Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“So, Camille,” I turn my attention to the new girl, “how long have you and Asher been together?”
She places her silverware down. “Truly, Ivanya? He's never spoken about me?”
The room falls silent. I feel like the stranger in the room.
I lean to the side, resting my head on my hand. Keeping my attention focused on her. “Truly. He hasn't.”
Her cheeks turn pink. “Well, I guess that shouldn't be so surprising.”
“Mm-hmm.” I swing to Asher briefly, in time for him to answer, and hate how anytime I look at him I forget everything else.
“A year,” Camille answers casually.
It's a punch to the gut. Why didn't he ever tell me?
I exhale and cross my legs. “Impressive. Truly.”
“What she means,” Luce interferes, “is that Asher hasn't had a girlfriend for longer than six days?”
Yes. That's what I meant.
I roll my eyes and push myself up from the chair. We’re in the heart of winter. I'd much rather be eating alfresco. In the storm of snow, surrounded by nothing but ice.
I find the bar, pour another finger of whiskey and kick off my heels. The dress I'm wearing is practical, but it's not something I wear often. In the city, I'm in jeans and shirts, or leather and suits. I hate dresses. But of course, I find it the perfect time to wear one while on the coldest island off the coast of the USA.
My fingers trace circles over the small stereo in the corner. I stop outside the large window overlooking the back of the house. That's where we should be eating.
The cabana stands beside the pool, its fireplace commanding the center, surrounded by a dining table that could seat twelve. We'd freeze our asses off between courses, but at least the cold might numb the spreading ache in my chest.
Beyond the sunken firepit, the mountain shadows over us. Cable lines scar its face, climbing into the clouds. Private fucking access. Everything on this island exists to keep reality locked outside.
I press my forehead to the glass, the cold seeping through. Asher's voice echoes in my mind. Mount Crow and the folklore of the three mountains. “Probably protecting you.”
“Right, Ivy?” Punk's voice cuts through from behind.
I pivot to respond when my reflection grabs me. Dark auburn waves spill around my shoulders in an untamed mass of curls. My eyes a shade of moss.
My mouth parts to answer. I spent years resenting my lips. Too full. Too much. I can still see the fish doodles kids scrawled across my notebooks, can still hear the whispers that followed me down hallways. I grew into them, but every glance in the mirror drags me back to that girl. The one who learned at an early age that most people only used you for target practice.
I finally shift back to them. “What?”
Punk giggles. “You took me to pierce my nipples when I was fifteen.”
I cringe. Jesus. What happened to keeping that one under wraps? “We got matching, so it’s not like I let you go through it alone.”
The side of my face burns when I realize I just announced to a few people, most I would rather not announce to, that I have pierced tits. Great.
Luce’s arms fly up. “Ah! I am supposed to be that aunt, not her! She’s the one that bails you out of jail!”
Jord snorts. “Hell no! I know you ain’t talking about Ivy. She’ll be in the cell beside her.”
Parker remains absorbed in his phone, disconnected from the conversation. It’s perfect. It’s what has made this marriage so bearable.
My frown slips when I land on Asher. He towers over everyone else at the table by a few inches, his body tight and trained, kept lean from his athleticism.
Why is he staring at me like that?
He catches the corner of his lip with his thumb, shifting his attention back to Camille, pulling her in and kissing the top of her head.
I'm happy for him. I am.
So why does it taste like soured milk?
***
Sleep is a lost cause, so I peel myself from the sheets at four-thirty.
My robe drops, and I do my best to hurry, squeezing into a bodysuit that chokes every curve. After tugging a beanie with its stupid pom pom over my hair, I sling my white goggles and ski mask around my neck.
Gear stacked in my arms, I drift through the hallway and down the stairs. Thankful that I didn’t wake Parker. Honestly, I’d rather not explain to him that the reason why I’ve become so reliant on that mountain is because it’s comforting to know that someone has folklore as lonely as my own.
I punch the elevator button. Again. Useless piece of shit. This is why someone needs to live here. Every electronic in this place withers away without daily attention.
Like me.
Footsteps clap against marble, and my hand stalls halfway through wrestling my glove on. Shit. Maybe I did wake him.