Page 26 of Two Wrongs
Ihavethis night planned to the tiniest detail, and so far, everything’s going as it should. Adjusting the cuffs on my white button-down, I reassure myself this is still the case—that she’s not in the car yet because she’s grabbing her coat or reapplying lipstick. Minutes pass as the engine of the car idles. I avoid raising my eyes to the mirror, unwilling to let the driver see my unease.
I’m going to have to go get her. Then what?
Moments later, I breathe out a long exhale as the front door opens, the light from the hallway illuminating her lithe shape.
‘No.’ I motion to the driver as he makes to open his door. ‘She can open her own damn door.’ This time, I do catch his gaze, shooting him a look that saysdo as I fucking say.
She’s not wearing a fresh layer of lipstick, and she doesn’t have a coat, but what she does have is a glass in her hand. Pretty fucking full; ice, limes, and a liquid that is very obviously vodka.Her tipple of choice since when?
‘Take it easy.’ I take the glass from her hand as it precedes her entrance, the contents spilling onto the leather upholstery. She all but collapses into the seat, shocking the fuck out of me as she reaches out to rub a finger between my furrowed brows. I don’t think she notices me flinch at this tiny piece of physical contact.A first touch after so long.
‘Don’t be such a grouch.’ Her head hits the back of the chair, and she tilts her chin, oblivious to my reaction, clearly unperturbed and very obviously buzzed.
This is an issue. A big fucking issue. Why can’t she do as she’s bid? Why is nothing simple with her?
‘Gimme my roadie,’ she says suddenly, snatching the glass from my hand.
‘Sir?’ I raise eyes to the driver, nodding my assent, and the car begins crawling down the driveway.
‘How much of this stuff have you knocked back?’
Her button nose scrunches, causing my chest to pinch at the familiarity. ‘I think...’ she says, pondering, ‘the answer to that question has got fuck all to do with you.’
I laugh, unexpectedly, shocking us both.
‘Whatever you tell yourself, baby girl.’
‘Don’t call me that.’ Her words are more like a groan. ‘We’re not fucking now.’
‘We’re not fucking period,’ I recount. ‘Remember, you’re here to secure a divorce. After tonight, you’re free to return to the pristine Ivy. Ivy, the unsullied.’ Tonight, though, she’ll play Ivy, the whore.
She exhales long and loud, refusing to look at me now. ‘After tonight,’ she repeats, taking another sip of her drink. She sits bolt-straight, her gaze swinging to mine. ‘Exactly what are your plans for tonight?’
I smile, and I know it’s unnerving. I can see the evidence of it in her gaze.
‘I told you. Tonight, you’re going to get fucked. And I need to be sure you’re telling the truth this time, which means I’ll be there, watching.’
‘I never had you pegged for a voyeur.’ Her words lack conviction—an automatic comeback as her gaze falls to anywhere but me.
‘You’d be surprised by the sick shit I’m into these days.’
Chapter Thirteen
Ivy
The vodka turnsto cement in my gut. Yes, I’ve spent the afternoon drinking while thinking, somehow convincing myself his intentions were nothing but fear. Never in a million years, I didn’t think this was his real plan.
‘Y—you’re really going to watch?’
He nods his head, full of faux sincerity, like he’s reassuring me when the opposite of his intentions are written across his face.‘A better alternative than the whole internet owning world seeing you give me head in our home movies. How would you keep your pristine image, then? Imagine your family—your brother—watching. Nowthatwould make for some awkward family gatherings.’
If I didn’t feel sick before, I do now. If Nat saw the first video, then no doubt Mac already has—something that hadn’t occurred to me until right now. I could truly hurl—vomit my guts out at the thought. My only conciliation is that he won’t know he was watching me, his sister.Being shagged. Not now and not ever because after tonight—
‘You have to delete all copies of the recordings,’ I say suddenly, the vodka from my glass splashing the leg of his pants.
‘I don’t think you’re in any position to negotiate.’
‘I’m not negotiating. I’m telling.’ I slap my free hand on the upholstery. ‘This is a hard limit for me, Dylan.’
