by J. Saman
“You don’t even believe that, do you?” he says, clearly reading my mind.
“No. But I think it’s the safest way to go at this point.”
He shrugs up a shoulder, turning back to the game, sipping at the drink in his hand. “If you say so. We had told him not to get involved with you like this, but I think it was inevitable from the start.” He sighs, pinning me again with that stare of his. The one that busts through all pretenses and bullshit. “Look, he’ll kill me for this, and I don’t care. Oliver may seem wishy-washy, but he’s not. It’s his way of protecting himself. But when he decides on something, he’s all in, Amelia. Please remember that. I’m glad Layla got into Wilchester. I’m glad Stella will have a friend there when she attends the following year. I’m thrilled my mom is happy, because that’s ultimately what we wanted for her with this. But I was there after everything went down with Nora and I watched helplessly as what she did broke something inside him. I also know how Oliver feels about you.”
My eyebrows shoot up at that, and he chuckles, running his hand back through his dark hair.
“What? Don’t look so shocked. His face lights up whenever you enter the room. He tracks your movements whenever you’re together. He talks about you all the fucking time. Layla too. He’s crazy about both of you. Say you won’t hurt him. That’s really all I want to hear.”
I lick my suddenly dry lips, my heart jumping all over the place inside my chest. “I’m crazy about him too and hurting him is the absolute last thing I’d ever want to do.”
“That’s what I thought, though it looked terrified saying it.” He winks at me, and I laugh, some of the tension fleeing my body.
“It was. He’s not the only one at risk of getting hurt. Only it’s not just my heart I’m gambling with. I worry about Layla’s too.”
Carter sips his drink, his eyes back on the ball field. “Then maybe you and Oliver need to figure out a way that doesn’t happen. For any of you.”
“Ma’am,” the attendant calls out. “I have your drinks.”
I grab them and thank him.
“Better get back to them before Oliver throws Layla over the edge of the booth to try and catch that foul ball,” Carter says, nodding in the direction of the outside seats of the box.
“What?” sputters from my mouth, my gaze slingshotting in that direction. Sure enough, Oliver is helping Layla lean over the edge. He’s holding on tight, but yep, she’s trying to catch a ball headed in our direction. “Oh, Lord.”
“Have fun tonight on your special date. Oliver has the whole thing set up.” My jaw unhinges, and he smirks at me. “Like I said, he’d do anything for you.”
Carter strolls off, over to Kaplan, Luca, and Landon, and I make my way back down to my sister and Oliver. I know Oliver is taking me to the museum this evening, but the way Carter is saying it, it sounds like it’s a lot more than that. Still, it’s hard to focus on tonight when Carter’s words are living and breathing inside my chest. A flutter of hope giving them wings to fly.
A dangerous and delicious potion I’m only too eager to drink down.
Stepping back out into the open sun, I find Layla pouting and out of breath. “I just needed a few more inches,” she gripes. “You’re strong. You could have pulled me back up.”
“Sorry, Sprite. I think your sister would have killed me if—”
“Yes,” I say, cutting him off. “I would have. Plus, I’d have to toss you over the side to go and get her.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
I hand him his drink and he leans in, kissing the corner of my lips. “Come sit beside me,” he whispers against me, causing chills to erupt across my skin at his husky tone.
“It’s not like I would have died,” Layla grumbles, sitting down in a huff, folding her arms petulantly over her chest like the teenager she is.
“Glad we didn’t have to find out,” I tell her, pushing down on the brim of her hat to cover her eyes.
Oliver takes my hand, pulling me across them and into the seat on the other side of him. His free hand hits my shoulder as he tugs me closer. “You ready for tonight?”
“What did you do?”
His green eyes sparkle as they take me in, that sexy, self-assured, cocky grin on his lips. “You’ll see. Trust me, you’ll love it.”
23
OLIVER
The idea came to me when I was out for a run. I’ll be honest, I’m not much of a museum guy. But then Amelia and I watched the Netflix documentary about the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, and she commented on how it’s her favorite place in the city to go, and then there I was, running right past it.
Best part? It only took one phone call and five minutes out of my day to arrange.
That’s what happens when you’re a Fritz and the media’s favorite darling.
Places that don’t typically allow for a completely private rental after business hours suddenly do. Plus, the head curator knows Amelia well.
All I had to do was agree to some pictures out front with Amelia and, of course, a donation. It seems ridiculous now to have photos of us taken. To still be a hot topic. Amelia and I no longer have fake, pre-arranged dates because they’re not needed—we’re actually dating—but pulling up to the museum and helping her out to the flash and click of cameras and the barrage of questions this feels like one.
I wrap my arm around Amelia’s waist, gathering her firmly into my side as we make our way to the entrance of the museum. They ask Amelia why we’re here and she informs them it’s her favorite place in the city. It makes me fist-pump for being such a good listener and setting this whole thing up.
“Oliver, do you have a date set yet for the big day?”
I glance up to answer the guy asking the question when someone standing beside a tree catches my attention just as a flash goes off in my eyes, momentarily blinding me. I blink, forcing my eyes to readjust, but by the time they do, the person is gone.
Nora.
I’d swear it was her, but in scanning all around, I don’t see her anywhere. The troubling part of that is, I swore I saw her outside MGH when I left after my shift last week, and Amelia mentioned something in passing that she saw her when she was headed into the grocery store the other day.
I have no idea if it’s coincidence or our imaginations getting the best of us or—
“Oliver?” the guy presses, and I come back from my search, reaffixing my most charming smile.
“Not yet,” I answer. “We’re focusing on my mother’s health at the moment. For now, we’re just happy being together. Have a good night.”
Entering the cool dark building, we’re immediately met by a curator, Alice, who gives Amelia a big hug. “Oliver, this is Alice,” Amelia introduces. “She is who Layla’s middle name is after.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline. “Seriously? You never mentioned that.”
“Amelia’s mother studied art under me,” Alice informs me. “We became very close friends.”
I spin to Amelia, stunned. “I thought your mom was an English teacher.”
“She was,” Amelia says. “But she loved art too.”
I turn back to the woman. “Wow. It’s so nice to meet you.” I shake her hand again, and she laughs at my exuberance.
“It’s my pleasure. Please. Come this way.” She gives us some history of the museum, explains the current exhibits, and informs me that everything I requested is set up and waiting for us in the courtyard. I thank her, Amelia hugs her, and I take Amelia’s hand, leading her away. Then it’s just us, strolling through the dimly lit museum, taking in one masterpiece after the other.
“I can’t believe you did this,” she finally says as we enter a long, narrow room, the room filled with tapestries and furniture, a few of the windows made of glowing stained glass that reflects prettily throughout the space. “Who does this, Oliver? Who rents out a museum after it’s closed?”
“Me.”
She snorts, rolling her eyes at me over her shoulder, but she can�
�t help her smile. For the amount that she doesn’t like me to make a fuss over her, I see how much it means in her eyes. Now it’s become a game to me. What can I do next? How can I up the ante? No one has ever spoiled Amelia. Ever made her feel special.
Being the first, the only is addictive.
“You didn’t need to do this. Especially when I have the feeling there is more in store.”
I wrap my arms around her from behind, kissing her neck. “Plenty more in store.” I kiss her again. “And I didn’t need to do anything. I wanted to. I wanted it to be just us. Just you admiring all these beautiful old things. All this gorgeous art. If I had brought you during the day, we would have been photographed in here. Well, that and Layla wouldn’t have gotten to go to the game today. I don’t care about art, Amelia, but I know you do, and I wanted to do something special.”
She grows quiet and I squeeze her tighter, already nervous about what else I have planned for us. Already suspecting she might not like it but knowing it won’t stop me from doing it. She showed up at my house two weeks ago and told me she wanted me.
And with every passing day, I want her more than the one before it.
I can’t stop it. And for the first time, I’m not wanting to. It’s a runaway train and I’m in for the ride.
“Thank you,” she whispers, spinning in my arms and kissing my lips. “You take special and raise it to an art form. God. You make it absolutely impossible for a girl not to totally crush on you. I’m like a teenager all over again, only this is way better because now I actually have you.”
“Am I sweeping you off your feet yet?”
“My feet haven’t hit the ground since I saw you again at the reunion, Oliver Fritz. This past month has been nothing short of a whirlwind of interesting and amazing.”
“Good. I like you off balance.”
I dip down and kiss her lips. She’s so short and since we’re alone, I lift her up, forcing her legs around my waist in the dress she’s wearing. She sucks in a gasp as my tongue plunges deeper, my hard cock pressing against her so perfectly all it would take is a few clothing adjustments and I’d be inside of her.
I want her to live in the moment more. Something I know she struggles to do. Everything about Amelia and her life is planned. Thought out. Held back. She keeps so much of herself closed off and I know it’s because she’s afraid of just how quickly everything can change. Because of that, she’s never able to really let go. Does she even know who she truly is beyond her day-to-day struggles?
In high school, she was bullied.
She had a year and a half of college, pre-med college at that, and then she was forced to become a grown-up overnight. The guy she was with up and dumped her within days of her losing her parents. Since then, she’s all responsibility. All worry. Completely closed off. I see glimpses of her. The woman she truly is. The one she showed to Nora that night at the reunion and Christa at Wilchester. The one who sasses me, challenges me, keeps me forever on my toes.
What I would give to watch her petals peel back. To see her fully bloom.
“My mom used to bring me here on weekends,” she says as we stroll. “English was her first love—Layla especially gets that from her—but art was a close second. She’d bring a sketchpad and draw for hours while I’d read. My dad would be working since he rarely ever could take time off. Maybe that’s why I love the Sox so much,” she muses, talking aloud, but almost to herself. “He never had time when I was young and any time he had was with the Sox, so naturally I joined in.” She shakes herself. “Anyway, I didn’t start to appreciate art until I was in high school. She made me take an art class with her on Saturday mornings. Told me it was therapeutic. I was terrible, but it was fun, just the two of us.”
I love it when she opens up to me like this. “Was your mom good at it?”
“Yes. Her sketches were better than her paintings. I still have some I kept, but I never had it in me to have any framed.” She gives me a wan smile. “Hurt too much, you know?”
“Maybe one day you will.”
“Maybe. I think Layla would like it. But being here, I feel close to her.” Her eyes hold mine. “You have no idea how special this is. How much it means to me.”
I take her hand, walking us through the museum. We marvel at the empty frames left on the wall from when the paintings were stolen. Room after room, it’s just us. And just before we get ready to head out into the courtyard—my heart hammering in my throat—we come upon the last room.
“Jesus Christ,” I hiss, my eyes going wide.
She spins around to see what I’m gawking at. “Yep,” she muse. “That’s him. The big guy right there.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah. He scared the shit out of me. I wasn’t expecting that. Jesus on the wall in such… large display.”
“Do you think I should steal it? Put it on your wall?”
“You don’t want it for your place?”
“Nah,” she says. “I don’t think I would look good in orange. Messes with the red hair.”
“Baby, you look good in everything. Besides, it’s all about who you know in this city, and I know everyone. No one is arresting us, and we’d never go to prison.”
“That’s what Whitey Bulger thought.”
“He was on the run into his eighties, not so bad, if you ask me.” I grab her hip, spinning her in place and dragging her back to me. “Come on, baby. Let’s live on the lam.”
“Do I get my own gun, Clyde?”
I grin like a bastard, smacking her lips with a hard kiss. “Whatever you want, Bonnie. We can make Layla our lookout girl while we steal the world.”
She laughs, her head dropping to my chest. “Courtyard?” she asks.
“Courtyard.”
“Why did your heart just start to race?”
I suck in a shaky breath. “Come on and I’ll show you.”
Leading her out to the courtyard loaded with flowers and trees, the sky black as it peers down at us through the glass ceiling, I reach into my pocket, clutching the box she has yet to notice hiding there. We meander our way around until she spots the picnic I had set up for us, complete with flameless candles and champagne.
“Oliver,” she whispers on an empty breath.
My lips trail up her neck, licking at her sweet skin. “Good surprise?”
“It’s beautiful. Like something out of a fairy tale.”
“That’s me. Prince Charming.”
I help her down onto the blanket and then work the cork of the champagne, opening it with a loud pop. Pouring her a glass, I hand it to her and then open the picnic basket, loaded with all kinds of things I’m not the least bit hungry for. Why I thought food was a good idea after all the crap we ate at Fenway today is beyond me.
“Are you hungry?”
She shakes her head, falling back onto her hands as she watches me intently, knowing I’m holding something back. Here goes nothing.
“I got you something,” I tell her, not wanting to put it off any longer. “I saw it and I thought of you, and I just went in and bought it.”
“And that’s why you’re nervous?” she surmises.
“It’s this.” I slide the box out of my pocket, and she sits up straight, staring at it like she has no idea what to do with it.
“It’s a jewelry box,” she deadpans.
“Yup.”
“But… we’ve—”
“I know,” I cut her off. “I know. I don’t care.”
She sucks in a shaky breath, her eyes glassing over with unshed tears. Mine watch her face as I open the box, revealing the large diamond solitaire in a platinum bezel setting on a delicate platinum chain.
“Oliver.” It’s a gasp.
“Now you know why I was nervous.”
She blinks rapidly. Her eyes bouncing back and forth between mine and the necklace, the diamond glimmering against the fake candlelight. “It’s… wow. It’s… I can’t accept that.”
I knew she was going to start there. “Tell
me why.”
“Because we’ve only just started dating. Because we have a business arrangement. Because—”
“When was the last time someone bought you a present?”
She shoots up off the ground, pacing around in a circle.
“Amelia, when?” I press.
Her hands meet her hips, her breathing hard. So hard I know she’s fighting tears. Fighting everything, including me. “I don’t need you to buy me presents.”
“I didn’t do it to prove how I care about you.”
“It’s so beautiful. I don’t want you to think… Why did you buy it then?”
I stand up too, taking the necklace out of the box, holding it in my hand, my nerves now gone. She’s simply afraid. A constant I know how to work with.
“When was the last time someone spoiled you? When was the last time someone saw something and bought it for you because they absolutely had to?”
“Jesus, Oliver.”
“Jesus is in the other room,” I tell her, fighting my grin as a gust of a laugh flees her lips.
“We started this thing, and I don’t know what to do now,” she rants. “Carter said stuff and now we’re here and you bought me that and—”
“You’re scared?”
“Yes.” She spins around, her eyes wild with fire. “I’m scared. You know I am and that hasn’t changed. People come into your life, and you care about them, and then suddenly they’re gone and I—”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She shakes her head. “That is not a promise you can ever make. I can’t… whoa.” She blows out a heavy breath. “This is going so fast. Everything with us has been so fast.” Her voice quakes.
It has been. She’s right about that. I saw the necklace and I thought… maybe. I thought maybe this time, with this woman, things will be different. No, fuck that. Things are different because she is different. And I know she thinks I’m going to leave her, like everyone else in her life has, but I’m not that guy. I’m not the guy who leaves. I’m the guy who stays.
