Your Ivy Grows

Chapter 1

Faking a smile for a whole evening has proven to be incredibly painful. By this point it's little more than a pained grimace rather than the friendly smile I'm supposed to be going for. All I want to do is go home. Unfortunately, there's no skipping out on the party early when it's being held in your husband's honour. Instead, I need to play my role of proud, dutiful wife until the party's over. It's fucking exhausting. As soon as I see an opportunity to slip away and escape the noise and the people, I take it.

The grounds here seem to stretch on for miles. I drunkenly stumble to a dark, quiet corner away from the large house. My heels keep sinking into the soft grass, but I'm past the point of caring. I'm rubbing at my cheeks, willing the ache to go away. How is this my fucking life?

Overjoyed and proud, that's the energy John and his team want me to be exuding for this entire evening. It's what they expect from the loving wife of the new Captain America. We're the perfect couple, high school sweethearts now married and ready to start a family. At least that's what they want the world to see. That's the image I need to help to project. But we couldn't be further from that if we tried.

I'm an excellent actress though, I've had enough years of practice. So I do what they want; I stand by his side and stare lovingly at him for the cameras. Got to get them that perfect shot for the front pages. They'd never know by looking at the pictures that I'm screaming on the inside. We look happy; we're not. I'm trapped in a marriage I want out of, with a husband too stubborn to let me go. John doesn't seem to care that I don't love him. I'm his, that's non-negotiable for him. He gets some sick pleasure from keeping me trapped here, loves the power and control he gets to wield over me.

I sigh in frustration before lifting the glass I'm carrying to my lips, downing my drink in one. Honestly, the open bar is the only thing getting me through this night. And not just because I enjoy watching the angry twitch in John's jaw every time I take another drink from a passing server. It numbs what little feelings I have left and makes this whole charade easier.

"Rough night?" A deep voice cuts through the quiet, scaring me half to death. I lose my grip on the glass and it falls to the ground. Thankfully, it lands with a dull thud on the grass rather than shattering into pieces. Open toe high heels and glass don't mix well.

"Fuck!" I exclaim, gripping at my chest and trying to steady my breathing. I look around, trying to find the owner of that voice.

Just my luck, picking the one corner of this giant garden that is already occupied. I can't catch a fucking break today. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness and I finally notice the iron lattice bench a little further back. It is close to the hedge that encircles the grounds. I also now get a good look at the handsome man in the fancy suit who is currently occupying it.

I have to work hard to stifle the groan that tries to escape me. Of course. Of fucking course. Who else would it be? Sergeant James Barnes, probably the only person at this party who detests my husband as much as I do. He'd been staring daggers at us all night. If looks could kill, we'd have both been goners. How they convinced him to come to this thing, I'll never know. He doesn't really hide how much he doesn't approve of them appointing someone else in Steve Rogers old role. They must really make him work to keep that pardon if they managed to get him here.

"Sorry, I didn't realise anyone else was out here." I bend down to pick up the glass, which proves hard to do in six-inch heels and a dress so tight I can barely breathe. But I manage it in the end.

"Shouldn't you be inside celebrating?" I don't miss his icy tone, making it obvious he doesn't see this as something that should be celebrated. What he doesn't realise is that I couldn't agree more. His obvious disdain also shows that his hatred isn't just for John, it extends to me as well. Lucky me! Just what I need, to be on the shit list of a super soldier assassin. Or ex-assassin, I guess I should say.

"Don't worry, I just wanted some fresh air. You can go back to your quiet brooding soon." I see the words land and annoyance flashes in his eyes. If he's going to act like a miserable prick, he can't act surprised when I send that energy right back to him.

He gets to his feet, walking over to me in two quick strides. He's tall, tall enough that he looks down on me even with the added height of the heels. His intense gaze is a little unnerving and I have to work not to look away. I wait for him to say something, but he just continues to stare at me.

The scent of his cologne finally hits me, an earthy, musky scent that overwhelms me. I have to stop myself from breathing in deeply. It would be a lot easier to pretend to be unaffected by his close proximity if he wasn't so disarmingly attractive. He smirks, as if he knows exactly what I'm thinking. God, what a fucking prick. I'll never understand why John keeps attempting to get Barnes to work with him. Especially when it's clear the guy hates his fucking guts. But John has never been good at taking no for an answer, not when he wants something badly enough.

"Well hurry along, Princess, you wouldn't want Walker to have to go more than five minutes without being able to parade Little Miss Girl-Next-Door around, would you?"

His mocking tone pisses me off more than anything. I've never met this guy before, so where does he get off standing here and judging me. And yes, I'll admit it stings for someone to so easily see through the act that seems to work on everyone else. That's all my life is now, an act. And I've been wearing their mask for so long that I'm not even sure who I am without it.

"I guess you'd better hurry along too, then. The government can't show off their reformed killing machine if you're sat out here." I snap back before turning away from him so I can make my way back inside.

My words clearly struck a nerve because his hand shoots out and grips my upper arm, stopping me in my tracks. I look down at his fingers where they're wrapped around me before bringing my gaze up to his. Oh yes, he's definitely angry. Good!

"Let go of me." I demand, keeping my voice steady. His grip doesn't loosen, though. It doesn't hurt; he seems to want to keep me from walking away rather than hurt me. But his heavy breathing and flaring nostrils give away his anger. "If you're planning to hit me, you should probably avoid my face. It's hard to pull off the docile, girl-next-door look with a black eye."

That finally seems to get through to him because he drops my arm so quickly, as if I'd burned him. A look of disgust passes over his face, as if he's genuinely repulsed by the mere suggestion he'd hit me. But I've seen what an angry man is capable of.

"Good evening, Sergeant Barnes." I say with finality, before heading back towards the noise and lights of the party. I feel his eyes on me the entire walk back to the house. Next time I'll just deal with the aching cheeks and stay the fuck inside.