The text bubbles start and warmth fills my fingers. I need Leon. I’ve missed him more than I’d ever admit lately.
If it makes you feel better, Nonna has made me watch fucking Greece.
Ignoring his obvious purposeful typo, I tap out my response.
Psshhh. She has excellent taste. It’s you that is outdated.
“Oh please, tell me you’re messaging Leon.” Luce can’t help but stir the pot.
I glare at her as the car rolls to a stop. “Of course it’s Leon.”
Asher’s thigh taps against mine, but before he can be completely obvious, I fling the door open and—crap.
Onto a single camera lens.
“Fuck.” I blink up at the barrel staring back at me. I can think of a few different kinds of barrels I’d rather be looking at than this one.
A heavy hand rests on my lower belly, gracefully pulling me against his body as he steps out of the car.
I don’t have time to process the possessive nature of his actions when the reporter starts popping off.
“Ivy, how do you feel about Asher’s performance? Do you think he’s going to take the trophy?”
“Uh…” Words catch in my throat. Okay. So this has thrown me off.
I flash my best Barbie smile. “Not likely. He's a bit… off this year.”
The hand on my belly tightens. It’s both a warning, and a claim.
His fingers span wide enough to brand me through layers of winter gear, and I shift forward, testing boundaries I shouldn't.
He forces me back against him as the reporter closes in on me. Blonde hair whips toward my face as she ducks closer. Too close. Personal space means nothing when there's a story to chase.
“Just so you know, I'm Team Ashvy!” She yells out proudly as Asher directs us through the crowd.
One moment I'm drowning in synthetic vanilla and camera’s flashing, and the next, I'm airborne. Asher lifts me in the air asif I weigh nothing, moving me away from people as quickly as possible.
My boots hit snow with a soft crunch when he lowers me back down.
His smirk spreads over my ear. “Smart ass.”
I can’t stop the sound that rips from my throat. A laugh, sharp and real. I throw my head back, my gaze locking with his. His own smile breaks free, mirroring mine. Dimples deep, eyes bright. God. Right now, he looks likemyAsher.
Mount Void stretches wide before me, a carnival entrance trapped in eternal scream. Neon pulses through fog, and rooked metal archways mark the entrance, sharp edges jutting at fractured angles. Welcome signs hang from rusted chains, their cheerful letters fighting shadows that bend wrong, contort where they shouldn't. This whole place stinks of manufactured insanity, nightmares painted in candy hues.
It only just hits me that our quiet exchange was broadcasted out in the open in front of a very friendly camera disguised as a Sports Anchor.
Asher cuts ahead, following Jord and Luce toward the chair lifts and Atlas finds this the perfect moment to slip in behind, dragging me against his side.
“Ah, our little Ivanya. Have you not been on Instagram lately?”
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
He releases me and lunges for the door before I can demand answers, holding it open with that stupid quirk of his.
My eyes catch on a gray and white board mounted on the wall with pink lettering scrawled across its surface. That one. I snatch a water bottle from the counter, crack the seal, and drop the board at my feet, clicking my boots into place.
Luce taps my hip with hers as I slide up beside her out the back, waiting on the chair lifts.
