Chapter 4
four
. . .
Olivia
Then
The alcohol is well and truly in my system now. I don’t drink often, but when I do, I feel loose and languid everywhere. The music is blaring around us, and all my friends have gone home, claiming they’re too old to be dealing with a hangover in the morning.
Truth be told, I don’t really care. As long as I have Lux by my side, I never care.
Shouting over the music, I point to the exit. “Do you want to get out of here?”
Lux shakes her head. “Why? The night is young.”
“We can go to that new bar,” I tell her. “Find you a date to my wedding.”
If I didn’t know Lux as well as I do, I would miss the slight way her face falls every time I mention my wedding. It’s subtle, barely there, but just enough to make me wonder why.
“Do you not like James?” I blurt out.
Grabbing my hand, Lux drags me across the dance floor and through the exit. She pins me up against the wall, cool night air draping my skin, the thump and bass of the club now a steady, muted pulse.
“Where did that come from?” she asks, her expression irritated. “Why would you ask that?”
“You just get this twitch in your eye every time I bring him or the wedding up.”
“No, I don’t,” she says a little too defensively.
“If you don’t like him, you can tell me,” I push.
“And what?” she challenges, “Would you break up with him?”
The hostility in her voice catches me off guard, and I feel myself recoil at her words. And not at the thought of her not liking James, but rather the disbelief that I would break up with him for her. Because I would, I would do anything for her.
“What?” I ask. “You don’t think I would?”
“You would break up with him?” she asks, nothing but skepticism in her tone. “For me?”
“Yes,” I answer confidently.
“You don’t even know the reason,” she says, assuming it would make any difference.
“Tell me,” I urge. “You have never steered me wrong before, so if there is a reason I shouldn’t be marrying James, I want to know.”
I know I should be mortified that she feels this way, worried that there’s something wrong with my future husband, something I’ve missed. Worried that the wedding I’ve spent months and months preparing is in jeopardy, and yet all I care about is her.
James would tell me it’s an unhealthy fixation. The way I worry about her, the way her needs and wants become mine, the way I itch to be exactly what she needs, whenever she needs it.
But he doesn’t understand what she’s been through. What we’ve been through together.
Looking away from me, she sighs in defeat. “There’s nothing wrong with James. He’s perfect for you.”
I grip her chin in my hand and turn her to face me. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying,” she says despondently.
“Then why shouldn’t I marry him?”
“You should,” she answers. “I was being petty, and as James often calls us, co-dependent.”
“It’s not being co-dependent if you’re pointing out the red flags.”
Wrapping her hand around my wrist, she pushes it away. “There are no red flags.”
“Then why do you flinch every time I mention the wedding?”
“Let’s drop it,” she says. “Do you want to go back in and dance, or do you want to go home?”
“Lux.”
“Olivia.”
“Just tell—”
“I love you, all right?” Lux throws her hands in the air. “Is that what you want to hear? How I’m in love with you? How I don’t want you to marry him because I. Love. You?”
Lux punctuates those last three words. Those very important last three words, and my mind short-circuits.
“What did you just say?”
“Are you serious?” Her eyes widen. “You want me to repeat that?”
She takes a step back, and I grab hold of her hand, anticipating her running.
“Yes,” I say calmly. “I would like you to repeat that.”
My heart beats wildly behind my ribcage; her words are so unexpected, and yet they do something crazy inside my chest. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes wide, and I feel like a missing puzzle piece has finally been found.
“Lux,” I plead.
She slams her eyes shut and shakes her head. “I can’t. Saying it again is like breaking my own heart. I don’t want to love someone who doesn’t love me back.”
If heartbreak had a sound, it would be the way her voice cracks on the last sentence. It’s like someone stabbed me with a knife, my chest tight with anguish and adrenaline.
I can’t stand the idea of being the reason she hurts. I can’t stand here before her and let her think that I would witness her flay her chest open and not be the one to put it all back together.
That isn’t how we work.
Stepping closer, I gently place my hands on either side of her face, my touch a complete contradiction to the absolute crushing need to feel her lips on mine. Wanting something I’ve never had, and yet I know in my very soul it’s exactly what I need.
I can’t lie a second longer, to her or myself.
I need to tell her the way I feel about her.
The way I’ve always felt about her. I need to tell her that marrying James feels more like a favor to my father than something I’m doing for love.
I need to tell her— No, I need to admit to her and myself that I’m a closeted bisexual woman, hiding from my identity by marrying a man, when all I want to do is be with her.
“I didn’t know you felt like that,” I tell her.
Her eyes remain closed. “Would it have made a difference?”
“Maybe.”
Her eyes fly open at my admission. “What does that mean?”
Sliding my hands down to her neck, I feel her pulse flutter against my fingers. My gaze darts down to her lips and back up again.
“Olivia,” she whispers. “What does that mean?”