“But it’s our home, darling!” my ex-fiancée protested, throwing herself back into my arms.
“I’m not marrying a cheater,” I said, pushing her off of me. “If it wasn’t for the fact that my sister was getting married, I would walk right the fuck out of here.”
“You’re just tense—that stupid wedding planner ruined our big day, and you didn’t get to have your wedding night,” she purred. “The room down the hall is empty. Come on, we can have a quickie—”
“The thought of sex with you is revolting,” I hissed at her.
Camilla slapped me in the face.
I grabbed her wrist, and she moaned.
“Yes, you know you want it!”
I threw her off of me.
“I can’t believe you.”
“And I can’t believe you,” she spat. “You’re asking my dad to help you on some big-boy business deal. He was only going to give you that property if you married me. So if you don’t want the Svenssons to tear you up into itty-bitty pieces, I suggest you forgive and forget.”
“Ahem, excuse me,” Ivy said.
Compared to the super-short, flouncy floral dress and bouncy hair Camilla had, Ivy, with her form-fitting, long-sleeved black dress, classic black pumps, and neat bun, was elegant and authoritative.
“Camilla, if you don’t mind, the flower arranging is starting. Imogen would like all the ladies present for pictures.”
“My fiancé and I are talking,” Camilla said, looking down her nose at Ivy.
Ivy’s professional smile curled slightly. “I’m sure he’ll still be here after the pictures.”
There was a standoff. Camilla glared at Ivy. Ivy didn’t even blink. Camilla finally huffed and flounced off, tottering on her bright-pink platform heels.
“Are you all right?” Ivy asked me in concern after Camilla slammed the doors behind her.
“What? Oh, yeah.”
Ivy gingerly stroked the side of my face that Camilla had hit. Her hand was soft and cool.
“Do you need me to get you anything?”
“She doesn’t hit that hard; it will fade.” I shrugged.
“Has she hit you before?” Ivy asked, voice dangerous.
I shrugged again.
“Fucking bitch,” Ivy said under her breath.
“Aw, don’t tell me you’re actually starting to care,” I said, her anger making me feel slightly off-kilter.
“I’m not,” Ivy said lightly. “But if people are going to be getting hit in the face around here, it should be the person who cheated.”
“I’m not hitting a girl. Well”—I smirked at her—“not unless she really wants me to.”
Ivy narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“You’re the one who was putting ideas in my head,” I reminded her.
“Because you twisted my arm,” she replied, poking me in the chest.
