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“What did you do?” Elise says before I can even say hello.
“Where are you?” I grip the edge of the table with my free hand, sitting up straight.
Mercer’s mouth curls slightly at the corners and my heart throbs hard with the kind of anger I haven’t let myself feel in years.
He knows.
Manipulativeprick.
“You know exactly where I am, Ivy. Buthow?A man and woman came from the institution in Switzerland. They had paperwork and a first-class plane ticket for me. Said the trip and treatment were taken care of. Is it true? How is it even possible? Did you sell yoursoul?”
Not yet, but since the Devil himself is sitting across from me with an offer, I’m sure that sale is imminent.
Her voice trills with excitement and hope.
“Nothing that drastic.” I somehow dredge up a small laugh.
Mercer watches me like a gentleman, politely waiting for me to finish my conversation. But he’s anything but. He’s lethal, a perfect killing machine who feigns a lack of interest as he waits, learns, and readies himself for the moment he’ll make his move and destroy his prey.
“Well, you can’t sell the apartment. It says so in the will.” Elise pauses for a second before letting out a gasp. “Oh my God, tell me you’re not a hooker!”
I wince. “No.”
“The lady said it was a surprise from you. I just don’t understand. We’re broke, my therapy and treatments in New York already cost too much.” My heart twists at the sound of her voice, so laden with guilt. “You can’t work more jobs than you have. Did you sell a kidney?”
“No, don’t be ridiculous.” I narrow my eyes at the man across from me. “Actually, one of Dad’s old friends came to me with an offer. Dad helped him so he’s repaying the favor.”
Elise huffs. I can almost hear her sifting through names in her head, but I know she’ll come up empty since we only knew a few of their friends and never business or political associates with serious money. “I hope he’s young and gorgeous.”
Elise and her silly romantic heart.
“No,” I say. “Fat, ugly, and rich is more like it.”
Mercer’s brow rises.
I stare him down.
“We can’t afford this, and the debt will be too high to repay,” she says. “I can’t go.”
“Elise…”
“This fat, ugly rich friend is going to want us to pay him back. There are always strings.”
Dear God, Elise. You have no idea.
I can hear the hint of desperation in her voice, though. She needs me to tell her that this is okay, that she can finally get the treatment that will save her legs and give her the ability to walk again.
Elise is the kind of girl who can always make the best of a worst-case scenario. That’s just her, my sweet, positive, eternally optimistic sister. And she’s already dealt with so much pain and suffering without a cure on the horizon.
How can I let her suffer a single minute more when I can do something to let her live again? I have the power, and her health and happiness is worth anything. Everything.
“No, there aren’t any strings. He wants to help,” I say, “because he owns the institute. Apparently, you’re a perfect candidate for a treatment.”
She’s silent for a second.
“Really?”
I don’t dare squeeze my eyes shut like I want to. “Yes.”
