Page 42 of Poison Vows

“What in the name…” I mutter.

I walk toward the rack of clothes… noticing from a glance that they’re all in my size, new, and definitely designer.

“When did he even do all this?” I whisper.

“Oh please. My cousin doesn’t do such trivial things as shopping,” a smoky female voice suddenly says. “Unless you count shopping for souls, that is.”

Whipping my head around so fast that I almost snap my own neck, I notice a tall, slender pink-haired, drop-dead gorgeous beauty standing by the door.

Her arms are crossed, but what makes a chill go down my spine in the sharp, cold look in her eyes, watching me with suspicion.

“Uh, your cousin?” I mumble. “You’re Emmett’s cousin?”

Jesus, just how much do I really know about that guy? I grew up with him, for crying out loud!

The girl gives me a once-over.

“You did all this?” I ask awkwardly.

“I was given explicit instructions to do so,” she says haughtily. “Apparently, today’s a really special day for you, so I had to get nothing but the ultra-best!”

Has Emmett already spread the word about the dirty work he wants me to do?

“You know, my cousin isn’t the type to ask for favors, let alone cash in on the ones people owe him,” the girl continues, her tone cold and sharp.

Yeah, that sounds about assholery.

“Though, to be fair, he’s done more for me than my own father ever has.” She waves her hand, a small but sad smile on her face, but then she looks back at me with a frown. “So imagine my shock when he calledmewith highly specific instructions in the wee hours of the morning to get all this for you!”

“You sound like he never calls you,” I mutter.

“Oh, you’d be surprised at the ways he gets people’s attention.”

I fall silent, remembering the way Emmett can stand silent and indifferent even in a room full of people and still attract all the attention.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Uh, I’m Ivy.”

“Sì, sì, I know your name, butwho are you?” she asks seriously, her Italian accent now clearly notable.

I wonder if Emmett speaks Italian. God, how would he sound in that brusque, deep timbre?

“Hello?” The girl waves a hand in my direction.

“Huh?” I choke. “What did you say?”

The girl eyes me silently.

“Years ago, when I first started experimenting with makeup, my skin broke out with a horrible reaction. My cousin didn’t care one bit. So why is it that he not only knows the specific makeup to get for a certain Ivy, but he also knows the shade number for the foundation, the contour, and everything else he has repeatedly jested at, saying is a waste of time?”

The girl’s voice is suspicious and intrigued.

“He even told me your cup size and underwear sizes…” she says, narrowing her eyes with a sly smirk on her face. “You must have one hell of a c?—”

“I’m not sleeping with him!” I shout, then clamp a hand over my mouth in horror.

“Really?” the girl says, looking at me in mock suspicion and disbelief.

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