscles finally relaxing as he catches me around my waist, leaning down to claim my mouth properly.
Oh shit. Well. Everyone is going to see this as clear as day if they’re watching.
A little part of me hopes that they are.