Chapter Seven
Thorne
I check my watch for the third time in as many minutes.
I scoff. “No. I’m impatient. Annoyed. I have better stuff to do than sit around waiting on them.”
Earlier, when she'd come to my office, I'd managed to turn away. Put the wall back up. But it's a hell of a lot harder to dismiss someone when they're about to sit at your dinner table.
“We still have to eat,” she replies.
“I can eat in my office. I have one reason and one reason only for this ‘family dinner’: to set the rules in this house.”
My sister smirks. “Are you sure their lateness isn’t the only thing that has your undies in a bunch?”
“It’s not.” I take a sip of my water. “It’s also because I have to spend it with my shit-stirring sister and my blackmailing half-sister.”
“Mm-hmm. And what about her lovely guardian…” She takes a sip of water, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Whom you’ve seen naked.”
I shake my head. “I never should have told you.”
She tilted her head from side to side. “But you did. And the next three months are going to be—”
“A nightmare,” I finish.
“For you, maybe.” Her smile widens. “I’m going to enjoy every second.”
Footsteps echo in the hallway. My spine stiffens.
Ivy appears in the doorway first, and I suck in a breath.
Images from that night on the train flash unbidden—her head thrown back against the pillow, her demands a breathless whisper on her lips as my hands explored every inch of her.
The way the narrow bunk had forced us closer, skin against skin in the darkness as the train rocked beneath us.
It doesn’t help that she’s hot as hell in a simple black dress that hugs her curves in all the right places. Her hair is down now, falling past her shoulders. My fingers twitch, remembering how they threaded through her thick locks, and how she gasped when I tugged just hard enough to—
Stop.
I shift my focus to Madison, who’s trailed in behind her. She looks young and uncertain in jeans and an oversized sweater. I’m willing to bet it’s all an act to garner sympathy.
“Madison, Ivy,” I say without inflection, my poker face working for me. “About time.”
“Seven o'clock dinner.” Ivy checks a slim gold watch. “Seven-oh-ten arrival. Seems like perfect timing to me. Though I suppose when you're used to everyone jumping at your command, ten minutes must feel like an eternity.”
“Ivy, sit here, next to Thorne. Madison, you’re across from me.” Lillianna’s smile is pure evil. “We should get to know each other better, don’t you think?”
I shoot her a look that promises retribution. She ignores it.
The dining room feels smaller than it should. Which is absurd, considering it could seat twenty. I’ve faced down hostile corporate boards. Stared down casino pit bosses when they thought I was counting cards. Negotiated billion-dollar acquisitions without breaking a sweat.
None of it prepared me for having Ivy West at my dinner table.
Patricia appears with a silver tray balanced in one hand, followed by another staff member with the first course.
“Evening, Mr. Blackstone. Ladies.” She moves efficiently, setting down crystal tumblers in front of everyone but Madison.
The amber liquid catches the light, beckoning me.
“The Blackstone Reserve, aged fifteen years, Mr. Blackstone's favorite.”
My mouth goes dry as she places the bottle directly in front of me. The label bearing our family crest stares up at me. One drink with dinner. That’s my rule for the last three years. A simple exercise in self-discipline.
“Will there be anything else? A different preference?” Patricia asks.
“The bottle won’t be staying at the table,” I say, my voice even.
Patricia’s eyes widen. “Oh! I apologize, Mr. Blackstone. I forgot your... preference.” A flush creeps up her neck as she quickly retrieves the bottle, tucking it under her arm. “It won’t happen again.”
“It’s fine,” I say dismissively. Just a matter of boundaries, not weakness. I can handle my bourbon, I just choose when and how much.
Patricia nods once and retreats, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.
I lift my glass. “To family dinners,” I say dryly. “May we all survive them.”
Lillianna raises an eyebrow but says nothing, which is a surprise. Ivy’s watching me too closely. I take a measured sip, letting the familiar burn distract me from the way her eyes see too much. She can analyze all she wants. This is just good sense, not a problem.
“So, Thorne,” Ivy says pleasantly, “Evander is a family name?”
Lillianna's glass pauses halfway to her mouth. Her eyes light with mischief.
"Middle name," I reply evenly.
"Mm. Interesting choice, using your middle name with strangers." Her smile is sharp. "Most people lead with their first."
"Most people don't value their privacy."
"Or they have something to hide."
Lillianna coughs into her napkin, clearly fighting a smile.
Madison watches us like a tennis match. "Wait, you two know each other?"
"We met on the train when I first came here,” Ivy says in a clipped tone. "Briefly."
"Very briefly," I add.
"How briefly?" she presses.
"Madison." Ivy's voice carries a warning.
"What? I'm just curious how you met Mr. Thorne Evander Blackstone." Madison draws out the full name with theatrical precision.
Fuck this. Time to get the focus off me. “Have you had time to visit your friend?” I ask Ivy.
Her brows pull together. “What friend?”
“His name is Dave.” I glance from Madison to Ivy, refusing to look at my sister. “You had a box for him…you ended up giving it to me.”
“What was in the box?” Madison asked.
Ivy’s eyes narrow slightly at me, then she smiles at Madison. "Nothing important. I mean, obviously, if I gave it to him."
The hit lands, but I pretend it doesn’t. “If you don’t even value your gifts. That says more about you than me.”
"What can I say? Sometimes I make the wrong choice." Her gaze holds mine for just a beat before sliding away, like I'm not worth the effort of looking at. "I won't make the same one twice."
Lillianna coughs into her napkin, clearly fighting a smile. "Well, this is fun."
“No. It’s not.” My hand tightens around my glass. I take a measured sip of bourbon, the burn doing nothing to kill the irrational surge of possessiveness coiling in my gut.
Patrica enters with the main course. Silence falls, broken only by the soft clink of glasses and silverware.
Then Lillianna asks, “Madison, you’re going to be a freshman?
” She is clearly trying to ease the tension, but why bother?
We should all get used to it. This will be our lives for the next three months.
“Yeah. At Anchorage High,” she tells the table, like we don’t already know this. It’s why she forced herself and Ivy on me. Forced me into this purgatory.
And that’s what this is. Having Ivy in my house for three months is going to be pure torture.
Yet some traitorous part of me thrills at the thought of passing her in hallways, catching glimpses of her at breakfast, maybe even hearing her laugh when she doesn’t know I’m listening.
I hate that she’s here. I hate even more that I want her to stay.
“Do you play any sports besides swimming?” Lillianna asks Madison.
“Not really. I’m more into reading.”
Lillianna clutches her heart. “A girl after my heart. Sebastian’s wife, Rosalia, and I have a bourbon bookstore boutique hotel. What do you read?”
Madison launches into a description of her favorite fantasy series. I risk another glance at Ivy. She’s cutting her salmon with precise movements, her face revealing nothing.
But her body language reveals a lot. Her spine is rigid as a bourbon barrel stave, unyielding and tense. And her knuckles are white where she grips her fork.
Is it because of the situation with Madison? Or, like me, she keeps picturing our night together? Is she remembering the way I made her come apart in that narrow train bed?
Neither answer is comforting. Both make everything worse. Because if she’s thinking about my hands on her skin, her breathless moans in my ear, the way she said my name, well, my middle name, then I’m not the only one struggling to keep my composure.
And that’s dangerous. One-sided attraction is easier to manage.
“Ivy?” my sister asks with false innocence. “Why a train instead of a plane?”
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. What the hell is she up to?
“They are more comfortable. If I have the time, I prefer them.” She sounds like she’s listening for a trap as well.
“Is that why you love trains too, Thorne?” Lillianna continues, her smile wicked. “Don’t you, big brother? Something about the... romance of train travel?”
I’m going to kill her. Slowly. Painfully. I'll make it look like an accident.
My sister meets my eyes, her expression pure innocence, yet her eyes dance. She’s enjoying this. Of course she is. This is payback for every time I've given her shit about her dating life, every overprotective big brother moment.
“No, Lilly. I’ve never said that.” I reply. “They’re simply efficient and more comfortable than planes.”
“Mm-hmm.” Lillianna picks up her bourbon and swirls it. “Though I suppose it depends on the company. Train travel can be very... memorable. Under the right circumstances.”
She looks between Ivy and me.
Ivy’s fork clatters against her plate.
“Lilly,” I growl, reaching for my drink before I strangle my sister with my bare hands.
“What’s going on?” Madison asks, her attention ping-ponging between the three of us like she's trying to decode a secret language.
“Nothing, I’m making conversation. “Do you want me to show you the library after dinner, Madison?” Lillianna asks, avoiding my glare. Has she finally learned to shut her mouth? “It’s three stories with one of those sliding ladders. Best place in the house.”
“Like Beauty and the Beast?”
“Exactly like that.”
Madison looks at me. “Does that make you the Beast?”
I almost smile. Almost. “Yes,” I deadpan. “But don’t expect me to change. I’m comfortable as a monster.”