Page 93 of Gravehouse

Luce rests her chin in her hand. “How are you holding up. Actually.”

Steam hisses from the waffle iron as I lower the lid. “I’ve called Emeric seventeen times.”

Both their faces go blank.

“Seventeen,” Jord repeats, mostly to himself.

“Seventeen.” I confirm, holding the entire red flag with confidence. “There has been no answer. Not even a decline. Just rings out and dumps me to voicemail.” I press my thumb into the counter until my nail whites out. “He loved Nonna. He has to know. Hehasto.”

“Maybe he does know.” Luce picks at the edge of her sleeve. “Maybe that’s why he’s not answering.”

No way that’s it. “Maybe.”

I lift the waffle iron lid and peel the first one free, burning my fingers for my trouble.

Jord’s eyes narrow as he leans closer to the screen. “I swear women don’t feel heat.”

The backyard slider slams shut, and Camille steps into the kitchen, wrapped in Lululemon. Her body is what every beauty standard bowed to when I was a teenager, and back then, I probably would’ve done anything to have it. Thank fuck, I grew into the curves genetics dumped on me.

She stops when she notices me, her body locking tight, then lifts her chin and heads for the fridge. She pulls a bottled water, presses the cold plastic to her throat for a second, then twists off the cap. With every gulp of water, she keeps zeroing in on me, dragging her eyes over what I’m wearing as if Asher is fucking hers.

“Aw.” Her tone is about as sweet as Splenda. “Don’t you look domesticated.”

“Good morning,” I reply, baring every tooth in a smile. I’ll never let this bitch know she gets under my skin.

“Asher came by last night, by the way.” She tips the bottle back for another slow pull. “After you fell asleep.” One shoulder lifts in a tiny shrug, then drops. “You know how he is. He can’t ever really just leave things alone.”

Ice slides through the middle of my chest, but I don’t let it hit my face. I check the waffle iron instead, then drag my eyes back to her.

“Good for him.” I flatten my tone, and it pisses her off because she doesn’t move, too hungry to see any tiny involuntary crack that tells her she got me. So I give her nothing.

“Anyway.” She screws the cap back on the bottle, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. “Just thought you’d want to know.”

“I didn’t,” I say pleasantly beneath my breath. “But thanks.”

Her footsteps scrape over concrete.

One. Two. Three. Inhale… exhale…

Snow hits the window above. So cold.

The snap of a million icicles biting into your sweaty flesh as you plunge under water.

“Ivy.” Luce’s voice drags me back.

I pluck another waffle out, ignoring the steam biting my fingers. “What?”

There’s a pause. “You’re looking a little Mariée de la Mort…”

The waffle thuds onto the plate. “I’m fine.” I suck batter off my thumb, bending over my phone. “I’ll call you guys back.”

”—wait!”

I tap end call and flip off the power switch, scooping up the plate with fresh waffles before crossing the kitchen to his door.

It clicks shut behind me.

He looks so peaceful asleep. Lately, all I ever see is him pressed. Grumpy. Pissed off at me. When he’s not fucking me, at least.