"I've talked grooms off ledges you wouldn't believe," I say. "I once had to convince a man that marrying into a family that owned a ferret farm was a sound strategic decision."
He laughs. It's a soft sound, but it breaks the heaviness in the room.
"Go to sleep, Brooks," I say, standing up. "Your father can't audit your foundation if you look like a zombie tomorrow."
"Ivy?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
He says it simply. No sarcasm. No "darling." Gratitude.
A flush of warmth blooms in my chest that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room.
"Don't get used to it," I say, retreating to the safety of my side of the bed. "I'm billing you for the nursing hours."
I climb back next to the Great Wall of Down. I pull the covers up to my chin, turning my back to him.
"Goodnight, fiancée," he says.
"Goodnight, liability."
I close my eyes.
The room is quiet again. But this time, the sound of his breathing doesn't keep me awake. It's steady. Calm.
And for the first time since I tackled him, I think we might actually survive this.
I drift off to sleep, dreaming of amber lighting and ice packs, and the strange, terrifying realization that the enemy might have a heart after all.
The sun hitsme in the face like a physical slap.
I groan, burying my face in the pillow. It takes my brain a solid three seconds to reboot.
Smell of jasmine. High thread count sheets. The Hamptons.
I shoot up in bed.
The room is flooded with morning light. The birds are singing with an enthusiasm that frankly feels mocking.
I look to my right.
The pillow wall has been breached.
The bolster pillow is on the floor. The silk square is halfway across the room. And the space beside me is empty.
Panic spikes in my chest. Where is he?
I scramble out of bed, my heart racing. Did he pass out? Did he wander off? Did Betty eat him for breakfast?
"Brooks?" I call out, my voice cracking with sleep.
"Out here."
The voice comes from the patio.
I grab my silk robe, wrapping it tight around me, and pad barefoot to the French doors. I push them open.
