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“It’s new yet. We’ve only had a handful so far. But it gives them comfortable accommodations until we can find proper placement, which is far better than all the frantic moves we had to make before.” He pulls into the parking lot of a small diner, cuts the engine, and glances at me with a pensive smile. “I’m glad you’re here, Celeste, but I need a nickname for you.”
Something about that tugs at my heartstrings, much like the day I met Ivy. I’d like to keep Ty.
“You can call me Lettie.”
Ty and I filled up enough at our late lunch that I was able to cite exhaustion and retreat to my room for a shower and some rest. Now, it’s after ten, and I can’t seem to relax. Knowing Ivy is already snug in her bed, I select a bottle of wine I brought with me, snatch a corkscrew and wineglass from the upstairs snack kitchen, and sneak down to the library.
This is the coziest room in the house—two-story shelving composed of rich woods, a rolling ladder, French doors and a Juliet balcony, crinkly leather furniture that hugs deeply, draped in cream and sea-salt pillows and throws. Not to mention, the vanilla aroma emanating from the endless array of books. If that isn’t enough, a crackling fire blazes beneath a stone hearth.
I wish I could soak in the peace it’s yearning to gift me, but after an hour, not even the cabernet and smutty romance novel are soothing my nerves.
Wells strolls in with a scotch in hand, wordlessly sinking into the chair beside me. He’s quiet for so long that my anxiety skyrockets. This is his space, and I’m intruding. I stand, gathering my things, only to be startled.
“Sit,” he orders.
I’m not sure why, but I don’t even question his command. I resume my seat, too exhausted to fight.
He swishes the amber liquid around his glass in a hypnotic swirl. “Did your day improve?”
“It had nowhere to go but up,” I quip, finding my strength again.
“Fair point,” he concedes, so I pour myself another half glass of wine while he continues, “You need to make an effort, Celeste.”
“Make an effort?” I ask with an edge, promptly sipping to drown my simmering.
“With the guys,” he goes on, as if this isn’t insulting after the way Liam conducted himself. “Won’t be easy. We’re an intense bunch. But Ivy and the rest of us are a package deal.”
Internally fuming, I calmly set my eyes on him. “She was mine first, before your package was involved at all.”
Maybe that’s a childish response, but I’m tired of feeling like the intruder in Ivy’s life.
He chuckles, trading his scotch for a handful of candy he must’ve pulled from his pocket. “That may be so, but it’s irrelevant. I’m trying to help you, Celeste.”
“I don’t need help with Ivy,” I scoff. “I’m grateful for you welcoming me into your home and for how happy you make my best friend. Ivy means everything to me—always has. But we’re us, with or without you four.”
He scrubs his hand slowly over the dark stubble on his chin. “I’m sure this last year and a half has been challenging.”
“You have no idea,” I breathe.
“I never considered your angle.” His head slants as though that’s what he’s doing right now. “We had so much happening with Ivy. Much of it was survival mode.”
“I’m not one to play a victim, Wells. You did what you needed to protect her. Every sacrifice made for her well-being was worth it.” My lip wobbles as my heartache finally gains purchase. “But it feels like she was stolen from me, and I don’t know what to do with that. I just want her back.”
“You haven’t lost her. Looking at it that way is naive,” he muses, reaching for his scotch again. “It’s like someone loving Ivy without acknowledging the importance of the child she’s about to bear. Not impossible, but that love would never reach the depths it could because they’d be discarding a significant part of who she is. Any disconnection wounds Ivanna.”
That does make sense to a degree. My eyes track the burgundy liquid in my glass—the subtle stain on the walls, tiny drips crawling down the sides, all of it eager to be part of the whole—while I ruminate on how to answer. The old standby never let them see, always keep them guessing, and play their game doesn’t seem to fit here. Not with Wells.
“I understand that as far as you go. You’re her husband. I respect what the two of you share. Andhonestly, I’m so grateful. I see how you love her. It’s what she deserves. But I don’t see how that applies to the other three.”
Ty is amazing, special. But Gage is terrifying. And Liam is unbearable.
Maddening.
“That’s the problem.” He frowns, like he’s commiserating with me but also irritated. “Ivy loves you too much to harp on this, but, Christ, open your eyes. Those men are a crucial part of who she is now. Denying that will only strain what you have with her. And I’d hate to see that because my wife needs you.”
Ivy is right. Underneath that domineering bravado is a cinnamon roll who’s madly in love with her, whichmakes his admission all the weirder.
The warmth of the dry, fruity wine trickles through me as I hitch my gaze to his. “Does it ever make you jealous?”
