Page 24 of Gravehouse

Stepping backwards, I kick the door closed with my foot, closing us back in the room.

Now we’re fighting.

CHAPTER

SIX

IVY

Torment with Asher Jamesonjust turned predictable. Not that I love the fact that she’s here, but—seriously. Why the fuck else would she be here.

I need a drink. If I’m going to die, I’d rather do it indulging in coping mechanisms I’ve never allowed myself.

Vines of lace decorate iron railings, matching the dark slate underfoot of Asher’s impressive rooftop terrace. I wish I could say it sucks. That it’s as cold as he is and just as beautiful. But he’ll have a better shot at getting rid of Camille than hearing me ever give him another compliment.

At least right now, while I’m still pissed from earlier.

On top of that, I can’t get the jumper I found in my closet out of my head. There’s something about it. The texture, the small buttons, the faint smell. I don’t know what it is. Every time I try to dig deeper into my brain to figure out why, the recognition has already evaporated like it was never there.

Jord whistles and loosens his collar. “Damn. The man knows how to put on a show.”

Champagne slides down my throat. “Mmhmm, which show are you referencing?”

He chokes on his drink. “Both.”

Warm hands land on my cheeks, and then I’m staring up at my best friend.

“Hey…” he starts, but I narrow my eyes at him into a threat. He is not about to make me look weak in front of the enemy.

His hands fall away, along with the stress lines between his brows.

I made my point.

“Jord?” I whisper, walking on delicate ground. Jord isn’t sensitive, but my family have always been a safe space. “He married me for real. Why would he do that?”

When Jord doesn’t answer, I turn to him for some joke about Asher and Camille. His confusion grounds me instead.

“I really don’t know, Ivy.” He forces a smile but it looks painful. “I’m sorry.”

Well, damn. This isn’t a good situation to be in.

“I don’t believe in marriage,”I say, shrugging. I was aiming for nonchalance, but that was not my best performance. Maybe I should care more about my coping mechanisms, considering I’ve been at this—whatever it is—for however long it takes champagne to taste like water.

Punk peers at me through the flower arrangement. “Have you had your therapy session this week?” Her grin turns evil. “I’m telling Leon if you haven’t.”

Lucinda leans over and tops off my glass like the good friend she is.

“She can’t help me anymore. The reason why I needed her was because of that.” I wave my hand over my shoulder. “Now what? Hey, sorry, new trauma. The guy I was fucking, who I thought I killed, is actually alive, kidnapped me on my wedding day, which kicker, was where I was actually marrying him, brought me back to his mansion where I’m to live out the rest ofhowever many days I have, as he parades around his ex in front of cameras for the whole world to see.”

Punk’s shoulders dip. “Ive, this is merely another job. Yes, you’re on the defense instead of the offense this time, but heisjust another job.”

I set the glass down gently. “I’m well out of my depth here and you know it.”

“Well,” her eyes dart over my shoulder. “The cunt you married last time would disagree, since you had no problem putting him down.” She taps the table once. “Do the same here.”

I choke on my laugh, banging my chest when I almost swallow down the wrong hole. “Punk!”

She tilts her head to the side, lips spreading into a Cheshire grin. “What? It’s true. I hated Parker. I would have taken anyone but him.”