With a small tug, Ivan drew me close. He was going to make me sit on his lap here too! I opened my mouth to protest, but Ivan cupped my face, sliding his fingers back through my hair.
“There’s a couch over there, and something for you on the side table,” he murmured softly.
I shot a glance at the side, but his insistent touch stayed in place.
My brow lifted in question.
“It’s said that the kiss of a princess is good luck.”
I let out a rough laugh of surprise. “You want our first kiss to be here?”
His lips twitched. “Ah, so there will be a first?”
My lips snapped tight, pushing flat. I wasn’t answering that.
“I’ll admit, my motives are purely self-serving.” Grinning now, Ivan jerked his head to the table. “With these sharks, I’m going to need all the luck I can find.”
He was testing me. Pushing to see how far I would go.
I made a split-second decision, without pausing to think through the consequences. I darted forward and placed a chaste, almost familial kiss, on his forehead.
“Good luck!” I jerked back and straightened.
Ivan only chuckled darkly.
Hurrying to the couch to hide my flaming cheeks—because yes, I felt a bit idiotic and very lightheaded—I sank into the plushcushions. This wasn’t me. I was so far out of my comfort zone that I felt like I was falling.
I’ve got to get out.
The game began. I kept one ear on their conversation while leaning over to the end table. What Ivan left me took my breath away. A novel. It was a new release, set for preorder—
“Crap,” I whispered, the air leaving my lungs in a whoosh as I sank back into the couch. I’d been in Chicago too long. The days were blurred without my digital calendar. The book was released now.
Sad that I was missing out on the comings and happenings of the bookish community, I opened the book to the first page.
The conversation about some fancy shindig faded away as the book consumed me.
I turned page after page. The fictional world unfolded, and characters who had been hinted at in the first books finally took center stage. I laughed with them. My heart ached for them. They had the power to draw me into their lives and make mefeel. As an exile in the country, books were my escape. I let this one take me away from the den of sleepovers and the troubles that haunted my mind. For a few blissful hours, my own troubles didn’t exist.
Chapter 17 – Ivan
Mancini:Thompson won big. I guess you’re not as good at poker as you claim.
Me:Or maybe I’m better.
Mancini:Next time, I’m coming. If only to mop the floor with your filthy hair.
Me:In my house? Good luck.
Around three in the morning, Poppy fell asleep. During a pause in the match, while the others were eating small bites and finger foods, I rose to drape my jacket over her. She was still wearing it now, swallowed in the crisp black threads, as the rosy dawn bloomed to the east.
“You read over half the book,” I marveled, breaking the comfortable silence of the car as we wove along the expressway.
Poppy stirred, turning to watch my profile. “What, like it’s hard?”
To read? Yes.
I tightened my grip on the wheel but otherwise kept the torment off my face. “Was it good?”
