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That dress had been like something out of her dreams. She’d expected to look awful in whatever gorgeous garment Becca made for her. Yet she stood there, seeing only a vision of beauty staring back. There was only one other time she felt as beautiful as she had then, and that was when Miles looked at her with heat and need.
Behind her, she caught the familiar glimpse of her shadows. The two ever-present security detail followed her like a hawk with its prey in sight. She’d tried to stop, to talk to them, but the moment she attempted to speak to them, they were swapped out for someone else.
Apparently, Miles didn’t want her to befriend them, something about keeping them focused on their job. Mistakes could happen while small talk was exchanged. He had never quite forgiven himself for the day her owner came back, the day she thought he’d been killed in the alley before she was forced back into the horror she’d escaped.
She pushed the thought down. Nothing, but nothing, would spoil this for her. She’d given her owner enough power. She hated she still thought of him in that term. It was a habit she’d tried desperately to break. But some habits were ingrained deeper than others, they took more to overcome. And if Devon had taught her one thing, it was to be kind to herself, recognise how far she’d come.
Closing her eyes, she pictured herself in that dress again, the way it was nothing short of perfection. Every woman dreamt of finding that one perfect dress for their special day, the dress that was true to their vision, to the heart of both their inner child and the woman who was to be married. It was as though Becca had woven hers from the wisps of dreams and wishes. It was everything.
The ping of her phone broke her reverie. Sliding her hand into her jeans pocket, she removed the phone, groaning as she saw the display name.
Some time back, Becca had changed Mrs Taylor’s name to Battle-axe Barbie, and Ivy had never changed it back. It was a fitting name, and it guaranteed a slight smile before she was forced to see whatever toxin dripped from the messages she sent.
Brunch, tomorrow, 11:00. I’ll send a car.
Great.
In the name of peace, Ivy had invited his mother to help with the wedding plans when Miles mentioned she’d been hinting. Yes, it was all a little late to be making arrangements, but when her dream venue had called with a cancellation for this year, on the same day they’d booked for the following year, it was too great an opportunity to miss. To be fair, thanks to Amy, the venue’s own professional wedding planner, everything had been decided on, colours, themes, presentation, it was all in hand. They’d even promptly arranged the cake tasting and managed to arrange for the registrar who’d been booked for the cancelled wedding to do theirs instead. It had been oddly effortless, until Mrs Taylor stepped in.
Mrs Taylor was the mother of the groom equivalent of Bridezilla, a Momzilla, of sorts, but her aim was clearly not making Miles’ day the best it could be. If it was up to her, it wouldn’t even be happening. Something she made abundantly clear at every opportunity.
The intimate gathering Ivy envisioned had turned from a small wedding lunch after the ceremony, to a huge event and guest list swollen with names she didn’t even recognise.
Apparently, this was the wedding Miles had always wanted, a grand affair with all the trims and trappings any socialite would kill for. Ivy didn’t buy that for one second, but she could concede to the guest list if it meant the start of brokering something akin to peace after years of resentment from this woman.
Ivy’s mum had died when she was young. Her death had been the catalyst for moving here. A fresh start. The family they’d left behind had been out for themselves, greedy leeches who cared more about whatever they could grab and snatch from their home as ‘keepsakes’—that they’d sell for whatever they could get--than about her mother’s death. Not one of them was on her wedding list. She’d had no contact with them for years, not since they moved here.
Their names were buried in the past. As far as she was concerned, she had no family. But Miles still had both of his parents, and there was no substitute for the bond between parent and child. It was one of the reasons it had taken so long for the two of them to become an item.
When she and Miles first started living together, the relationship between Miles and his mother was already strained. He’d blamed her for Ivy’s abduction, for the role she’d played in the horror she’d suffered. But Ivy had opened the communication channels between them again. And while still delicate, their bonds were reforming.
It had been a difficult road, especially since Mrs Taylor was so opinionated about her son living with a shameful whore. According to her, the foul, tainted thing that she was had no place next to her golden boy.
Of course, such words were never said to Miles. They were uttered in conversations Ivy was meant to overhear and, of course, she said nothing, repeated the toxin-soaked words to no one.
Catching her reflection in one of the mirrored windows, she brushed the free strands of hair behind her ear, using the opportunity to play spot the new security detail. Thus far, they’d eluded her sight, evading her gaze as she searched for their familiar faces. She was aware of them, but they never seemed close enough to connect with. Then again, maybe that was better. Miles would only switch them out again if she got friendly.
The summer breeze was warm, heating her face, reflecting in its dazzling glory from the skyscrapers, causing the world above her to gleam in silvers and golds as the sun beat down without mercy heating the air to a stifling ninety-three degrees Fahrenheit.
Whilst she had once enjoyed the odd getaway, Ivy wasn’t really a sun person. She would rather hide away and protect her pale complexion than bathe in the sun, turning the wonderful shade of red she always did before her skin decided if it would become brown or burn. The heat was not her friend.
“Mad dogs and Englishmen,” she muttered to herself, noticing the sun’s position directly overhead. The dark blotches beneath her eyes, reflected from the windows, warned she’d not done as good a job as she’d thought in removing the slight streaking of mascara. Sucking the edge of the lacy hanky Becca had given her, she rubbed at the smudges gently, slowing her pace as she did so.
The last thing she wanted was to walk through the door to a third degree about why she’d been crying. Then again, this heat wasn’t kind to makeup anyway, not that she wore a lot. She usually only did her eyes, since it was one of the few things about herself she liked, and could look at herself for more than a few seconds in the mirror without feeling repulsed.
Ivy gave an audible sigh of relief as the cool rush of air reached out to embrace her as Eric opened the door. They spent their normal few minutes in conversation before she made her way to the elevator.
As much as she savoured the icy blast of air that greeted her with its cooling touch as she stepped inside the apartment block, there was another touch she longed to feel more.
As usual, Miles was awake before Ivy. He’d taken a moment just to watch her sleep. Marvelling at how quickly watching her had become a part of his daily routine. He loved to wake with her in his arms, pressed against him, her feet tangled in his as if holding him in place while her arm hugged his securely. He adored the slightest whimper she gave when he uncurled himself from her. It was as if, even in sleep, she mourned his absence.
She looked so peaceful. They had been through some terrible nights. Terrors plagued her that sometimes followed her through to the waking world. But now, he could barely remember the last time he’d needed to restrain her when she woke up fighting.
She moved slightly, as if stirred by feeling his gaze upon her. His fingers gently stroked the small of her back, soothing her back into a deeper slumber. Last night had been hot. Despite the air con, she’d still fought the bamboo sheet from her, even now, only a wisp of it covered her perfect ass, leaving the rest of his beautiful goddess uncovered for his eyes to feast upon. He covered her, tucking the blanket under her slightly, knowing now they were apart she’d soon feel the chill.
Miles rose with the sun and, with a job lurking just around the corner, he was ensuring everything he needed was in place. But more than that, he knew today was going to be a challenge for her. Every time she met with his mother, he saw a glimpse of a broken woman shadowed within her eyes for hours after.
He wished he’d never suggested it. It was just that he and his mother reconnecting seemed so important to her. He’d hoped this would be a chance for his mother to see the amazing woman his bride-to-be was. Backfire was too tame a word for what seemed to be happening. But his vixen was determined.
