13. Violet #2
It had not resolved itself. The lie had grown into the house I was living in, and the boss I was dangerously falling for, and the teenage niece who'd started coming downstairs for dinner again, asking Simon real questions she never would have asked two months ago.
I didn't want to keep lying to him. I didn't want to keep lying to Olivia. This plan was a delay, not a solution, and I knew it in my bones. But I couldn't come out with the truth yet. Not with the stakes this high, and not with him standing this close.
I had to do something now, and since the truth wasn't available to me, this terrible lie was all I had.
I stood from my desk. I picked up my leather notebook like a shield. I marched over and knocked twice on his office door.
"Come in."
I pushed the heavy door open. He sat at his desk, suit jacket still on, the afternoon brief spread out in front of him. He looked up the second I came in.
"Mr. Beckett. I have something to tell you."
He set his silver pen down at once. "What is it?" His eyes moved across my face. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes." I didn't quite meet his gaze. I locked my eyes on the blank space just past his left shoulder. "I found Ashby. But there's a slight problem."
He frowned, leaning back in his chair. "What kind of problem?"
I fought to keep my voice even. "Ashby can't fly down to New York. She has a severe fear of travel. She can't come." I paused, forcing a sympathetic tone. "I'm so sorry, sir. I know that's not what you were hoping for."
His sharp jaw shifted, and he looked down at the mahogany desk. I watched his face go quiet.
"But she did make a personal promise," I added quickly, offering the olive branch. "She said she'd dedicate the next serialized chapter to Olivia. By name. She said she'd write the chapter with her in mind."
He looked up at once.
His dark eyebrows rose. The corners of his mouth pulled up before the full smile formed.
"Oh," he breathed, moved. "That's—Violet, that's wonderful." He shook his head, amazed. "I know it isn't exactly what we planned. But Olivia seeing her own name in a published dedication… she'll love that."
I smiled at him. I couldn't help it. His face when Olivia was the sole reason for his happiness was devastating. Warmth bloomed in my chest before I remembered I'd manufactured the whole thing.
"I'm really glad," I said.
"As for the company logistics," I continued, sliding back into my professional cadence, "since Ashby can't travel, everything can be handled online.
The legal contract, the formal signing, all of it.
I just need her to provide an email address, and we can move the publishing process forward without her ever being in New York. "
He nodded, working the business angle. "That works. The only thing I'd eventually want her present for is a fansigning, but that's a bridge we can cross later. For now, closing the deal online is fine." He met my eyes. "You handled this well, Violet."
I let out a shaky breath of relief. "I'm just glad I could help."
"I really don't think you know how much." He looked at me steady, his eyes warm. "Thank you, Violet. Really."
I nodded and started to turn away.
"Is Sloane still coming up to the lake house this weekend?" he asked.
I turned back. "No, unfortunately. Her grandmother is very sick. She can't leave the city right now."
His chin dropped, his face softening into sympathy. "I'm so sorry to hear that. I hope she recovers quickly."
"Thank you. I'll tell her you said that."
I walked quickly out of his office and pulled the heavy door shut behind me, my heart pounding.
The workday finished. We went home together.
He was in a wonderful mood, all because of Olivia.
He couldn't stop mentioning her, dropping offhand comments in the car, letting the happy thoughts surface and spill out.
How happy she'd be. How she never would have expected a personal dedication.
How sometimes the one thing you couldn't give someone ended up mattering far less than the thing you managed to find instead.
I sat in the backseat, listened to his joy, and said the right things while guilt pressed heavy in my chest the whole ride home.
The weekend finally arrived.
We loaded everything into the trunk. The luggage, the elaborate birthday cake Marta had baked and packed with care, and a mysterious box of things Olivia had insisted on bringing without ever explaining why.
Manuel drove us out of the city. Olivia claimed the front passenger seat, trapped in a bright mood that ate all the oxygen in the car, the restless energy of someone who'd been anticipating this and was finally inside the moment.
She talked the entire way up. She had strong opinions about the radio music, the scenic drive, the lake house itself, and the property's horse.
Simon sat quietly beside me in the back and just watched Olivia, something glad settling into his face. I caught him doing it twice and guiltily turned back to my window both times.
When the lake house finally appeared around the last bend in the winding dirt road, Olivia made a sound that was half excited gasp and half delighted laugh.
It was beautiful. Low and wide, built of rich cedar and natural stone, set into the landscape like it had grown there rather than been placed.
A wide wooden porch ran the full length of the back of the house, facing the lake, and the water behind it held the thin, autumn sun in long, flat, gleaming strips.
Further back, just visible past the thinning treeline, the slanted roof of the stable rose above the pale, fading grass.
Manuel had barely shifted the car into park when Olivia was already out of it. She bounded around to my side and grabbed my hand with both of hers.
"I need to show you something very important," she said, breathless. "Right now. It can't wait."
"What about all the bags?" Simon called from behind us.
Olivia didn't bother to look back. "You can do that!"
"Olivia—"
"You do that!" she shouted, happy, already pulling me across the frost-stiff grass. I heard Simon laugh behind us, a real, unburdened sound, and I let myself be pulled away.
The cavernous stable was cool and smelled of dry hay and the earthy sweetness of large animals resting in a calm space.
At the far end of the row, a huge Thoroughbred stood quietly with her head draped over the stall door.
She was pitch black with a striking white stripe running straight down her nose, and she watched us approach with mild, patient eyes.
"Her registered name is Athena," Olivia said, proud. "But I just call her Whatever."
Olivia scrambled up onto the bottom rail of the wooden paddock fence and reached into her jacket pocket for a sliced apple. She held it flat on her palm, and Whatever leaned her great, heavy head over the rail, taking it clean off her palm. She'd obviously been an apple girl for a long time.
We stood there in companionable silence a moment. The low afternoon sun was turning the water behind the main house a pale, brilliant gold. Olivia reached back into her pocket for another apple slice.
She said, without looking at me, "I know you have a huge thing for my uncle."
I choked, my mouth dropping open. "Olivia."
"It's totally okay." She kept watching the horse chew. "I was the one who told him you were pretty."
"I do not have a thing for your uncle," I lied.
She looked at me then, briefly. Her chin lifted, and she held my gaze for one flat, unconvinced second before she looked back at Whatever.
"I think you'd be really good for him," she said, matter-of-fact.
I didn't say a word.
She held out the next apple slice. Whatever took it just as gently as before. Olivia's thumb moved once along the horse's nose, an old, easy habit between the two of them.
"My mom always wanted him to end up with someone.
" Her voice was different now, quieter, the warmth still in it but pushed further back by grief.
"She used to say it all the time like it was a joke.
'Simon needs a real one, someone genuinely good.
' She said it a lot." She paused, the quiet stretching out.
"I really think she would have liked you, Violet. "
The golden afternoon held itself still.
I looked at the side of Olivia's face, tracing the sharp line of her jaw, the same one I knew from Elena's framed photograph on Simon's office credenza. I didn't have the words for what she'd just said to me. I had nothing big enough to meet it.
She fed the horse the last piece of apple. She wiped her hands, straightened up from the rail, and pushed her dark hair back from her face.
"I'm just telling you so you know," she said. "He's allowed to be happy."
Without another word, she turned and walked back toward the lake house, her hands shoved deep in her jacket pockets.