Page 128 of Salvatore

I shouldn’t like the sound of that. Shouldn’t shiver at his words. Not at the expense of my best friend being sent away.

“We have a lot to discuss.” He steps back, the heated spell broken. “Given the plans for your relocation and all.”

Right. The relocation. Of course.

“We don’t need to chat about it. If you want me gone consider it done.” My confidence is hard to maintain. “I can be out by morning.”

His gaze turns cutting. “I don’t want yougone. I want yousafe. There’s a difference.”

“Aww, that’s sweet.”Toosweet, and I’m hoping my condescension will snap him out of the softness. “I’m good on my own, though.”

The harshness leaves his features, a vicious smile glinting through the moonlight. “Iwillbe relocating you, Ivy. Whether you like it or not—whether you have to be hog-tied or not. So quit provoking me and come to terms with it.”

I should be angry. Furious. It’s his stupid overbearing care that has my internal organs responding with an opposing sensation.

“Well, I guess a good night sleep is in order, then.” I push from the wall.

“It’s early,” he growls. “And you’ve barely eaten.”

There goes that surly concern again. Biting yet tender. Fierce yet outrageously dreamy.

“I’ll grab a midnight snack later.” Once I get up to sneak in a fond farewell to Adena.Goddamn it. How am I going to leave by morning? Where the hell will I go?

“Jesus Christ, Ivy.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Why is it so hard to accept my help?”

“I can accept it—I just don’t need it.” I lie for the sake of my flimsy pride and walk toward the glass doors.

“Bullshit. You don’t want to do this on your own. Just like you didn’t want to refuse those goddamn fucking clothes. Is it help in general that you despise? Or just mine?”

I pause as a long-forgotten trauma box falls off a shelf.

It’s not that I don’twantto accept the help. It’s not that I don’t wish with every fiber of my being that his generosity was something I could grasp onto with a two-fisted grip. It’s that box, with its once-bitten-twice-shy label that keeps my independence welded into place.

“It’s not you.” I turn to him, still standing near the corner of the house, his posture imposing, his expression fierce in the moonlight. “I accepted help from a stranger once.” I don’t know why the words leave my mouth. “She offered a spare bed after I’d been living on the streets for weeks.”

He stands taller, my foreshadowing obviously hitting the right vibe.

“She was a lovely woman with a nice, suburban home.” Polished floorboards and large bay windows. “I stayed eight days in absolute bliss… then her husband came home from his long-haul trip and my free rent gained a sordid price tag.”

I let the imagery sit for a moment. For Salvatore’s imagination to wander.

From the flair of his nostrils, it definitely wanders to the correct location.

“I was barely seventeen and had given that lovely woman, with her warm home and generous thread-count, eight full days to lull me into a false sense of security where I was desperate not to lose access to food and clean clothes.” I shrug. “But it was just sex, right? My virginity wasn’t anything I was clinging to. I wasn’t a prude. Just scared, lonely, and defenseless. The problem was, I had little choice. Iowedthem—at least that’s what she kept whispering to me when I started packing my meager belongings in a hurry to get out of there.”

Salvatore’s lips curl in disdain, his fury barely tangible. Fury I adore.

“So it’s not you.” I drag in a strengthening breath and stand taller. “Idoappreciate your help. Immensely. But while I owe you, I’ll always feel like I’m waiting for those eight days to be up and for that long-haul trucker to arrive.”

He looks away, silent in his ferocity.

I wait for him to say something.Anything. The quiet stretches, the lull turning eerie. Even the birds have stopped their siren’s call.

“Understood,” he finally mutters. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Understood?

My insides twist. I’m not sure what response I’d expected but that wasn’t it. Wasn’t what I’d craved.

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