Accidentally yours

IVY There were exactly three rules for surviving any event hosted by the Blackwood family. Rule One: Never stand near the champagne tower. Ryan Blackwood had a habit of appearing beside it like a ghost made of expensive cologne and bad intentions. Rule Two: Keep Noah in sight at all times. Her brother was a human shield, a social buffer, and the only person in Arellui who could make her laugh hard enough to forget she was uncomfortable. Rule Three: Do not under any circumstances look Ryan Blackwood in the eye for longer than two seconds. Ivy Monroe was currently breaking all three. She stood six feet from the champagne tower, alone, because Noah had vanished toward the terrace with Ava twenty minutes ago. And she had just made eye contact with Ryan Blackwood across the gala hall. Two seconds. Three. Four. He didn't look away. He never did. Ivy's pulse stuttered an inconvenient, traitorous little flutter that she immediately crushed under the heel of her mental shoe. She turned sharply, nearly colliding with a passing waiter, and mumbled an apology that came out as a strangled whisper. Get it together. The Blackwood estate stretched around her like a cathedral built for the sin of pride soaring ceilings, chandeliers dripping with crystals, marble floors so polished they reflected the champagne flutes like scattered stars. The annual Blackwood-Monroe Summer Gala was a tradition older than Ivy herself, a forced collaboration between two families whose empires had been tangled together for decades. Monroe Industries and Blackwood Holdings. Rivals in boardrooms. Allies at dinner tables. And Ivy was the daughter who'd never wanted any of it. She smoothed the fabric of her lavender dress soft, comfortable, chosen specifically because it didn't demand attention and tried to disappear into the crowd. The gowns around her glittered with diamonds and ambition. She felt like a sparrow among peacocks. Why am I even here? She knew why. Catherine Monroe had asked her to come. And Ivy had never learned how to say no to her mother. "Miss Monroe." The voice slid down her spine like warm honey laced with something sharper. Ivy closed her eyes. No. She turned. Ryan Blackwood stood three feet away, a glass of champagne dangling from his fingers, his black suit cut so perfectly it looked like it had been sewn onto his body. He was tall six-two, the same as Noah but where her brother carried his height with easy warmth, Ryan wore his like a weapon. Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, dark hair slightly disheveled like he'd just run his hands through it, and eyes so dark they seemed to swallow the light. He was looking at her. Really looking at her. "Mr. Blackwood," she said, her voice carefully neutral. Something flickered across his face. Amusement? Irritation? She couldn't tell. With Ryan, she never could. "You've been avoiding me," he said. It wasn't a question. "I've been mingling," she corrected, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's a party. People mingle." "You've spoken to exactly four people tonight. Your mother. Your father. Noah. And a waiter who looked terrified of you." Ivy blinked. "You've been counting?" "I notice things." The words hung in the air between them, heavy with something neither of them acknowledged. I notice things. Like the way he'd noticed her the moment she walked in. Like the way his eyes had tracked her across the room all evening not obviously, not creepily, but with a quiet, relentless focus that made her feel like she was standing under a spotlight. Stop it, she told herself. He doesn't care. He's never cared. "You look nice," he said. Ivy's brain short-circuited. What? Ryan Blackwood cold, controlled, emotionally constipated Ryan Blackwood had just complimented her. "I" She swallowed. "Thank you." "You're blushing." "I am not" She was. She could feel the heat crawling up her neck, blooming across her cheeks. She pressed her hand to her face instinctively, then immediately dropped it when she realized what she was doing. Pathetic. Ryan's lips twitched. Not a smile never a full smile just a subtle shift that suggested he found her amusing. "You bite your lip when you lie," he said quietly. Ivy's heart stopped. "What?" "You just did it again." She hadn't even realized. Her teeth had caught her bottom lip the moment he called her out, a reflex she couldn't control. A tell. A weakness. Damn him. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her voice too high, too fast, too everything. Ryan stepped closer. Just one step. But it was enough to shrink the space between them from polite to improper, and Ivy's entire body went still. "You're doing it again," he murmured. "Doing what?" "Giving yourself away." Her breath caught. They stood there, inches apart, the sounds of the gala fading into white noise the string quartet, the clinking glasses, the polite laughter of the wealthy and powerful. None of it mattered. None of it registered. All she could see was him. All she could feel was the heat radiating from his body, the weight of his gaze, the inexplicable pull that had been there since she was seventeen years old and he'd looked at her like she was a puzzle he wanted to solve. I hate him, she reminded herself. I hate him. I hate him. I hate "Ivy!" The spell shattered. Ivy jumped back too fast, too obvious as Noah's voice cut through the tension like a blade. Her brother appeared beside them, all six-foot-two of him, grinning like he hadn't just interrupted something that was definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent not happening. "There you are!" Noah threw an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a side hug that smelled like expensive cologne and mischief. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Olive said you were hiding." "I wasn't hiding," Ivy protested, her voice still unsteady. "I was... observing." "Observing." Noah's eyes bounced between her and Ryan, a knowing glint in them. "Right. And Ryan just happened to be observing the same thing?" Ryan's expression was unreadable. "We were discussing the champagne." Noah blinked. "The champagne." "The vintage," Ivy added quickly. "It's excellent." There was a beat of silence. Then Noah burst out laughing a loud, genuine sound that drew glances from nearby guests. "Champagne," he repeated, shaking his head. "You two are discussing champagne at a black-tie gala. This is why I love you both." Ivy felt her face heat. "Noah" "No, no, this is perfect." Noah's grin widened. "My sister and my best friend, bonding over beverages. What's next? A shared appreciation for fine china?" Ryan's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but Ivy caught it. "We weren't bonding," he said. "Sure you weren't." Noah clapped him on the shoulder. "Anyway, I need to steal my sister for a minute. Mom wants a family photo, and you know how she gets." Ivy's stomach dropped. "Mom's here?" "She's always here. It's her gala." Noah was already steering her away, his arm still around her shoulders. "Come on, before she sends a search party." Ivy glanced back — just once. Ryan was watching her. His hands were in his pockets, his jaw set, his dark eyes tracking her across the room like she was the only thing worth looking at. She turned away quickly, her heart hammering. You bite your lip when you lie. Giving yourself away. Damn him. --- The Monroe family photo was, as always, an exercise in controlled chaos. Catherine Monroe CEO of Monroe Industries, elegant in a navy gown that probably cost more than most people's mortgages directed everyone with the precision of a general commanding troops. "Noah, stand up straight. Ivy, stop fidgeting. Your father will be here in a moment." Ivy smoothed her dress and tried not to think about the fact that Ryan was somewhere in this mansion, probably watching her from a shadow, probably cataloging every nervous habit she had. Stop it, she told herself. He's not watching you. He doesn't care. He's never cared. But the memory of his eyes on her mouth said otherwise. "Sorry I'm late!" Marcus Monroe appeared, slightly out of breath, his tie slightly askew the only man in the world who could run a billion-dollar company and still look like a golden retriever who'd just been caught eating shoes. "Traffic was a nightmare." "You drove yourself?" Catherine arched an eyebrow. "We have a driver, Marcus." "I like driving." Marcus pressed a kiss to his wife's cheek, then turned to his children with a warm smile. "There are my babies. Ivy, you look beautiful. Noah, you look... tall." "I'm the same height I've always been, Dad." "And yet, still surprising." Ivy laughed a loud, unguarded sound that she immediately tried to muffle with her hand. "Sorry," she mumbled, cheeks flushing. "Don't apologize for laughing," Marcus said, pulling her into a side hug. "It's the best sound in the world." The photographer arrived, and they arranged themselves Catherine and Marcus in the center, Ivy and Noah flanking them, all of them smiling the practiced smiles of a family that had done this a hundred times before. "One more," the photographer said. "Something more relaxed." Noah immediately hooked his arm around Ivy's neck, pulling her into a headlock that made her shriek with laughter. "Noah! My hair" "Family photo, Ives. Sacrifices must be made." "Let go of your sister," Catherine said, but she was smiling. The camera flashed. And for a moment just a moment Ivy forgot about Ryan Blackwood. --- The reprieve didn't last. She'd barely escaped the photo session when Olive Blackwood materialized beside her like a beautiful, sarcastic ghost. Olive was Ryan's younger sister and Ivy's closest friend a fact that had always felt slightly traitorous, like befriending the enemy's spy. But Olive was impossible not to love: sharp-tongued, fiercely loyal, and the only person who could make Ivy laugh so hard she snorted. "You look like you've seen a ghost," Olive observed, handing her a fresh glass of champagne. "Or a certain brooding best friend of your brother's." Ivy took the glass mostly to have something to do with her hands. "I don't know what you're talking about." "You're a terrible liar, Ivy Monroe." "I'm an excellent liar." "You're blushing." Ivy's hand flew to her cheek. "I am not" "You are. It's adorable, really." Olive's dark eyes sparkled with mischief. "What did my brother do now? Exist in your general vicinity?" "Olive" "I saw you two talking earlier. By the champagne tower." Olive's smirk widened. "Very subtle." "We were discussing the vintage." "The vintage." Olive's eyebrow arched. "My brother who once told me that small talk is 'a waste of oxygen' was discussing champagne with you." "It was a very interesting champagne." "Ivy." "What?" Olive leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I've known Ryan my entire life. He doesn't do small talk. He doesn't do any talk unless he has to. The fact that he sought you out by the champagne tower, no less means something." Ivy's heart stuttered. "It means he was thirsty." "It means he wanted to talk to you." "Why would he want to talk to me?" Olive stared at her for a long moment. Then she laughed a sharp, knowing sound that made Ivy's cheeks flush all over again. "You're adorable," Olive said. "Absolutely, hopelessly adorable." "I'm not" "Ivy!" Ava Kade appeared Noah's girlfriend, all five-foot-seven of her, graceful and beautiful and looking slightly breathless. "There you are! Noah's been looking for you." "I just saw him" "He's looking for you again. Something about wanting to show you a video of a cat that looks like Dad." Ivy blinked. "A cat that looks like" "Don't ask. Just come." Ava grabbed her hand and tugged her through the crowd, Olive following close behind with a knowing smile. Ivy let herself be pulled, grateful for the distraction grateful to be away from dark eyes and deep voices and the terrifying possibility that maybe, just maybe, Ryan Blackwood wasn't as indifferent to her as she'd always believed. You bite your lip when you lie. Giving yourself away. Damn him. Damn him to hell. --- The rest of the evening passed in a blur of champagne and small talk and careful avoidance. Ivy danced with her father, laughed with her brother, gossiped with Olive and Ava, and managed somehow to not look at Ryan Blackwood even once. (She looked at him three times. But no one had to know that.) By the time the gala wound down, she was exhausted — the good kind of exhausted, the kind that came from laughing too hard and smiling too much and pretending, for hours on end, that she wasn't hyperaware of a certain someone's presence in every room. Noah found her on the terrace, staring up at the stars. "You okay, Ives?" She nodded, not trusting her voice. He stood beside her, shoulder to shoulder, silent for a long moment. "He's not as scary as you think," Noah said quietly. Ivy's heart jolted. "What?" "Ryan." Noah's voice was gentle, careful. "I know you two have... history. Or whatever you want to call it. But he's not the villain you've made him out to be in your head." Ivy swallowed hard. "I don't" "You do." Noah turned to look at her, his eyes soft. "You've been avoiding him for years. And I've never asked why, because I figured you'd tell me when you were ready. But I see the way you look at him when you think no one's watching." Ivy's throat tightened. "Noah" "He looks at you the same way." The words hung in the air between them. Ivy's breath caught. "That's not" She shook her head. "You're wrong." "I'm not." Noah's hand found hers, squeezing gently. "I'm your brother. It's my job to notice these things." Ivy stared at him, her eyes burning. She wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he was imagining things, that Ryan Blackwood was cold and distant and completely, utterly uninterested in her. But the memory of Ryan's eyes on her mouth his voice, low and rough, saying giving yourself away made her throat close up. "I don't know what to do," she whispered. Noah pulled her into a hug warm, steady, safe. "You don't have to do anything," he said. "Just... stop running. See what happens." Ivy buried her face in his shoulder. Stop running. See what happens. Easy for him to say. --- Across the terrace, hidden in the shadow of a marble column, Ryan Blackwood watched them. He watched the way Ivy leaned into her brother's embrace, the way her shoulders shook just slightly, the way she pulled back and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. He watched her until she disappeared inside. Then he pulled out his phone and typed a message he would never send. To: Ivy You looked beautiful tonight. You always do. He deleted it. Pocketed the phone. And walked away. ---