Chapter 89: I Am Sorry
The water from the overhead shower rained down on both of them, soaking into Winn’s dark hair. "And yet, Ivy," he said, "I am sorry."
"Really, it’s fine." Fine? Nothing about this was fine.
"Can I stay tonight?" Winn asked then.
"Of course," she whispered.
"And will you please wear your ring from now on?" he asked.
Ivy chuckled to ease the weight of the moment. "Make me." Her brow arched, daring him.
"Oh, you little tease..." Winn’s lips curved in a dangerous smile, his hands already sliding down her slick stomach with confidence. His fingers parted her folds, slipping inside her as if they belonged there, as if her body had been designed for his hands alone. He curved them deliberately, hitting that sweet spot on the first try. Ivy gasped, her body clenching around his touch, nails digging into his shoulders. Her laughter melted into breathless moans, the shower filling with a new rhythm.
******
The next day at work, the fallout was immediate. The walls of the House of Kane hummed with gossip, whispers slithering through cubicles. By mid-morning, Ivy could feel every eye tracking her, sizing her up, adjusting themselves to the new order of power. The dropout secretary was suddenly the fiancée of the CEO himself. Ivy Morales was marrying Winn Kane.
Lydia, of course, was at the center of it. She had apparently broadcasted the news. Now even Lydia herself had shifted tone. She fluttered around Ivy’s desk with saccharine smiles, offering coffee, compliments, and unnecessary assistance. The office had received the memo loud and clear: the best ass to kiss was no longer Winn Kane’s alone—it was the ass of the woman who was about to wear his ring.
At lunch time, Ivy slipped out of House of Kane, clutching her purse. She was headed to meet Anna at an upscale French bistro close to the office.
Anna, despite her frailty, was a whirlwind. As soon as Ivy sat down, Anna clasped her hands warmly and began rattling off plans before Ivy could even order a drink. Within minutes, Ivy’s head was spinning.
"You’ll need flowers. And the band—already booked, don’t worry. Invitations have gone out. Digital and hard copy—yes, darling, I don’t play."
"Wait... invitations? Already?"
"Of course," Anna said with a dismissive wave. "Time is of the essence."
She admired Anna’s efficiency. The Kane residence had been chosen as the venue, naturally. Her imposter syndrome screamed loud enough she wondered if Anna could hear it.
By the time the caterer joined them, Ivy was thoroughly overwhelmed. He set a menu before her, describing phrases that sounded nothing like food. She nodded politely, but when he asked her preference for a starter, she froze.
Anna laughed. "Darling, don’t worry. I’ll handle it."
And Ivy let her. Because truth be told, she had no idea what made for a proper, elegant, high society dinner. In her world, dinner parties involved potlucks, mismatched plates, and maybe a bottle of decent wine if you could afford it.
The only detail Ivy insisted on was her dress—and her stylist. "Trish," she said firmly when Anna dropped names of designers Ivy couldn’t even spell. "She’s my friend. She knows me. She’ll get it right."
"Then it will be Trish. No arguments from me. I hope you invited her."
Hours slipped by as they talked—about gowns, about jewelry. Anna’s mind seemed endless, her energy infectious despite her fragility.
When she finally glanced at her phone, the digital clock read 5:03pm. Her stomach dropped. "Oh my God, it’s five already?"
"Oh Lord! Tom is going to have a coronary!"
Ivy had practically forgotten about Tom Kane, the one that seemed he was going to be the bane of Ivy’s existence.
Ivy rose, kissing Anna’s cheek, and stumbled out of the bistro in a daze.
By the time she got back to House of Kane, surprisingly, Winn was ready to leave. "Jesus what were you women doing?"
"I’m sorry. Anna went on and on." Ivy explained. "Honestly, I don’t even know if I agreed to half the things she said. She might have planned our wedding, our kids’ christenings, and my funeral in one sitting."
Winn laughed slightly, he knew that was a fact knowing his mother. "Come on, pack up. We have to go."
Her brows furrowed. "Where?"
"Your driving lessons, remember?"
"Oh... Alright." She scooped up her things and followed him.
*****
An hour into the lesson, Ivy was surprised at herself. Her palms were slick on the wheel but soon the panic gave way to thrill. She was learning fast—her turns smoother, her parking less catastrophic.
Towards late evening, Winn finally reached across and stilled her hands. "Switch. I’ll take it from here," he said.
Ivy unclipped her seatbelt and headed out to the passenger seat. "I used to think driving was complicated," she admitted, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.
"Nothing to it," he replied easily. He got in to the driver’s side, his large hands steady on the wheel. He started the car and beganto drive.
But as Ivy settled into the seat, she realized with a frown that they weren’t headed toward her neighborhood. "Where are we going?"
"You’ll see."
"Winn..." She dragged out his name. "I am exhausted." She rested her forehead against the cool window glass, her body aching from the long day.
He smirked, eyes still forward. "Is that code for I am not getting lucky tonight?"
Her head whipped toward him, heat flooding her cheeks so fast she thought steam might rise. "Winn!" She clutched her seatbelt, mortified, but he only chuckled.
"Come on," he teased, his mouth quirking up at one corner. "Talking about it still doesn’t embarrass you, does it?"
She stared at him, flustered. "A little."
That smile deepened. "The next thing I am going to teach you is how to talk dirty to me, honey."
Ivy leaned toward him with faux seriousness and whispered, "You mean like—’I want to make you cum so hard. I’ll get on top of your cock and ride you to oblivion. Grab my tits and hold them while I cum.’"