No more “comfort” that somehow ends with me losing my mind.
And definitely—under no circumstances—no sex with my stalker. Ever.
I nod to myself, satisfied.
These new rules are reasonable. Logical. Necessary.
I shut off the water and grab a towel, already bracing for the moment I step back into reality.
I pat my face dry, then begin rubbing the towel over my body. I freeze, staring at the mirror.
There’s a pink heart drawn on it.
In the exact shade of her lipstick.
Unmistakable proof that Ivy Hart was here last night—comfortable, confident, and completely unrepentant.
I stare at my reflection for a moment before catching something else. She wrote our initials inside the heart.
Definitely not a dream.
And I have a sinking feeling that these rules—like all the others—are not going to survive contact with her.
With a resigned sigh, I head to my closet to get dressed and make an appearance, hoping like hell Drew is not in the kitchen. Or if he is, he won’t notice the abject defeat in my slumped shoulders.
I freeze when I hear his aggravated voice, loud in the quiet.
“No,” he says. “No, that’s not my responsibility anymore.”
I cock my head, trying to figure out who he’s talking to.
“Yes, I know the garbage disposal is broken.”
A pause.
“No. I’m not coming over. Call a plumber.”
Ah. Julia. His soon-to-be ex-wife.Too much like our mother.
I grab a button-down shirt, but freeze when I hear her voice. “Way to stand your ground,” Ivy says.
“Uh… thanks,” my brother mumbles.
“You’re establishing boundaries,” she adds warmly. “Good for you.”
I nearly snort aloud.
Boundaries.A word Ivy knows nothing about—and enforces flawlessly when it suits her.
“I’m proud of you,” she continues.
Drew exhales, long and slow, like he doesn’t realize how much air he’s been holding.
I close my eyes for a moment and count to ten.
When I open them, I shove the shirt back inside, then grab a T-shirt. I’m about to head into a war zone. This calls for casual attire. I don’t want to ruin my suit.
I’ll change before I leave.
