Page 76 of Gravehouse

A waiter moves to my side, blocking my view and pours a glass of Pinot.

Now I don’t give a fuck if I look pressed.

Out of the corner of my eye, every few seconds Camille touches or grabs or caresses Asher, but I lock onto all that is fucking holy and focus on cutting my meat. Chewing slow, drinking fast…

Elea’s gaze flicks up at me as she slices into a buttered spud. “How’s your room? Is everything comfortable?”

I’m about three seconds away from screaming. From asking what the fuck is wrong with this family and why—why—do they all seem so…

Calm. Like hey, it’s cool that you tried to kill my son but didn’t, also how’s the room he’s keeping you hostage in?

I tip my glass in her direction. “Swell.”

My eyes wander before I can stop them, finding Asher with his face buried in Camille’s neck.

She giggles, melting into him.

My cheeks grow hot, darkening the edges of the room.

I’m going to kill her. And then I’m going to kill him for not killing her.

My phone buzzes against the table with Punk’s name lighting up the screen. No doubt bikini photos, margaritas, and fucking confetti. Yet here I am, back in this house at my own will.

I drink more.

“Here!” Khloe taps at my thigh. “Selfie. I know all the Ashvy fans wanna see it since this fucker hasn’t posted you again yet.”

I lean into Khloe as she snaps a range of shots and Aléia and Elea bicker down the other end of the table.

Khloe flips through the selfies, scrutinizing each one as I sit here with my wine and my rapidly deteriorating grip on civilization.

“Ivy, you look insane!” she shakes her head with a smile. I’d otherwise cringe at the compliment, but I’ll take what I can right now, especially since Camille is within earshot.

Atlas leans over the table. “Lemme see.”

She jerks the phone away. “Back up, predator.”

He glares. “I’m family.”

She shrugs, baiting him. “Which somehow makes it worse…”

I snort into my glass before I can stop myself, and Asher’s eyes land on me. Camille laughs at something he doesn’t say, sliding her hand up his forearm like she’s trying to win a contest only she’s participating in. It does the job, because now he’s turned back to her, their performance stealing my appetite.

I cut into the meat on my plate again, biting the piece into my mouth while being careful not to smudge my lipstick.

How long do I have to endure this? Another hour? Two minutes?

Asher lowers his mouth to her ear and says something to make her smile turn lazy.

My wine curdles in my stomach.

I hate him. I fuckinghatehim.

Khloe makes a wounded noise. “Rude. We are literally curating perfection over here and those two are putting on a show.”

Was that a smirk from Sinead?I’m drunk.

Elea sighs, lowering her knife and fork. “Khloe.”