Farcliff wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe Dahlia’s right, and a bit of distance from my own family would do me good. I can always go back to Argyle after the mental health tour and deal with my issues with Cara then.
The fidgeting in my body is slowing down. My thoughts aren’t so fragmented, and my movements start to feel smoother. The tightness in my face eases, and finally, finally, I can take a full breath.
As I exhale another puff of smoke through the window, I see a limousine pull up. My date exits the car, extending a hand toward a waiting valet.
She’s not the one I’m looking at, though.
Behind her, Ivy steps out. I grin when I see what she’s wearing—jeans and a white t-shirt. To her credit, her pants aren’t ripped. They’re black jeans, at least. She doesn’t follow her sister up the steps. Instead, she heads off with one of the valets toward the servants’ entrance.
Yes, maybe staying in Farcliff isn’t such a bad idea, after all.
I finish tying my tie and gulp the rest of my wine down. It sloshes in my stomach as I race through the door. My steps are loose, and I feel almost unsteady. I float down the hallways toward the servants’ areas, avoiding any of the formal reception rooms.
I’m drawn to Poison like a moth to a flame. Isn’t that the theme of my entire life? I crave any type of poison, whether it be a pill, or a potion, or a painful heartbreak. I let it swirl in my veins until I feel numb and alive at the same time.
Ivy isn’t any different. Her eyes enchant me, and her body puts me under a spell that I never want to be rid of. She has a certain brand of poison that’s irresistible to me, and I intend to drink her up until I’ve had my fill.
7
Ivy
This morning, Margot decided that she needed a babysitter for tonight’s event—so, here I am. She’s been on edge lately. I’ve heard whispers of anxiety disorder, but Margot zips her lips if I ever try to bring it up. Deep down, though, I know she needs me.
There’s something worrying her, I just don’t know what. Maybe the fame and celebrity are finally getting to her. Maybe this relationship with Prince Luca is putting her over the edge.
And as much as I’m jealous of her, I love my sister with all my heart. With Mama gone, and Dad run off to enjoy ‘retirement’ in the Caribbean, we only have each other.
If she needs a babysitter at the castle, I’ll come along.
I follow the red-waistcoat-wearing valet through narrow corridors until I get to the underbelly of the castle.
I can feel the weight of the building on top of my head. I’ve never been in a building this big, or this ornate, or this important. I inhale the scent of stone and steel, and let the valet lead me to a big room adjoining the kitchens. It looks like the staff’s dining room.
“You can wait here,” he says with a bow, his eyebrow arching as his eyes pass over my body.
Maybe I should have worn something fancier, but black jeans usually see me through any event. It’s not like I go anywhere formal.
I follow my nose over to the kitchens, where a hundred delicious smells make me groan in pleasure. I lean against a wall beside the entrance, watching the hive of activity before me.
A smile tugs at my lips as I watch the chefs work.
This is my happy place. This is where I feel alive—in a kitchen, surrounded by smells and sounds and noises of food being created.
A sous-chef chops an onion while looking over his shoulder and shouting something at another chef. How he’s not cutting his fingers off is beyond me. The kitchen is buzzing. My eyes drift over to a door on the side wall. Through it, I can see ovens and mixers, and I already know that’s where I want to be.
I slide along the wall, still unnoticed, and peek through the window. I watch one of the pastry chefs pipe delicate roses onto a towering cake before wiping sweat off his brow. My breath catches in my throat, and I lean against the glass to watch.
“Thought I might find you here.”
I jump at the sound of Prince Luca’s voice. He’s wearing that same smirk he had on yesterday. My stomach clenches, and butterflies explode through my abdomen. Their wings tickle the edges of