Page 59 of Gravehouse

His mouth tilts at the corner. “Aw, don’t act like you don’t love it.” He dips into the car to Daniel. “Thanks for bringing her home safe.”

Home.

I scoff, shuffling out of the back seat when he steps aside.

“First of all, Daniel has always kept me safe, so watch your tone.” I circle the space between us. “Second, this is not my home, and third, you’re lucky I stick to things I commit to.”

Afternoon sun hits my face, and I shade it with my hand, peering up at Atlas when he doesn’t answer. “What?”

He searches my eyes as if battling with what to say. “There’s a cockroach in the house.”

Camille.

I sigh, leaning against the car to catch my breath.

Of course. Because of course, Asher thinks like other men his age and assumes the one way to get back at me for leaving him in Désamour is with his ex.

Atlas shuts the back door and hauls my luggage out of the trunk before dragging it up the steps.

He stops when he realizes I’m not following, flashing a grin over his shoulder. “Oh, come on. I know you like to squash roaches.”

I genuinely hate this man. He reminds me of everything I’ll never have again with Asher.

Atlas draws in close, until his chest brushes mine. “Just play the game, Ivanya.”

Daniel’s stare burns into my back.

I glance over my shoulder and catch him watching Atlas, jaw tight. We’ve never talked about his history with Emeric. Never needed to. I trust him with my life. More than that. But something’s off with him lately. Or maybe I’m just paranoid, drowning in the theatrics of it all.

Atlas extends his hand. “You ready?”

Daniel nods at me, his smile thin, before climbing back into the car.

I take Atlas’s hand and let him lead me up the steps and through the front door.

Chatter drifts from the main living area, tucked behind the floating wall that separates the foyer.

I set my handbag on a side table, catching my reflection in the mirror above it. My hair’s longer than last year, tanglingeasily at the ends, and my skin darker than the last time I saw him, since the new “safehouse” is more of a “beach shack”.

Thirty-one years and I can’t claim a single thing that matters.

No kids. No career worth mentioning, no husband waiting at home with dinner on the table. My life has never been simple. But during jobs, I pretend it is. That’s why I love what I do. I get to slip into someone else’s skin. The neighbor, the crazy ex, the housewife, the boss. The wife.

I’ve lived a thousand lives, and not a single one of them is real.

A strapless top clings tight around my waist, dipping between my breasts, and vintage Levi’s hang loose on my hips, a sliver of skin exposed where the denim rolls at my ankles.

I’m dressed for Cuba, not Veilarath.

I slip off my Hermes flats and use my fingers to break through the waves in my hair, shifting it all to one side as I follow Atlas into the living room.

Well. One life is for real. This one. So far…

I stop at the threshold when the room pulls tight around me, everyone in it turning.

His eyes land on me and with one slow sweep, he devours my body inch by inch before settling back on my lips.

Camille drags her thumb along one perfect nail, her mouth pinching at the sight of me. “Ah, she’s back… yay.”