Chapter 27
Ivy
The Mediterranean sun bites into my shoulders as I step onto the weathered planks of the jetty, each footfall echoing across turquoise water. White fabric pools around my ankles.
My fingers tighten around the bouquet of peonies, their stems digging into my palm.
David stands at the end of the jetty, silhouetted against the fucking postcard-perfect horizon. Saint-Tropez sprawls behind him, all terracotta roofs and yacht money, the kind of place where people come to pretend they're living instead of just spending.
His tuxedo is tailored to perfect.
Huh. I wonder what this one might bring.
I keep walking.
Wood creaks beneath my feet, and somewhere to my left, a gull screams. The sound scrapes against my nerves, too loud, too alive for what this moment is supposed to be.
My heart doesn't race.
My palms don't sweat.
There's just this hollow space in my chest where something should be.
Three more steps.
His back remains to me. Why does his back remain on me? Why hasn't he turned yet? That's fucking bold. Maybe Nonna signed me up for that TV show, where you don't know what your bride or groom look like until they turn at the altar.
Two more steps.
What else did Nonna have on this dude? I can't even remember. He speaks five languages? I think? Fuck. I bet he's into long walks on the beach and prowling on young girls.
One more step.
Ocean blue melts into different color pallets as the world around him fades to nothing. Everything tilts. My stomach drops, and I'm pretty sure my heart is going to break free from my chest.
Impossible. It can't be him. He—
His back turns, and there, standing in flesh, is Asher fucking Jameson.