Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Ivy
The city has barely stirred when I’m sliding my key into the lock.
Dane had his driver, Kent, pick us up at stupid o’clock as he has an early start today.
I slept for the entire journey, snoozing, my head nestled on Dane’s shoulder, who looked entirely too tempting in his navy bespoke suit and crisp white shirt.
And true to his word... sleep was nowhere near the top of his priorities last night. I genuinely don’t understand how the man is still upright. Machine is the only acceptable explanation.
I tiptoe toward the kitchen, rehearsing my quiet ninja skills so I don’t wake Elsie, but the moment I turn the corner, I freeze. Sloane is already at the table, a mug of coffee steaming between her hands, her hair scraped into a messy bun that says she’s been up for a while.
“Sloane,” I breathe, guilt shooting straight down my spine. “What are you doing here?”
She lifts a brow without looking up. “I live here,” she says, no trace of humor in her tone. “I thought you did too, but seeing as you’ve been MIA all weekend, I was starting to think you’d moved out.”
Oof. Direct hit.
“Yeah, well... about that.” My heart kicks into an obnoxious gallop, way too energetic for six in the morning. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
I draw a deep breath, bracing myself. I can usually read Sloane before she opens her mouth. This time, I’ve got nothing.
Sloane tilts her head, studying me. Her fingers tap an absent rhythm against the mug, her version of a tell.
Her expression softens by a millimeter when she registers how jittery I am.
She likes to pretend she’s steel, but underneath she’s basically a roasted marshmallow: warm, gooey, and entirely unable to watch someone she loves panic.
“Well?” she prompts.
I sink into the chair opposite her, my knee immediately bobbing in betrayal. “It’s... about Dane.”
Her eyes snap up. “What, as in Dane, my boss?”
I wince. Hard. Why does everyone keep reminding me he’s her boss?
“Yes,” I say, my throat suddenly desert dry. “That Dane.”
Sloane lets out a long, dramatic sigh and leans back, crossing her legs with the flair of someone preparing for a revelation. “I know, Ivy.”
I blink. “Excuse me? What?”
“I called Jennie when I was worried about you,” she says, lifting her mug again.
She watches me over the rim—eyes narrowed, curious, not quite angry.
“She said you weren’t at Brody’s, but she wasn’t sure she could tell me where.
So I told her if she didn’t spill, I was going to file a missing person’s report. ”
My jaw drops. “You did not.”
“I did,” she says breezily. “I wouldn’t have. But she didn’t know that.”
A strangled sound escapes me. “So... what did she tell you?” I hold my breath, praying Jennie didn’t invent some tequila-fueled fantasy involving a yacht or a secret Vegas marriage.
Sloane sets her mug down with a quiet clink. “That Dane came to find you in the club...” She pauses, her gaze locking onto mine, searching for confirmation. “And...”
“Go on,” I whisper, giving a tiny nod.
“She said something is going on between you and Dane, and that it’s been going on since London.” Sloane shakes her head slowly, like she’s trying to rearrange the pieces into a picture that makes sense. “And that you’ve been too scared to tell me.”
My stomach drops straight through the floor. “Are you mad?” I ask, worrying at my nail with my teeth.
“No, Ivy,” she says, her tone firm. “Not about Dane.” She leans forward, brows knitting. “But I am mad that you didn’t tell me. Since when do we keep secrets from each other?”
I open my mouth, then close it again, because I have no good excuse.
“At first, I thought it was just a stupid mistake,” I admit. “And I know how much you love your job...”
“But I love you more,” she cuts in, unflinching.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I was going to tell you, I swear. And then you said he was away at that conference, and... I just kept putting it off. And I thought it was done after London.”
Sloane groans and presses the heel of her palm to her forehead. “So all this time, he knew we deceived him?”
“Only since we got back from London.”
She lets out a humorless laugh. “I should’ve known he’d put the pieces together. But I never expected him to ask you to go to London. That was a curveball I didn’t see coming.”
“Yeah,” I say with a shrug, feeling the weight of it all settle in my chest. “If it had just been that one day in the New York office, we would’ve gotten away with it.”
“I thought you hated Dane,” she says, but the giant smirk tugging at her lips totally betrays her.
“I didn’t know him,” I admit, feeling heat rush into my cheeks.
“Oh my God,” she laughs, shooting me a wink. “Now I know why he’s in such a good mood. I mean, everyone needs a little Ivy in their life.”
I groan. “Stop being such a dork.”
“I should’ve known,” she continues, poking my ribs with a smug grin. “That he’d fall for you.”
“Oh, stop it. Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“Who’s being ric-lous?” A tiny voice pipes up.
We both turn. Elsie stands in the doorway, curls tangled in every direction, wearing pale blue spotty pajamas and the most adorably unimpressed expression I’ve ever seen.
“Your mommy,” I say, sticking my tongue out at Sloane.
“Ridiculous, Elsie-boo,” Sloane corrects as Elsie climbs onto her lap, snuggling her head into her shoulder. “And I’m not being ridiculous. If anyone can melt that man’s heart, it’s Ivy.”
“Oh, give it up already, will you, Sloane,” I say, reaching my palms over to cover Elsie’s ears as she giggles. “And it’s probably just a short-term thing, but you don’t need to worry; there’s no way he would get rid of you; he knows how damn good you are.”
I let go of Elsie’s ears, and she just rolls her eyes in the way only a five-year-old who’s seen too much grown-up drama can.
“I’m not worried about my job, Ivy,” Sloane sighs, her tone softening again.
“I’m worried about you. Don’t let yourself get hurt by him.
” Her thumb absently strokes Elsie’s arm, a protective gesture she probably doesn’t even notice.
“I’ve seen the trail of broken-hearted women who think they’re the one who’s going to change him. ”
Her words land like a knot in my stomach. A heavy one. One that knows she isn’t wrong.
“It’s fine, Sloane,” I murmur. “You don’t need to worry.”
Her eyes linger on me for a long second—warm, skeptical, deeply sister-like—before she shifts Elsie upright. “Anyway. Let’s get someone some breakfast, hmm? Then I need to get ready for work.”
“You go get ready,” I blurt, grateful for the out. “I’ll get Elsie’s breakfast.”
I open the cupboard door, reaching for the cereal, trying to ignore the way my hands tremble just a little.
Elsie climbs onto the stool and watches closely, chin propped in her palms.
“That’s the cereal we get after dance class,” she says, eyes bright.
“It is,” I agree. “So, are you practicing the moves from last week, or have you retired already?”
She grins. “I’m practicing. I just don’t show everyone.”
“Smart,” I say, sliding the bowl across. “Mystique is important.”
She eats happily, rearranging the cereal with her spoon, nudging pieces into a careful circle.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“They all have to get milk,” she explains patiently. “Otherwise, it’s not fair.”
“Of course,” I say. “We can’t have cereal injustice.”
She giggles and keeps eating, feet swinging beneath the stool. I lean back against the counter, watching her.
As she eats, my thoughts drift somewhere else entirely—last night, his bedroom, the low light, the way he’d backed me toward the bed without breaking eye contact. I shake my head slightly, cutting that off before Elsie can notice me smiling like an idiot.
“All done,” she announces, hopping down.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s get you dressed for school.”
A few minutes later, Sloane appears in the doorway, already dressed for work, hair pulled back, bag over her shoulder. She bends to kiss Elsie’s head.
“Ready, boo?”
Elsie nods, already reaching for her backpack.
Sloane straightens and looks at me. “I’ll head out now. Can you walk her down to the bus before training?”
“Of course,” I say. “I’ve got it.”
Her eyes linger on me for a beat. “And Ivy?”
“Yeah?”
She smiles, gentle but serious. “Let’s not keep secrets again.”
“Okay,” I say. “No more secrets.”
She nods once, satisfied, and heads for the door while I help Elsie get into her coat.
“Come on,” I say. “You don’t want to miss it.”
“If I do, can I come to rehearsals with you?” She asks, slipping her shoes on, eyes wide and hopeful.
“But then, who will Sammie play with today if you’re not there?”
“Mmmm.” She considers it, slipping her hand into mine, her decision made.
“Let’s go, Auntie Ivy.”
I step into the studio, and the familiar mix of music, chatter, and movement wraps around me immediately.
Whatever else is going on in my head, this still feels like home.
The music kicks in, smooth and smoky, swingy in that playful way that settles straight into your bones.
We move into it together, bodies falling into rhythm as voices slip in too, soft at first, half-sung, half-smiled, before the sound fills out and gets bolder.
I let my body catch the beat instead of chasing it, trusting instinct over thought.
I clock my reflection in the mirror and hold it, chin lifted, shoulders back, enjoying the way my body looks when I stop thinking and just let it work.
The black skirt I’m wearing flicks and flares with each turn, brushing my thighs before settling again, as familiar as the steps themselves.
Singing and movement fuse together until they’re inseparable, breath and rhythm lining up without effort.
By the final run-through, we’re full-out, voices ringing, energy zipping through the room. When the music cuts off, the buzz lingers, and I grab my bag flushed and smiling, riding that loose, satisfied high that only a good rehearsal gives.