Chapter 3 #2
My aunts, uncles, and other distant relatives are polite, though also assessing.
Olivia handles it with grace, answering each question with confidence.
She’s warm and attentive, deferential when courtesy demands it, but never small.
She’s simply herself. And that alone is enough to command their attention.
I can see the approval growing behind their smiles, the way they mentally categorize her as someone worth noting.
“You’re such a beautiful girl,” Aunt Lydia says, reaching to grasp Olivia’s hand. “And so well-mannered. It’s wonderful that Nathaniel brought someone so lovely into our family.”
They are impressed. How could they not be?
It should please me. Instead, I find myself itching to pull her closer, to remind them all exactly who she belongs to.
Especially when my cousins join in.
“Lovely?” one of them cuts in. “That’s an understatement.”
I should have anticipated it. The moment they descend—grinning, smug, and entirely too at ease—my patience thins.
“If I’d known you’d bring someone this beautiful,” drawls Russell, the younger of my two male cousins, flashing Olivia a slow, appraising smile, “I’d have returned to New York sooner.”
I level him with a cool stare. “Good thing you didn’t, then.”
He smirks. “Honestly, Liv,”—I bristle at the nickname—“I have to ask, how did he manage to win you over? Because Nate has no game, and I can’t picture him begging.”
Olivia laughs, a sound that makes my stomach warm even as my jaw locks. “He didn’t have to beg at all,” she says lightly, glancing up at me through her lashes. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Something settles in me at that. A reminder that she has chosen me, willingly. Still, it doesn’t stop me from shooting a glare at Russell, one he ignores completely as he exchanges a mischievous glance with our other cousin, Andrew.
“Damn,” Andrew muses, feigning disappointment. “So, you mean to tell us you just fell into his arms?”
My grip on Olivia’s waist tightens fractionally. “It’s where she belongs,” I reply curtly.
Russell chuckles and shakes his head. “Relax, Nate. We’re just admiring your good taste.”
“Admire from a distance.”
Russell and Andrew exchange knowing grins but, thankfully, relent, redirecting the conversation elsewhere. Still, my muscles remain taut beneath Olivia’s touch.
She must notice, because she leans into me, her hand resting against my arm, soothing me.
I exhale slowly.
Fine. I’ll allow them their amusement—for now.
With the initial mingling done, the family moves into the grand dining room.
The space is breathtaking—a sweep of polished mahogany and candlelight, winter roses spilling from silver vases, the chandelier throwing gold across crystal and glass. Every detail gleams, a study in perfection.
The meal, as expected, is extravagant. Course after course of flawlessly plated dishes, each one presented with seamless precision.
And yet, I barely taste any of it.
I’m too distracted by Olivia.
The candlelight casts a golden glow on her skin, softening the sharp angles of her collarbone, catching in her hair when she tilts her head. Every time she shifts, the slit of her dress rises up just a little higher, revealing a teasing glimpse of her thigh. I can barely look away.
And as I watch Olivia laugh at something my aunt says, and listen intently to my uncle recounting some old family tradition, I find myself relaxed at a family gathering for the first time in years.
I’m actually enjoying this.
And it’s all because of her.
Once dinner concludes, the family filters into the lounge for drinks and continued conversation. The atmosphere is lively, voices mingling over the soft notes of a classic holiday song. But I have no interest in lingering.
As soon as attention shifts elsewhere, I quietly take Olivia’s hand, slipping away from the gathering. There’s no need for words—she follows me easily, as if she already understands that I need this, that I need her.
The chatter of my relatives fades behind us as I lead her up the staircase, toward my childhood bedroom.
As the door clicks shut behind us, Olivia’s curious gaze sweeps over the space, taking in the remnants of a boy I can barely recall.
This is the second time I’ve brought her here.
The first was on a night of confessions, when my vulnerability bled into my immense need for her, culminating in a desperate and consuming intimacy that neither of us could resist.
It was the night I finally told her about Alexander, the accident and how his death had shattered the foundation of my life. I let her see me. And instead of turning away, she held me.
On that same night, I proposed to her—but I wasn’t going to let my mind go there, not right now.
What matters is that, for the first time in years, this room doesn’t feel like a mausoleum. For years, it was sealed in grief and expectation. But with Olivia beside me, the air feels lighter.
Thanks to her, I can breathe again. She’s the oxygen in my lungs.
She drifts toward the shelves, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “I didn’t get to look around last time,” she muses, her tone light and teasing. “Now’s my chance to snoop.”
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossing over my chest. “Is that so?”
She glances over her shoulder at me, a mischievous glint in her eyes. God, I love it when she’s like this. Playful. Open. Mine.
She moves through the space like she belongs here, and perhaps she does—maybe this house, this life, has been waiting for her all along.
Her attention catches on a shelf lined with trophies. She stops, her fingers brushing lightly over the engraved plaques, reading.
“I figured you must have been athletic growing up,” she remarks thoughtfully. “What sports did you play?”
It occurs to me then that it’s been a long time since someone has been genuinely interested in me and not just what they could get from me.
“Rowing,” I finally say, the word feeling foreign on my tongue after all these years.
I started rowing when I was ten. I was introduced to the sport because my father was also a rower.
I formally joined the rowing team during prep school, competing in regattas and winning championships over the years.
Naturally, I continued rowing once my turn to enroll at Halford came, following in the footsteps of Charles Caldwell.
“You’re clearly very good at it,” she says, her tone tinged with admiration as she gestures to the awards. “Do you still row?”
“No.”
I haven’t rowed since I left Halford for my sabbatical. And when I decided to return, I felt like I no longer wanted to put up with the structure and commitment it required, when all I really wanted was to be where Olivia was. She’s the reason I came back to Halford, after all.
Even before her, I’d never questioned why I did it. I just did. My father had rowed, so I rowed. I chased the approval that had been given so freely to Alexander, who, conversely, pursued a myriad of sports. Perhaps that was yet another example of the edge he possessed which I, evidently, lacked.
When I meet Olivia’s gaze, I know that she senses the direction my mind has gone. She is always so attuned to me.
Without a word, she reaches for my hand, fingers curling around mine in quiet reassurance. Her expression is soft—understanding, never pitying. She doesn’t try to offer meaningless words or tell me that I was always enough; she simply anchors me with her presence.
Then, as if making a deliberate decision to steer me away from the weight of my thoughts, she releases my hand and lets her fingers trail up my arm, along the defined lines of muscle beneath my dress shirt. Her lips curve into something decidedly devious, her eyes gleaming.
“Well…” She flutters her eyelashes. “That explains your arms.”
Her fingers press into my biceps through the fabric. Instinctively, I flex beneath her touch, preening just for her.
She hums in appreciation, and I feel it like a physical thing, heat curling low in my spine. Then, rising onto her toes, she leans in, her lips grazing my ear as she whispers, “Your upper body is my favorite.”
A sharp jolt of arousal courses through me, tightening every muscle in my body.
She presses a slow, teasing kiss to my neck.
“Although…” Her fingers drift down my chest, grazing the buttons of my shirt, tracing over the ridges of my abdomen.
“I can’t look away from your abs whenever you take off your shirt either,” she continues, wicked amusement in her expression. “I am, after all, just a woman…”
Her hand slips lower, her fingers brushing the buckle of my belt. My breath comes out ragged. Christ, this girl is playing with fire.
I grab her wrist, stopping its downward descent before she finds my dick stirring to life.
My fingers curl around her hand, holding her still.
“And I am only a man…” My voice is thick with restraint.
“A man who craves you every moment of every day.” I exhale sharply, forcing myself to remember why I brought her here in the first place.
“But there is something far more important I need to do right now.”
Olivia pouts, the expression so unexpected and yet so effortlessly adorable, that I can’t help but laugh. The sound startles me. It’s rare, this kind of lightness—so few things in my life had ever felt easy.
I see the exact moment Olivia feels it too—the way her eyes soften, how her lips curve like she’s committing the moment to memory.
Cradling her face between my hands, I brush my thumbs over her cheekbones and press my lips against hers, soft and slow, tasting the warmth of her smile against my mouth.
When I pull back, I nudge my nose against hers, relishing the closeness.
“I promise I’ll let you have your way with me once we’re back at my place, okay? ”
She grins. “Okay.”
“Come sit.” I guide her toward the bed. “I have something for you.”