by Lori L. Otto
olivia | choisie book 2
by Lori L. Otto
OLIVIA
Copyright 2014 © Lori L. Otto
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Lori L. Otto Publications
Visit our website at: www.loriotto.com
First Edition: June 2014
Smashwords Edition
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Printed in the United States of America
dedicated to the boy I loved
he taught me to live
he taught me to love
he taught me to leave
CHAPTER 1
Staring beyond the crowd of family members, the horizon line of trees and stone markers becomes a blur. People talk to one another around me, but my uncle and I stand in silence. He moves his hand up and down my arm. The warmth feels nice in the cool morning breeze, but I still wish I’d brought a jacket. Matty had already offered his, but I declined.
“You should sit up front,” my uncle whispers to me. I shake my head, finally allowing myself to blink. The trees come back into focus, along with the side entrance to the cemetery where I see Jon walking in alone.
I breathe a sigh of relief, the sight of him bringing both a sense of calm and excitement. I need to be comforted by him. I need to be held by him. I want to be loved by him again.
“How much longer until James’s limo gets here?” I ask Matty.
“Jacks says it shouldn’t be too much longer.”
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Where are you–” he begins, but stops as I shrug away from him, moving quickly to the south side of the grounds. I don’t look back, hoping that I’m not drawing attention to myself. Jon meets my eyes, and shifts his direction accordingly. We finally meet among a grouping of oak trees, the shade providing privacy that I’d been hoping for.
“You should be with your family, Olivia,” he whispers in my ear as we hold one another tightly. I inhale lofty breaths, taking in his clean scent, finally ridding my nose of the smell of incense from the church service, if only for a few seconds. The odor lingers on my clothes, and the clothes of everyone in my family. “Are you okay?”
He releases his grasp and moves his hands to my bare forearms, feeling the goosebumps that have arisen in the past minute or so. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m cold, or because I’m so happy to see him again. “I’m fine.” I close my eyes and stand on my tiptoes to touch my lips to his. It should have been a sweet, tender kiss, but it’s obvious he’s missed me as much as I’ve missed him. When I pull away, I glance around him to see if my family is watching. I see the limo finally pulling up, giving them all something else to focus on momentarily.
“We should–” Taking advantage of the secluded cover of trees, I interrupt him, kissing him again, this time allowing my hands to tuck beneath his suit jacket. I scrape my nails down his back. “Mmmmm,” he says, unable to speak but letting me know how it feels. The vibration tickles my lips. He moves his hand from my waist and reaches around, stopping me from continuing the motion. “Not here,” he breathes quickly, finally breaking away. I latch my hands together behind him, though, still holding him as close to me as possible. “God, I’ve missed you,” he says after finally catching his breath.
I never thought I’d survive the past five days without him. The conversations we’d had in infrequent moments of privacy were ones I would rather have had face-to-face. “I’ve missed you, too.” I feel his hands move lower down my back, beyond the hem of my short-sleeved sweater and half-way down my satiny skirt. His thumbs move slowly, gently. I love when he touches me in places no one else has. Pulling his head to mine again, we exchange full, slow kisses, ones that are reminiscent of that night. I’m sure he’s remembering it, too.
“Olivia,” he breathes, pushing me away. “We need to meet up with your family, and you’re going to make this very embarrassing for me.”
“They’re not watching,” I tell him, peeking beyond him once more to make sure I’m telling the truth. After James takes his seat, I see my father standing at the front right side of the casket, holding it somberly with five other men I don’t know well. I recognize a few from various charity events we’ve hosted over the years, but I couldn’t put a name with any of them if I tried.
I look away from the scene, not wanting to let my thoughts linger. My eyes settle on a line of photographers just beyond the cemetery gates. The lenses aren’t pointed at the ceremony, though. They’re pointed at Jon and me. “Yeah, we should probably go,” I suggest, not realizing my heart could pound any faster than it had been when we were sharing our intimate moment. Since seeing the unwelcome onlookers, though, I realize how inappropriately we were both behaving. I glance behind me, wondering if anyone saw where his hands had been. I’m only a little relieved to see no one standing near the side entrance.
Jon’s cheeks splotchy, he ducks his head toward the ground, avoiding the stares of anyone we know as we walk toward the crowd gathered graveside. I’m sure he’d be embarrassed to know that anyone saw us, so I don’t bother to tell him–and hope that he doesn’t see the people behind the ceremony on his own.
“Can I have your jacket?” I ask him, feeling the definite chill now that his arms are no longer encircling my body.
“Give me a minute,” he says, squeezing my hand. I grin sheepishly, realizing why he wants me to wait. Glancing back up, I see the photographers still following us with their lenses. I tuck my head into his arm until we finally reach the gathering of my family and Granna’s friends and associates. Jon and I are welcomed into the circle of guests, our backs to the line of cameramen, facing the beautiful mahogany casket covered in hundreds of fresh flowers.
It’s just a box. She’s not in there. Just a wooden box.
Jon finally shrugs out of his coat and helps me to put it on. He slips behind me, draping his arms across my body and holding my hands in his. He rubs the ring he’d given me with his finger. I close my eyes, choosing to tune out the voice of the priest as he leads everyone in prayer, and instead remembering back to the night Jon and I were finally able to express how we really felt about each other.
I’m only brought back to the present, to this somber moment, when I feel the reverberations from Jon’s chest as he responds in kind to the prayers. I don’t want to be here, though. I don’t want to hear my mother’s soft cries, or my dad’s gentle voice as he tries to comfort her. I don’t want to hear Father Appleton speaking about Granna’s illustrious life. I don’t want to hear it, because I don’t want to believe that her life is over.
She’s not gone. I open my eyes, seeing a large picture of her and Nate on an easel next to one of dozens of sprays of flowers. After all she survived in her life, she aged remarkably well. Even though I know the photo is at least sixteen years old, she looks almost like the Granna I’d casually said goodbye to just a few weeks ago after the summer orientation we’d held at the Art Room. The next day, my parents, Trey and I left for England to attend Lexi’s wedding.
Granna was supp
osed to fly out a few days later, but she’d told us she wasn’t feeling well, and didn’t think she should be traveling on such a long flight. She had promised to work on preparations for the reception Lexi would be having when she returned from her honeymoon, hoping it would take some of the stress off my aunt and uncle.
The wedding celebration is being postponed now, replaced by today’s reception after the funeral that will host many of the same guests.
Lexi chose to cut her honeymoon short, arriving back in the states late last night. I had volunteered to pick up her and Kyle from the airport. I tried to engage her in conversation about the trip, but she was despondent, obviously saddened by Granna’s death. I didn’t think she looked any different, but I thought the way Kyle held her and touched her seemed more intimate.
I wonder if anyone notices that about Jon and me. Feeling the heat rise to my cheeks, I turn around abruptly and hug him, hiding my face in his shirt. “It’s okay,” he whispers to me, rubbing my back.
“I know,” I say, looking up and smiling. He meets my eyes, his expression curious. He obviously thinks I’m upset, but I’m not. I’m just overwhelmed by my feelings and the memories I have of him. “I love you,” I say softly.
He smiles gently. “You, too, baby. Hey,” he says, releasing me. “Your dad wants you.”
I turn around and see my father signaling for me to join him and Mom on the front row as the guests start to form a line. I shrug out of Jon’s coat and hand it back to him. “Come with me?”
“I’ll wait here,” he says.
“Please?” I beg him.
“It’s for family, Liv. I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
I nod at him, feeling comforted. “Okay.” I walk past Dad, taking my place on the other side of my mother and holding her hand in mine.
“You okay?” she asks me.
“I’m fine, Mom.” I should ask her how she is doing, but it’s not necessary. She’s been crying for days, and I suspect she’s mourning more than the loss of Granna. She was always her link to her best friend. There’s no one left. I start to get choked up now, feeling empathetic about her loss.
Digging my nails into my palms, I distract myself with pain and stop the tears before they start. I glance once more at the picture of Nate and his mother, remembering the painting I’d abandoned at the loft. Granna had hired me to paint her portrait. She’d given me a few weeks notice at the end of the school year, which was plenty of time for me to complete it. She wanted it to be finished for a fundraiser she was having–she’d made a space for it already in her house–but I’d only just started painting before we left on our trip. She was disappointed, I could tell, but I’d assured her it would be finished a week after my return to the states. My agent, Abram, had even found a place that would custom frame it in 24 hours, just so it would be completed by the time of the gathering.
I’d let her down. Of course the fundraiser is now cancelled, so there’s no urgency to finish the painting. I just keep seeing her in my head on the day she’d asked me to paint it. She was so excited to see it next to the painting I’d made of her son. She felt it would make it seem like they were together once more.
Maybe she knew what was coming. They are together now.
Instead of working on the artwork she’d commissioned, I’d chosen to spend the first weeks of my summer vacation with Jon. On his days off, we would spend long hours together at the park, at the movies–even in the media room at my house listening to music. In total, I’d probably only spent about six hours painting since the school year ended, and I have no desire to start up again now.
Even before we left for England, my dad had voiced his concern about how little time I’d spent painting. I kept trying to barter with him, telling him I’d paint more if he let Jon come to the loft. Of course neither of my parents would go for that. Honestly, I’m not sure if it was true, either. I really just wanted to be close to him.
That desire is even more intense now after the date we’d had in Greece. The last five days have been hell. I’d been shuttling around family members and friends of Granna’s and people I really don’t know, trying to make arrangements for this private funeral service and the public memorial we held for her yesterday afternoon. I’d hoped to see Jon then, but he’d decided to go back to work early, and had committed to a project there.
I glance down the line, looking for him. He smiles at me warmly, and we don’t look away from one another until he finally makes it to me, giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, whispering that he’s sorry for my loss in my ear. I link my fingers with his, holding on to him when he tries to move toward my mother.
He picks my hand up and kisses the back of it, prying my fingers loose. I frown at him, but he continues to embrace my mother, saying something in her ear, too. She lets go of him, meeting his eyes and laughing before pulling him back to her for another hug. His eyes are watering when he backs away this time. I remember, possibly for the first time, that it’s his loss, too. She was a mentor and role model to him for more than ten years.
Jon holds his hand out to shake my dad’s, but my father turns away from him, talking to his younger brother, Steven. Jon stands in front of him for another few seconds before moving on, not wanting to hold up the line.
I wonder if Dad did that on purpose.
After the line of people has all voiced their sympathy, guests start to leave before the burial. My mother takes a seat; my father follows suit, putting his arm around her as they both look at the casket.
I have to get out of here.
“Mom, can I go ahead and go?”
“Take my car,” Dad says, “and please take your brother.” He hands me his keys, and waits for me to give him mine. “Make sure he’s buckled in well.”
“Can Jon come with us? I don’t want him to have to take a bus.”
“Sure, sweetie,” my mother answers this time. “We’ll be there soon.”
“Thanks.” I find my aunt, Kaydra, who’s been watching the younger kids, and let her know that I’m taking Trey with me. She tells me they’re leaving, too.
My brother is yanking at the knot in his tie, looking uncomfortable. “Trey, here.” I kneel down and loosen the neckwear.
“Take it off,” he whines.
“No, buddy, you need to keep it on a little longer. That’s not so bad now, is it?”
“It still feels tight.” Jon joins us and takes a knee next to me.
“What does Livvy know?” he says to my brother playfully. “It’s not about the knot. It’s about that top button.” He unfastens it, then pulls the knot of the tie back up to hide it. “Better?”
Trey smiles and nods. “Thanks!”
“No problem.”
“My brother and I are going to James’s house for the reception. I’m taking Dad’s car. Do you want to come with us?”
“Sure,” he agrees. Trey leads the way to the sedan, the only car Dad’ll let me drive my brother in without parental supervision. Jon holds my hand loosely and smiles at the few remaining guests. I make sure to stay on his right, continuing to distract him from the line of photographers. A funeral home employee stands behind a rope, not allowing them to come any closer to us once we exit through the gate. We make it to the car without Jon noticing them.
I get Trey situated in his booster and make sure he’s buckled in as my boyfriend climbs in the front passenger seat. When I assume my position behind the wheel, I make the appropriate adjustments to the mirrors and seat. I’m much more careful–and nervous–when I drive my dad’s car.
“What’s up with Jack?” Jon asks quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“He ignored me. It was like he was actually avoiding me.”
“Maybe he didn’t see you.” I don’t even believe it when I say it.
“I don’t know.”
“Why would he be avoiding you?” I ask him.
“Because he knows...” I turn the volume up on the radio, and adjust the s
ound so it’s mainly coming out of the back speakers. I glance at Trey in the rearview mirror, watching him flipping through the pages of a book.
“But he doesn’t,” I say softly. “Nothing happened.”
We glance at one another briefly and smile. He puts his hand on my knee, rubbing it with his thumb as I return my focus to the road.
Ten minutes later, we pull up to the home where Granna lived since she married her first husband. Valets wait outside the three-story mansion, and are quick to open our doors for us when we reach the main entrance to the home. There are at least sixty cars parked in the grass that lines the gravel drive.
Jon frees Trey from his carseat as I make arrangements with the parking attendant. “I’ll take good care of your car, Miss Holland.”
“It’s my father’s,” I tell him as I watch the panic cross his face. “Don’t worry, even if you totaled it, he’d probably still tip you.”
“I’ll be very careful, miss.” I nod nonchalantly, wishing people didn’t make such a fuss about my family. Trey bypasses the house entirely, knowing that the backyard is full of adventure in a forest of trees. With the amount of people milling around, I’m sure he’ll be fine.
“Maybe Jack saw us kissing?” Jon asks, walking up the steps with me.
“He wasn’t watching. I was checking. Stop worrying. He’s probably just distracted today. And neither he nor Mom have gotten much sleep with all the company coming and going.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Once inside, we go directly to the kitchen, where my aunts are helping to keep the food organized and the guests fed.
“Hey, Kelly.” I give my dad’s twin sister a hug, her cushioned pot-holder mitts patting my sweater lightly.
“You okay, sweetie?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
