Ivy’s Point Of View
When I reach my chambers, I walk in and slam the door closed before leaning my back against it and allowing the tears and raw emotion to pour out of me. Alone at last.
Now, at least I have a silent space alone that I can think back to what I may have done wrong. After all, it was my first time, and I’m sure Chase has had quite the experience in the bedroom being such an important, attractive, kind-hearted man and all.
Suddenly, I feel a pair of hands grabbing my shoulders. I yelp and jump. What the... I try to blink the tears away, and I begin to see a blurry figure of a tall man in front of me.
"Are you okay, Ivy?"
What was HE doing in my room?
I am still sniffling as I look at Grant, who is looking at me with readable worry in his eyes. I know I look like a hot mess, and I can feel some watery mucus dripping from my nose. I grimace as I can imagine what he is thinking seeing me in such a state. Why am I worried about what I look like in the supposed comfort and privacy of my room? What is he doing in my bedroom? Didn’t his mother teach him that girls’ rooms are a no-no for boys? Do I need a privacy signpost on my door now?
My frustration with Marissa and the blabbering Chase is turning into rage, and I am afraid if I don’t get a grip on my emotions, I will take them out on Grant. He is innocent... wait, scratch that. He is busy snooping in my room and thus is not innocent either.
"What are you doing in here, Alpha Grant?" I try to be as polite as I can muster given the present circumstances and my somber mood.
"The door was unlocked. I was looking for you. I’m sorry to have just come in. This probably makes me look like a person who doesn’t respect boundaries, doesn’t it?"
I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. ’You think?’ I silently muse.
He reaches into the pockets of his jeans and takes out a small pack of facial tissues, handing it to me. My brow rises, but I accept the tissues. Does he always conveniently walk around with an unopened pack of tissues? Does he somehow always expect to meet a damsel in distress in need of tissues for her pathetic tears and snotty face—or are they for something else...?
"Thank you," I say as I open the plastic wrapping, taking one out and using it to dab at my face. What I really want to do is thoroughly wipe my face and noisily blow my nose, but I can’t do that in front of Grant. I have to try to act like a somewhat proper lady. Damn etiquette getting in the way.
"Why are you crying?" Grant asks.
I shrug, not sure if I have the strength to begin explaining what is going on. I also don’t think it’s necessary to tell him about Chase’s supposed nasty review of our night together. After all, if he told the other Alphas how horrible I am in bed, then I am sure Grant already knows. Maybe he is actually here to try to wriggle out of the inevitable disappointment that is sex with me. We don’t want him projectile vomiting as well.
"Nothing. Just girl stuff."
I can see a crease form in his forehead. "Is it that time of the month?"
What the heck? I feel myself blushing from head to toe. Are none of these people shy about asking such intimate questions?
Having grown up in the kind of household I did, we never discussed such matters as if we were talking about some nice meal. To be standing in front of this Alpha talking about my period just felt so wrong.
"No!" I answer a bit louder than I mean to.
I side-step him and walk toward the bed, then remove my wedges and sit on the plush comforter. I look up and see him walk toward me. He pulls out the chair from the dressing table and positions it in front of me before sitting down.
"Talk to me, Ivy. Who made you cry? I promise I will deal with them personally."
I smile bitterly at him. Can he really straighten out the king’s kin, Marissa, by himself? And what benefit would it offer him?
His eyes have a genuine sincerity as they search mine. I feel myself warming up to this handsome room invader who keeps eyeing me with such concern.
"Since I got here, Marissa has been taking incessant jabs at me. I mean, I know I am nowhere near as respected, beautiful, and well-connected as she is, but I don’t think that gives her the right to bully me and stab me where it hurts the most every chance she gets."
I am surprised when Grant throws his head back and lets out a belly laugh. I stare at him, shocked, wondering why he is making fun of me.
"My dear, Marissa has nothing on you. She does all that because she is jealous of you," he playfully nudges my chin with his index finger. "If she had no relation to the king, I would use my last dime to put her on a spaceship to somewhere on another planet. Hell, I would pay extra to make it a one-way trip."
I can’t help but laugh at his statement. He joins me and places his hand on my knee, the feel of it making me warm and fuzzy all over.
What is happening? Only Chase is supposed to make me feel like this, right?
"Thank you for trying to comfort me," I say as I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear while licking my lips that suddenly feel dry. I wish the lip gloss was as enduring as the makeup on my face.
"I hope I always manage to put a smile on your face. I don’t think I can bear to see you sad or crying." I look at him, searching for a hint of humor in his features but realize that there is nothing but stern genuineness there.
My heart does a little spin and I know my skin must be resembling a tomato by now. This man is charming, protective, and kind. How had I not realized that before?
"Thank you, Alpha Grant," I say, and I really mean it. I assumed he had come to find me to inform me of his intentions of dropping out of the race, but it appears the rumor that was allegedly spread about my poor bedroom prowess had not deterred him in the least.
"I do hope that after tonight, you will drop that prefix. Maybe call me something else?"
My mouth is suddenly dry. I swallow hard. Is it him I am going to be with tonight?
"Uh... tonight be with me... I mean it is you I am on tonight," I stutter and trip on my own words. What the heck is wrong with me?
Grant laughs and stands, then comes to sit next to me on the bed. He pulls me to him, and my body complies. My head rests on the side of his chest. I can hear the faint sound of his heartbeat.
"Yes, my little flower. It is I you will be on tonight." Again he chuckles.
Oh, my! I am glad he can’t see my face while sitting in this position, as I am sure by now I might be mistaken for a lobster.
"Oh, okay," I sigh and flinch. Is that all I have to say? Why can’t I come up with something witty to say like those heroines I read about in those romance stories? Maybe I could have said something like, ’Yeah, my possum, I can’t wait to really be on you!’ Wait a minute, ’possum’? Where did that come from? Am I really this bad at giving pet names?
He gently releases me and claims my hand as he looks deep into my eyes. We are so close that I find myself praying that he can’t hear how his closeness is causing my heartbeat to accelerate.