Ivy drew a long, shaky breath and murmured in a daze, “Yes. I can’t forget. No matter how hard I try to push it out of my mind during the day, it always finds me at night, even in my dreams.”

Deep down, she still felt grateful to Silly. Technically, his family had been the buyers, but he himself had never meant any harm–everything had been orchestrated by his father. If anything, he bore even less blame than Emma.

Sometimes Ivy thought, if she ever managed to truly move beyond those memories, she’d like to go back to that place just to thank Silly. But at this point, she simply couldn’t find the courage.

Jamison noticed the sorrow etched across her face, the emptiness in her eyes. He frowned, concern coloring his voice. “Will you be okay by yourself tonight? I’m guessing those nightmares will come again.”

Ivy wiped her tears away, trying to compose herself. “I’ll be fine. Honestly, saying it out loud helped. It doesn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.”

He nodded. “I get it. But reliving all that must be painful. Maybe it’s better if you don’t talk about it again.”

“Yeah,” she agreed softly.

They held each other quietly for a while, until Ivy finally remembered how late it was and that she should head upstairs.

Jamison followed her out of the car. “I’ll stay with you tonight.”

“That’s not necessary-”

“It is.” He popped open the trunk and grabbed his overnight bag, giving her a look. “It’s not like it’s my first time here. The guest bed’s still made, right?”

Ivy just looked at him, at a loss for words, and let him come upstairs with her.

Of course, dredging up the past took its toll–she couldn’t sleep at all that night. But she didn’t dare let Jamison know; she was afraid he’d insist on staying by her side, which would only make her more tense, more uneasy.

Thank goodness she always kept sleeping pills in her nightstand. When insomnia dragged her into the early hours–three a.m.–she swallowed two pills and finally drifted into a deep, oblivious sleep. The next morning, she slept in far later than usual.

Jamison, on the other hand, was up early. He peeked into her bedroom, saw her sound asleep, and quietly closed the door.

Downstairs, he started pondering breakfast. The trouble was, for all his intelligence and competence in every other arena, he was hopeless in the kitchen.

Ivy didn’t wake until nine. As she made her way downstairs, the unmistakable smell of something burning hit her halfway down.

“What are you doing?” she called, stopping in the doorway to the kitchen.

Jamison was in the middle of dumping yet another failed pancake into the trash. He jumped at the sound of her voice, then turned around sheepishly. “You’re up?”

“Were you trying to make breakfast?” she asked, surprised.

“Yeah, but it didn’t exactly work out.” He gave her an embarrassed grin.

“I could smell it from upstairs–I thought the house was on fire for a second.”

Jamison had no comeback for that; he just looked helpless.

A strange silence settled over them until Jamison finally gave up on his culinary ambitions. He walked over and said, “Forget it, let’s just go out for breakfast. Afterward, I’ll take you to my place. We’re getting married, after all–you should probably know where I live.”

Ivy didn’t object. He had a point. If they were going to get married, it was time they got to know each other better. He’d stayed over at her place twice already, but she’d never even seen his home.

They drove out to a nearby café, filled up on breakfast, and then headed straight for Jamison’s apartment near the hospital.

The “apartment” Ivy had pictured was nothing like what she actually found. The place was massive–luxurious, sprawling, far beyond anything she’d imagined.

She wandered through the spacious rooms in disbelief. “You’re sure this is just an apartment for one?”

Jamison handed her a glass of water, smiling. “I bought three adjacent units and renovated them into one.”

Well, that explained it. Ivy shook her head, amazed. The things rich people do to treat themselves.