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“I thought you’d think that was a good thing,” I say, annoyed.
“I would. But you can’t keep your eyes off him, either. ”
I turn away from her. I want her focus off Bishop. “Where’s Dad?”
Callie points with her half-empty champagne flute to a far corner of the lawn. “Over there. ”
I can just make out my father’s profile among a group of men clustered around a high table decorated with more candles. He is laughing, his head thrown back, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“He wants the combination to the gun safe,” Callie says, her voice lowered.
“He said he’d give me time,” I say, not looking at her.
“He already has. ” She taps my forearm with her glass. “Time’s up. ”
I glare at her and she cocks her head, like she’s studying a particularly intriguing, but ultimately smashable, bug. “I told him you wouldn’t come through. I must have said it a thousand times. That we’d end up having to do it all ourselves because you wouldn’t be able to handle it. You’re too soft, Ivy. You always have been. ”
“Shut up, Callie,” I say, fists clenched. “I said I’d get the code and I’ll get it. So just shut up. ” I whirl away from her before I do something I’ll regret, like scream in her face or slap the smirk off her mouth.
I push my way through the crowd and back into the house. I don’t even know where I’m headed, so long as it’s away from Callie.
“Hey, where are you going?”
I turn, and Bishop is standing there with drinks in his hands and a puzzled expression on his face. He guides me to an empty spot at the base of the stairwell. “I saw you talking to your sister. What happened?”
I force a smile onto my face, not sure how successful I am in the effort. “Sibling thing,” I say as lightly as I can. “Sometimes being an only child is a blessing. ”
He’s watching me, his eyes probing mine. He hands me a champagne flute and grabs my free hand. “Come on. ” He leads me up the staircase and down a shadowy hall lined with closed doors.
“Where are we going?”
“To my old room. ” Bishop stops outside the last door, hand on the knob. “You look like you could use a break. ”
“Your mother is going to have a fit if she figures out we’re hiding up here,” I tell him.
“Added bonus,” he says and opens the door.
His room is large and faces the front of the house. Through the sheer curtains, I can see the flickering candles along the driveway. He doesn’t turn on the overhead light, only a small lamp on his desk, leaving most of the room in darkness. Across from the desk is a double bed, made up with a patchwork quilt in shades of blue and gray. The far corner holds an armchair and a small bookcase. The room is spotless and impersonal. It doesn’t tell of Bishop’s love of the outdoors or his dreams of the ocean. In one glance, I know his mother decorated this space and that she doesn’t understand who her son is at all.
“Ah, much better,” he says, sinking to sit on the bed. I lean back against the edge of his desk, my fingers fiddling with the stem of my champagne flute.
“I always wanted a sibling,” Bishop says. “I imagined having someone around who always understood me. An automatic best friend. ” He catches my eyes across the room. “But I’m guessing it’s not always like that. ”
“Maybe for some people it is,” I say. “But not with Callie and me. ” He stares at me without speaking, and I know he’s waiting for more. “We’re just…different. Our personalities. Life would be easier if I were more like her. ” Tears spring to my eyes and I blink them back frantically.
“Hey,” Bishop says gently. “Easier on who? Her?” He stands and walks over to me. “That’s her problem. Maybe she’s the one who needs to be more like you. Or maybe she just needs to accept who you are. ” He braces his hands on the desk on either side of my hips and leans into me. His lips are warm and firm and his mouth tastes like champagne.
He starts to pull back and I thread my hand through his hair and hold him still, rest my forehead against his. Our breath mingles on the exhale, our lips a heartbeat apart.
“You’re my best friend,” I whisper. I don’t realize those words are waiting to be said until they are out of my mouth. They reveal too much, and yet they are the very least of what I want to say to him.
“Ivy,” he whispers back. “Open your eyes. ”
I do and find him staring at me, his gaze serious and dark. I’m terrified of what he might say, words that can never be taken back or forgotten. Words that will kill me to hear. So I press forward and stop his voice with my mouth. He makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, but his hands lift from the desk to my waist, pulling me tighter against him.
The knock and the opening of the door occur at the same moment, so there’s no time to spring apart, to pretend we’ve been doing anything other than what we’ve been doing. For his part, Bishop doesn’t even try. He keeps his arms wrapped around me, his lips at my temple, even as his mother fills the open doorway.
She radiates icy disapproval as she stares at us. “People are asking for you,” she says. “This is a party to honor your father. Not to hide away up here…doing God knows what. I expect you both downstairs in five minutes. ” She turns and her high heels click away down the hall. I realize it is the sound I most associate with her.
