Page 31 of Mischievous Lies

I wanted to make sure she was okay after Friday night. I know Ivy is a strong woman, but the fact that she hasn’t yet told anyone else about what happened, at least not that I’m aware of, doesn’t sit right with me. I want to be here if she does need to talk about it.

But I’m not so wholesome. I’m also a completely selfish asshole. Sleeping beside Ivy for only those few hours was the first time in months I hadn’t been haunted by nightmares. It was a fucking miracle, and I wonder if somehow this little viper is my cure.

I’m desperate for peace, and I can’t deny the fact that she’s one of the people I have fun with the most. She’ll eventually push me away once she gets fed up with me, but if I can have some fun until then, then why wouldn’t I put on one of my best-collared shirts and bring flowers to her mother? Especially if I get free food out of it.

She walks past me, her hips swaying in a flowing skirt, and I admire her ass as she does. I like Ivy’s fashion sense because she doesn’t have only one style. Every time I see her, she’s wearing something different. It very much matches her playful nature.

“You’re driving, then,” she says, grabbing her phone off the counter. I look around her home. It’s emptier now that Billie has moved out. Two bowls and spoons are sitting on the coffee table alongside an empty bag of chips. I never noticed it before, but she’s a bit of a chaotic mess.

She’s waiting for me at the door. “You just going to gawk, or do you actually want to be fed?”

“Just checking things out,” I say as I step through the door. She has to move to the side, as do most people when I’m often the width of the door.

I like her apartment; it’s not too flashy or oversized, unlike my own home. I wanted to get the biggest house when I had enough money to buy a place outright. Anya then helped me fill it up with furniture because… well, besides my gym and bedroom, I didn’t think that far.

“I’m telling you, this is going to be a disaster,” Ivy singsongs as we head to the elevator. We turn to one another with matching mischievous expressions.

“Just make sure your dad doesn’t shoot me.”

“No promises, Mr. Ivanov. I don’t know what you did to piss him off, but he really can’t stand you. I can’t wait. But that’s the only reason I’m letting you come with me.” She’s quick to add, “Don’t tell anyone I was nice to you, or it’ll ruin my reputation.”

I pretend to zip my lips and lock them. “Your secret is safe with me, Ivy Walker.”

CHAPTER 20

Ivy

Hawke has balls. I’ll give him that much. Although my father is easygoing with most people, he’s always made it obvious how much he can’t stand the louder of the younger set of Ivanov twins, even going so far as to warn me off of him. He doesn’t seem to have an issue with Ford, though. Maybe it’s his father’s intuition. I think tonight will be hilarious, though, and I’m sure my mother will enjoy it just as much.

Besides, it’s nice to know he came to check up on me. I’m far from a damsel in distress, but it’s nice to know he cares.

He stands on my parents’ porch, adjusting his collar, looking like a complete dick. Don’t get me wrong, he cleans up nicely, especially in a suit. But it looks like he’s about to announce his intention of marrying their daughter, which I’m pretty sure isn’t something Hawke even wants.

He knocks on the door, and I don’t bother to remind him that I have a key to my parents’ home. I just wait for it all to unravel.

My father opens the door, his smile falling from his face the moment he sees Hawke. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he barks.

“Hi, Dad,” I say, waving at him. But he doesn’t look at me. He and Hawke are too busy glaring at one another.

“Mr. Walker.” Hawke offers his hand, and my father stares at it as if willing it to burst into flames.

My mother peeks over my father’s shoulder and then shoves him out of the way when she sees Hawke.

“Hawke, is that you?” she says, pleasantly surprised, and brings him in for a hug, her arms barely able to wrap fully around his bulk. My father’s eye actually twitches at her warm welcome.

“Good evening, Mrs. Walker,” Hawke says politely, and I’m trying my hardest not to laugh at his formality, which is so unlike him.

“To what do we owe this surprise?” she asks. When she releases him, she looks between the two of us.

“Ivy owes me a dinner, so I’ve come to collect,” he says, patting his stomach.

“I think the housekeeper threw a few scraps in the trash,” Dad bites out as he grabs Mom possessively by her hip and pulls her into him.

“I’m sure they’re delicious if your wife’s the one who cooked it,” Hawke retorts.

My mother bursts out laughing as she turns and taps my father on the shoulder. “Be nice. He’s a guest who is welcome anytime.”

“Since when?” Dad grits, and it takes my mother steering him from the doorway to make room for us to step inside. When the door is closed behind us, she steps to my side, and we watch the two men silently walk beside one another, the tension between them palpable.

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