Chapter 18 Olivia #3
Heat floods my chest, sharp and electric. I jerk my face out of his grasp and grab my bag without looking at him. My fingers shake as I zip it shut, the motion clipped, too fast, too loud for a place like this. I stand, my chair scraping against the floor, and walk out the door without a word.
My heels click against the pavement in rapid succession, each step punctuated by the fury boiling inside me. I can hear him behind me—footsteps measured, almost lazy.
“Olivia,” Nathaniel calls after me, his voice maddeningly calm.
I spin around, glowering at him. “Don’t. Just…don’t.”
He doesn’t flinch, his blue eyes gleaming as they lock on mine. “You shouldn’t be walking alone.” His tone is coaxing. “It’s getting dark. Come with me, baby. I’ll make you dinner.”
“No,” I snap, turning away from him and quickening my pace. “I’m not going back with you.”
“Then where will you go?” he asks, as if it’s some kind of game.
“I don’t know,” I throw over my shoulder, refusing to look at him. “Anywhere but with you.”
The silence that follows is ominous.
I barely have time to register it before his arms close around my waist and my feet leave the ground.
“Nathaniel!” I shriek, kicking my legs uselessly as he carries me like I weigh nothing. “Put me down right now!”
He ignores me completely. His expression is inscrutable as he marches down the sidewalk. People turn to stare, but he doesn’t seem to notice—or care. My fists pound against his chest, but it’s like hitting a brick wall.
By the time we reach his Aston Martin, which is parked haphazardly along the curb, I’m breathless with indignation.
He opens the passenger door with one hand, still holding me securely with the other, and sets me down none-too-gently in the seat. I’m too stunned to move as he grabs the seat belt and clicks it into place, his movements precise and controlled.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I hiss. “You can’t just—just manhandle me like that! Let me out!”
Again, he ignores me. He rounds the car and slides into the driver’s seat. Only when the door clicks shut does he look at me, his handsome face unnervingly calm.
“Let me out, Nathaniel,” I demand, my voice rising. “Right now.”
He starts the car instead, the low purr of the engine drowning out my words as he pulls away from the curb.
“I told you,” he says. “It’s time to go home.”
“I’m serious, Nathaniel!” I shout, gripping the edge of the seat. “You had no right to do that. You can’t just…pick me up and throw me in your car like I’m a—”
“Where were you planning to go?” he interrupts, his voice steady. “Wander the streets at night, alone? You think I’d let that happen?”
I glare at him, my hands trembling in my lap. “I told you, I don’t want to be with you right now!”
Something cracks in his composure then, his knuckles whitening against the steering wheel, his breath skipping like a needle on vinyl. He pulls the car sharply to the side of the road, the sudden stop jarring me in my seat.
“You don’t mean that,” he says, his voice low but fraying at the edges. His hands are trembling now, too, as he turns to face me fully. “Tell me you don’t mean it, Olivia.”
I blink, startled by the intensity in his gaze. “I—I didn’t mean I want to leave you,” I stammer, my earlier anger slipping away. “I just… I meant I need space.”
His eyes bore into mine, unblinking, as if searching for some kind of assurance. “Don’t say that again,” he begs, his voice a raw whisper. “Don’t ever say that again.”
“Nathaniel—”
“No,” he interrupts, reaching out to grasp my hands. His grip is firm, almost desperate. “You can’t say that. Not even in anger. Not even for a second.”
I swallow hard, my heart pounding at the sheer vulnerability in his voice. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I repeat softly. “I just… I was upset.”
His forehead drops against mine, his breaths shallow and uneven. “I can’t lose you,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “I won’t survive it, Olivia. Don’t you understand that?”
I don’t know what to say. My earlier frustration feels like a distant memory as I reach up, hesitantly, to touch his face. His skin is warm under my fingers, his jaw tight with tension.
“I’m here,” I reassure quietly, the words coming out without thought. “I’m not going anywhere, Nathaniel.”
He exhales shakily, his hands coming up to cradle my face. “Promise me you’ll never leave,” he pleads. “And promise that you won’t lie to me again.”
I hesitate, the weight of his words pressing down on me.
“I promise,” I reply at last.
It’s then I realize—this isn’t control.
This is terror. The kind that lives deep in the marrow. The kind that doesn’t come from power, but from the fear of losing it.
Of losing me.
He doesn’t say much after pulling the car back into traffic, only reaches across the console to hold my hand, his thumb drawing slow circles against my palm as if to coax my pulse into something calmer.
I don’t protest when he takes the familiar turn toward the penthouse.
I don’t have it in me. My body feels wrung out, like I’ve been wrangled through hours of weather I never dressed for.
The moment we step through the door, he slips off my coat for me, hangs it with care, then turns to ask, “What would you like to eat?”
I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Olivia,” he says gently. “You need at least a little something.”
“I’m just tired,” I say with a sigh, toeing off my shoes. “Can we not—”
“Soup,” he says decidedly. “With toasted bread. It’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”
I know I should push back, but the resistance inside me folds in on itself.
I nod, already walking toward the bedroom, my muscles aching with each step. I change into an old cotton tee and a pair of soft joggers—clothes that belong more to this apartment than to me—and tie my hair up, hands sluggish with exhaustion.
When I return to the kitchen, he’s already ladling soup into two bowls, steam curling into the air. He’s toasted the bread the way he knows I like—lightly crisp at the edges, still soft in the middle. He pulls out my chair and gestures for me to sit. I do.
The meal is warm and fragrant, but I can barely taste it.
I force myself to eat anyway, spoon after spoon, each mouthful feeling like it’s passing through cotton.
He doesn’t speak as I eat, but I can feel his gaze on me—unblinking, as if watching me is the only thing holding him together.
His chair is too close, his knee brushing mine beneath the table.
I finish the last of my soup and murmur, “Thank you for dinner,” as I rise to collect our bowls.
He’s up before I reach the sink.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says, stepping in behind me, voice low near my ear. His hands close gently over mine, stilling my movements. “I’ll take care of it. You’re tired.”
“I can rinse—”
He’s already pulling the dishes from my grasp. “No.”
He turns on the tap and washes my hands instead—his fingers moving over mine, slow and careful, the water warm between us. I stand there, disarmed, watching the way his brows furrow in concentration as if this small act is sacred.
When he shuts off the tap, he dries my hands with a dish towel, tender and precise, then sets it aside and turns me to face him.
His hands cradle my cheeks, his thumbs brushing beneath my eyes. He kisses my forehead, then each cheek, and finally my mouth—soft and unrushed. A kiss meant to anchor.
“I love you,” he whispers. “Go rest. I’ll be there soon.”
I nod, the weight of everything pressing in again—the café, Landon, the car, the tension strung taut between us.
I retreat to the bedroom without a word, crawl into his bed, and burrow beneath the sheets. The pillows smell like his cologne, like something warm and cedar-laced. I close my eyes and let it all fold around me, exhaustion catching up at last, pulling me down.
I feel the mattress dip beneath his weight moments later, the shift in the air that follows him always. His hand finds the crown of my head, stroking slow, coaxing lines through my hair.
“Come back to me, baby,” he murmurs.
I keep my back to him, pulling the blanket tighter around me. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
His lips brush against my temple. “No,” he breathes. “You’re drifting away. I feel it—you’re miles away from me.”
I don’t answer. I don’t know how.
His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me gently into his chest. His heartbeat thuds steadily against my back, but his grip tells another story—too firm, as if afraid I’d bolt the moment he lets go.
“I can never feel close enough to you,” Nathaniel whispers, his lips brushing my ear. “Sometimes I fantasize about burrowing under your skin…sinking into the very marrow of your bones until I’m a part of you no one can tear away.”
My breath catches. I should pull back, ask him what he means, tell him it’s too much—but the truth is shamefully simple: part of me has always yearned for that kind of intimacy too.
His lips press along the curve of my shoulder, down my arm, like he could map my anatomy with devotion alone.
“How did you know where I was tonight?” The question leaves me before I can think to hold it back.
I feel him stiffen behind me, his hand briefly tightening over my stomach, but his voice remains smooth when he replies. “I always know where you are.” A pause. “Why does it matter?”
That wasn’t an answer, and the way he sidestepped it feels deliberate.
My fingers curl into the blanket. “Did you know who I was meeting?”
“You certainly didn’t tell me you were meeting Landon.” His voice hardens slightly, but the calm exterior doesn’t crack. “Maybe you should ask yourself why that is.”
Frustration sparks beneath my exhaustion. He doesn’t deny anything, but it’s clear that he doesn’t intend to explain himself either.
I sit up, yanking myself from his arms and wrenching free of the blanket.
Nathaniel follows immediately, reaching for me. His hand closes around my wrist, firm but not rough.
“Don’t touch me,” I snap, jerking away from him.
His eyes darken, something dangerous flickering in their aquamarine depths. Wordlessly, he tugs me back into his lap, his arms locking around my waist with the kind of strength that makes it clear he isn’t letting go.
“I need you close,” Nathaniel warns, his breath hot against my temple. “Do not deny me.”
I push at his chest, my voice catching in my throat. “I didn’t tell you I was meeting Landon because I knew you’d act like this… I knew you’d try to stop it. And today just proved me right.”
“No,” he says resolutely. “We should share everything. There will be no distance between us. And I hate that fool for making you feel like you need to keep things from me.”
“It’s not about Landon!” I cry. “The problem is me and you!”
“Why do you need him?” he snaps. “You have me.”
“It’s not like that!” I argue, exasperated. “Landon was my friend. He’s been good to me. That friendship means something, and even if we can’t be what we were, I want to fix it. I didn’t want to hurt him, and today I did.”
Nathaniel’s expression freezes, all warmth draining from his face.
His voice is ice when he replies. “I don’t ever want to hear you defending another man again. In fact… I don’t want to hear you utter the name of another man at all.”
Tears fall before I can stop them. My throat burns. I scrub at my cheeks with the heel of my palms, frustrated with myself for crying and with him for making me feel like I need to.
“Why are you like this?” I whisper hoarsely. “Don’t you trust me?”
He catches my wrist, gently but firmly. “Stop that,” he reprimands. “Don’t be so rough with yourself.” Then, quieter, “You didn’t trust me enough to tell me where you were going or who you were meeting either.”
My sob breaks loose then. I shove at his chest again, trying to gain distance, space—anything.
“I shouldn’t have moved in here,” I say. “I want to go back to the dorm.”
“No.” His arms are iron. “I won’t let you run every time it gets hard. I’m sorry, Olivia. I’m sorry it’s not easier to love me, but I love you too much to risk you leaving and never coming back.”
His voice begins to crack.
“I know you want space, but I can’t give it to you. I need you more than I need air. I trust you, I do, but I don’t trust the world to let me have you.”
His hand rises to cradle my cheek.
“I have to have you, Olivia,” he chokes. “I’m so fucking scared of being without you.”
The fight inside me gives way to something heavier. I don’t answer, not with words. But my arms move—slow and unsure—and I wrap them around him.
He gasps. A soft, startled sound of relief as he pulls me tighter, burying his face in my hair.
We stay like that for I don’t know how long. I’m too tired to measure time, too spent to think. The last thing I hear as sleep tugs me under is his voice, whispering my name, telling me that he loves me, over and over.