Page 72 of Gravehouse

“My girl.”

Twisting out of my arms, Khloe darts up the first few steps to meet her.

Mom pulls her in, kissing her temple, then frames her face with both palms as she draws back. Khloe’s smile goes soft, holding right up until Aléia moves deeper into the foyer. Then it changes.

She stiffens, eyes narrowed on Aléia.

Before it gets even more awkward, the terrace door opens behind Atlas, and Ivy slips in, shoving her goggles into her dark hair.

Her tanned skin is flushed, green eyes bright, breath still loose from the cold bite of winter. I can’t help it, my eyes drop down her body. Tight black long-sleeve top, black tights, cropped puffer, and snow stuck to her calves like the mountain is still on her skin.

Pride hits me clean in the chest.

Fuck me.

I almost grin.

Aléia turns then, her eyes landing on Ivy like she’s been waiting for her. “So this is the wife,” she says, mouth flat. “I expected less… athletic wear and more shame.”

Heat rips through me so fast it locks every muscle in my body, and I step between them. “Aléia.”

She hesitates, tilting her chin out while refusing to look at Ivy. She knows better than to push me, and if she’s forgotten, well… I have no problem reminding her.

Ivy looks up at me from below, brow raised and gloves half off. No doubt she caught my tone. The fact that she always finds it amusing when I’m pissed off should have been enough for me to stay away. Instead, I fucking married her.

Aléia shrugs dismissively. “What? She shot you. I assume etiquette died before your pulse came back.”

My lip twitches. “Keep looking at her like that inmyhouse and you’ll find out just how much etiquette survived.”

Khloe claps loud, because she doesn’t give a fuck as a person, but also hates Aléia. “Okay. Great energy in here. Love that for us.”

Camille gasps. “Mommy!” She flies down the stairs in a silk set, barefoot, hair bouncing.

Khloe sticks her finger in her mouth to gag, and Camille shoulder-barges past her on purpose, earning a death-promise scowl from my little sister.

Aléia softens for her daughter, almost sweet, if I didn’t know what lives under her skin.

Camille leans back, smiling at hermommy.Her eyes drift to Ivy and that smile vanishes, turning to disgust.

Ivy plucks the last glove off finger by finger, expression blank enough to be insulting.

Khloe gasps. “Oh my God.”

She crosses the foyer in three quick steps and grabs Ivy by both forearms as though they’ve been friends for years instead of four seconds. “You were made for me, not him. We’re going to be best friends.”

Ivy blinks once. “I won’t argue.”

I lift a brow. “The fuck you won’t. All you ever do is argue.”

Khloe beams wider. “With you. That’s all she ever doeswith you.” She bats her lashes back to her new bestie. “I do hope your drink-making skills are better than your aim.”

I flip her off.

Khloe hooks her arm through Ivy’s and starts steering her toward the hallway. “Come on. You can tell me everything. Start with how he deserves it, continue with whether you can make a decent martini, and then we’ll discuss wardrobe theft because if this is your style, I already want half your closet.”

Ivy lets herself be led a few steps and glances back at me over her shoulder. Here I am, wanting things I shouldn’t want in front of people I absolutely shouldn’t want them in front of.

This is such a fucking bad idea.