"You'd think you can take your wife home and not check her into to some shabby hotel," I teased Oliver as we pulled up into the parkade entrance of Whitewood Hotel which was a new luxury property Oliver had built about four years ago right in the heart of Cobalt Bay. Glowing with holiday lights on the outside, the sixty-something-story structure was a mix of old-world elegance and modern steel and glass lines—definitely a sight to behold. Dad once bragged on and on about how Oliver asked him he could name the hotel after our beach house in Santa Catalina Island and even tried talking me into coming to its grand opening.
"I hope it's not too shabby," Oliver said as he rolled down his car window to tap a card on the security reader. Then he turned to smile at me. "Because this is where your husband currently lives. I designed the top penthouse suite to be completely private for family use."
"I've seen the media tour video and all the photo spreads on travel magazines and blogs," I told him as he drove us through the parkade and into another secure gate. "You've done an incredible job with this place. It's magnificent."
"I'm sure it's nothing compared to your chateau," he said as he parked the car into an empty spot right in front of elevator doors. "I couldn't believe it when I heard you bought it. I was terrified."
"Because you don't think it's a wise investment?" I asked, bewildered. "People told me to turn it into an B&B but I don't know that I want to turn it completely into a commercial property. I used it as weekend getaway and now as a private showroom for Vienne Couture. It adds to the image."
And it's also where my biggest sin is buried.
Oliver shook his head. "I was terrified because it made me think you've truly settled for a life there. That you've decided you were never coming back."
"Oh."
Oliver scratched his head. "Six years is a long time for someone to be gone and still be a hundred percent sure they're coming back. Especially when you did something so vile and appalling to them."
So maybe you'll need another six years away from me. For my own vile and appalling mistakes.
I pulled myself back from that train of thought because it only led back to the bleak, heartbreaking place I wanted to leave behind.
I struggled to change the topic as I followed Oliver into the private elevator. I reached out to trace the white tree outlined in silver that was embossed on the panel. "Tell me. Why did you decide to call it Whitewood?"
Oliver shrugged even though I could tell he wasn't cavalier about the answer. "It was my second home in a way. I had what I considered my second family there on summers that were among the best of my life. It was a family I still had. It wasn't part of a crumbling legacy or a gently fading memory. I wanted to preserve that. To build from it. To represent what I'm living for now. Because I can't bring back the dead. Nor can I keep paying for the past with the future."
"Well, the future can only exist if you allow the past to be past," I said, forcing a smile no matter how wobbly. "Otherwise, aren't you just stuck in an endless loop of the present?"
"Like Ground Hog Day between the worst part of your life and what promises to be the best of it?" Oliver asked, returning my smile.
"Something like that."
Oliver just laughed softly and took my hand, slipping his fingers in between mine. We stayed that way until the elevator doors slid open, delivering us to a private lobby with a modest sitting area.
He helped take my coat off and I wandered into the front hall, appreciating the simple mix of dark, warm wood and industrial metals. It wasn't exactly too masculine but it was a bit rugged and cozy at the same time.
"Here you go," Oliver said, handing me a plastic key card he'd taken out of a bureau by the hallway. "This gets you in and out of here anytime. It'll let you set up your own security pin when you activate it the first time."
"Are you giving me full access to your domain, Oliver?" I teased as I slipped the card into my purse. "Aren't you worried I'd intrude on you all the time?"
He dropped a kiss on my forehead. "I'd prefer you intrude on me all the time but I'll let you do it at your own pace."
I raised on my tiptoes so our noses bumped. "That's not what confirmed bachelors ever say."
"I haven't been a confirmed bachelor for a while now, Viv, and guess who's to blame for it," he said before he tipped my head up for a kiss that well and truly reminded me of his very un-bachelor status and the part I played in that.
My fingers curled around the hem of his shirt before they slowly pushed it up to give me access to his rock-hard abs. For all his scuffs and scars, flaws and fragments, he was a physically perfect and he was mine at long last.
"I'm not going to push you too far too soon but it'll be hell trying to keep my hands off you," Oliver said after he released my mouth, his thumb tracing my bottom lip where he'd sucked hard.
I smiled. "Good thing I like your hands on me then."
Not wanting to torture him too much, I pulled away and strode into the hallway where I quickly halted to look at a row of four black and white photos on the wall. Bordered with brushed steel frames and wide white linen, the pictures were smaller squares in the center and gave the feeling of peering into a viewfinder.
There was one of Oliver with his family when he was about twelve and Harry was eight. His parents were in the front seat of his Dad's vintage red Ferrari and the boys were leaning against the door. Harry shared Oliver's dark hair and light-colored eyes but his features were softer and kinder. We did play together a few times when his family would visit ours or vice versa but Harry had been quiet and reserved child, preferring his own company more than others. The only thing that made him glow and bubble with excitement was taekwondo. Nevertheless, Oliver adored his younger brother and was often protective of him. I knew how much he regretted never seeing Harry grow up and live a full life, and always blamed himself for it. Maybe now he knew Harry would never want that for him.
The second photo was of Oliver with Stellan, Max and Sebastian at Whitewood when they were still lanky thirteen-year-olds. They were all in board shorts, standing by the beach, grinning and showing off their snorkeling and surfing gear while Dad took the picture. Oliver had bleached the spiky center of his hair blonde then and Stellan was still wearing what we all referred to as his old man's glasses with the heavy black frames and the thick lens. Max was beaming proudly next to his surfboard that he'd bought from a local kid after he and the three other boys mowed a few lawns that summer to save some money. His parents wouldn't buy him one saying it was too dangerous and he didn't have access to any of his money at the time. Many people on the island found it amusing that four of the richest kids in the world were mowing lawns for cash. It was Max's first major rebellion and he'd been proud of it. Sebastian, who'd lived away in England most of the time, was even smiling a little in the picture and he rarely found anything amusing in life. It was an interesting contrast to the large, powerful men they were now and the different lives they'd led since all those years ago.
The third one was a close up of half of Oliver's face. I'd been holding the camera while we were waiting for our order at my favorite coffee shop in SoHo. It was at the beginning of my last year at the Fashion Institute and he'd flown in for the weekend just to get me settled in. I'd been standing close to him, trying to take pictures of him despite his half-hearted protests. This moment was just before he finally snatched the camera away from me and held it way over his head far out of my reach. I captured him smiling so openly that none of his sharp features could intimidate. His black hair was cropped short on the side, his eye crinkling in the corner and his mouth a little crooked on that corner with his grin.
The last one was one I hadn't seen before but remembered well.
It was the last summer I'd spent at Whitewood with the boys, just before my last year at FIT. We decided to ride our bikes to the shops to get some food and I bungled up my front wheel at a bad curve. We found a repair shop to take it to and Oliver didn't miss a beat in telling me to ride with him. Luckily, I was in a white summer romper and got away with sitting up front pretty much on the crossbar. It was by no means safe and we had to try to get started a few times after I kept nearly falling off that we were all laughing our butts off. In the photo, I was grinning as I leaned back against Oliver's chest to keep from sliding off the bike and he was enjoying every minute of it.
"Where did you get this?" I asked, touching the frame.
"Stellan. He had his camera around his neck, remember?" Oliver said as he fell into a step next to me. "He'd given it to me shortly after I came back from visiting you in New York that fall. Max and I were over at his place to watch a game and he just tossed it to me out of the blue. Just said I might want it. Of course I wanted it but I didn't want to ask too many questions so I just slipped it into my pocket."
I feigned disbelief. "He gave it to you instead of his sweet little sister?"
Oliver laughed and looped an arm around shoulders. "He probably figured he already indulges you way too much."
I pouted a little. "I have no cap on being indulged so please, don't hesitate."
"I wouldn't have expected anything less," he told me before steering me further into the room. "Come on. It's almost one in the morning. We have to hit the sack."
"But I'm hungry."
"Of course, you are," Oliver said in an amused tone as he led me to a very spacious kitchen with some serious industrial-grade appliances. "You haven't changed from being a notorious midnight-snacker."
"Why change when everyone's already learned to cope with you?" I quipped as I joined Oliver by the fridge to track down some food. I was surprised at the amount of stuff inside it. "Did you get a cook?"
Oliver let go several of his family's household staff shortly after the burial. He said he didn't want other people underfoot, that he liked to be independent. It was only after I learned about his financial difficulties after his family's death that I realized the real reason. But clearly, things were different now.
"No. I cook for myself," he said as he grabbed a few things out of the fridge. "I had to learn how to fend for myself for years and now I'm just so used to it. I have one person come by and clean the house once a week and that's it. I do my own laundry, make my bed, cook my meals."
"I had to do the same thing when I moved to Paris," I said as I watched him start assembling what looked like a fancy chicken sandwich. "I learned to be independent and I like staying that way. Except for the chateau, of course. I can't maintain the place all by myself no matter how much I fancy the idea of playing Cinderella."
Oliver scrunched up his nose at me. "It's too bad you didn't wind up with a prince charming."
"Probably a good thing. I make a terrible helpless princess."
"Probably because you're more like a tyrannical queen," Oliver said.
I beamed. "It's not a probability. It's a sure thing."
Oliver laughed as he handed me the half of the finished sandwich. He took a bite off his half of it. "Will you ever take me there one day? To your fairy tale castle?"
My gut clenched but I didn't bother forcing a smile. Oliver knew me too well so I just glanced down to investigate my sandwich before taking a bite.
"Someday, I will," I finally said after I finished chewing.
Because you'll have to understand something of our past before we can completely let it go. I just need a little time.
We talked and laughed like old times as we finished our food.
Half an hour later, Oliver gave me a fresh towel and a new toothbrush before lingering by the bathroom door.
I put a hand on my hip and gave him a long look. "I'm fine if you want to stay and watch. It's your torture."
"I'm sure I can make it yours too," he said huskily, making no effort to pretend his gaze wasn't leisurely sweeping down my body. I'd stripped down to my undies while he had his back turned switching on the shower. I would never get tired of this kind of power I had over Oliver because who didn't glory in being the all-consuming fire that burned hot and bright in the center of someone's world? And to be fair, Oliver wielded his own brand of power over me.
I'm here, aren't I?
"Fuck it," I said with a sigh. "Jump in. And only because you stink of greasy turkey."
Even laughing, Oliver wasted no time in stripping off his jeans, shirt and underwear. He grabbed me by the waist and lifted me into the shower before I was completely undressed.
"Women don't always want their underwear ruined, you know?" I snapped at him with little heat.
Oliver grinned. "It's not ruined. Come on, let me."
Having Oliver's hands on me were both a good and bad idea. Good because they were the only hands I ever wanted on me and bad because they could strip away my defenses as if they were a material thing.
Eva Proulx, my old boss, had warned me about the potent power of physical attraction when I first moved to Paris and met a lot of men who were eager to be better acquainted with me.
Be careful of the man who can move and mold your body because he could shape you, change you, make you his creation.
She was prickly about men and maybe if I hadn't known Oliver all my life, hadn't known men like my father and my brother, I would've felt the same way. But I knew there was a difference between men who just wanted you on puppet strings and men who wanted you free to be whatever made you happy.
And yes, from the other side of the games Oliver had played with many women in the past for money and influence, he had been selfish, ruthless and a complete ass even if he always held his end of the deal. And if that was all the side I knew, I wouldn't be here, in his arms as he carefully peeled the scraps of lace off my body. It wouldn't have been a question. But I knew too much to pretend I couldn't see the bigger picture.
Not much was said as we shared a quick shower. The low lighting, the steam and the sudsy water muted our nakedness even as we kept our eyes trained on each other. As soon as my undies came off, Oliver had kept his hands to himself even as his interest literally grew with every second. I was having a little trouble breathing as the sweetest ache built between my legs, remembering every explicit detail of Oliver's discovery of my body from so many years ago. It wouldn't take much at this point to say to hell with it and take what we both wanted. But it was this same exact restless desperation that drove us too far too soon that time in Vegas. We'd promised to start slow and work our way backwards and sex had too much of an intoxicating effect. It softened the edges and blurred the lines all too easily that you wouldn't be able to clearly see the cracks and bumps that would eventually collapse your relationship.
After we dried ourselves, I put on the extra pair of pajamas I'd brought in my overnight bag from my stay at Dad's while Oliver threw on a gray pair and nothing else. But I could hardly keep my eyes on his perfectly formed torso since I couldn't even keep them open.
"I want to show you something," Oliver said as he climbed into the bed next to me.
I tried to stretch my eyes open as I curled into myself. "Can you show it to me four or six hours from now?"
He grinned and turned to reach for something out of the nightstand drawer on his side of the bed. He tossed a small sheaf of papers on the bed in front of me.
I picked them up and scanned the print on the paper on the top of the pile.
"I was coming to see you, Viv," Oliver said quietly. "I was going to bring you home."
The dates and flight information on the boarding pass were just a couple days after Uncle Bertrand's death. If he'd lived, Oliver would've been at my door in Paris for the first time in years.
"Is this the only time you've tried to come and see me?" I asked, looking up at him.
"No. I booked a flight to Paris as soon as I heard you left but I never went," he admitted.
"What stopped you?"
"Stellan."
My eyes widened. "Stellan told you not to go?"
"No, not like that." Oliver sighed, raking a hand through his short hair. "I suspected he knew I had something to do with why you left—we'd been inseparable, after all—but he never confronted me about it. It was just a passing comment he made."
"What did he say?"
"That sometimes, we have to know if we're good for someone or not, especially if they can't see it for themselves," Oliver said. "And it hit me that I wasn't good for you then, Viv. Not the way I was. Things had to change."
"What if I changed in all that time you let pass?" I asked. "What if I stopped loving you?"
Oliver's hopeful smile was tinged with a little pain. "I already gave you reason to but I knew you hadn't, no matter how much you might have wanted to. I had to believe that we were in too deep with each other for far too long for it to crumble just like that, no matter how brutal the blow I dealt us."
"My pride wants me to tell you that you were delusional but I can't because I'm here, aren't I?" I said with a wry shake of my head. "I must've believed in something."
I didn't move away when Oliver leaned in, brushing a kiss against my lips before his thumb gently dragged down on it. "Whatever it is, I'll take it."
I parted my lips as my head tipped up to kiss him and Oliver groaned softly before he pulled me into his arms.
It was so easy to escalate from here, with my body lighting up and Oliver's rough kiss spiraling us into a near frenzy. But with great effort, Oliver broke away, his breathing heavy and his eyes squeezed close. He looked like he was in pain and feeling a little twisted, I grinned.
"Blue really is a gentleman's color," I quipped. "I suspect it matches the balls when you're being one."
Oliver opened his eyes to stare at me as if I were crazy for a moment before he burst out laughing. "You're such a pain in the ass. A lovely, adorable one but a pain in the ass nonetheless."
I laughed and fell back on the bed, yanking him down with me. "Well, I'm the pain in the ass that needs to cuddle so come here."
He pulled me into his arms and I leaned my head on his shoulder, inhaling the warm, clean smell of him as my heavy eyes fluttered close. "Good night, Oliver. Sweet dreams."
"They will be now," he murmured and my mouth formed into a faint smile because nothing had felt this good in a long time. "Goodnight, angel."
***
The Strand in Central London, much like England itself, was a place that had seen so much history over the centuries. It had its share of royals and aristocrats, pick-pockets and prostitutes, church-makers and political conspirators, academics and actors, print sellers and philosophers, writers and tea-makers. The evolution never quite stopped and even through multiple demolitions and rebuilds, much of its history was still in evidence and I loved every opportunity I got to bask in it. Even in the dreary gray and bone-chilling cold of an especially bitter British winter, the streets were aglow and very much alive with activity.
Tonight was the first time I'd been here and wished for nothing else but to go home.
Trying to have a relationship with your secret husband was complicated enough without my career taking me all over the globe for long periods of time. But it had to happen in the two to three months that followed.
I had to fly back to Paris mid-January to prepare for the upcoming Fashion Week. My February and part of March were scheduled for circuiting New York, London, Milan and Paris like the usual but this time around, I had to make sure key people knew about our expansion to the US. Another month was necessary to oversee some of its final stages including staff transition and a mountain of paperwork. Then I had two high-profile clients to work with, one being a Monaco royal.
A few times, Oliver tried talking me into letting him visit but he desisted when I said I didn't have time to be distracted no matter how much I welcomed it. Plus, it would raise too many questions especially from people who hadn't seen me with Oliver on my side in the last six or seven years that I'd lived abroad. My own family would speak up even though they were aware that Oliver and I had fallen into our old routine again after years of estrangement. They probably hadn't said anything because they didn't want to give me cause to literally distance myself again but they wouldn't stay tight-lipped if Oliver was seen escorting me all around Europe for a month especially when he, himself, had a company to run.
It had been very difficult to say goodbye to Oliver the night before my early morning flight. He'd looked like he was being gutted. I'd done my best to assure him that I was coming back in April, that I wasn't going to be gone for six years.
Scars didn't just mark you. They sometimes held a part of you forever in fear of the wound that had been there before and the pain that had come with it.
So I couldn't blame him when he showed up at my hotel tonight, out of the blue, in the middle of a blustery February.
Well, it was actually his hotel because he owned it.
I glanced down the empty hallway to see if the Mauricio or Marg were around before dragging him into the room. "What are you doing here?"
"Why are you paying for all your hotel rooms?" he asked as he set a black gift box he'd been holding down on the bench by the front hall. "You're listed as a complimentary account."
"I don't like not paying," I said. Whenever I traveled, I always made sure to stay in one of Oliver's hotels, even before I came back to Cobalt Bay. "Besides, I don't want to hurt your business."
Oliver raised a brow, unruffled and unhurried as he shrugged out of his long wool coat and tossed it over to a chair. "The business is doing just fine, Viv, which should be good news to you considering you own half of it."
Right. No pre-nup.
In the first couple of years of our separation, I'd wondered if I was going to receive divorce papers along with demands for a huge chunk of my money. Even before I opened my own business, I had been set up quite well financially and Oliver had been hurting for cash.
Of course, none came.
When the initial anger and shock wore off, I realized what a stupid idea it was. Knowing Oliver and his pride, he would never dream of taking my money. He would rather beat his knuckles open and barter body and soul so he could provide me with the same quality of life I was used to.
Softening at the reminder, I closed the gap between us, my arms sliding around his shoulders and closing over his neck. "Did you really fly all the way out here just to scold me for paying for my hotel room? I just want to get enough points to score a free night."
Oliver laughed, his own arms wrapping around my waist. He drew me close but wouldn't quite kiss me yet even as I leaned in for it. "No. I didn't come all the way for that. I came because I missed you, Viv."
I opened my mouth to say I missed him as well but before I could, he came down on me with a hard, hungry kiss. It blew off the lid I'd kept on my emotions the last few weeks we were apart and suddenly, my every nerve ending came to life.
But Oliver knew how to tease me in my own game because he broke off and held me away for a second, grinning when he saw the disapproval on my face.
"Don't get mad now," he said, backing away to get the gift box. "I also came because I wanted to give you this."
It had been ages since I'd been this excited about a present and for a woman who could usually buy for herself whatever she wanted materially speaking, I actually held my breath.
Oliver found that amusing but he didn't torture me too much by taking his sweet time.
He held it with his two hands and extended it to me.
There were no ribbons, no trappings.
I lifted the lid open and inside was something that looked like a music box covered with vintage white lace, the intricate ribbon detail on the edgings made of soft gold fabric and encrusted with dainty pearls. The lid was secured by a small gold locket with the key still hanging off of it.
"I'm going to call this your note box for now but I hope someday, it'll become to you the opposite of your Ugly Box," he said as he helped me carefully lift the box out of the packaging. "Inside are three hundred and sixty-five notes I wrote for you, one to read each day. It won't take away and keep your sorrows but I hope that in giving you something good to be happy about each day, it achieves the same thing in the end."
I couldn't say anything as my shaky hands brushed the fine patterns of the lace on the box so I just breathed out his name, "Oliver..."
"I'll give you one every year for the rest of our lives, Vivienne," he said, his voice a little unsteady as well. "Because there will never be a day when I wouldn't want you to know how damn precious you are to me."
I blinked my tears back but his face still blurred in my vision. "Can I read one now?"
His smile was a little shy. "Of course."
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I slowly opened the lock and slipped a small, folded linen note out of the box. Oliver had handwritten each one, his writing the same as I'd always remembered.
'I don't fear silence. There's no such thing with the constant memory of your laughter.'
I gasped in a deep breath, willing words to return to me so I could, in some shape or form, tell this man in front of me how much this meant to me.
But Oliver wasn't done.
"Happy Birthday, angel. And Happy Anniversary," he said softly, leaning down to gently press a kiss against my trembling lips. "I love you."
Whether he knew I was about to speak the same words or not to him, we would never find out as Oliver pressed in for another kiss, deeper and a little less gentle this time.
Without breaking contact, he took the box with his free hand and set it down somewhere so he could freely draw me closer against him.
The note fluttered to the floor as we let our bodies speak a truth we'd always known no matter the time or distance that had separated us all these years.
It was when my hand traveled to catch one of his on my hip that my fingers touched the cool metal surface of a flat band.
I broke off and glanced down at his hand and the wedding ring I'd slipped on it years ago. "You're wearing it."
I hadn't noticed his hands too much when he'd presented me the box.
"So are you," he said with a faint wry smile, motioning to the gold chain I had in the valley between my breasts. There, at the bottom of a long chain, was my own wedding band. I'd taken it out of the Ugly Box after spending Christmas with Oliver and I just wore it this way so it would stay hidden under my top.
"I'm comfortable with the truth when there isn't anyone around who'd require an explanation," I said, looking into his eyes so he knew that while this wasn't everything he'd wanted to hear, it was a start. "It lets me get used to being more open with the idea. It's not easy to shake off six years of evading it."
"You know I'll own up to my mistakes with your family if I have to," Oliver said with grave seriousness. "I don't deserve protection from that."
"But they do," I said gently. "No one will be completely spared from the consequences. I'm just hoping to soften the blow."
Oliver leaned in to softly brush his parted lips against the corner of my own, his arms tightening around me. "I can take anything for you."
"Can you?" I smiled as my hands slipped under the hem of his cashmere sweater and shirt, slowly pushing them out of the way. "Because I want to keep you up all night. I want to stop taking it slow."
Oliver's breath hitched but he made no move to decline.
My grin got a little more wicked as my palms settled on his hard, sculpted chest, slowly dragging across small, hard nipples. "I want to love you, Oliver. Will you let me?"
His steely blue eyes glinted hot. "Fuck, yes."
There was no semblance of restraint in the rough kiss Oliver claimed as he made quick work of unbuttoning my pajama top, his hands grasping my breasts without delay. He lifted me by the waist and plopped me down on the bed, pulling off his sweater and shirt in the few seconds his lips had left mine.
Oliver wasn't a man who was hungry.
He was downright starved.
Settling on top of me, his mouth anchored on my breast, his tongue teasing circles around the pebbled tip. His hand slipped under the band of my silk pajamas, cupping the center of me over fine lace, the heel of his palm grinding hard against where all my nerve endings were concentrated.
My hips lifted off the bed, doubling the friction of his rough hand and the texture of the lace as he bore down harder. Then with an easy flick, his fingers slipped under the elastic of the narrowing V of my underwear, finding me ready and aching. Just as his mouth left my breast to move to the other one, he pushed a finger deep inside me, curling slightly to steal a loud gasp from my lips. One finger became two and his thumb pressed down on my center to twin the pleasure. My eyes squeezed shut as I rode the wave through his every fierce, relentless stroke. With his teeth grazing the already over-sensitized skin of my nipple and his fingers finding a spot so deep and clenched with need inside of me, I went right over the edge, crying out his name as I shattered.
Before I could even open my eyes or catch my breath, my pants and underwear were yanked off of me. My vision was only starting to clear when I saw Oliver loom over me, his jeans and boxer briefs hitting the floor.
Time took nothing of Oliver's physical beauty.
If anything, it gave him an edge that was sharper and more pronounced. He looked stronger and more dangerously capable as if he could break a man in half and blow a woman's mind in the same breath.
"Wait."
The single whispered word barely restrained Oliver when he was about to lunge at me but he rocked back on his heels. I could see the tremor run down his frame as if the effort to hold back physically cost him.
While much hasn't changed with Oliver, there was one thing that stood out at me the moment my eyes followed the line of words tattooed on the inside of each of his arms. The only ink on his skin had been a verse he'd written spelling out my name. Years ago, after we got married and I'd realized the importance of that tattoo, he told me he would only be marked the one true constant thing in his life—me.
And it looks like that hasn't changed.
With my fingertips, I trailed the line that started by his right wrist, moving up the length of his arm before continuing to his left shoulder and down toward his left hand.
I hold you in these arms
not to own you but to save me.
My throat tightened with tears. "When did you get this?"
"The day after you left for Paris last month."
Just a few, simple words but they had the power of a tidal wave that took me under and propelled me back into the air in the space of a heartbeat.
"You don't need saving," I murmured with a choked voice, looking up into his stormy blue eyes. "Not anymore."
Oliver shook his head. "You've been doing it for so long that you no longer realize it. Every day I'm here, still breathing, is because of you, Viv. You didn't just pull me back from the edge. You convinced me to turn back around to a life that was going to be hell to live through. And I only lived through the worst by knowing that as long as you're out there, there's still the chance that you'd come back and forgive me."
I lived through the worst of my own secret hell because I knew how much of a gift life was. How it could be lost as easily and unexpectedly as it was given. To continue living was to respect those who didn't get the same choice. To actually live with meaning and purpose was to honor them.
I swallowed against my sob and reached for Oliver. "Come here."
Wordlessly, I sought his mouth—for a kiss, for comfort, for redemption—whatever my soul needed at this moment when it was stripped raw like it had been years ago.
And whatever I needed, Oliver gave without hesitation.
Where I felt empty, he filled.
Where I felt cold, he warmed back to life.
Where I felt the deepest, sharpest of sorrows, he soothed.
Our bodies moved like a kaleidoscope of memories in motion—strange and new and exquisite but still all the same parts of the whole.
When I no longer felt the pain, I realized it wasn't because I was numb.
It was because I was happy.
And there's the difference between getting by and getting past it.
"For a while, I thought I could never touch you like this again without remembering what I'd seen," I said long after our hearts had slowed down to normal.
Curled up to his side, I felt Oliver tense.
"I feared the same thing."
My forefinger ran lazy circles around a small scar on his chest. "It only takes seeing something so much more devastating to dull that kind of memory. It doesn't hold the same power over me anymore."
"What happened?"
Where to begin?
"Life did," I said for now. "It has its ways of surprising you with even shittier cards than the ones it's already dealt you."
I was relieved when Oliver didn't press but I wasn't sure I could handle his next words.
"You should know something about what you saw that day," he started, his tone strained with the effort to keep talking. "It doesn't make much of a difference now but what you saw was pretty much the entirety of it."
I wanted to tell him to stop but I couldn't find my voice.
"Maybe seconds after you walked out, Thalia pulled back laughing," Oliver continued. "She told me what a gullible idiot I was. She told me what you'd seen and told me I deserved it for flaunting you in her face."
Oliver's voice had hardened. "Even after I'd fulfilled my part of the bargain, she threatened to turn the deal against me if I didn't give in to her one last request. I was stupid enough to take her bait, not knowing she'd already done the damage. She'd seen us together when we went out the day after we got married. She said she felt betrayed. She wanted to show me what I was giving up. That you walked in on that was just a bonus for her to spite me even further."
I winced. "Why didn't you come after me?"
"I knew you would be too angry to listen," Oliver bit out. "Besides, whatever my motivations were, I had no excuse. No matter what it cost me, I still shouldn't have done it."
Consequences only showed their full weight in hindsight.
"So I picked my battle that day," he said with a gruff sigh, running an agitated hand through his short hair. "I exacted my revenge on Thalia and won the deal that had cost me you."
I braced myself. "What did you do, Oliver?"
"I took everything I had on Thalia to her husband and demanded the Cranston deal as my price for all of his wife's dirty secrets," Oliver admitted coldly. "Wesley Greaves is a man who fusses about his image. He couldn't risk it. Everything I had was damning. He was furious but he signed the paperwork. He also quietly divorced her a few months later."
"So you destroyed her own marriage."
The arm Oliver had wrapped around me pulled me closer. "No. She did that herself. The damage is done the moment we make the choice to betray the people we love, Viv, not just when those choices are exposed. It's the same way I betrayed you the moment I chose to break my vows for a goddamned business deal."
I couldn't argue his point because he was right.
But being right didn't make things right.
"But revenge isn't the same as redemption, is it, Oliver?" I asked quietly. "None of it fixed what had been broken."
"No, it didn't," he admitted. "It only made me realize how capable I am of destroying someone's life. And I was somewhat glad you weren't anywhere near me then."
"Are you still that man, Oliver?"
"I hope I'm not but I don't really know," he admitted.
"Are you capable of mercy?"
"You tell me," he said with a low sigh. "Not long after Greaves divorced Thalia, she went on a downward spiral. She lost her money, her friends and connections. She lost her mind. She showed up on my doorstep one day, dirty and disoriented. I got her help. I got her into a treatment facility, paid everything five years in advance while I tracked down whatever I could find of her family so they could look after her. As much as I hated her for what she'd done, I felt partially responsible for how she ended up. Yet I still don't regret what I did to her. I don't know if you can call that mercy."
"I would call it decency," I said, wondering how I should feel about this small revelation. "You didn't have to do it but you did."
His eyes sought me out. "Are you angry that I helped her?"
Maybe I was supposed to be but I felt strangely indifferent to it. "No. You were atoning for sins she was equally responsible for. And you were trying to be a good man—a better man than you had been. I can't resent you for that because I wanted you to be a better man."
"And I'll keep trying to be a better man for you, Viv," Oliver said as he pressed a kiss against my forehead. "Because that's who you deserve."
***
Happy New Year everyone!
I really hope that 2017 will be a damn good year for many of us. We can give it all the help it needs so let's do our part.
It's 2AM right now so I'm not going to blabber much here. Just wanted to give you all a virtual hug and thank you for sticking around story after story. Sometimes, I wonder what I'm doing and then I see all your lovely comments and messages and I remember why. I hope you're still with me all the way through 2017. =)
XOXO,
Ninya
P.S. Such a good song. I dedicate it to all of you!
♪♪♪ Chapter Soundtrack: You Will Find Me by Alex & Sierra ♪♪♪
Words are lost
Mouths are closed
Even through the silent pause
You take it all
Table talks
Getting through the car ride home
It could be a late night call
You take it all
Anchor to hold
You leave me room for my imperfections
When I'm a mess and you jump right in
If I drift in the wrong direction
You turn the tide and you calm the wind
Anytime, everytime I get lost
You will find me
You will find me
Anytime, everytime I get lost
You will find me
You will find me
You will find me
You will find me
You will find me
Faint applause, empty rooms
Even when the crowds are gone
You take it all
Lines are crossed
Even when my mind's consumed
I never mean to bruise your heart
But you take it all
Anchor to hold
You leave me room for my imperfections
When I'm a mess and you jump right in
If I drift in the wrong direction
You turn the tide and you calm the wind
Anytime, everytime I get lost
You will find me
You will find me
Anytime, everytime I get lost
You will find me
You will find me
You will find me
You will find me
You will find me