Chapter 21 Olive
Chapter twenty-one
Olive
The second I heard his breathing change to a light snore, I ran back to his spare room, taking my sparkly dress with me.
It’s not that I didn’t want to spend the night with him and wake up with his head buried between my legs.
I did. God, I really did.
But I’m too stubborn to admit I enjoyed it. And staying the night? That would’ve been a dead giveaway.
So I snuck out.
Well, that, and my health needs to come before anything else, no matter what.
Earlier today, after he left me and my glam squad to get ready, I crept into his kitchen and stashed my meds in his fridge.
Now I’m making the short walk of shame back to the spare room with my arms full.
I’ve become quite acquainted with my new medication and have figured out what works for me.
Rushing does not.
Rushing leads to panic.
Panic leads to heightened symptoms.
And my symptoms have been all over the place lately. Loud, erratic, and impossible to ignore.
But they’ve been quiet ever since he told me he had me on the red carpet.
I felt like my body was shutting down, and could feel the panic creeping in fast. Then Avery swooped in and said three little words: Eyes. On. Me.
And just like that… symptoms? Gone.
As if I could will myself to look anywhere else.
Needing to test the theory, I lower my gaze to the floor.
Nothing.
No tingles.
No tiny pulses on my limbs.
No overwhelming need to peel my skin away from my bones and scratch at my nerves until they just decide to…work.
Properly.
Like they used to.
And I hate that it isn’t a possibility anymore. Hate that this is my new body, my new life, forever, and I can’t change it.
Can’t fix it, because there’s no cure.
I inhale a sharp breath and release it quickly before finding my dark, hollowed-out eyes in the mirror looking back at me.
"Oh well," I say to myself, swiping the alcohol wipe across the opposite side of my stomach, two inches away from my belly button. Peeling back the protective layer that keeps the injection hidden and safe, I pluck off the lid and pierce the needle into my flesh without a second thought, like it’s the most casual and natural thing I could ever do.
I got sick of dwelling on it. I hate that I get in my head and feel sorry for myself.
I mean, I still refuse to tell anybody about it. It’s my burden to bear, not theirs. But I won’t curse myself internally for the things I cannot change, and instead, I’ll focus on the things I can.
Like this marriage I somehow agreed to.
To, quite possibly, the hottest man alive.
That soft brown skin. Those sapphire eyes—and the way they twinkle with mischief when he looks at me.
Which, if I’m being honest, is a very recent development. But hey, it’s a step up from him acting like I’m just a giant pain in his ass.
Just…everything is so overwhelming.
And yet, if you’d asked me what I thought about him after the gala, I would’ve told you that maybe Josie and Orlando were right. Maybe we can make it work.
But if you’d told me he and I would be married in less than a month, I would’ve laughed in your face.
Since I found out about this wedding two weeks ago, I haven’t had the guts to pre-warn my parents.
Not that I’ve had time to call them up for a regular chat where I casually blurt out that their youngest daughter is tying the knot to a man she barely knows.
A man they don’t know.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Time to face my responsibilities while I have a free minute.
The phone rings twice before mom's voice rings through the speaker, my phone placed face up on the vanity in my temporary en-suite. "Olive? Honey, what’s going on? It’s early. Is everything okay?" Mom's voice is tired, but loaded with panic. I only have myself to blame.
"Mom, sorry I didn’t realize the time," I admit to her truthfully.
"Everything is fine. I just…I need to tell you something, and I need you not to be mad. Can you promise you won’t be mad?
" What am I? A teenager in high school, terrified of telling my parents I accidentally fell pregnant by my best friend’s boyfriend?
"Olive. Whatever you’ve done, I’m sure we can figure it out. It’s going to be okay. Do you need to come home? Hank, wake up."
"No, don’t wake up Dad. You need to tell him once I’m off the phone.
" I can’t bear the thought of hearing her tell my dad that his youngest daughter is about to walk down the aisle, and he won’t be there to take her hand on the journey.
I don’t need to be present to hear the silence that crushes him through the phone.
I never wanted to get married, ever. I just never felt like it was in the cards for me. But it doesn’t mean my dad wont be disappointed in me, and I hate hurting him. Hate knowing that I’ve probably let them both down.
"You know the articles floating around about me and Avery Jones?" I ask, careful not to stutter, keeping my voice calm so she doesn’t worry about me.
"I know they’re not true, honey. You don’t need to explain that to me." She’s so reassuring, so genuine, it only makes me feel worse. "Thank goodness for that, though. I’ve read up about him and I don’t think I’d be happy knowing you and him were…you know."
"It’s not that. The label—my agent, Josie—they need for us to get married.
" I blurt it out, very to the point. Even if I didn’t need to be doing this, I know Avery isn’t the person the press has made him out to be.
So, I explain to her the why of it all before she can tell me how bad of an idea it is.
I tell her that he needs to clean up his image and ‘settle down’.
That I’m being told I need to do something to make me seem less boring.
Make me seem like someone who doesn’t necessarily follow the rules, or my record deal is over, and I can kiss this tour goodbye.
Nobody wants an almost thirty-year-old pop star. They want someone young and fresh with an impressionable mind. Someone they can take advantage of. And I guess, in a way, that’s exactly what they’re doing to me.
It just goes to show how desperate I am to have this be my life.
Touring the world, singing songs that people can relate to.
Mom lets me talk, never once interrupting, waiting until she knows I’m done before she finally voices her question.
"And this is what you want? To marry this man who is known for his temper?"
"He’s not that person, Mom. You need to trust me.
But yes. I mean, no. I don’t want to marry him, but I want a career once this tour is finished.
My manager and my label don’t see any other way.
Besides, I’ve signed a contract, so there’s no backing out.
" I laugh awkwardly, wiping last night’s leftover mascara off my eyes.
There’s a long pause, and I tap my screen to make sure she’s still there, before she finally sighs.
"You’re an adult, Olive. You’re completely capable of making your own decisions, but this one hurts a little.
Can we come?" And there’s the sniffle she’s been holding back, finally falling out of her.
The reality is that her youngest daughter is getting married, and she won’t be there to witness it.
Fake or not.
"It’s happening in a month, Mom. Cassandra needs you, Willow needs you. That alone is more important than a fake wedding."
"I get it. Really, I do." She doesn’t, and her heart is shattered. I give it two hours before my sisters are blowing up our group chat with a million questions, making me feel guilty.
"I have to go, Mom. I love you," I tell her, right as a knock sounds on the bathroom door.
"I love you more." The line goes dead, and I push off the vanity, steadying myself, before I open the door to my very shirtless, welcomed guest.
"Avery?" I ask, my brows furrowed as I take him in, the door wide open as he rests with his arm up top of the frame.
Tall and broad, with light gray sweatpants that should be illegal. "What are you doing awake?" He looks over my shoulder, and my stomach drops when I realize what it is he sees.
Sharps container. Alcohol wipes. A syringe I forgot to dispose of.
Fuck.
I step out of the bathroom and close the door behind me.
"I could hear talking. I wanted to see if you were alright." He takes me in, wearing tiny pajama shorts I’d packed in my overnight bag, and a bralette I threw on to cover myself up a little, giving myself easy access to my stomach.
"I’m alright." I sigh.
He keeps looking over my shoulder, and I think of a million different excuses I could throw his way, and hope he believes me. Just when I think he’s about to ask what it all was, he says, "We should start getting ready to head out."
I realize I braced myself for nothing.
Is he not a nosy person, or does he just not care enough to ask?
He can’t know what it is just by looking at it, can he? The medical terminology is written too small on the casing of the needle for him to know.
I want him to ask, so I don’t need to lie about it. The logical part of my brain tries to cut through, but I swallow it down by verbalizing the words I refuse to consider.
"It’s not what you think."
"I’m not going to ask. You can tell me about it when you’re ready.
Go get dressed, we have an appointment with my jeweler in…
" He trails off, checking the Apple Watch on his left wrist. "An hour. Takes fifteen to get there. I’ve closed the store down for the morning, and Noelle will be here in three, two—" Right on one, a knock sounds at the door.
I take that as my cue to leave the bathroom and make myself presentable.
"You answer that. I only need a few minutes.
" I smile weakly at him, hurrying down the hallway, heart beating in my throat.
My fingertips twitch, while those tiny pulses are erratic all over my skin.
I pause at my door. "Avery?" I say in a whisper.
"Could you maybe not tell anyone about what you just saw? "
"Lips are sealed, Songbird. Now go. We have an engagement ring to buy, and a hockey game to attend." He wiggles his brows, amusement painted all over his face, and I feel like I can breathe a little lighter knowing a part of my secret is still safe.
For how long, who knows?
Muffled voices echo around his kitchen, and by the sound of things, Noelle is a little too eager to hear that her brother is getting married soon, but disappointed to find out she isn’t invited.
I walk out of the guest room just as she says, "Mom is going to be so excited and pissed at the same time. You know she’s going to ask when she’s getting a grandchild, right?
And now you’re going to dangle it in front of her face, only for it to be a total lie. "
Avery rolls his eyes, ushering both of us out of the door. Noelle is snickering to herself, while I rub my clammy hands down my thighs.
Have I mentioned how exhausted I am?
***
"What about this one?" The jeweler asks. I think her name tag reads Romi, but if I’m honest, I haven’t bothered to pay too much attention.
My eyes are too preoccupied by all things shiny. And right now, that’s everything in this room.
"Not big enough," Noelle’s voice breaks my gaze, and I force myself to concentrate on the task at hand.
"You’re right," Avery says, swallowing his laughter as he watches my eyes bug out of my head.
"Baby, if anything, that one is too big," I say, nearly throwing up in my mouth at the pet name I just voluntarily used.
I never spend this much time with a person after sleeping with them, but he and I have no choice. So, I decide I’m going to force myself to step out of my comfort zone, and pretend to love him until the day I sign those annulment papers.
"Nothing is too big for my girl," he says to Romi, and she blushes, turning her back to go fetch the other box that holds rings worth a ridiculous amount of money.
"Isn’t that right, baby?" That last part he whispers, just for me, and I have to clench my thighs together to stop the pulsing between my legs from taking over, switching off any logic left in my brain.
Warmth pools between my legs, and I’m not even ashamed to admit that. Hearing him call me ‘baby’?
Yes, please.
"Ew, guys. Focus." Noelle glares at us like we’re two toddlers who don’t know how to follow simple instructions.
I straighten my back. "You know what? You’re right.
" Clearing my throat, I get Romi’s attention.
She approaches the three of us slowly, carefully carrying a fresh case with high-end jewelry, hands covered with black fabric gloves.
"I hope you have something big in there, Romi.
My hands have been feeling a little empty of late.
" Avery muffles his laughter beside me, peppering kisses along my shoulder. Noelle smiles gently at the sight.
"I think you’re going to walk away from here a very happy girl."
I think you mean stressed, Romi, but sure. Whatever is going to get you through your day.
Maybe if my career in music doesn’t work out, I’ll hit up Cole Green for some advice on how to land my first role in a movie.