FORTY-SIX.

I clear my throat as I stand from the chair and step away from him.

Distance. I need to keep my distance from him.

“You need to stop doing that.” I breathe out emotionally.

He sits on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms, and a ghostly smirk stains his annoyingly handsome face.

“Why?” He asks with amusement.

“You know why.” I deftly brush my fingers across my abdomen where my scar is. “This is wrong, and I am not my sister – I’m not Rose.”

He snorts, “I can see that. When I look at you, I don't see or think of Rose. I see you, Ivy, and only you.” His brows knit together as he speaks, looking taken aback by his own admission.

Licking my dry lips, “I can't give you what you want,” I whisper with embarrassment.

"And what is it that you think I want from you, Farfalla?”

“A good time?” I arch my brows, challenging him to correct me if I'm wrong.

“And what's wrong with that?”

“Everything. You know about my traumatic past. You are my sisters' ex-lover, and now you're…you're Savannahs