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Wells’s eyes are firmly planted on his wife in utter adoration, like always. It makes my insides twist with a longing I never felt until I saw them together last July. Their love is hard to look away from.
We dance our way up the stairs to the second-floor landing, never missing a beat and paying no attention to the amused murmurs of the men she calls family. It’s just us and our nostalgic bubble. Like old times.
“Pulp Fiction,” Ty mutters to the other three.
Ivy has schooled him well. While it irks me that he so easily slid into the best-friend role, understanding her references and nuances with ease, I’m grateful she’s had him while we’ve been apart. He offers a lighthearted camaraderie far different than what Wells delivers in his intensely protective demeanor.
When the song ends, we’re at the top of the grand curved staircase, visible to the entryway beyond the catwalk railing.
Ivy hurls her arms around me. “God, I’ve missed you, Lettie.”
She’s the only one permitted to call me that. It was her childhood nickname for me but doesn’t quite fit the persona I’m going for now. Although neither does acting out scenes from movies, like we did in high school. Ivy unlocks all the hidden parts.
“Missing doesn’t cover it, bestie,” I croon into her hair.
Liam snickers as Ivy begins dragging me away, and although I don’t allow my gaze to drift below, his disdainful leer is audible within his reproach. “Don’t worry, Carver. We’ll get your bags.”
I brace my hip against the railing, flashing my pearly whites in a saccharine smile. “Great. Thanks, Graves. Glad to see you’re on top of things. It’s so hard to find good help these days.”
I would have gladly gone back down and carried my luggage inside myself since my team isn’t authorized to do so, but if he’s going to flap his smart-ass mouth, it might as well be while he’s doing something useful.
The howling laughter of the other men echoes through the house as Ivy tugs me along.
“So, this will be as smooth as always with you two,” she deadpans, noting the rocky path Liam and I seem to always trudge over.
“It’ll be fine,” I assure her as I chance a covert glance at the tall, blond, deliciously built, conceited prick gathering my suitcases while Wells and Gage guide my team to the guardhouse.
My guys got to know those two this past October when they brought Ivy to Europe to visit me. Liam and Ty stayed behind, which was undoubtedly for the best.
Not wanting Ivy to stress about anything, I link our hands and pour it on a little thicker. “I’ve got far too much on my mind to let him get under my skin this visit. I’m here to spoil you and that precious baby.”
The truth is, I think about Liam Graves far more than I’d like. I haven’t seen him since July, when I was here for a visit. A few weeks later, my father arranged an astounding opportunity for me to shadow a photojournalist who was composing a piece entitled The Many Faces of Affliction throughout Europe. It was incredible—not something I’d ever planned on doing, but an experience I couldn’t pass up.
It was probably to get me out of the way because I’d expressed interest in the more nefarious side of his business. I’m a quick thinker and a keen strategist. While law school didn’t appeal to me, I could be an asset within his organization, but he swiftly shut me down. Carver men believe high-level positions are best suited to Carver men. No matter. It bought me an amazing four and a half months, sparking a fire deep inside me, so no complaints.
It’s rare that something lights me up.
Which is precisely why it makes no sense that the arrogant, golden fuckboy constantly entered my mind—still does. He’s irritating and intrusive even if there are seas between us. A constant annoyance I can’t seem to fend off.
Ivy leads me to the family room outside her master bedroom. The entire house, despite its opulence, is so her. It’s an enormous undertaking to mold a mansion into a cozy cottage. And yet she’s done it. Every room oozes warmth and charm. Rich woods. Ceiling beams. Flickering sconces lining the hallway. Neutral wall colors with perfectly placed art bestowing splashes of color—many of them her masterpieces, ones collected by her husband before she even knew he existed.
She’s such a grown-up now. Husband. Child on the way. Three trained assassins she can’t shake. And doesn’t want to. She deserves every bit of happiness she can scrounge up. I want that for her, but it’s hard to know where I fit.
If you’re going nowhere, I’m coming with you.
Our childhood vow coasts through my mind. It’s not meant to be literal, of course, but sometimes, this grand life of hers has me feeling a little lost.
After a pizza and catching up, Rena shows up. The three of us have a well-utilized group text, so even though I’ve only hung out with Rena a few times, she’s become another cherished friend. Her brothers are as demanding as my grandfather in the way of marital expectations, so bonding was easy.
“Axel has three guys currently lined up,” she volunteers from her curled position on the floor at Ivy’s elevated feet.
Her oldest brother has insisted she can’t date anyone other than someone handpicked by him and the next oldest brother, Ryker. The scowl on her face suggests she’s not thrilled with the tributes.
“That’s great news.” Ivy beams. “It’s better than scaring off every man who speaks to you. Progress.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Rena concedes, shoulders slumping with her doubt anyway. “I’m not holding my breath though. They don’t look like my type.”
“What’s your type?” I ask while commiserating with how little that matters. Some choices aren’t ours to make. Those are often the parts of life that enwrap us, like a noose.
