Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Khloe mutters, “Jesus Christ.”
Camille shifts closer to Asher. “This is ridiculous.”
“You are free to leave, Camille. It’s Ivy that isn’t,” Sinead says matter-of-fact. I kind of love them for it. I shouldn’t because they basically just announced that I am locked here.
Asher continues glaring at me, and the pressure of it gets under my skin. Maybe I should throw my drink in his face, or climb into his lap, or fuck this whole night off and go for a twenty-mile run and hope it kills me.
Atlas reaches for his wine. “To be fair, I am objectively less emotionally catastrophic.”
Asher doesn’t spare him a glance. “Nobody asked you.”
“I think she did, actually,” Atlas whispers, so low it makes me wonder if his self-preservation is finally kicking in.
My mouth twitches, ignoring Camille rubbing up on Asher’s arm like she has any control over this man.
I’m not jealous. I’m homicidal. It’s different.
“Okay, children! Are we quite done? I’d like to go back to the normal chatter.” Bless Elea, because what did she expect? This is a damn Crime Documentary waiting to happen.
Lifting his glass, Asher keeps his eyes pinned on me over the rim. I need to move, need to hit something. Need to get out of this chair before I combust or turn this into a blood dinner.
Stretching my legs under the table, I knock the pointed toe of my heel into Asher’s shin.
His eyes narrow at me, his hand pausing near his mouth.
Reaching for my wine, I smile sweetly. The room shrinks to that inch between his leg and mine, my stomach pulling tight.
A second later his foot drags slow along my ankle.
I almost choke.
Everything happening around us blends into nothing. Khloe is saying something to Daniel. Aléia is answering Elea with enough annoyance it’s the first thing I pick up, and I don’t even know what Atlas is doing because I don’t give a fuck.
Levelling my stare, I keep composure. “How’s Camille?” I ask Asher, because apparently I’m committed to making bad choices tonight.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Camille answers, most likely giving me her dirtiest look.
I wasn’t talking to you. I just need a distraction.
Asher’s mouth shifts like he hears the thought. “The same.”
I slide my foot farther and jab him harder in the shin, but his knee parts and his hand disappears under the table, catching it.
Oh, absolutely not.
Twisting my foot out of his grip, I smile into my wine as I drive it forward again, this time slightly to the right just in case he decides to try to dodge me again. It lands with a loud thud, and he jerks back.
Motherfucker. Okay. I need to leave.
“Ivanya?” Aléia’s voice drags me back. “It’s a shame you and Asher don’t get along. We could really do with your… expertise in Dovecrest.”
I don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about, but I file the word for later.
I’m about to ask more questions when Asher cuts in. “Khloe.”
The table goes quiet for the hundredth time tonight, and Khloe snickers under her breath, hooking her arm through mine. “Come, let’s go raid big brother’s expensive whiskey and dance naked on OnlyFans.”
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
ASHER
I wait until their laughter and footsteps disappear, turning to Daniel with a nod.
He pushes to his feet, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair and excusing himself.
The muscles in my neck tighten. I crack my head to the side, swirling whiskey around in my glass.
“You good?” Atlas asks, swinging back on his chair.
I clench my teeth.
“Hey.” Camille places her hand on my arm, something she’s been able to do all night, but this time my head snaps to her.
She winces, removing it, and I go back to sipping my drink.
“Asher, I think—”
“—I think,” I cut Aléia off before she gets too comfortable having an opinion. “You need to shut the fuck up and not say a goddamn word before I send you back to your husband in pieces.”
Aléia’s mouth falls open, but her cheeks flush a deep, angry red. She hates it. Hates that she can’t play doctor on me anymore.
Nobody moves.
Candlelight catches the rims of the glasses across the table, showing every bit of rage on Aléia’s face.
She wants to slap me. She knows better.
I lean back, the whiskey warm in my hand, and let the silence stretch until everyone’s nerves start to fray. Atlas taps his thumb once against the stem of his glass, going still when I look at him. Mother stays quiet, her eyes fixed on Aléia as she waits to see if this gets ugly enough for her to step in.
My mind keeps moving, running through the night in broken pieces.
I set my glass down as Aléia pushes her chair back. If she thinks I’m gonna let her take over and bitch about tonight, she’s making another mistake.
Her shoulders pull straight, her chin lifting. “Asher.”