Chapter 72: Not Today

Chapter 72: Not Today

Leo

“She had a beautiful name.” Ivy said, smiling. “I’m sure she was a lovely girl.”

I felt the corner of my mouth lift before I could stop it. “Everybody loved her. Every fucking person who encountered her had only good things to say about her.” I paused. “And that’s not a lie.”

Her smile stayed genuine. “I don’t doubt that for a second. Solomon and Julia would have lost their minds if she was anything like you.”

I chuckled.

“You’re a handful as an adult, Leo.” She tilted her head, teasing now. “I dread to imagine what you were like after a little sugar.”

The laugh that came out of me was real this time—short, almost surprised at itself. “I was a terror. You couldn’t control me. Climbing things I wasn’t supposed to climb. Talking back. Breaking rules just to see what would happen. Estella used to say I had too much energy and not enough sense.”

“I’m sure she was an angel,” Ivy said.

I nodded once. “She was. The kind of person who could walk into a room and make everyone feel like they’d been waiting for her without even knowing it. Always humming something under her breath like the world wasn’t allowed to be quiet around her.”

Ivy’s fingers kept moving over the back of my hand, slow and steady. She didn’t rush me. She just waited.

“When did you… lose her?”

“Two years ago.”

She exhaled, the sound almost a sigh. “Oh… I understand why you never spoke about her. The pain is still fresh. You’re still healing.”

“It’s fucking difficult.” The admission scraped on the way out. I stared past her shoulder for a second, at nothing in particular. “Sometimes… I swear I see her in this house. Out of the corner of my eye. Standing in a doorway. Sitting on the edge of a bed that isn’t hers anymore. And then I blink and she’s gone.”

Ivy didn’t interrupt. Her thumb kept tracing the same small path across my skin, comforting me without saying anything.

“I still see her in my dreams,” I said quieter. “And she’s never happy. She’s never smiling the way she used to. She’s just… there. Looking at me like she’s waiting for something I haven’t figured out how to give her yet.”

Ivy nodded once, slow. “I know. I’m very sorry, Leo.”

Sorry. That word again. The same one everyone used.

I’m sorry. Accept our condolences. I feel your pain. Empty phrases that never once put the people responsible behind bars. Never once made the nights quieter. Never once stopped the dreams from coming back.

“Can I ask how she died?” Ivy asked carefully.

Every instinct in me went sharp and violent at once.

My hands itched. My jaw locked so hard pain flared up the side of my face.

For one ugly second I couldn’t understand how my thoughts toward her—toward Ivy—could turn that dark so fast. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She was only asking. Only trying to know me. And still the rage rose so fast it left me breathless.

I shut my eyes and counted to ten. Then forced air in and out of my lungs like I was back in the gym, fighting the urge to swing at something that couldn’t swing back.

When I opened them again, all I saw was her.

“She was murdered.”

For the first time since I started opening up, genuine shock cracked across her features. A loud, startled gasp escaped before she could stop it. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

“Oh my God.” The words came out in a horrified whisper. “That is heartbreaking. Leo, I’m sorry. I… I shouldn’t have asked.”

Her eyes went glassy almost immediately. She tried to hold the tears back—I could see her fighting them—but the dam broke anyway. One tear slipped free, then another, sliding down her cheeks in silence.

“Don’t apologize.” I cupped her face with both hands, thumbs brushing the wetness away. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

She didn’t answer with words. She just threw herself forward into my arms, wrapping herself around me like she was trying to hold something together that had already broken.

Her sobs were quiet but full, the kind that shook her shoulders. She cried for a girl she had never met. A girl whose name she had only learned minutes ago. Her fingers twisted into the fabric of my shirt and held on like she was afraid I might disappear too.

That was Ivy.

Empathy lived in her the way oxygen did. She felt other people’s pain like it belonged to her. Right now she was mourning Estella for me, carrying a grief that wasn’t hers simply because I had handed her a piece of it.

“I’m sorry,” she cried against my chest. “I should never have asked. Please don’t hate me, Leo. Please.”

I pulled back just enough to see her face. Brushed the damp strands of hair away from her cheeks. “How could I ever hate you? That’s absurd, baby.” My voice came out rougher than I meant it to. “I love you. I always will.”

The words left me before I could weigh them.

I kissed her hard, tasting salt on her lips, on the soft skin beneath her eyes. She made a small sound against my mouth and kissed me back just as fiercely, like she needed the contact as much as I did.

My hands slid down her back, under the hem of the shirt she was wearing, finding warm skin. She stiffened for half a second, just long enough for me to notice, then melted into it again.

I unhooked her bra and she paused.

A few more seconds and she pulled away, breathing unevenly. Her cheeks were flushed. She wouldn’t quite meet my eyes.

“Leo, no. I don’t think I want to have sex.” The words came out shy, almost embarrassed. “I’m exhausted. And it still hurts down there.”

No. That wasn’t going to work.

I needed her unconscious and out of the way before Poppy showed up with whatever pills Ivy had asked for.

I already knew the request had been made. I had watched the hallway feed. I had heard every careful word. If Poppy got those pills into Ivy’s hands, everything I had planned would be wasted.

I couldn’t let that happen.

But telling her to take a nap at midday felt like the weakest strategy on earth. I needed something better. Something that would put her under long enough for me to intercept whatever my nosy stepsister thought she was delivering.

I needed to push. Just enough.

“Bored of me already?” I asked, keeping my voice light.

She shook her head quickly. “No. It’s not that. It’s just… I’m tired and really sore.”

I cupped her cheek again, softer this time. “Is that all? I’ll be careful.” I let a small smile curve my mouth. “I promise.”

She glanced toward the door like she was searching for an escape route. “I… I’m hungry too.” The excuse was transparent. “Tonight. Let’s do it tonight—”

“No.” I moved before she could finish the sentence.

I lifted her easily, laid her back against the mattress, and climbed over her in one smooth motion.

Her hands came up immediately, pressing flat against my chest—not pushing hard, just holding me at a distance while her eyes searched mine.

“I want you now,” I said quietly. “Don’t you want me?”

The silence stretched for a beat.

Then, softer than almost anything she had ever said to me: “I want you.”

I leaned down and kissed her again, slower now. “I love you,” I murmured against her mouth.

She blushed hard, the color climbing all the way to her ears. She buried her face against my chest like she couldn’t stand to be looked at while the words still hung in the air. Her fingers twisted into my shirt again.

“Leo… easy,” she pleaded.

I kissed the tip of her nose. Then the corner of her mouth. “Relax. I won’t hurt you.”

She managed a small, shaky smile as I sat back just enough to pull my shirt over my head and toss it aside. Her eyes flicked over my chest, my shoulders, then darted away again. Her lips pressed together like she was trying not to smile and failing.

I reached for the waistband of her shorts and paused.

“Do you want this?” I asked again, voice low. “Be honest. I’ll stop if you don’t.”

It took her a few long seconds. Her throat worked once. Then she nodded, small and almost shy.

“Yes. I do.”

I eased the shorts down her legs, then the soft cotton underneath, careful with every movement. She watched me the entire time, cheeks burning, but she didn’t tell me to stop.

When I finally settled between her thighs again, something else registered in the back of my mind.

She hadn’t mentioned a condom. She hadn’t reminded me to pull out. Not once.

That was because she was waiting for Poppy. Because she thought the pills were coming.

Because she believed she still had a way out of the consequences of what we had already done.

Ivy had been smart. Just not quite smart enough. She wasn’t getting those pills. Not today. Not ever.