Ivy went and opened the curtain on the front window and peered out, seeing the mystery woman lighting a new cigarette and standing on the walkway. The woman turned and spotted Ivy watching her from the window. The woman gave a small wave and then brought the cigarette to her red, heavily painted lips.
Ivy let the curtain fall back into place and moved away from the window, her heart beating fast.
When Cullen reemerged from the bedroom, he looked as calm and blasé as ever, despite knowing he had a stalker out front of his home.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“No, I’m not hungry,” she told him, feeling a knot of frustration in her belly.
He shrugged. “I’ll make you a fruit plate,” he said. “You should eat something.”
“I’m not hungry. Do you ever listen or do you just make assumptions?”
Cullen froze. “That sounds like disobedience.” He shook his head and his expression was one of disgust. “How many times can I explain I won’t tolerate your tantrums before I’m forced to use more convincing methods?”
Ivy decided to change the subject. “Why did you put my bags in the guest room?” she said.
“Because, that’s your room,” he said, exasperated. “Would you rather I put them in the bathroom?”
“Why don’t you let me stay in your room?”
He put his hands on his hips. “We’re not having a discussion about this subject.”
“Actually, we are. It’s happening, Cullen.”
“No, Ivy. It’s not.” He turned and walked into the large kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and began taking out various bags and containers of fruit.
She followed him into the kitchen. “You stayed in my bed all night with me last night,” she said. “How is that different than me staying in your room?”
“It just is,” he said, peering into the fridge and then finally closing the door. He walked to a knife rack on the granite counter and took a blade out, then grabbed a large cutting board and put it on the counter beside the fruit.
“You’re unbelievable,” Ivy told him, walking closer as he turned his back towards her and began chopping fruit.
“Nothing I’ve said or done is the least bit unexpected.” Cullen was chopping like a professional chef.
“I want to know who she is,” Ivy said. “That woman you’re ignoring who keeps showing up here. Is she an ex-girlfriend?”
“She’s nobody of importance. And she just needs to realize that.”
“Well, I think you’re being a real asshole to her. And to me.”
Cullen froze again and his broad back seemed to expand. “I think perhaps you should go to your room.”
“No.”
He turned and gave her a steely look. “I don’t intend to interact with a child. I’ve brought you into my home, shown you my hospitality—“
She barked a laugh that shut him up. “You call this hospitality? A crazy woman standing out front, who you won’t tell me anything about? Putting my bags in the empty room and telling me I get the wonderful privilege of sleeping alone every night while you’re nearby, refusing to be with me?”
Cullen went back to chopping fruit. “Go to your room. I’ll deal with you later.”
“Fuck that.” She turned and walked away from him, fuming mad. What made her angriest was that she’d started to think that Cullen actually felt something.
I thought he might be falling for me. How ridiculous and na?ve.
Now it was all too clear he was just playing his usual games.
Ivy suddenly realized what would really get his feathers ruffled, and a vengeful smile came over her face as she quickly strode to the front door. She turned around and saw that Cullen was still chopping fruit. He’d assumed she would listen to his command.
But now she was unlocking the dead bolt and throwing the door open.
As Ivy walked outside, the mystery woman spun, her expression surprised.
Ivy closed the door and walked slowly down the steps. “Hi,” she said. “I don’t know who you are, but I thought I should at least introduce myself. My name’s Ivy.”
She extended her hand and the mystery woman took it, as she blew a cloud of smoke out of her mouth and away from Ivy. Up close, the woman looked to be perhaps in her early forties, but perhaps she’d had work done. Her face was undoubtedly beautiful, but deep sadness had sapped her of any real charm.
“I’m Peg,” the woman said. “Peg Woodhouse.”
“Nice to meet you, Peg,” Ivy said.
“Is he coming back outside or did he send you to do his dirty work?” Peg asked.
Before Ivy could answer the woman, the front door opened again and Cullen stepped out. His face was pale, with splotches of high color in his cheeks. He walked slowly down the steps towards them.
She expected him to yell, say something, scold her viciously.
Instead, Cullen suddenly scooped Ivy up and threw her over his shoulder like a child who’d thrown a tantrum in a mall and needed to be removed from the premises.
He turned around and carried her back inside without a word.
“You need to deal with this!” Peg shouted, but Cullen cut her off as he slammed the door and locked it. Then he carried Ivy down the hall to the guest room.
She kicked and screamed the whole way, trying to free herself from his grasp, but she was no match for Cullen.