Page 36 of Stranded
“It’s okay to be, I get it. You’ll meet my parents for the first time and tell them you’ve stolen me away to Alaska forever.” She smiles. “They already hate you and don’t even know you exist yet.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I roll my eyes. “They can hate me all they want. I don’t give a fuck,” I say, glaring at her. “I only care about you.”
I see the way her eyes flash at my admission. “Good. As I only care about you.”
Hearing my girl tell me that will never grow old.
The private jet shudders as we descend. The illuminated skyscrapers of New York loom ominously in the distance. My stomach churns with anticipation. I can’t afford any mistakes now. Not when I’m so close to winning her.
“Are you sure about this, Maddox?” Ivy whispers.
Her dress is a masterpiece she’s painstakingly sewn herself, glows under the lights. Its beauty is a cruel reminder of the world she comes from, a world I don’t belong to.
For Ivy, I would walk into the lion’s den. For Ivy, I would stare death in the face and spit. And I must convince her family that I’m worthy of their daughter. Even though I know I’m not. I’m a monster, and she’s an angel.
“Absolutely,” I lie through gritted teeth, smiling.
The jet lands and taxis down the runway. I grab our overnight case from the luggage hold, walking to the door behind Ivy.
As we step off the jet, a piercing wind slices through the New York night, its icy tendrils coiling around us. My grip on Ivy’s hand tightens. This is enemy territory. No mistake about it. There’s no room for weakness.
The limousine pulls up, its shiny black exterior gleaming under the harsh airport floods. We slide into the back seat, the plush leather a stark reminder of the opulence of Ivy’s world. As the cityscape starts to blur past us, Ivy turns to me. “Maddox...” she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the engine's hum.
“What is it, angel?”
“I’m scared,” she confesses, her eyes shimmering pools in the ambient city glow. “My mom is going to be pissed.”
I glance at her, her fear mirrored in my eyes. “Scared?” I chuckle, but my laughter lacks any real humor. “You’ve got nothing to be scared about.” My fingers tighten around hers. “We’re in this together. No matter how far the drop, no matter how painful the crash. Us against the world, got it?” As the words tumble out, they sound like a madman’s mantra. Maybe they are.
She nods, biting her lip. “I know. It’s just that I’m not sure how she’ll react when I tell her I’m moving to Alaska with you and focusing on my fashion brand online.”
“Well, angel, that’s where the fun begins.” I lean closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. “We don’t give a shit how she reacts as she can’t control you anymore, can she?”
Ivy shakes her head.
And then the limousine comes to a stop. Stepping out of the limo, the bright lights of the Rockefeller Center hit us full in the face, blinding and disorienting. Ivy keeps her composure, her grip is tight on my arm the only indication of her nervousness. Her eyes flick to mine, full of apprehension.
We push through the opulent, heavily perfumed crowd, their faces a vague blur, their whispers a distant hum. The tattoos above my collar draw more than a few curious glances. I don’t mind. Let them stare. Let them wonder.
Then I see Ivy’s mother. Diane St. Clair is beautiful, with the same blonde hair as Ivy. An older version, but there’s an uptight air about her, unlike my carefree angel. Her eyes narrow as they notice her daughter’s arm looped around mine.
She opens her mouth to speak, but Ivy beats her to it. “Mom, meet Maddox,” she says, her voice steady. There’s a challenge in her tone, a fire in her eyes. She’s ready to fight, ready to push back. I couldn’t be prouder.
I extend a hand, giving her a polite smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. St. Clair.”
Her eyes flick between us, her expression unreadable. But I can almost feel the cogs turning in her head, processing this unexpected turn of events, trying to find a way to maintain control over her daughter. Little does she know that her control over her daughter has already slipped through her fingers like sand.
“Ivy, how do you know this man?” Her voice drips with scorn.
I watch Ivy take a deep breath, readying herself for the onslaught. “We met in Alaska. And I’m dating him.”
Her mom turns her nose up, eyes narrowing. “Are you trying to make Preston jealous?”
Ivy laughs bitterly. “Why the fuck would I want to make him jealous?”
“Language, Ivy!” Her mom chides, glancing around nervously. “Remember where you are and who you are. For a start, that dress is beautiful. It’s a dress you wear when you’re making a man jealous.” Her gaze goes to me. “And because this man is not suitable for you.”
I agree. However, Diane knows nothing about me. She’s making that judgment based on nothing but one glance at me. “And why exactly is that Mrs. St. Clair?” I ask.