BACK TO BLACK

CHAPTER 3

Roxanne's pov

Ivy and Irvine's home is a masterpiece of modern design, straight out of the pages of Architecture Digest magazine. The moment they announced their engagement, their stunning home was featured, so when Ivy called me with the exciting news, I wasn't taken aback. Their love story is cute since they were childhood friends who later became high school sweethearts.

As I stepped inside, my eyes were immediately drawn to the painting I made for them, displayed prominently near the entrance. It's a reminder of the moment Irvine proposed, and my heart swells with pride as I see my signature in the corner. A white artificial orchid sits elegantly in a white pot on the clear glass table, a simple yet striking centerpiece.

Ivy and Irvine built this house from the ground up. Ivy was adamant about not buying a pre-existing home; she wanted a unique space, the house of her dreams. Irvine proposed after they had completed construction, sealing their commitment to each other and this beautiful home.

I can't help but marvel at its cleanliness. "How do you live in a house that's so white?" I ask skeptically. A spiral raindrop crystal chandelier hung between the bifurcated grand stairs. I saw the video AD posted on YouTube. Their house was gorgeous, but it was even better in person.

In the living room, the black-marbled floor contrasted so well with the huge glass windows and the snowy white couches.

Ivy laughed, seeing the disbelief on my face. "It's not as bad as it looks," she smiled. Her caramel-colored hair was styled in gorgeous waves, making her sea-foam green eyes appear even brighter.

"Not as bad?" I gestured around the pristine space. "Is there anywhere I can sit that's not white?" I joked, feeling a bit out of place in my colorful outfit. The living room was the only place with black marble. The rest had a white marble floor.

"You're so dramatic," she teases, leading me to a sleek minibar that somehow manages to fit the color scheme.

"Are you sure you won't regret all of this when you two have kids?" I continued, unable to resist teasing her about the practicalities of maintaining such a pristine home.

"You know me, I don't think past lunchtime," she quips with a grin. It's true; she's always been carefree and spontaneous, a stark contrast to my tendency to overthink everything. That's how our friendship began—she's the calm to my storm, the yin to my yang. In many ways, she reminds me of Kai. They would hit off if they met. I should probably consider bringing him as my date to the wedding.

"We're celebrating your return to DC! I'm thrilled you'll be helping me with the final wedding preparations," she exclaims, excitement lighting up her face. She picked me up at my parent's house after two days of sleeping off the jet lag.

"I hope everyone's okay with me being your maid of honor," I said, a hint of worry creeping into my voice. My circle of friends became smaller after my life went downhill.

"Don't worry about that. It's my wedding; I call the shots," she reassures me, handing me a glass of red wine.

Her defensive tone doesn't go unnoticed. "Can you at least tell me who's against it, so I can be prepared?" I inquired.

Setting her wineglass on the table with a soft clink, she exhaled a sigh heavy with exasperation. "Katherine, Brenda, and Sharon," she said, her voice carrying an edge as she ticked off the names with her perfectly manicured fingers. “They’ve shared their opinions, but I’ve made it crystal clear—what they think is irrelevant.”

The names swirled in my mind like pieces of a puzzle. Katherine—yes, Irvine’s mom. Brenda and Sharon—her cousins, notorious and huge social media influencers.

“It’s barely a list,” I murmured, trying to sound casual, though my chest felt tight.

Her face lit up, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of her decisiveness. “Exactly! You’re stressing over nothing,” she said, her tone suddenly buoyant as if the weight of their opinions had already evaporated.

I missed this. Her energy, her humor, our talks, everything about what made us best friends. I am glad I did not let fear rule me and decided to be there for her big day.

"Regarding Irvine's best man, he was torn between the lesser of two evils," she admits with a wry smile, knowing that even the smallest details can feel monumental when planning a wedding. Two of his best friends, one was my ex-husband and the other was not someone I wanted to be involved with. I thought he was a good person when I married Darius, but he was in on the plan. To be honest, I do not know who is the lesser of the evil between Easton and Darius, they are both cut from the same cloth. I would question Irvine's character for still being friends with them, but I knew he adored Ivy a lot.

"I would marry you if you weren't already taken," I said, the words carrying a depth of sincerity that surprised even me. She's made accommodations for me at her wedding, a gesture of kindness that speaks volumes about our friendship. I love her for that and for so much more.

"You are right, I am a catch," she says, disappearing into another room."Let me go get my planner so we can go through what needs to be done."

Alone, I gazed at my reflection on the glass table. The person staring back at me is so different from who I was years ago. Love has changed me, and shaped me into someone I never thought I could be. But the price of that love has been so high that I've sometimes felt like I was drowning in its debt.

I like to think it's because I was young and inexperienced. That made me think that some things were normal. Experience is the best teacher, but no one has ever mentioned that's the cruelest teacher ever. Deep down, I knew I deserved better, but I decided to put everybody's needs before mine. Deep down I think I have not forgiven myself for that; I have not given myself compassion and room for mistakes.

Lost in a haze of thoughts, I didn’t notice the soft creak of the door or the faint shuffle of footsteps. My stool spun lazily under me, the room a blur, until a voice—familiar yet startling—broke through the fog.

“Roxanne.”

I froze mid-spin, my heart leaping into my throat. Slowly, I turned to see someone standing there, someone who resembled Darius but felt like a stranger. His black shirt hung open halfway down his chest, sleeves rolled to reveal arms mapped with veins. Cream khaki shorts, of all things, completed the look—a stark departure from the sharp suits etched in my memory.

For a moment, I stared at him, trying to reconcile this casual version of him with the man I used to know. The stubble made him feel older. His voice—unmistakably his—dragged me back. “My pants got ruined,” he said, his tone defensive, as if answering the unspoken" What the hell are you wearing? Etched across my face.

The air shifted between us, cold and taut, as though someone had cracked a window to let in a chill. It was him, undeniably, but everything about this moment screamed unfamiliarity. Two years of marriage, and never once had I seen Darius in anything less than immaculate formality.

I kept my eyes trained on his face, unwilling to let them drift, unwilling to let the strange vulnerability of this version of him unnerve me further. The silence pressed down, heavy and loaded, every unspoken word from the past clawing to escape.

Then Ivy appeared tablet in hand, her cheerful presence snapping the tension like a matchstick. For the first time, I breathed.

The tension in the room shattered like glass when Ivy breezed in, her voice light but pointed. "Darius, what are you guys doing here?"

Her presence was a balm to the charged atmosphere, though her question hung in the air like a challenge.

Darius turned to her, lifting his hands to reveal gloves and a pair of tongs I hadn’t even noticed. "Boys' barbecue night," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Ivy raised a skeptical brow. "That’s usually Friday."

"Yeah, but Easton can’t make it tomorrow," he explained, his tone casual. "You know we always shift the day if one of us can’t be around."

Ivy folded her arms, her lips pressing into a line. "Well, how do you expect us to get along here today? We planned a girls' night and a sleepover."

Darius shrugged, his gaze flicking to me before settling on Ivy. "You can join us," he offered, his words deliberate. "We’ve got plenty of food for two more."

His eyes lingered on me just a moment too long, and I stiffened. The idea of sharing space with him, even over dinner, was suffocating. I’d been avoiding personal interaction with him at all costs—anything outside of wedding logistics felt like wading into quicksand. Ivy cast me a silent and apologetic glance.

Before I could respond, more footsteps echoed down the hallway, and a familiar voice pierced the uneasy quiet.

"Seriously, Darius," Irvine called exasperation laced in his words. "I know you’re not used to this house yet, but the chopping board—" His words halted abruptly as he entered the room and spotted the three of us.

His gaze flicked between Ivy, Darius, and me, his brow furrowing before he settled on a polite, "Hi, Rox."

"Hi, Irvine," I replied, forcing a small smile.

He moved past Darius and pulled Ivy into a kiss, murmuring a soft, "Hi, baby," as she kissed him back. Their moment felt too intimate, too normal, against the backdrop of simmering tension.

Ivy stepped back, her cheeks flushed, as Irvine turned to the group. "I’m sorry—I completely forgot to mention today," he said, his voice edged with guilt.

Darius chimed in, his tone still maddeningly nonchalant. "I told them they should join us. There’s enough food to go around."

I glanced between Ivy and Darius, my chest tightening. The room felt too small, the atmosphere too charged. This wasn’t what I signed up for tonight, but I had to find a way to smooth over the awkwardness—for Ivy’s sake.

"Sure! What’s on the menu?" I asked, injecting a spark of excitement into my voice, hoping it masked the knot tightening in my stomach.

Ivy's head whipped toward me, her wide eyes silently screaming, Are you out of your mind?

I met her gaze with one of my own, a mix of determination and reassurance. Was I crazy? Maybe—at least, not entirely. Running from Darius had become too easy, too habitual. Tonight, I wasn’t letting him have that power over me.

I’m staying, my look seemed to say. Even if it burns.