Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Aléia softens for her daughter, almost sweet, if I didn’t know what lives under her skin.
Camille leans back, smiling at her mommy. Her eyes drift to Ivy and that smile vanishes, turning to disgust.
Ivy plucks the last glove off finger by finger, expression blank enough to be insulting.
Khloe gasps. “Oh my God.”
She crosses the foyer in three quick steps and grabs Ivy by both forearms as though they’ve been friends for years instead of four seconds. “You were made for me, not him. We’re going to be best friends.”
Ivy blinks once. “I won’t argue.”
I lift a brow. “The fuck you won’t. All you ever do is argue.”
Khloe beams wider. “With you. That’s all she ever does with you.” She bats her lashes back to her new bestie. “I do hope your drink-making skills are better than your aim.”
I flip her off.
Khloe hooks her arm through Ivy’s and starts steering her toward the hallway. “Come on. You can tell me everything. Start with how he deserves it, continue with whether you can make a decent martini, and then we’ll discuss wardrobe theft because if this is your style, I already want half your closet.”
Ivy lets herself be led a few steps and glances back at me over her shoulder. Here I am, wanting things I shouldn’t want in front of people I absolutely shouldn’t want them in front of.
This is such a fucking bad idea.
Khloe tugs her onward. “Don’t look at him. He’ll make it weird.”
Elea descends the last few steps, gaze following Khloe and Ivy until they disappear around the corner. Her eyes find me and I already know what she’s thinking. That right there is why this is a bad idea.
Yeah. I know.
I’m out-fucking-voted.
I always knew Mother would love her. Khloe too. Hell, Khloe would love a loaded gun if it rolled its eyes at me and wore black.
My family took one look at Ivy and saw exactly what I did. A woman who doesn’t give a fuck about the riches of a man, or the power one may think he has. They see the fight in her the same way I always have.
Aléia smooths a hand over Camille’s hair before looking at me. “We’ll need to discuss a lot.”
I let out a dry laugh. “We won’t.”
Aléia’s mouth tightens. “Asher…”
“No.” I hold her gaze. “I won’t talk this shit with you in my house.”
Atlas whistles under his breath. “Damn.”
I cut him a look. “Shut up.”
Elea crosses the foyer, brushing past Aléia without touching her.
“We’re doing dinner on the rooftop,” she announces to no one in particular. “At sunset. I’m making my famous roast.”
I bet she is. I’m just wondering which of us she’s gonna cook first.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
IVY
For thirty minutes straight, Khloe yaps on about—I don’t even know at this point.
She paces with the spatula she grabbed mid-rant about Camille. Clearly, She’s protective of a brother who definitely doesn’t need protecting from anyone but himself.
I shouldn’t like her. She’s every conversation I’ve learned to dread, wrapped in designer clothes and a Victoria Secret smile. She’s inquisitive and quick-witted with good cheekbones.
I don’t say any of this out loud. I just watch as she continues on about the time Asher and Atlas crashed her first date. It’s strange, to hear these stories. I almost forgot that Asher was a simple man, and not a complication that I created.
“Anyway!” She releases a breath. “You look amazing.”
I catch my reflection in the mirror and almost laugh.
Cinched tight enough to make breathing a privilege, the black lace plunges low at the neckline with a sit that rides high up my thigh. It gives me straight Maleficent with a body count vibes. Khloe’s is the same, only red, looking all expensive and dramatic. On me, it gives death.
Which… fair.
My hair stays down, ironed flat along my back, since I’ve got no clue how to do anything else but drag a brush through it.
Twisting the lid back on a tube of lipstick, Khloe leans in and drags her thumb over the corner of my mouth to fix what I missed.
“There,” she says, pleased with herself. “Perfect. I can’t wait to see Asher’s face.”
I inspect her work. “Why?”
She grins, flashing pearly whites. “Because he’s going to be hurting, and in turn, that pleases me.”
Tossing the gloss onto the vanity, I scoff. “Your brother doesn’t hurt.”
When she doesn’t answer, I find her already watching me in the mirror. “Well, if that fails, at least he loves you in black.”
My shoulders stiffen. “You don’t know that.”
Khloe catches my reaction. She’s way too observant to not, and I’m currently way too fragile to hide it. I’m starting to get the gist of this family dynamic and their specialties. Reading people is probably a shared family hobby, right beside emotional repression and delayed torture.
She lifts one shoulder. “Please. To everyone else, Asher is a master at hiding his feelings behind steel walls and a pretty smile, but I know him—”