They left the next morning.
I stood in the foyer with Asher, watching Richard load suitcases into the back of a black car while my mother fussed over last-minute details. She was wearing a cream coat I'd never seen before—new, probably a gift—and she looked like she belonged in this world. Like she'd always been here.
"Three days," she said, pulling me into a hug. "That's all. We'll be back on the twenty-third, plenty of time before Christmas Eve."
"Mom, it's fine. Go. Enjoy the Maldives."
"Are you sure you'll be okay? I can ask Margaret to stay longer, or—"
"I'm eighteen in a few weeks. I think I can survive three days."
She held my face in her hands, studying me the way she always did when she was trying to read something I wasn't saying. "Call me if you need anything. Anything at all."
"I will."
Richard appeared beside her, one hand on her lower back. "The car's ready, love." He looked at me, then at Asher. "You two behave yourselves."
Asher said nothing. Just stood there with his hands in his pockets, watching.
More hugs. More promises to call. More reminders about where things were and who to contact if something went wrong. And then they were gone, the car disappearing down the driveway, and the house went quiet.
I turned to go back inside and nearly collided with Asher's chest.
"Watch it," he said, but there was no heat in it.
"Maybe don't stand so close."
He raised an eyebrow. Just slightly. Then he walked past me into the house without another word.
The morning passed slowly.
I painted. Tried to, anyway. The canvas from before was still sitting there, those dark colors waiting for something to emerge from them, but nothing came. My hands felt restless, my mind scattered.
By noon, I was starving. Margaret had left lunch in the kitchen—sandwiches, fruit, things I couldn't name—but when I got there, the room wasn't empty.
There were people everywhere—sprawled on the sofas, gathered around the bar in the corner, laughing and talking over music that pulsed through hidden speakers. I counted five, maybe six, all of them dressed like they'd stepped out of a magazine, all of them holding drinks, all of them completely at home in a space I was still trying to learn.
Asher was in the middle of them.
He looked different. Relaxed in a way I hadn't seen before, his shoulders loose, his mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile but was closer than anything he'd shown me. A girl with sharp green eyes and light brown hair was saying something to him, and he was actually listening, actually responding like a normal person instead of the cold statue I'd been living with.
I stood in the doorway, frozen, feeling like I'd walked into someone else's life.
"Oh!" A boy appeared in front of me—tall, easy smile, the same green eyes as the girl. "You must be the stepsister."
"Ivy," I said.
"Ethan." He grabbed my hand and shook it warmly. "Asher's told us absolutely nothing about you, which means you're probably interesting."
"I—thanks?"
"Come on, come on." He tugged me into the room before I could protest. "Everyone, this is Ivy. Ivy, everyone."
Faces turned toward me. Some curious. Some dismissive. The girl with the green eyes, I remembered from the profile in my head—watched me with an expression I couldn't read.
"She looks lost," someone said.
"She's new," Ethan countered. "Give her a minute."
I found Asher in the crowd. He was watching me now, that almost-smile still on his.
I lifted my chin.
"Is there anything to drink?" I asked.
Ethan grinned. "I like her already."
Someone put a glass in my hand and I drank without asking what it was. Ethan stayed close, filling the silence with easy conversation, introducing me to people whose names I forgot as soon as I heard them. Elena kept her distance, watching from across the room, but she didn't seem hostile.
I found myself relaxing despite everything. The alcohol helped. So did Ethan's warmth, the way he made everything feel like a joke, the way he pulled me into conversations and made sure I wasn't standing alone.
But I kept looking for Asher.
The vodka made me brave. Or stupid. Probably both.
"Truth or dare," someone announced, and suddenly everyone was moving, arranging themselves in a loose circle on the floor.
I tried to slip away.
"Where do you think you're going?" Ethan grabbed my wrist. "You're playing."
"I don't—"
"You're playing."
He pulled me down beside him. Across the circle, Asher settled against the base of the sofa, legs stretched out in front of him, a drink dangling from his fingers. He wasn't looking at me. He wasn't not looking at me either.
The game started slow. Stupid truths. Easy dares. Someone admitted to hooking up in a teacher's car. Someone else had to text their ex something embarrassing. Everyone laughed. I relaxed a little. This wasn't so bad.
Then it was Elena's turn.
Her eyes landed on me.
"Ivy," she said. "Truth or dare?"
Everyone was watching now. I felt the weight of it pressing down.
"Dare," I said, because truth felt dangerous.
Elena's mouth curved. "Sit on Asher's lap for the next three rounds."
The room went quiet. Someone whistled.
Asher was watching me now. His expression gave nothing away, but there was something in his eyes. A challenge.
"Unless you're scared," Elena added.
I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.
I stood up. Walked across the circle. Felt every pair of eyes following me.
Asher didn't move as I approached. Didn't make space. Just watched me, waiting.
I turned and sat down.
His thighs were solid beneath me, warm even through the fabric of my jeans. I kept my back straight, tried to keep space between us, tried to act like this was nothing.
Then his hand settled on my hip.
Just resting there. Casual. But his fingers pressed into my skin through my shirt, and I felt the touch everywhere.
"Comfortable?" he murmured. Low. Only for me.
"Fine."
"You're stiff."
"I'm fine."
His thumb moved. Just slightly. A slow circle against my hip bone. My breath caught.
The game continued. Someone picked truth.
Someone else picked dare. I barely heard any of it. All I could focus on was the heat of him beneath me, the weight of his hand, the way his chest brushed my back every time he breathed.
"Truth or dare, Asher?"
His hand stilled on my hip. "Dare."
"Make the girl on your lap blush."
Laughter. My face was already warming.
Asher leaned forward. His lips brushed my ear.
"You're already blushing," he said, quiet enough that only I could hear. "I haven't even done anything yet."
His hand slid from my hip to my stomach.
Flattened there. I could feel the heat of his palm through my shirt, his fingers spread wide across my abdomen.
"Does this count?" he asked the room, his voice normal now, bored almost.
More laughter. Someone said something I didn't catch. The game moved on.
But his hand stayed where it was.
Three rounds felt like hours.
Every time someone spoke, every time the attention shifted away from us, his fingers would move. Just slightly. Tracing patterns on my stomach through the fabric. Sliding an inch higher, then back down. Never enough to be obvious. Just enough to drive me crazy.
By the time the third round ended, I was barely breathing.
"Time's up," Elena announced. "You can get up now."
I tried to stand. Asher's hand pressed flat against my stomach, holding me in place.
"One more round," he said.
"That wasn't the dare."
"I'm adding to it."
His thumb slipped under the hem of my shirt. Just barely. Skin against skin. I sucked in a breath.
"Let her go," Ethan said, but he was laughing. "You're going to give her a heart attack."
Asher's hand lifted. I stood up too fast, my legs unsteady, and I didn't look at him as I walked back to my spot.
But I could feel him watching me.
The game wound down after that. People got bored. Drifted off in pairs and small groups.
Someone put on different music. Someone else raided the kitchen.
I slipped out while no one was looking.
The hallway was dark. Quiet. I leaned against the wall, pressing my palms flat against the cool surface, trying to catch my breath.
What was happening to me? It was just a game. Just a stupid dare. It didn't mean anything.
But I could still feel his hand on my stomach. Could still feel his thumb against my bare skin.
Footsteps.
I turned.
Asher was walking toward me. Hands in his pockets. Face unreadable.
"You ran," he said.
"I needed air."
"There's air in there."
"I needed quiet."
He stopped in front of me. The hallway suddenly became smaller.
"You're flustered," he said.
"I'm not."
"Your hands are shaking."
I looked down. They were. I pressed them harder against the wall.
He stepped closer. I stepped back. My shoulders hit the wall.
He didn't stop.
One hand came up beside my head, palm flat against the wall. He leaned in, not touching me,
but close enough that I could feel the warmth coming off his body.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I don't know."
His other hand found my hip. Same spot as before. His fingers pressed into my skin, and I heard myself inhale.
"We shouldn't," I said.
"Probably not."
But neither of us moved.
His head dipped. His nose brushed my cheek. I could feel his breath against my lips, warm and uneven.
"This is a bad idea," he said.
"I know."
He kissed me.