Page 78 of Gravehouse

Being the absolute fool that he is, Atlas further baits his brother, winking at me with a smirk.

“Are you done?” Asher snaps at him, his body rigid as he leans back.

“With dinner?” Atlas teases, testing his boyish charm.

Asher glares at him. “With acting like a fucking idiot.”

Silence.

Atlas’s smile thins. “You’ll have to narrow that down.”

Is Atlas purposely pissing him off? Or is this all an act?

Camille places a hand on Asher’s arm, soft and soothing andfullysuicidal. “Ash, don’t.”

His gaze doesn’t leave Atlas. Or me. Hard to tell who he wants to kill more. Kind of wish it was me so I could at least be out of this dinner.

Khloe, because she was clearly born without fear, picks up her phone again. “Wait, no one move. I need one candi?—”

“Khloe,” Elea whines, rolling her eyes. “Must you be?—”

Too late.

The flash goes off, snapping the slow curl of Asher’s smile. If I was a better woman, I’d tap out here. I’d pack up my things and go to bed.

Leaning back in my chair, I swirl the Pinot in my glass.

I’m not a better woman. I’m barely half of one.

“I mean,” I let the words marinate in my mouth. “I’m not even sure if I would have turned you down, Atlas. You know, had I seen you first…”

Everything stops. The chatter, movement, even Khloe’s giggle dies an instant death.

Not literally. Sadly, nobody bursts into flames.

Tension breaks when Asher leans one elbow on the table. “And if you had?” he asks, his tone calm. “Seen him first.”

I could lie. I could turn this into a joke, smooth it over, throw Khloe another one-liner and let the moment pass. Instead, I look right at him and say, “Then maybe I would have saved a bullet.”

Khloe mutters, “Jesus Christ.”

Camille shifts closer to Asher. “This is ridiculous.”

“You are free to leave, Camille. It’s Ivy that isn’t,” Sinead says matter-of-fact. I kind of love them for it. I shouldn’t because they basically just announced that I am locked here.

Asher continues glaring at me, and the pressure of it gets under my skin. Maybe I should throw my drink in his face,or climb into his lap, or fuck this whole night off and go for a twenty-mile run and hope it kills me.

Atlas reaches for his wine. “To be fair, I am objectively less emotionally catastrophic.”

Asher doesn’t spare him a glance. “Nobody asked you.”

“I think she did, actually,” Atlas whispers, so low it makes me wonder if his self-preservation is finally kicking in.

My mouth twitches, ignoring Camille rubbing up on Asher’s arm like she has any control over this man.

I’m not jealous.I’m homicidal.It’s different.

“Okay, children! Are we quite done? I’d like to go back to the normal chatter.” Bless Elea, because what did she expect? This is a damn Crime Documentary waiting to happen.