44. Ollie
Chapter 44
Ollie
There's nothing I want more than for this day to be over. For us to go back to the calm bubble of our house, to change out of these stupid shoes, and eat dinner on the sofa.
But I know as soon as we leave, the charade is over. No more fake girlfriend, no more touching each other, no more Megan in this beautiful dress.
Now we’ve started playing this game, I’m not ready to stop pretending.
Keeping hold of her hand, I lead Megan through the house quickly, knowing if I let go, we might not find our way back to each other. In the first floor dining room, the one I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone actually dine in, I guide her into one dark corner.
Her laugh is light and giddy, but it slips away as I push her against the wall. She spins to face me, eyes wide, lips full and pink from where she's been worrying at them with her teeth.
Fuck, I wish I could kiss her.
She swallows hard when my hands cup her hips and it's impossible to ignore the way her breath shudders, the flush of pink creeping across her chest. She tips her chin, and for a second I wonder if maybe she wants me to kiss her. We're so far from the party, the music is barely audible, and I can almost hear my own heartbeat pounding away in my chest.
“Ollie,” Megan sighs, her hands coming to rest on my shoulders.
My grip on her hips tightens. I press her harder against the wall, and the hidden door panel swings open behind her. Her eyes widen as she stumbles backwards, clutching at the lapel of my suit jacket. I've got a good hold of her, and I'd never let her fall.
“You cannot be serious. Ollie! What the hell?”
Surprising Megan has become one of my favourite things to do. Whether it’s making her a snack while she’s focused on marking papers, or buying a bunch of flowers ‘just because’ , it’s the little things that make her happy. She’s got such a good, pure heart, and seeing her here in my family home is such a contrast it makes me want to protect her from them at all costs.
“Come on,” I push her deeper into the secret space and let the door swing closed behind me.
“What is this?”
“You’ll see.”
The dim corridor winds around a corner, then down a set of stone stairs, the edges worn smooth from years of use. At the bottom we veer left, left again, and down more steps until we’re in the belly of the house. It’s cooler down here. Quiet and hidden away. Just how I like it.
“What is this place?” she asks, taking it all in. It's been a while since I’ve come down here, but it’s just as I remember. The large table in the middle of the room dominates the space, wooden shelves cover the walls, and a huge fireplace bears the marks of centuries.
“This was the original kitchen when the house was first built,” I tell her. “There’s a modern one upstairs, but that secret passage is how staff would have delivered meals to the people who lived here then.”
I run my hand along the tabletop, happy memories flooding back.
“We had a cook when I was little. Marian. She used to bring me down here and tell me all about the history of the house, what it would have been like in the olden days.”
“She's the one who taught you to cook,” Megan whispers from the other side of the table. The room may be mostly underground, to keep things cool in the days before electricity and fridges, but high windows let light stream in, bathing her in gold as the sun goes down.
I was wrong. I thought I wanted to forget all about today, all about my cruel sisters and the shock of finding my room gone, but I never want to forget how Megan looks at this moment. Warm. Soft. Temporarily mine.
“How did you know?”
She tilts her head a little, regarding me. I’ve never liked being the centre of attention, but I love the way she looks at me.
“This is the happiest you’ve looked since we got here,” she says. “I’ve been giving your parents credit for teaching you to make all those amazing dinners you cook for me, but your mother doesn’t seem like the type to don an apron and let you get messy. No offence.”
“None taken.”
I round the table slowly, fingertips tracing grooves and divots, until I reach her side.
“Apparently all this will be mine one day,” I sigh. “First-born son, and all that archaic legal bullshit.”
A little laugh bubbles out of her. “I bet your sisters are thrilled.”
“Yep, you’ve got that right.”
There’s no one else here, no reason for her to drop her hand on top of mine on the table and weave her fingers through the other one. She squeezes until our palms press together, and I watch her shoulders drop as if this relaxes her as much as it does me. If I was in a more deviant state of mind, that might be the final straw. I’d lift her onto the table, shove that dress up, spread her out and feast, but no. Right now, all I need is this, her gentle touch smoothing the sharp edges in my chest.
“You don’t want this. Do you?” she whispers, and my stomach drops.
“What?”
“The house.”
Oh, of course, the house.
“No, I can’t think of anything worse.”
“Then let’s go home.”
It would be so stupid to say out loud, but all I can think is that home is wherever I'm with her.