by Wood, Vivian
Now the tide has turned, so to speak. Where once there were huge stacks of paper, now there are less-huge stacks of boxes, neatly labeled with the years of the documents within. The only issue is where to put them all.
I hate the idea of stacking them downstairs in the now-clean library. I want people to be able to enjoy the library, the wood gleaming from its most recent polish with lemon-scented wax.
Heading down the staircase from the second floor to the first, I turn the issue over in my mind. There are so many rooms here, filled with unused objects. Surely no one would mind if I made space in one of the many bedrooms?
I should ask Margaret. Or Carter, if she’s not feeling up to making decisions.
When I make it downstairs, I head to the front parlor. The French doors are closed, giving me pause. Does that mean Margaret has fallen asleep in here?
Knocking very lightly, I’m surprised when Carter pulls one of the doors open right away. There is a cautious expression on his face.
“Olivia,” he intones.
A high-pitched woman’s voice instructs him from behind the door. “Don’t be rude, darling. Open the door all the way, let us all have a peek.”
Carter groans a little but pushes the door open more fully. I peer inside, finding Margaret napping in the corner, slumped with a pillow stuck under her head. Surrounding her are a couple of her older nieces that I met the other day, looking haughty as ever. One woman leans closer to me, her dark red lipstick matching her pantsuit exactly. Her dark hair gleams, especially set against her heavy gold earrings. To my surprise, she appears Middle Eastern.
I look between her and Carter, only then putting it together. Of course she’s his mom. I don't know why I automatically assumed that she would be white. She sees my distress and smiles knowingly.
“Mother,” Carter says. “This is Olivia. She’s doing some work on the family archives. Olivia, this is my mother Sandrene Morgan.”
The older woman reaches out a hand to me from half a dozen paces away, holding it aloft to be greeted. As I scramble to take it, I can’t help but notice the gigantic diamond ring she is still wearing. When I grasp her hand, it is cool to the touch.
Sandra pins me with her dark gaze.
“Call me Sandra, Charmed, I’m certain,” she says. Her accent is Persian, maybe… Her lipstick gleams; it is nothing if not enthralling.
“It’s a pleasure, ma’am.” I curtsy, even though I’m sure that’s not the appropriate greeting.
She smiles ruefully. “So Aunt Margaret has been paying you to… do what, exactly?”
“Mother,” Carter warns. “This is not an interrogation.”
“What?” Sandra says playfully. “I’m sure Olivia can tell us about all the work she’s been doing. Isn’t that right, dear?”
My cheeks heat a little. I definitely don't understand what kind of family dynamic I’ve walked in on, but I do understand that I am being put on the spot. Clearing my throat, I smile.
“It’s okay. I have been really busy. I’ve manually catalogued the files I was given, and scanned most of them. Then comes the digital catalogue. I actually came down here to ask if I can move the file boxes I’ve accumulated into one of the spare bedrooms.”
Carter looks impressed. His mother just looks vaguely suspicious.
One of the nieces leans forward. “How much longer do you think the entire process will take?”
I go red. Her tone says that she is ready to get rid of me, like I might be taking advantage of the family or something. Carter comes to my rescue again, though.
“She’s been hired to work this whole summer, Aunt Emily.” He levels a smile at me. “They really are pleasant to be around when you only know them socially, I swear.”
Margaret starts awake, startling everyone. She opens her eyes. “Oh.” She blinks, focusing on the people in the room for a moment. “Oh Olivia, there you are.”
“Here I am,” I say, smiling a little.
“Did they tell you what we have planned?” she asks, stifling a yawn.
“Err.” I glance at Carter, who rolls his eyes. “No.”
“You’ll like this.” She shifts, grimacing for a moment. “Aiden has done the bulk of the repairs needing immediate attention. We’re celebrating by throwing a lavish costume ball, just like we used to do in the days before the decline of the estate.”
My eyebrows go up. That sounds like a ton of work, and not just for me.
“Yes. My original location for the charity ball fell through at the last minute,” Sandra cuts in. “So I thought why not have it here instead of canceling? Those poor children—”
“It’s to benefit the Humane Society,” Emily interrupts. Sandra shoots her a sour look.
“Yes, well. We can’t be expected to remember every single creature that we help, can we?”
God, she’s stuck up. And that’s only what I can observe from spending five minutes with her. It’s no wonder that Carter turned out to be a little snooty. Actually, with a mother like that, it’s a small mercy that he didn’t turn into a complete monster.
I glance at Carter. “Have you told Aiden yet?”
He smiles wryly. “No. I imagine that there isn’t much he’ll be able to say, though.”
If it weren’t for everyone else in the room, I would actually chuckle right in his face. Aiden is upset easily, to say the least. I keep it to myself for the time being though, considering the company.
I clear my throat, turning back to Margaret. “I’m sure it will be wonderful, Margaret. If you all will excuse me, I have a lot of file boxes to transfer.”
“You should ask Aiden for help with that,” Carter says. “Seriously, he’s supposed to be doing the bulk of the actual lifting and stuff for you.”
I don't want his help. Seriously, I never want his help with anything, ever again. Carter doesn’t know that, so I just smile. “Okay. That sounds great.”
His eyes narrow a little on my face. I guess I didn’t convince him. But in the next moment, I’m out the door anyway. Faced with a choice between going back upstairs or going out the front door, I choose the latter.
I like Carter and Margaret well enough, but their family just puts a bad taste in my mouth. The Morgans I’ve met so far have really been a mixed bag, that’s for sure.
Well… except Aiden.
With a pang, I realize that he is the Morgan that I’m the closest with. I mean, I assume he is.
Sighing, I head back toward the staff apartments. When I get there though, Aiden is nowhere to be found. Frowning, I take off back into the woods, following the narrow trail. I hear footsteps a second before I see Aiden, shirtless and soaked, his dark swimming trunks the only clothes he’s wearing.
I see him a second before he sees me. My gaze is drawn down to a few stray droplets of water that run down his washboard abs, trickling toward where his low slung trunks meet his stomach. The hard vee of muscle at his hips is completely visible, making me swallow uncomfortably.
He is ridiculously hot. It’s not fair to the rest of us mere mortals every single time he decides to take his shirt off.
I glance up, meeting his gaze. His eyes seem to see right through me as he approaches. I lift my head as he comes near.
“Hey,” I say. It comes out flat, not cool and casual as I intended for it to sound.
A ghost of a smile traces over his lips. “Hey.”
“I just saw Margaret,” I say, pointing toward the main house.
He stops walking. “Yeah? She’s doing okay?”
“Yes. Well enough to throw a big costume ball here, I guess. Or to let Carter’s mom throw one.”
He arches an eyebrow. I catch myself looking at his chest again, at the random smattering of dark freckles on his skin. Dragging my eyes back to his face, I see him giving me the very same once over.
Blushing, I feel a little better about how impressed I still am by his body. You’d think I would’ve gotten enough, but apparently not.
“When?” he asks.<
br />
I’m distracted. “What?”
He narrows his eyes. “When is this costume ball supposed to be?”
“I… I don't think I found out. Soon, I think.” My cheeks are sure to catch fire here in a second.
“Hmm.” He looks at me thoughtfully. “Are you… you know, doing okay?”
My brows rise a bit. It’s too little and too late, but I guess I am glad that he has some kind of empathy. After all, he did take my virginity less than a week ago.
Shifting uncomfortably, I look down. “I’m fine.”
He rubs his neck. “I should have… I mean… I wish I could take back what I said. I would say it differently if given the chance.”
When I look up, I find myself speared by his dark gaze. I’m a little short of breath suddenly. “You would still say it, though.”
“And mean it too. I mean… you are my best friend’s little sister. And I really fucked up this time. I shouldn’t have ever touched you.” He pauses, just in time for my heart to falter. He still sees me as Grayson’s sister, not as my own separate person with my own needs and desires.
I thought that he saw me. Actually me, not his friend’s sister.
How stupid was that?
I draw in a ragged breath. “I’m more than what you’re giving me credit for. You know that, right?”
His lips twist in a humorless smile. “I’m sorry, Olivia. I really am.”
I want to hit him. I want to yell that I am not interested in his apologies. But I don't.
Instead, I walk up to him, pressing myself against his chest. I look up at him for a heartbeat, then push onto my tiptoes. My lips meet his, hot and quick.
Then I pull away, looking him in the eye. “I just want you to realize what you’re giving up.”
Heart hammering in my chest, I turn and walk away, not even able to believe that I just did that.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Aiden
I am a bad man.
Petty, jealous, deceitful.
But every time I look at Olivia, I forget that for a second. Instead of focusing on the lifetime of bullshit I’ve done, all I can remember is how she made me feel when we were together.
Her soft moans of pleasure.
The look in her eyes when I finally stripped her completely bare.
The way I felt when I was inside her. Like I could do anything and be anyone, as long as she stayed by my side.
Of course I immediately fucked up everything between us. I opened my fucking mouth and basically spit on Olivia. That wasn’t my intention, of course. But it came out that way none the same.
This whole week has been insane. I’ve been running around, instructing the staff that have been hired on to help me temporarily. Paint the ballroom, deep clean all the floors in the main house, make the lawn look better, add gravel to the driveway.
But every time I catch a glimpse of Olivia, my heart stutters. I lose focus on whatever I’m supposed to be working on. I think it’s fair to say that I have become a little bit obsessed.
Who knew that fucking her one time would render me so… useless? It’s never happened before. Then again, I usually don't even know the first name of the girl I’m sleeping with.
Is that the only difference?
I’d try to replicate it, but Olivia is literally the only girl I’ve known for a long time. Well… I guess I’ve known Grayson’s ex Rachel for years, but she isn’t even approachable. The only way that I could make Grayson hate me more than fucking Olivia would be to try to fuck Rachel.
I shake my head. I really screwed up this time, both with the girl I’m obsessing about and my own best friend. Grayson can’t find out, that much is obvious.
But that doesn’t stop me from craving more of Olivia. I’m not sure that anything could.
Lost in my thoughts, trying to keep up with the hectic pace of work, the masquerade ball sort of sneaks up on me. One minute I am up on a ladder, painting a high spot on the ballroom’s ceiling. The next I’m standing back in the house’s front yard to look at the finished work.
The new paint job looks great. The hedges are impeccably trimmed. The front porch looks brand spanking new.
Carter sidles up beside me, turning to look at the house. He cocks his head. “I can’t believe it. The house looks move-in ready.”
I glance at him, unbuckling the work belt I’ve got looped around my waist. “It does. It’s funny what can happen in a week when you’ve got a whole crew running ten hours a day.”
His lips curve up. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.” His gaze slides down to take in my dirt-streaked shirt. “You’re not going to wear that tonight, are you?”
For a second, I don’t get that he’s talking about the ball. Then understanding hits me. I scrunch up my face.
“I’m not going at all.”
Carter’s eyebrows lift. “I’m pretty sure that Aunt Margaret is going to expect to see you.”
That takes me by surprise. I frown. “I mean… I didn’t plan for it. I didn’t know anyone was going to expect to see me, honestly. Shit, I don't even have anything that remotely resembles what you would wear for a ball.”
He gives me a deadpan look. “Wear a white button up and dark pants. Surely you have that?”
I fidget, gritting my teeth lightly. I set my belt down on the ground next to me. “Well… yeah… but I don't have a mask or anything.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Mom bought a metric ton of different masks. They’re in the parlor for whoever shows up without one.”
I think for a second. “I don't really want to go, though.”
Carter’s eyes meet mine, narrowing. “Neither do I. But instead of sitting by myself and drinking, I’m going to at least make an appearance. It would be nice if I knew there was going to be someone my age there, aside from Olivia.”
“Olivia’s going?” I picture Olivia in a revealing bright blue gown and a mask, immediately feeling perked up by the knowledge.
He gives me a shrewd look. “Of course. I told you. Aunt Margaret invited everyone, pretty much.”
I sigh. “All right. What time is the whole thing?”
Carter looks at his watch. “Guests are going to start arriving in half an hour. The idea is that when the sun sets, the party will be in full swing.”
“Christ,” I mutter. “All right, I better go get ready, I guess.”
I walk back to my little apartment, putting on an Outkast record. As André 3000 takes me on a trip through early 2000s Atlanta, I take my time to shower and shave. Getting dressed in my white button up and dark jeans is a slow affair; I guess that I am just dragging a little, hoping against hope that I won’t have to go.
It takes me a while to realize what I’m feeling. Then it hits me like a bolt of lightning: everything about tonight reminds me of being a pre-teen, in the years before I met Grayson. My dad would host these office-wide parties and fundraiser events at our house because it was appropriately impressive. Everyone would dress up in their tuxes and ballgowns and pull around our circular driveway, admiring the house’s quaint mix of beige brick and creeping ivy.
Inside, they would find my mother, my sister, and myself, pressed and starched and waiting for their coats. What they didn't know was how my father screamed at us for hours before each of these events. Every little thing had to be perfect or else it was somehow our fault.
Wrong color napkins? A wrinkle in the pant leg of my suit? One of the members of the four-piece quartet called out sick at the last minute?
We were screamed at by my father for each of them. Sometimes he would even hit my mother and I, his temper making him completely unhinged. Eve was immune from the worst of it, but even she had to stand straight and be inspected time and time again.
It’s no wonder that I’m trying to avoid a big, dressy event. Especially one held by my secret family, where I pretend to be merely the handyman and they pretend to care about me.
By the time I finally drag myself back out to the main house, th
e sun has set. Every light in the main house is blazing bright against the summer evening. I can hear loud jazz music playing sooner than I see the house.
When I get to the front door, no one I recognize is there. Instead I’m greeted as a guest by the dark-outfitted rented staff, given a random mask and pointed upstairs. I slip on the Phantom of the Opera style mask and head up the main staircase.
The party is in full swing already, judging by the intensely loud music and the two older ladies giggling and clutching at each other for balance as they try to make it down the stairs. As I make it up the last couple of steps, I can actually feel the entire second floor vibrating.
At the top I stop and stare. The ballroom doors are thrown open and the party is so packed that it’s spilling out into the hall. Men in tuxes yell into the ears of ladies in ballgowns. Everyone wears a mask up here, including the bartenders at the bar set up just outside the ballroom doors.
The liquor is flowing freely too, from the looks of it. Feeling too uptight to party, I head into the ballroom, shuffling and maneuvering to get past the crowd at the door. Inside, the jazz music is bright and tinny sounding, but I suppose that’s probably on purpose. The lights are lower here by the door and brighter over by the windows.
Everywhere I can see, there are costumed people dancing and chatting. As I move through the ballroom, I look around for someone I know, starting to feel a bit desperate. It’s harder than usual, which is I guess the point of a masquerade ball.
And then I see her.
Without question, I know it’s Olivia. She is wearing a simple black dress, fitted and full length with thick straps. She pushes a strand of her sleek brown hair back as she stands by the wall, talking to a man in a tux. Her simple white mask is blocking her expression, but I can tell by her body language that the man is hitting on her.
I can tell she doesn’t like it.
As I start to push my way through the crowd towards her, I see the man grab her arm, lean in, and try to kiss her. She makes a face and turns her head slightly, avoiding direct contact between their mouths.
