by Vivian Wood
Images flood my brain, pictures of all the things I would like to do to her.
If she were anyone else, I would be fucking her already.
Then again, if she were anyone else, things would never have gotten this far. I would have already had her and discarded her.
Maybe she tastes extra sweet because of who she is, then.
There’s a change in her breathing, a question unspoken. I break off the kiss and pull away, already knowing the answer. Scanning her prettily flushed face, the words are pulled from my chest. She looks so hopeful, so open and honest and fresh.
I can't let her down, but I know that taking this any further would only be more of a blow. So I say it.
“We can’t,” I rumble.
Olivia’s face caves in. She turns red. “Oh.”
She pushes me away, standing up and gathering her stack of papers with shaking hands. I am shaking too, adrenaline rushing through my system.
“Olivia,” I try to say.
She bites her lower lip, her expression pained. She pushes past me. “I have to go.”
I catch her by the elbow, trying to think of what to say. Anything to comfort her. “It’s not anything about you. You have to understand…”
“I think I understand perfectly,” she says, tearing up. “Now let me go.”
She yanks her elbow free of my grip and hurries out of my apartment. I stand there for a half minute, staring at the door. I feel guilty and ashamed, for reasons I can’t even fully articulate. I also feel like I let Olivia down somehow.
Turning back to the chairs, I pick up her glass, slugging it back. The rinse of cool, overly sweet ginger ale does nothing to relieve the churning in my stomach, though. Shaking my head, I pluck my glass from my chair and head to put them in the sink.
17
Olivia
For the next few days, I keep myself locked up in the ballroom during work hours. Staying busy, darting down to the library for a new stack of papers occasionally, I nurse my wounded pride.
Outside of work hours, I barricade myself in my apartment. I drink tea and read Love In The Time of Cholera and sigh to myself. I go through an entire extra large bar of dark chocolate, which does little to change my mood.
The whole world is full of would be romances that didn’t work out. I need to focus on that, not on the stunning rejection that I feel every time I think about Aidan.
With his dark hair, his dark eyes, and his enormous stature, he is the stuff of fantasies. That much I am sure of. But I won’t pine for him.
I refuse.
I actually come to stacks of papers representing the late 1980s. Probably full of references to Aidan’s mother. But because I can, because no rule has been set about going through each piece of paper in order, I set them aside. Push them into a corner and resolve to do them later.
I’m at my table-turned-desk, squinting down at a page full of near-illegible scribbles, when I hear voices downstairs seeping into my solitude. I must have left the doors to the ballroom open when I last dashed downstairs. I hear deep baritones and lighter soprano voices; there are at least a few of each.
Even with myself, Margaret, Carter, and Aiden, there isn’t that much noise. So I push myself up out of my seat, drifting toward the landing curiously. At the same time, Carter comes bounding up the stairs.
“Olivia,” he says when he sees me. He gestures for me to follow him. “Come. The are some people I want you to meet.”
My cheeks color. I glance down at my plain blue dress, streaked with dust. Carter gives his head an impatient shake. “It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing.”
He just reads me, like it’s no big deal. I pale and follow him down the grand staircase, my eyes taking everything in.
I spot Margaret in the far corner, chatting with two older women dressed in designer pantsuits. My hands go to my skirt, feeling inadequate already. There are three older men in expensive suits, standing with their heads together, quietly conferring. None of the visitors so much as look up at my arrival, until Carter calls attention to me.
“Hey! This is Olivia, the girl Aunt Margaret hired to do the family archives,” he says, his voice naturally loud, filling up the foyer.
When everyone looks at me, I turn bright red. The expressions looking back at me are a mix of suspicious, aloof, and almost hostile. I wish instantly that I could’ve just stayed invisible.
Carter doesn’t seem to notice though. “Olivia, this is my extended family. Aunt Gretchen and Emily, and Uncles Will, Tolliver, and Smith.”
Everyone is silent for a minute. Then one of the women speaks up. “That’s nice, dear. Margaret said that you also hired a handyman. Would you be a darling and show us around the house? We would like to see what state everything is in. You know…” She glances at Margaret. “For the future.”
Carter looks bored by the very suggestion. He sighs. “Maybe we should start outside? That’s where the most visible signs are that someone has been trying to rehab the old house.”
Everyone trails out the door, leaving me and Margaret alone. We stand by the open front door, watching as Carter points out the condition of the porch to his audience. I glance at Margaret, who sighs and shakes her head. She hobbles off into the front parlor.
I turn toward the stairs once more, but Margaret calls to me. “Olivia?”
Doubling back, I head into the parlor. Margaret points to the seat opposite hers. “Do you have a few minutes to hear the complaints of an old woman?”
I bow my head and find my seat. “Of course, Margaret.”
She smiles at me, her blue eyes watery. “I shouldn’t complain, really. But I feel like everyone in the family is just waiting for me to die. My sister’s children are vultures. They can barely stop from licking their chops when they think about selling the estate.”
“I’m sure that’s not the case, Margaret,” I say soothingly.
“Oh no?” She frowns and looks around. “I need a drink. Would you be a dear and fetch me a little glass of brandy? There is a bar set up there in the corner…”
I rise, heading to the corner of the room to do as she asked. There are two decanters of liquid, one holding clear contents, one holding dark amber. “Umm… which of these is brandy? There’s a clear one—”
“No no,” Margaret says, clearing her throat. “The other one. Should be brown.”
Plucking up the right decanter, I turn a funny-looking little glass upside down. Then I frown at the glass, wiping it down. Who knows when the last time anyone dusted in here was.
Then I pour the brandy in, replace the decanter, and carry it back to Margaret.
“Thank you, dear.” She accepts the drink, taking a tiny sip. “You didn’t want any?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not that interested in alcohol. Thank you, though.”
She takes another sip of the brandy, looking amused. “You have excellent manners, Olivia. That’s more than I can say about anyone in my family.”
My cheeks color. “Thank you.”
Her gaze wanders away from me. “Have you found anything interesting in the family records so far?”
Clearing my throat and wiping away a streak of dust from my skirt, I nod. “I’ve learned a little about your family so far, but I’m even more excited to get to examine the papers and books in detail. So far, I have just catalogued each piece of paper and every book. Catalogue, preserve, study. That’s how I think it should go.”
Margaret nods slowly. “I see. That makes sense.” A moment goes by before she speaks again. “What do you think will happen to the catalogue when I die?”
I cough. Margaret is clearly going through some kind of existential crisis, which is made worse by her younger relatives poking around the house. I don't want to make it worse. “Um… well… optimally, it will stay here, in the house.”
She sighs. “If only Bertram were still here. Or even his son, Thomas. They both had a strong connection to this house. Unlike Mary’s children, who you just met. Th
ey were raised in Massachusetts and they don't think much of the family estate. They aren’t even Morgans, they are Devines.”
“What happened to Betram and Thomas?” I ask, my curiosity bubbling up.
“Well, Betram we lost twenty years ago. In a yachting accident, if I remember correctly. And Thomas…” She suddenly looks wistful. “We lost Thomas almost ten years back. It was a car accident. It was terribly tragic, leaving Carter practically alone. I mean, he had his mother, but she is a useless bird brain.”
She tsks, shaking her head.
“So did Carter grow up here, then?” I ask, trying to get a firm grasp of the family history.
“No.” She smiles sadly. “He grew up in Seattle. He came here quite a bit though, once his mother allowed him to come.”
I pause, a thought forming slowly. “Do you remember a girl named Anna coming to stay for the summer? It would’ve been at least thirty years ago.”
Margaret’s brows rise. “Why yes, actually. Anna was a lovely young woman. She caught Thomas’s eye. I actually thought that she and Thomas would end up together.” She pauses, seeming to think about it. “I think she ended up leaving on a sour note, rather quickly too. She and Thomas had a fight or something.” She eyes me. “Why do you ask?”
Automatically, I open my mouth and the lie rolls right out. “I just… I came across something about her in the archives. I just thought I would ask.”
Margaret drains the remaining brandy, sets the glass down on the end table closest to her, and strains to get herself to her feet. I jump up, feeling useless.
“Do you need help?”
She shakes her head. “I’ll be fine. I think I just need a nice nap, dear. Thank you for listening to me complain about my ungrateful family.”
“Of course,” I say. “I have to get moving too. How about I walk you as far as the front door?”
“Don’t start fretting about me,” Margaret says, waving me off. “I’ll be fine. I can't let my nieces and nephews win, can I?”
As she shuffles out of the room, I smile. I head to the front door just as it opens. I’m expecting Carter to be the one walking through the doorway, but instead of Carter it’s Aiden.
Tall, dark, and dazzlingly handsome. He wears a pair of jeans and a paint-stained button up, looking at me with dark eyes.
There is that instant connection there as always, a spark that vibrates between us.
My heart seizes. I lock eyes with him, licking my lips. He makes me feel like he’s an Olympic sized swimming pool and I’m a man stranded on a desert island, dying very slowly of thirst. I could not be more parched as I stare at him.
He looks over his shoulder rubbing his neck. “I just ran into Carter and a bunch of his aunts and uncles. They are… intense.”
I drop my gaze. “Yeah. I was actually going to try to get out of here before I run into them again.”
He slides me a look. “Want to go for a ride? There is this place I’ve been meaning to check out, just like twenty minutes from here. It’s on the coast, called Tongue Point. It’s supposed to be really pretty.”
I consider it. My options are pretty limited. It’s either go with Aiden, or I have to hole up in my apartment again. I’d really rather not stare at the same walls I’ve spent so much time in over the past few days.
Then again, I’ve spent those days avoiding Aiden, so…
“Olivia,” Aiden says, rolling his eyes. Just the sound of my name on his lips causes my heart to beat a little faster. “Just come with me. You can't freeze me out forever. Besides, the scenery promises to be beautiful.”
“Okay,” I agree, my breath leaving me in that moment.
The corner of his mouth tips up into a smile. “Good. Let’s go.”
He turns and lumbers down the steps of the front porch. I follow, chewing on my bottom lip.
18
Aiden
I don’t know why I urged Olivia to join me as I drive out to the coast. Scout’s honor, I really don’t. But she just looked… I don't know, vulnerable, standing there in the foyer of the main house. So now I’m stuck in the car with her, even though she is the one person who I should be avoiding.
Looking over at her as I pull out onto the little two-lane highway from the gravel drive, I blow out a silent breath. Olivia’s hair is up in some sort of fancy twist, though it’s gone a bit wild by now, tendrils creeping out around her face. She wears a plain blue sleeveless dress, buttoned right up the middle, its hem touching just above her kneecaps. It’s streaked on the front with dust.
For some reason, that makes me smile. It just seems very Olivia; to start out in the morning with her hair and dress all clean, and then by the late afternoon to have them sort of unraveling at the ends.
She tucks a tendril of her dark hair back behind her ear, glancing over at me. She catches me surveying her and turns a little pink.
“What?” she asks softly.
I grin, looking forward to the road. “Nothing.”
Ahead of us, the trees grow taller on the left side of the road. On the right side is the majesty of the ocean, separated from us by only a broad swath of rock and a narrow strip of sand. Here and there, the rock juts out onto the beach, kissing the foamy water where it flows onto the sand. It’s windy today, the air currents whipping at the waves, making the tips of every wave a frothy white.
I lean forward, turning on the radio. Some song from the late 90s comes on low, the Wallflowers droning on about driving a car with one headlight. Olivia rolls her window down a little, squinting off into the sun.
A few freckles span the bridge of her nose, appearing after some sun. I look at her, at her bare shoulders, at her ridiculously good posture. God, she really is fucking beautiful.
I try to drag my thoughts away from her. What can I talk about that’s a nice, neutral topic?
I clear my throat. “Have you heard anything more from Grayson lately?”
A muscle tics in her jaw. “No. I assume that nothing catastrophic has happened. That’s as close as I care to be for now. Especially after his warning to you.” She scrunches up her face. “He can't tell me how to live.”
Fuck. This was supposed to be neutral. So much for that.
“Well, technically, he didn’t tell you anything.” I sigh. “Grayson is just looking out for you.”
She folds her arms across her chest. “Someone needs to tell him to figure out his own stuff first.”
I give her a rueful smile. “Like what?”
She shakes her head. “Like whatever is going on with him and Rachel. He’d better watch out, because I don’t think they’re even near being done.”
“Would that be so terrible? Grayson and Rachel seem to keep finding each other, one way or another. I for one don’t want to stand in the way of fate.”
She rolls her eyes. “When we visited last time, she still didn’t seem to know anything about why he was discharged from the Navy. They have a long way to go, if that is still true.”
I take a minute to absorb that information. Olivia squirms beside me. “Where are we going again?”
“We’re just following the coast. I guess it juts out at some point soon, and forms some kind of rocks that you can walk right out on. Carter mentioned it to me last week.”
Sure enough, as soon as the words are out of my mouth, the road splits. I take the road indicated for Tongue Point, tracing the outline of the coast. I drive a few minutes farther, the woods growing deeper and wilder around the car. The road narrows and narrows, until I pull off into a tiny car park.
Tongue Point Trail, a nearby sign reads. Proceed at your own risk.
“That sign seems ominous,” Olivia says with a frown.
“Depends on what you have at stake, I guess.”
As we slip out of the car and hike down the gently sloping trail toward the sea, I can hear the waves crashing against the rocks and the hiss of the water as a small portion of it is churned to mist.
“Whoa,” Olivia says when we reach the
rocks. Beyond their sharp teeth is the beast that is the roaring ocean, looking gray and sleek as steel. Above us, the air is so laden with mist that it’s practically raining. “You really can walk right down there.”
She slows and I walk right into her. She looks up at me with wide eyes, seeming a little afraid.
“What, are you worried?” I tease her gently. “Can’t swim?”
Embarrassment flashes on her face before I realize that she very well may not be able to. Her gaze drops from mine, her cheeks going red.
“I can’t, no. Not any more than the last time you tried to teach me. I sink like a stone.” Her voice is so soft that it’s almost carried away by the roar of the wind. “My mom didn't know how… and the state didn't teach us either.”
My heart twists in my chest. I reach down, capturing her small hand in my large one. Her skin feels cool against mine.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp. “I didn't mean anything by it. You don’t have to worry about anything. Just hold on to my hand, okay?”
Her blue eyes lift, spearing and probing me for a second. My breath leaves me in a huff. She is so fragile right now. I want to wrap my arms around her and shelter her. But I don’t. I feel like if I do anything wrong, I might break her.
To my relief, she nods. “Okay.”
My lips lift in a ghost of a smile. “You trust me?”
Her lips twist in a humorless smile. “Yes. I shouldn’t, but I do.”
I tug on her hand to pull her closer, looking down at the rocks. After taking a steadying breath, I move down toward them. At the very tip, they are slick with misty seawater. So I just walk down as far as I can go, until the earth falls away on both sides.
But for the rocks jutting out before me, I would almost be walking on water. She clenches my hand, clinging to me like a drowning man would a life preserver. I hear her draw a breath beside me. Looking over at her face, I see her widened eyes as she contemplates the ocean that is just a few steps away.
