Page 101 of The Secrets That Kill

A small smile lifts her lips in response. “Maybe. But I also didn’t want to be groomed to be a perfect wife. Did you know I used to be a champion shooter for my high school team? Like the kind they have in the Olympics.” She shakes her head. “I guess it’s stupid, if I look back now.”

Her eyes averted, she lets out a sigh and continues. “How bad did your father hurt you before you killed him?”

Now there’s a question I never expected. I’m pretty sure Ivy’s trying to find excuses for me and my behavior, paint me as an empathetic character. I settle on ambiguous.

“Bad enough.”

“And you were protecting your mom.” She raises her gaze, her voice soft.

I make a small noise.

It’s true enough, but I was angry, too. I wanted to hurt him back. So that reason negated the fact I kept her alive. And for what? Right now, I don’t even know if she’s alive or dead. And neither of us cares enough to check up on the other.

I haven’t looked for her.

She chose her path, I was given mine.

But this isn’t the time for that conversation. I turn it back to Ivy because I’m not willing to let her in any deeper than she already is. “When your sister got in that car, where were you?”

My gut knots. Ivy’s face drains of color. She plays with the stem of the wine glass, her eyes glazed over.

Suddenly, I can’t stand the thought she could have been hurt, too.

“I wouldn’t get in the car. Dad and I had a big blowout about what I wanted to study at school. He never really got me. Never respected the fact that I didn’t want to be someone’s trophy wife, that I wanted to make my own money and reputation. I refused to simply be someone’s accessory.” She taps on the side of the glass with her fingernails. “Elise ended up going in my place.”

Ivy’s eyes fill with tears. “Please make sure she’s okay. No matter how you feel about me, don’t take any of this out on her. I’ll keep my end of this bargain, but I need to know you will, too. It’s the only thing I’m asking of you, Mercer.”

“Of course.”

I look at my watch.

“We need to get ready for dinner.” I stand and hold out my hand. She stares at it for a long minute before she takes it. And when she does, that usual electric zing explodes over my skin, something I doubt I’ll ever get used to.

Although Mr. Nice Guy Mercer isn’t hanging around too long. He only makes an appearance as a way to soften her and make her more agreeable, but I can’t wear that bullshit façade forever.

I’m not nice. I never have been. She hates me for good reason. “I’ll pick out your clothes.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

Her cheeks flame and she pulls her hand from mine. “I can do it. Please?”

She wants control. Fuck, don’t we all? I know I’ve spent the past few days trying to get a shred of it back. “Okay.”

We go our separate ways to get changed. This dinner will be something. It’s one reason I wanted to dress her. The other is I’m a fucking control freak dom, and controlling her not only feels great, but it helps me make sure everything goes to plan.

But there’s also something I like about her grabbing onto that tiny piece of control. In the grand scheme of things, it means nothing. It’s just giving her the power to pick out her own damn clothes, and if I want her in a different outfit later, I’ll bring her back here, strip her, and dress her.

But the control I’m giving her now, the littlest drop, might bring down boundaries that she harbors deep inside, like trust on a non-sexual level. It could make this so-called relationship we have look and seem real to anyone watching.

And somebody is always watching.

Ivy waits for me downstairs. She put on the new heels I gother. The calf-length wrap dress skims her body and provides me easy access to what lies underneath. One tug on the tie that surrounds her waist and her dress is loose, her exposed flesh will be ready for my hands. She put her hair into a loose bun, perfect for me to grab on to. A little bit of lip gloss gives her a fresh-faced, innocent look.

Perfect.

Fuck. Ivy’s a natural.

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