33. Olivia
33
OLIVIA
“ T hanks for watching Catie,” I said when Marie showed up to whisk Catie away for an afternoon of treats at Grandma’s.
“Of course. Declan said you needed his help with a work thing,” Marie said.
I felt myself blushing. “It’s not really a work thing. I mean, it could be. It’s a trial video for a blog sponsorship.”
“Ah,” Marie said, understanding dawning. “Like those makeup tutorials on the internet.”
“Sort of,” I said. “Except, um, mine’s a book review blog.”
It was the first time I’d said that out loud. But if I went through with the sponsorship, and I put my face all over my blog, the carefully built wall between my online life and my real one would go up in smoke. I might as well start getting used to that now.
I waited for the earth to open and swallow me whole, but it was…fine. If anything, it felt good to take credit for something I’d worked so hard on.
Then Marie’s eyes widened. “Wait—don’t tell me you’re the one Declan’s always on about. The one who put him on to all of Catie’s favorite books?”
Now my cheeks were really burning. “That’s me.”
“And here I thought you met on a plane.” Marie shook her head. “Sons. They never tell their mums anything.”
Not wanting to explain that can of worms, I called for Catie and helped get her ready to head out the door.
After Catie and Marie had left, I finally admitted I couldn’t put recording this video off any longer. When Declan had said he wouldn’t have any time to help me for over a week, I’d thought it was a blessing since I hadn’t felt ready yet.
Now I wondered if putting it off so long had been a mistake. I’d built it into this huge thing in my head. What if my voice sounded weird? What if everyone made fun of my outfit? What if I mispronounced the author’s name? What if the camera broke, and we couldn’t do the video in time, and the publishing company decided they didn’t want to do a partnership with me after all?
I blew out a breath. “Just do it,” I ordered myself.
I jogged up the steps to the second floor and retrieved the book from my room. Then I went to go find Declan, but he wasn’t in his office. I wandered the mansion looking for him until I found him setting up a camera in a small room on the first floor I’d never noticed. It had large windows that looked out over the side of the house.
“I thought we were going to do it outside?” I said.
“I checked with one of our photographers on staff,” Declan said, fussing with the camera perched somewhat precariously on a tripod. “We want natural light, but we don’t want you in direct sunlight. Can you sit in that chair?”
He pointed to a small green armchair facing the camera.
I settled in, suddenly very aware of my elbows and knees. What did Declan see when he pointed that camera at me?
“Is that what you’re wearing?” he asked.
I looked down at my buttery yellow T-shirt. “You don’t like it?”
“I love everything you wear,” Declan said, and there was enough warmth in his eyes I knew he wasn’t lying. “But the staff photographer said yellow can wash out people with fairer skin tones.”
He stated the words precisely, like he’d memorized the photographer’s exact instructions.
I felt a spurt of guilt. He’d put so much effort into this, and here I was dreading it.
“Yellow is friendly and will pop against the chair,” I said. “Besides, I don’t need to look like a model.”
“Sure.” Declan nodded. He fiddled with the camera again. “Okay. Go.”
I blinked. “We’re starting?” I yelped. “I’m not ready!”
Declan laughed and turned off the camera. “It’s fine. Take a deep breath. Do you want to do a practice run before we record?”
“Yes,” I said gratefully.
But the practice run didn’t go very well. Declan kept making me hold the book at different angles until he found one where viewers would easily be able to see it while I was reading. I felt my arm cramping as I tried to maintain the awkward angle. I stumbled over the sentences as I tried to read them upside down and at an angle.
“That’s grand,” Declan said encouragingly. “Let’s try recording one, yeah?”
I didn’t want to. I wasn’t ready. But I made myself nod and flip back to the beginning of the book.
I started to read the book. “Once upon a time?—”
“Do you think you should introduce yourself?” Declan interrupted. “Maybe the title of the book too?”
I smacked myself in the forehead. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” His smile was so warm and confident, it made me feel like even more of an inept fraud. “Let’s go again.”
Declan hit record.
I fumbled through an introduction. Then I started reading. The words felt stiff and awkward on my tongue. At first I thought it was my fault. Around our fourth take, I started to realize the problem wasn’t me. At least not entirely.
This was a bad book.
The writing was clunky. The plot about a pig who made friends with a squirrel was boring. And the Grown-ups always know best moral of the story felt frustratingly dated. Convincing kids to blindly trust every adult they met was dumb advice. This was the kind of book I normally mocked on my blog. And now I would be getting paid to recommend it.
I thought of what Declan had said about choosing business partners. How it was better to choose someone perfect than invest time and energy in someone who wasn’t.
I stumbled over a word. “Shoot. Should we go back to the beginning?”
Declan grimaced. “Let’s keep going. We can edit something together if we don’t end up getting a perfect take.”
There was that word again. Perfect.
I wondered if he wanted perfection in his romantic relationships too. Maybe one of the reasons he didn’t feel the need to resolve any of our big tension points was because it wasn’t an efficient use of his time.
Why try to fix it, if we were already too imperfect, too messy?
The fears built and swirled together until everything felt tense. My breathing was too shallow. Declan might have been standing only a few feet away, but when he was on the other side of that camera, the distance between us felt vast.
“We’re still filming,” Declan reminded me. “You can start reading again whenever you want.”
“No,” I said. “Turn it off.”
“Olivia, relax. We have plenty of time to get this?—”
“I said turn it off ,” I ordered, standing.
Declan paused the recording, looking wary. “Do you want a break?”
“No! I don’t want to do this. I hate being in front of a camera. And this book is bad.” I shook it at him for emphasis. “My blog makes me happy. I don’t want to ruin that just for money.”
Declan stepped out from behind that damned camera. He crossed the room to me and cupped my face. “Breathe, a ghrá .”
I inhaled deeply, then blew it out. It helped some.
“The book you’re writing, it’s about advice your mum gave you, right?” Declan prompted.
I nodded.
“What advice would your mum give you right now?”
Any calm I’d gained vanished. “I don’t know .” I stepped back from Declan and ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. “None of her advice had to do with anonymous blogs, or becoming an influencer, or dating a career-obsessed billionaire.”
I waited for Declan to snap at me and deny he was career obsessed. It would be almost a relief to fight. All the tension building in my body needed somewhere to go.
Instead, he met my eyes and slowly, deliberately, laced his fingers through mine. “Come on. Let’s get some fresh air.”
I grumbled, but let him lead me through the house and out into the garden. A light breeze brushed against my skin, and I could smell the sweet, delicate scent of flowers blooming. We wandered through the overgrown garden paths until my shoulders relaxed.
“Fine,” I admitted grudgingly. The corner of my mouth quirked up. “Maybe I needed a break.”
“You don’t say,” Declan teased. Then his voice quieted, and he squeezed my hand. “I know it’s hard on you that your mum isn’t here. It’s hard for me that I can’t go to my da for advice, too. But when I think back on the years I had with him…I remember some specific things he said, yes, but mostly I remember how proud he was of the person I was growing to be. How confident he seemed that I was going to be able to do anything I set my mind to. Maybe, when the person you go to for advice isn’t there anymore, you have to trust that they helped turn you into the best version of yourself—one who’s equipped to handle whatever surprises life throws your way. And then you start listening to your own gut.”
The words hit uncomfortably close to home. The problem was, when it came to Declan, my gut was saying two different things.
Part of me was saying, I want to stay in Ireland with Declan after this job ends. But another part was saying, This thing with Declan is far too fragile. I can’t count on it.
“That’s pretty good advice,” I said. “But it’s not always so easy to put into practice.”
He stopped walking and turned to face me, gently tilting up my chin so he could see my face. “What’s the real problem, Olivia?”
I sorted through all of the little things that had upset me today, trying to pick the most important one. “I really don’t like that book.”
Declan nodded, his face as serious as if we were talking about an important deal for Snug. “Then we’ll ask for another book or reach out to alternative sponsors. You’re too talented to give up at the first hurdle. I won’t?—”
“You won’t what?” I cut him short. “Let me? That’s the other problem.” I rolled my shoulders and stepped back out of his grasp. “You keep treating me like one of your business projects. I’m not sure if I even want to become a sponsored blog. Maybe I just want to be a nanny who reviews books for fun.”
“Bullshit.” Declan glared. “If you wanted to be a nanny forever, you wouldn’t have studied creative writing at uni. You wouldn’t have sold a book . You wouldn’t have built a blog read by people all over the world.” He advanced until we stood toe to toe. “You want more, even if you’re scared to admit it.”
The accusation hit my heart like an arrow, piercing past my defenses…because he was right. A part of me did want more. I wanted a family, and I wanted a home, and I wanted to take a risk on a potentially unstable artistic career.
I’d been trying so hard to live in the moment and cherish what I had instead of mourning what I didn’t, I’d slowly stopped paying attention to that part of me that dared to dream bigger.
I crossed my arms. “Maybe I have trouble admitting what I want. But you do too.”
“I do not?—”
“You keep trying to help me on business things that we both know would make it possible for me to stay in Ireland,” I said. I knew I should stop talking, but the words were flowing now, and I couldn’t hold them back. “But you can’t bring yourself to ask me to stay in Ireland. You can’t even bring yourself to say you want a real, serious relationship.”
Declan looked stunned. “Is that what you want? For me to ask you to stay?”
I threw my hands up in the air. “I don’t know! I just…you…argh. I can’t think around you.”
I turned around and stormed back into the house.
For once, Declan let me.