Divine Ambrosia Read online

  Divine Ambrosia

  A Reverse Harem Romance

  Vivienne Savage

  All material contained herein is Copyright © Vivienne Savage 2018. All rights reserved.

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  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your preferred e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Edited by Hot Tree Editing

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Other Books by Vivienne

  The Hidden Court by Vivienne Savage

  About the Author

  1

  Esme had a month of school to endure before the semester let out for winter break. She would have sold her soul to be anywhere else, but fate was the kind of asshole that put a girl in the last remaining open seat of a bustling lecture hall next to her douchebag ex-boyfriend and his side chick.

  Fate sucked.

  While twirling a lock of black hair around her index finger, Esme forced her gaze forward and tuned them out. Daniel tucked a note into Shelly’s second-skin jeans, like he was a twelve-year-old asking his crush to circle “yes” or “no” if she liked him. Who the hell passed notes still in college unless they were trying to cheat on an exam?

  People with common sense sent texts written beneath their desk if they didn’t want to be seen, but given the way they were behaving, they wanted to be seen. The oblivious art history professor was too preoccupied with gushing about Rembrandt to chide them for immature behavior.

  He was way too happy to at least have a few students hanging on to his every word, accustomed to jocks like Daniel and his friends enrolling in the course for an easy A.

  Esme rolled her eyes and jumped out of her seat the moment the dismissal bell tolled over the system.

  “Esme, wait up!” Marie called out.

  Esme glanced over a shoulder, seeing Marie pushing her way through the exodus of students spilling into the dull gray corridor and Daniel not too far from her. He was standing beside the door with an arm around Shelly’s waist, his green eyes lit with a mischievous light.

  College had changed him from the boy she’d dated since junior year of high school. Hanging out with the cool kids and becoming the star of the football team had enlarged his ego to epic blimp proportions and changed her former sweetheart into… a prime douche nozzle.

  Not worth my time.

  Marie slipped alongside her and brushed in close, hugging her laptop against her chest with one arm and unfastening her bag with her free hand. She lowered her voice to a low whisper. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Fine. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

  “You should have swapped chairs with me. I swear, I tried to save your usual seat, but this dickhead muscle brain wouldn’t move out of it.”

  When Esme had first entered a couple minutes late for class, she’d been startled to see one of Daniel’s football pals occupying her usual seat beside Marie. Then she’d understood what was happening when she realized the only empty space was right beside her ex-boyfriend.

  Esme scowled. “That was Chad. He’s one of Daniel’s buddies. Anyway, taking your seat would have given them the satisfaction of winning. They wanted a reaction from me. I chose not to give them one. I hope they both fail the upcoming test since it didn’t look like either of them took a damned note all hour.”

  Until about a week after the start of semester, Shelly had been part of their close inner circle and a friend they’d known throughout high school. And then she’d been let go from Memory Lane, the antique shop where they both worked as sales associates. The owner, a sweet older lady, hadn’t approved of Shelly’s tendency to flirt with the customers like she was searching for her next rich sugar daddy—which she was. Shelly had confided in Esme, admitting to going out on dates with two older, married clients who often popped in.

  Esme had nothing to do with Mrs. Robinson letting her go, but Shelly was positive she’d tattled on her. The truth was that their boss’s son saw them out together at a high-class restaurant and put two and two together on his own after speaking to a few of their frequent buyers.

  “Man. She needs to get over herself and this vendetta she has against you. If she hadn’t been using Memory Lane as her own personal escort service, she’d still have a job. Instead, she has broke-ass Daniel and a bunch of regrets.”

  A few chortles snuck out of Esme. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  The world beyond the university’s art building spanned before them in shades of dirty gray—a cloudy, sunless sky above miles of snow and filthy slush. Living less than two miles away from campus meant they walked to and from school on most days, braving the snow-encrusted grounds when they could tolerate the unforgiving mountain wind.

  Esme shivered when they reached the street corner and a gust of wind cut through her sweatshirt and coat, both garments as useful as tissue paper.

  “Why did we have to enroll in a university in the mountains? Isn’t perpetual warm weather the whole point of living in California?” Esme demanded.

  “You enrolled in U of A because your granny taught here and the Internet told you it had one of the most affordable art programs in the state. I enrolled in it because I was a dumbass who had to follow you.”

  “Point.”

  They made a left turn off Main Street after passing Old Ashfall’s village center, the hub of activity where a stretch of cozy hotels placed tourists near the action.

  Most of the town’s architecture hadn’t changed since it was founded in the 1800s. Instead, the greater city of Ashfall Springs had sprung up beside it, though most older residents wanted nothing to do with big box stores and preferred the quaint and cozy feel of their little community.

  Neither did Esme. She loved living in Old Ashfall. The whole town reminded her of something designed for a Viking movie or her favorite video game, with a classy veneer of sophistication. Almost every building had been built using heavy lumber and stone, but they had large windows as well, pairing delicacy with strength. During the warmer months, visitors enjoyed carefully tended flower beds and landscaped miniparks. Once November arrived, the entire area of Old Ashfall became a festive wonderland. The air perpetually smelled like Christmas, no matter the season.

  A tingle danced over the nape of Esme’s neck, and she shivered again before glancing to the left and right, heart slamming in her chest. Her pulse raced without any apparent reason, reminding her of when she’d been ill a year ago and taken a steroid prescription for the sinus infection. This pounded and raised the fine hairs on her arms beneath her jacket and sweatshirt, filling her with unexplainable fear.

  She reached out and grasped Marie by the arm, clutching her tight and burying her fingers into her friend’s bicep. To her left, at the mouth of a narrow alley between two souvenir shops,
a dark shadow flit by and disappeared beyond her sight.

  “What’s wrong? Girl, you’re suddenly gray as a ghost. Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know—it’s like, there’s something wrong and…”

  God, she was shaking so hard concerned pedestrians slowed down to watch them in passing, and a nice old man asked if she was okay. Her whole body was hot, scorching, like she’d been in a sauna, and sweat beaded across her brow despite the icy nineteen degrees.

  “Do you need me to get anyone?” Marie asked, gripping her by the shoulders.

  “N-no. It’s passing, I think.”

  The sensation cooled, her heart slowed, and the breaths rapidly cycling in and out of her lungs diminished to a peaceful rhythm. She wanted to sag into a recliner and hug her favorite pillow, her legs so weak she could barely stand.

  Marie guided her into a chocolatier and settled her at a small table for two before approaching the counter. She returned a few minutes later with a few of Esme’s favorite truffles, sweet milk chocolate with an Irish cream center, strawberry cheesecake wrapped in dark chocolate, and turtle fudge.

  Esme couldn’t savor them. Couldn’t really enjoy them. They were unsatisfying, cool and buttery chalk in her mouth. Marie even brought her a tasteless root beer float, and then she crouched beside her and set a hand on Esme’s shoulder.

  “What happened back there? I thought sugar would help, but you still look awful.”

  Cupping the float between both of her hands, Esme stared at her lap and shook her head. “I don’t know. I felt… like something awful was going to happen. Like everything in the world that could ever terrify me was there all at once. Like waking up from a nightmare at three in the morning, your heart about to burst from your chest, but hell if you remember the dream.”

  Marie nibbled her lower lip. “Maybe it was a panic attack. I mean, those things can happen to anyone. You’re under strain, today was a shit day, and you’re burning the candle from both ends with preparing for finals on top of putting together this enormous fundraiser. Honestly, you’re doing the work of two different people. You’re doing decor, notifying the media, and contacting an assload of donors.”

  Esme dragged in a breath, filling her lungs with cold air. “Technically the work of three different people.”

  “I’ll give you a hand, okay? I know I didn’t sign up for any preparation stuff, but if it’s got you freaking out like this, I’ll do whatever I can to take some of the load off.”

  Esme nodded.

  “C’mon, let’s get you home. You can tell me about that wild dream you had last night while we walk.”

  “What makes you think I had one?” Esme asked. She shouldered her bag and followed Marie outside into the cold. The oppressive feeling of terror had lifted.

  “Um, ’cause you could have woke the entire neighborhood.”

  “Ugh, this is embarrassing.”

  Marie only grinned and nudged her with an elbow. “Hey, they say you’re not really besties until you’ve heard each other’s freaky 2 a.m. sex dreams. C’mon, I never have hot dreams anymore, so I gotta live vicariously through yours.”

  “It was nothing. I don’t recall much more than something about missing a shoe. Then a hot guy turned up with it. Funny thing is, I can’t recall his face. I just remember dark and curly hair. Brown eyes, I think. Like honey.”

  “So... Cinderella with a mysterious hottie. That’s new.”

  A soft laugh bubbled up, and she shook her head. “No glass slipper, sorry. But thanks for distracting me.”

  “Anytime, girl. I still wanna hear about the dream sex, though.”

  Ten minutes in the blustery cold delivered them to a cozy neighborhood a half mile from the main tourist strip. Most of the brick homes were single-story houses with single-car garages and little fences. Their flirtatious older neighbor to the left was shoveling the sidewalk. He waved, glasses fogged above his rosy cheeks and red nose.

  “Hi, girls! Enjoying this weather?”

  “Oh yeah, it’s just fine, Mr. Keene,” Marie said, rolling her eyes.

  Esme forced a weak laugh and glanced back at their too-friendly neighbor. She froze.

  An enormous man in a gray sweatshirt stood beside one of the houses farther down the road, face concealed in the shadows of his hood though he was staring at her. Had to be staring at her. A scream rose in her throat—she grasped Marie, tearing at her hand.

  “What? What’s wrong? Is it another panic attack?”

  “No, there’s a—” A nothing. A big nothing. Just a gray trash can beside the same house, nothing ominous about it. “I swear, I thought I saw someone watching us.”

  “Yeah? Maybe it was one of our crazy neighbors, or a tourist out for a stroll.”

  “In this weather?” Esme’s shoulders sagged.

  “Is everything all right, girls?” Mr. Keene called. He leaned against his shovel, exertion moving his chest.

  “Everything is fine, Mr. Keene, thank you,” Marie called back to him before hustling Esme up the drive and to their porch. In a quieter voice, she murmured, “What won’t tourists do in this weather? They wander up and down the streets all day fussing about the architecture and how nice it would be to move here. And don’t forget the renters.”

  Ever since the neighbors to the other side had listed their two-bedroom cottage on a hospitality site for rental, they were flooded by a stream of strangers coming out to visit historic Old Ashfall.

  Her parents had wanted to list her grandmother’s house in a similar way until Esme had convinced them it would be more trouble than it was worth to have random strangers in and out every other night. They already had enough trouble with the long-term tenants in their other property.

  Marie punched in the security code for the doorknob, and Esme’s Scentsy warmer greeted them with a rush of cinnamon and apples, the aroma of dessert wafting from her bedroom. They dropped their bags by the door and flicked on the lights, casting a cheery glow over the cobalt carpet and chocolate-brown sofa.

  Until about four years ago, the house had belonged to her grandmother, and it still bore traces of her, including an antique mirror on the wall, the old piano Esme couldn’t play, but had begged her parents not to sell, and her grandmother’s china cabinet, still filled with those beautiful dishes Grandma had protected her entire life but never used except for holidays.

  Esme kicked off her winter boots and tossed her coat onto the rack.

  “You feeling better, girl?”

  “I’m feeling like I can eat a whole pizza by myself.”

  “Then I’ll order pizza and make some boozy hot cocoa, and you lay out this fundraiser stuff. I’m totally down for convincing some rich people to cough up some money.”

  Every year, the University of Ashfall’s art department sponsored a fundraiser for the children’s wing at the local hospital. On top of displaying the various projects college students worked on during the year, they also highlighted artwork from the elementary, middle, and high school. Local businesses donated items for the silent auction, but only after someone cajoled them into volunteering.

  Esme unpacked her MacBook and removed several folders, some of them filled with flyers she wanted to post around Ashfall and drive out to high-traffic shops in Las Verdes nearby. She flipped open the manila folder containing contact details for previous years’ donors and a sheet with suggested individuals for this year. She’d highlighted several, but the name at the top had no e-mail or phone number. Even though he lived in the mountains at the outskirts of town, he was a figurative ghost who no one ever saw. His work sold online for hundreds of thousands, sometimes millions.

  Alexander Smith, had become California’s wealthiest artist and blacksmith, a billionaire hermit with work frequently showcased in the homes of Hollywood’s rich and famous. She’d once watched an episode of some home makeover show where a rich basketball player placed one of the artist’s million-dollar sculptures in his living room.

  Esme tap
ped the name and grinned. “If I can get you to donate, that’s medical care for dozens of kids. I just need to figure out how to find you.”

  Alex hurried out of the mortal realm and into the In-Between, a foggy zone where time stopped or, at the very least, slowed down for traveling gods and supernatural creatures. If he’d been recognized, it may have put their entire plan in jeopardy.

  Though he was positive she had no recollection of him from her past existence, it wasn’t worth the risk. He watched her a while longer, standing close enough to the veil to see mortal life unfold at normal speed, but distant enough to go unseen.

  The moment Alex turned to go home, Luke appeared in a blur of motion. “Pushing it a little close, aren’t you, big guy? I thought we all agreed to keep at a distance, or at the very least, to the In-Between until it’s time to start making contact with her.”

  Alex shook his head. “I’m not breaking my part of the bargain, shrimp. Something was back there in the mortal realm. I crossed over to find it, but it got away from me.”

  “Ah.” The younger god put both hands in his pockets and glanced away. “Anyway, I wasn’t trying to chastise. I actually came to find you for a reason.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Other big guy wondered if you wanted to kick back tonight. You know, actually come out of your hidey hole and do some shit besides sculpt titties in your mancave.”

  Alex scowled. “I do more than that.”

  “Sure, old man. Sure. Anyway, you coming or not? He’s got beers and pizza all set up.”

  “Yeah, I’m in. Tell him I’m on the way. But I’m bringing my own drinks. That cheap swill you two prefer tastes like watered-down piss.”