Page 77 of The Sexy Ex's Brother
The light has shifted by the time we return to the room, warm and honeyed through the gauzy curtains. Ivy is asleep again, curled on her side, one hand stretched across the empty space where I’d been. I watch her for a moment from the doorway. She looks peaceful. Unburdened. Like the version of her I only ever saw in dreams before she came back.
I slip into bed behind her. My arm drapes around her waist, and she sighs in her sleep, tucking herself against my chest like she never left it. I press a kiss to the top of her shoulder and let my eyes close. I don’t mean to fall asleep, but when I wake, the light is deeper, richer. Ivy’s already awake, her lips moving across my shoulder, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my chest like she’s sketching something only she can see.
“Still hungry?” she murmurs.
“Starving,” I say, but we both know I’m not talking about food.
She laughs, low, warm, and familiar, and slips out of bed to get ready. She dresses for dinner, something soft and short and blue. She doesn’t try. She doesn’t have to. She walks out of the bathroom with her hair pinned up and my brain flatlines.
“You’re staring,” she says, amused.
“I’m recovering,” I shoot back, eyes dragging over her legs, then her mouth. “You should be illegal in that dress.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “That’s rich coming from the man who packed three different suits for a four-day trip. Including a vest.”
“That vest is a masterpiece.”
“Jack, it had a pocket square.”
“A coordinated pocket square,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
She laughs, full and bright. “God, I missed this.”
“I missed you.”
Her eyes soften, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
Then she tugs my hand. “Come on, fancy man. Let’s go drink overpriced cocktails and pretend we’re normal.”
We find a table on a beachside terrace, candles flickering, a guitar strumming somewhere behind us. Ivy orders something fruity and ridiculous. I order whiskey. Her laughter comes easier now, and I lean back in my chair just to watch her talk.
“Do you ever miss it?” she asks, swirling her straw around in her ridiculous pink drink. “You know, suits, boardrooms, spreadsheets. Scowling at people in designer shoes.”
I don’t have to ask what she means.
“No,” I say. “Back then, I had deals and deadlines. But I didn’t have mornings like this. Or a woman who calls me out on my wardrobe.”
She reaches across the table, her fingers brushing mine. “I still can’t believe this is real.”
I lean forward. “Then let me keep proving it.”
After dinner, we walk the beach barefoot, our footprints trailing behind us in the damp sand. The moon lights her skin in silver. I stop her mid-step, pull her close, and kiss her like I might never get another chance. Because even now, part of mestill remembers the cold fear of losing her. And I’m never feeling that again.
Back in the suite, we fall into bed sometime after midnight, sun-drunk and blissed out. She’s tangled in the sheets, lips swollen from kissing, eyes half-lidded with sleep. I pull her against me and press my mouth to the crown of her head.
“I’m not letting go,” I whisper.
She mumbles something I can’t quite catch, but she curls closer.
The world outside can wait. She’s mine. And I’m hers. And that’s enough.
My phone buzzes again from the nightstand. I reach for it lazily, expecting some useless notification, but it’s the same message I saw earlier.
Santiago:Jack, it’s about Derek. You need to see this. Now.
This time, I don’t ignore it. I glance at Ivy one last time, still sleeping peacefully beside me, and my chest tightens. She's wrapped in the sheets like something delicate, her lips are parted slightly, her brow relaxed in a way I rarely see. I watch her chest rise and fall, steady, and for a second, I let myself believe this version of life, of us, is untouchable. But Santiago’s words cut through the illusion like glass under bare feet.
My stomach knots. I know that tone. Santiago doesn’t send vague warnings unless something’s already slipping through the cracks. And if it’s about Derek... I sit on the edge of the bed, phone heavy in my palm. My thumb hovers over the screen. Whatever this is, I need to face it before it touches her world again. Before it claws back into ours. I slip out of bed, careful not to wake her, and open the message.
