Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Ivy, you’re picking a fight. Tonight is not the night. What I meant is—”
“I can’t live like this. I’m going crazy. My head is spinning. One minute you hold me, make love to me, talk to me about babies. The next, you dismiss me, sending me to my room, not yours. Not ours. You don’t tell me anything even when I’m the one who would have paid the steepest price for what happened to you. You still don’t tell me anything when I know you know much more than you’re letting on, and I have a right to know.”
“A right?”
“Yes. A fucking right!”
“That’s more than enough.” He takes my arm and starts to walk me out of the room. “I’m going to blame the alcohol.”
“Get off me! I’ll go on my own. I know when I’m not wanted.”
Without a word and without missing a step, he marches me up the stairs, hand tight around my arm but not bruising. And some part of me knows he’s taking care with me. But it’s not enough.
When we get to my door, he opens it and releases me only when we’re inside.
I take two steps away. “Are you going to lock me in? Don’t worry, I won’t try to sneak into your bed!”
He comes toward me, takes my arms, rubs them as he walks me backward. “Ivy, Ivy, Ivy. Don’t you think I want you in my bed?”
“No, I don’t.” I shove his hands away, but he traps me between the wall and himself. “You’ve given me every indication that you do not. Except when you want a fuck.”
“Shh.” He brushes a loose strand of hair back, then dips his forehead to mine. “Are you going to listen?”
“No.”
He sighs, drawing back. His phone goes off again, and I can see he wants to look at it.
“Just go. I don’t want to keep you.” I fold my arms across my chest and look away from him.
He reads the message on his screen, and I try to catch it, but I only see one word, Mercedes, before he tucks it into his pocket. He looks back up at me.
“You’re not unwanted,” he says.
I feel myself soften and my eyes warm with tears.
“What I meant about my bed is that I have violent dreams. And sometimes, I lash out in my sleep. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have.” His thumb comes to the dot of ink from his tattoo gun. I know he feels guilty about that. The tiny but constant reminder of what he almost did to me.
I want to say something. I want to have some reason to lash out at him, but his sad smile and gentle touch disarm me, and what he’s saying makes sense. He’d been worried about the other night too. Even warned me never to wake him.
“You won’t hurt me,” I tell him.
“I won’t take a chance.”
I exhale, dropping my head.
He takes my face in his hands and turns it up to his. “All right?”
I shrug a shoulder, very aware I’m pouting. “Fine.”
“I’ll arrange for you to visit Colette tomorrow. Would you like that?”
“Why Colette and not my sister or my father?”
“Don’t push. Not now. This is what I am offering.”
“I just don’t understand. We had fun tonight.”
His phone goes off again. “I need to go. Would you like to visit Colette?”
“Yes.”
“All right.” He leans in to kiss me, but I turn my head away. He clears his throat. “Good night, Ivy.”
25
Ivy
I toss and turn for what feels like hours. Guilt gnaws at me. He was trying. For Santiago. We did have fun tonight, so I shouldn’t have pushed. And he did give me something. He has nightmares. I saw that myself. I want to know what the dreams are. What the cause is. The fire?
That takes me back to the comment The Councilor had made. A second attempt. That fire was caused by a gas leak. Or at least that’s what the public was told. Is that not the case? Did someone try to kill him and succeed in killing so many others? All Sovereign families. All males. I think it was more than a dozen dead, and I remember my father’s reaction to it. I’d just thought he’d been relieved he wasn’t there but also guilt-ridden that he’d sent Santiago in his place when he’d been too sick to go.
Is that what this is about? Does he blame my father? Is he punishing me to punish him?
No. That makes no sense.
I push the blankets off and get up. I want to go to him. I want to sleep in the same bed as him and feel his arms around me.
I want to tell him I’m sorry I acted like a brat.
The house is quiet as I pad down the hallway to his room. Mercedes’s door is hanging at an odd angle. I don’t know which one she moved to, but no one has cleaned this one yet. I bypass hers and get to his. I knock lightly so if he’s asleep I won’t wake him up. I’ll just slip into bed beside him.