Ivy

by Willa Nash

“Want a tour?” Ivy asked. “I kind of love giving them, so please say yes.” “Yes, please. Absolutely.”

Ivy Clarence made a beautiful bomb.

Ivy’s greatest pleasure came from pushing people. From seeing how far they’d let her shove. Usually, it was out the front door.

“Are we friends because I don’t put up with your bullshit?” Elora asked. “Yes.” Ivy spoke with no hesitation.

And in the center of it all, there he was. He sat on the largest couch with a tumbler of amber liquid in hand as he surveyed his club. A king on his throne. Zain.

This was why she came to Treason. Not for the music. Not for the crowd. Not for the dancing. She came for him. What would Ivy say if she knew Elora was fucking her older brother?

If Ivy wasn’t careful, her daddy issues would begin to show.

Tate spun her in a circle, forcing her to look away from Michael, then bent, his lips caressing the shell of her ear. “Didn’t work.” She tensed. “What?” “Your ploy. I know exactly why you followed me to the dance floor. You’re using me to make him jealous, except it didn’t work.” “You don’t know that.” He leaned away, his dark eyes sparkling. “Baby, maybe these games work on guys your age. But they won’t work on me.” “Then why are you dancing with me?” she hissed. “You’re not the only one who likes to play.” His gravelly voice sent a shiver down her spine.

Why did that intrigue her? Ivy was rarely intrigued, ...

Not many men could pull off a wink. In her experience, it usually came across as creepy. But this guy, he could wink at her every day and twice on Sundays.

He turned as she walked past. “See you around.” “Uh, yes?” She gave him a finger wave. It was awkward. But she was awkward, so . . . that was on point.

She was content with a tattered book that smelled like aged paper and being consumed with an old story.

Nothing sounded better than grabbing an iced latte, finding a quiet corner and spending a few minutes studying the map print that her professor had handed out in lecture today.

“You’re irritatingly beautiful,” he said, so quietly that the deep caress barely touched her ears over the music. “No, I’m not.” “You don’t even see it.” “See what?” He circled a hand around the room. “The looks. You walked into this club and every woman envies you. Every man wants to fuck you, including me. You’re the most beautiful woman in Treason.”

When was she going to learn that her assumptions were wrong at least fifty percent of the time?

Maybe she should have let him kiss her at Treason. How long had it been since she’d been kissed? Oh to feel his hands on her skin, just once. To bury her nose in the crook of his neck and drag in that delicious scent until she was drunk on Edwin Clarence. “You’re not studying.” She blinked, tearing her eyes away from his throat. “Oh. I’m, uh . . . all done,” she lied. “ ’Kay.” He slammed his book closed. “I’ll walk you out.”

Up until now, Elora’s car was the nicest she’d ever been inside, but Edwin’s had it beat. It oozed luxury. After starting the engine, he clicked a button that warmed her seat, and she melted into the black leather. “This is like being wrapped in a warm hug,” she murmured as he reversed out of his parking space. “It’s been a long time since I had a hug.”

Elora let herself cry for a few minutes, then wiped her cheeks dry. How many tears had she cried this month? A thousand? A million? She’d probably cry a river before this was through.

He scowled. Men shouldn’t look so handsome when they were irritated.

“My father is a manwhore and my mother is a pill addict,” she told him. “Though Mom is equally whorish, but she’s better about hiding it than he is. They are awful people, but they have money, which means they get to continue to be awful people.”

“You smell good.” The whisper had been meant to stay inside her head. Ugh. He grinned, flashing her a dimple as he tucked the blankets around her hips. “You told me.” “I did? When?” “Late last night. Probably around midnight. I came in to check on you and you told me I smelled like a first kiss.”

A first kiss smelled like a man. Like clean soap with spicy undertones. Like temptation and anticipation. When Cassia closed her eyes, when she thought of the scent she wanted to inhale before a man’s lips touched hers, it was Edwin’s.

“You don’t have to stay.” “So you’ve said.” He opened his book, crossing an ankle over his knee. “Why?” “Why, what?” “I’m no longer unconscious. I’ll be fine. Why are you staying?” Edwin leaned forward, his attention wholly fixed on her. The intensity in his eyes, the seriousness on his face made her heartbeat spike. “Because I think about you more than I should.” “Oh.” “Oh,” he mimicked. “So here we are.”

“I like the coral,” he said, stretching an arm over the table to touch an errant strand on her shoulder. “Thank you.” Her heart skipped. “You’re distracting me.” “I’m not even sorry.”

“I like you. That’s it. That’s why I wanted to meet you for breakfast. I think you’re beautiful. You’re smart. The fact that you don’t give a fuck about impressing anyone is incredibly sexy. You’re witty and sarcastic and beautiful.”

“I’m a patient man, Red.”

“What are you doing?” Tate asked. “Baking cookies.” “Can’t sleep?” She moved the phone to her other ear. “Maybe I always make cookies on Sundays.” “Why can’t you sleep?” Ivy frowned, irritated that he seemed to know her so well already. “Sometimes I just can’t.” Tate hummed. “What kind of cookies?” “Chocolate chip.” “Are you going to open the door if I come over?” Her pulse quickened. “Why would you come over?” “For a cookie.” A stronger woman might say no. But yeah, she was going to cave.

The timer was seconds away from beeping, so she went to the oven while Tate stood next to the counter, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt to roll them up his forearms.

“Because I want you to crave me just a fraction of how much I crave you. Because I want you so worked up you can’t see straight.” Great answer. “You’re very blurry.”

Cold tequila seemed like a rich person’s preference.

Cassia laughed. “What?” Edwin asked, taking away her glass. “I was just thinking that my taste buds like what I can’t afford.”

I wish I could tell you I was in this. But I’ll always remember. El

pointed to the table. “Here.” “You did?” She cocked her head to the side. “And did I respond?” “You hummed.” In the fuzzy edges of her memory, she remembered him saying something in her ear as she’d drifted off to sleep. After the thanks. “Oh.” “Oh.” He shook his head. “She says oh.” “Well . . . you left.” “You also didn’t ask me to stay.” “Would you have stayed?” Edwin nodded. “Yep.” Cassia sighed. “Can we start over?” “Please.” “Hi.” Edwin’s eyes softened as he stretched a hand across the table to cover hers. “Hi.”

“I’m equally mortified and impressed that Bridget wrote this.” Cassia giggled, leaning over his bare shoulder to steal the tattered paperback from his hand. Then she made sure all of the pages were smooth before returning it to her nightstand. “I can’t believe you didn’t know.” “That my pseudo-grandmother wrote trashy romance novels? I can’t believe it either. She had this entirely different life.” He relaxed into the pillows, staring up at Cassia’s ceiling. Then he cringed. “I’m trying really hard not to picture Bridget and my grandfather using anal vibrators.”

“This manor has always been Ivy’s,” he said. “After my grandmother moved out, she came here to avoid my grandfather and Bridget. She didn’t stay long. It was too close to Aston and there were young people crawling all over the area.” “Those dreaded young people.”

“You never answered my question,” he murmured into her hair. “What question?” Whatever he asked, she’d answer. At least, she’d try. “What are your thoughts on ass play?” She laughed, holding him tighter. “I have no experience.”

Edwin sighed. “Seems like I’ve missed something, huh? Elora and Zain?” “Yeah.” She lowered her voice to keep it from their parents. Whatever was going on with Elora and Zain was not her announcement to make. All she cared about at the moment was that he’d be here to navigate that path. That he’d be here to love Elora as she loved him.

Their junior year, Grandfather had donated ten million dollars to Aston in Bridget’s name, requesting it be used to renovate the library. Bridget had loved books, and Grandfather had loved Bridget. Wonderful. Loving. Beautiful Bridget.

Edwin went to the library’s third floor to remember Bridget. Not Ivy. She only went if necessary for a class. Mostly, she gathered her books from the history department’s private collection. It was there, immersed in the pages of a tattered text, that Ivy remembered Bridget. The grandmother of her heart. The person who’d taught her the joy of escaping reality by diving into a story.

Mira walked for the elevators, stopping in front of the doors where Elora had just disappeared. It wasn’t right. Elora should be here, not Mira. Elora should be first in line for updates, not Mira. Elora should be wearing his ring. Not. Fucking. Mira.

“Ah. And how did you meet Geoff before you started here? Another cooking class?” “Actually, in a book club. Geoff and I bonded over our mutual dislike of every book the club picked. Until finally, we decided to leave their group and start our own.” Cassia laughed. “Do you still have the club?” “We do.” Francis grinned. “It’s only the two of us and our meetings are held randomly in the kitchen.”

As the song changed again, she tore out her earbuds and dropped to her heels. With her hands on her knees, she closed her eyes. “I’m not pitiful.” Cassia Collins was many things. She was lonely. She was sad. But she would never again be pitiful.

Axel had always seemed to root for Elora and Zain. Or maybe that was just her wishful thinking.

“No one in this world knows me like you do. Because I haven’t let them. Not even Mira. And though you might pretend to shut me out, Elora Maldonado, no one in this world knows you like I do.”

“You and me, we fit,” he said. “We fit so fucking perfectly it shouldn’t be real. Yeah, Mira and I were good. But even when we were at our best, nothing can compare to you and me.” He pressed his hand over her heart. “Two hearts.” “One beat,” she finished.

He’d papered the walls with black-and-white photos of his various projects, the favorites from his career. But one tattoo he’d turned into a red, neon sign. The script was simple and clean. Two hearts. One beat. The day Elora had gone with Zain to get his eagle tattoo, Axel had told them the story about that sign. His very first paying clients had been his grandparents. Axel had inked Two Hearts over his grandfather’s heart. And One Beat over his grandmother’s. They’d both been diagnosed with cancer the prior year. Chemotherapy hadn’t worked in either case, so before they’d passed, they’d wanted coordinating tattoos. Tattoos inked over their hearts by their beloved grandson.

“Oh, Tate.” Ivy clicked her tongue. “If you’re planning on visiting Zain’s apartment, you might want to consider leaving the trash on the curb. Elora is upstairs and she’s a stickler about keeping garbage human beings out of her home.”

Damn him. He’d ruined her. One shallow, delicious fuck in his car, and he’d ruined her. And here he was in her bedroom.

“God, you are gorgeous when you’re jealous.”

“How did you find me?” “Really?” He gave her a flat look, then set the toiletry case on the bed and crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s your question? Christ. I love you, Red, but if you don’t get your stuff together so we can get the fuck out of this hotel, I’m going to lose my shit. Pack. Now.” Wait. Did he just say he loved her?