10. Olivia
Olivia
Saturday morning felt like exhaling.
The city had a kind of energy the house never offered.
Sunlight slipped between storefronts, and the easy noise of crowds drifted by, people moving without any real purpose.
As Olivia walked the boutique blocks with Julia, she felt the weight on her chest start to lift with every step, as if something inside her that had been wound too tight was finally able to breathe.
She didn't tell her sister everything right away. She let the bright window displays and the warmth of the morning do their work first, letting herself settle into the simple pleasure of being somewhere that didn't feel like a negotiation.
It wasn't until they settled into a quiet corner of a small café, with cappuccinos steaming between them and the hiss of the espresso machine filling the comfortable silence, that Olivia finally felt her composure slip.
She looked at Julia and said the thing she'd been avoiding.
She told her she'd been right. About Mark. About all of it. That he wasn't going to change, had never intended to change, and that some part of her had known it for longer than she wanted to admit out loud.
Julia listened without saying I told you so. That was the thing about her sister; she never needed to.
Then Olivia said Nicholas's name, and the conversation shifted entirely.
She started slowly. Carefully. It was like approaching something fragile, unsure whether to pick it up or leave it alone.
She described the interview first, explaining how easy he made her feel and how the usual professional armor she wore in those situations felt unnecessary around him.
She talked about how relaxed she had been, how she felt unlike herself, and yet more herself than she had in years.
And then, because Julia was looking at her with that particular expression that made lying feel pointless, she told her the rest.
She told her about the fantasies. She explained how she had been retreating into them for years, using them as a private refuge from Mark's indifference.
After the interview with Nicholas, without fully realizing it, the unnamed face in those fantasies had been replaced by his.
It wasn't just physical, either. She felt drawn to him before anything happened, before they even touched.
Something in the interview itself had caught her and wouldn't let go.
"When I ran into him at the bar with Lauren, it felt like fate," Olivia said quietly, both hands wrapped around her mug.
"Everything just—stopped. After we all talked, he asked us to have dinner with him.
Lauren looked at me, and she must have seen something between Nicholas and me because she said she couldn't stay but suggested I have dinner with him. "
She paused, remembering.
"I told myself I wouldn't stay. Every logical part of me said to leave. My nerves were a mess. But I couldn't move." She shook her head slightly. "I told myself it was just dinner. But even before the food arrived, I knew that wasn't true."
"I wanted him. I was drawn to him, and it scared me."
She felt her cheeks flush as she described the end of the evening.
She talked about the way he looked at her and the way he touched her with a gentle, unhurried curiosity that made her feel like she was worth being careful with.
The connection was unlike anything she had ever experienced.
Just thinking about the way he looked at her now sent warmth through her chest, as if something inside her was slowly being lit.
Julia reached across the small table and covered Olivia's hand with hers. Her eyes were full of the kind of empathy only a sister could offer, the kind that understood the whole history without needing it explained.
"Part of me is so happy for you," Julia said, her voice barely above the ambient noise of the café.
"You've been living in a desert for so long, Olivia.
You deserve to feel that kind of passion.
To know what it's like to be cherished." She paused, her expression shifting into something more serious.
"But the other part of me is scared. Scared about what this means for your life.
Scared about how you'll handle things with Mark.
" Her eyes held Olivia's steadily. "Do you want a divorce? "
The question landed hard. Olivia didn't flinch.
"I think so," she said. Her voice was quiet but carried a steadiness she hadn't felt in years—a steadiness that surprised even her.
"I don't say that lightly. The idea of it scares me.
But after that night, I realized I couldn't stay in a house where I was treated like furniture.
I can't go back to that emptiness." She took a slow breath.
"Now I just have to find the strength to figure out how and when. "
She met Julia's eyes directly.
"And it's not just because of Nicholas. I'm not doing this for him—but because of what he showed me. What I could feel, for the right person."
Julia was quiet for a moment, listening.
"I know he has his own life," Olivia continued.
"And I need to be strong enough to build mine, no matter what happens with him.
But he was the one who woke me up. He made me see, for the first time, that a man could make me feel the way I've always wanted to feel.
" Her jaw tightened slightly. "I can't forget that.
And I can't go back to someone who makes me feel like nothing. "
Julia squeezed her hand once. "I understand. Just go slow. You'll find the right answers."
They went back to shopping with a different energy between them. It felt lighter, more deliberate.
Olivia made different choices this time. She picked colors that made her eyes stand out and cuts that fit her real body instead of hiding it. She wasn't choosing armor today. She was choosing herself.
At Victoria's Secret, she moved through the displays with quiet intention, picking out silk and lace that felt like a way to reclaim herself. These pieces had nothing to do with Mark and everything to do with the woman she was learning to be again.
"I'm dreading tonight," Olivia said as they crossed into the parking garage. “I know exactly how he'll act. I just don't want to go."
"Maybe telling him in public is safer," Julia offered. "He cares so much about his image. He'll try to stay calm—he hates being embarrassed."
"I don't know." Olivia sighed, the dread already settling back in. "Maybe I should wait until we're home." She slowed her pace slightly. "He'll expect sex, Julia. The thought of it with him now physically disgusts me. I can't let him use me like that anymore."
Julia stopped beside the car, her expression full of genuine concern. "I really feel for you. I just hope you're not changing your whole life because of one night with this new guy."
"It's not just about Nicholas," Olivia said, and the certainty in her voice surprised them both.
"I've thought about this until it hurts.
Of course I want to see him again—but even if I never do, he showed me what's possible.
He showed me what I want in a partner. In a lover.
" She met her sister's eyes. "Even if it's not him, at least now I know what I'm looking for. "
Julia studied her for a moment, then smiled, slow and genuine. The tension in her shoulders visibly eased.
"Okay," she said. "I'm glad you're thinking clearly."
The master bedroom felt like a held breath.
Mark stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, towel around his waist, water still tracking down his chest. He leaned against the bedpost and watched her the way he always did when he wanted something—like observation was a form of ownership.
Olivia stood at the vanity in her bra and underwear, holding her lipstick, her eyes moving between a navy dress and a black wrap on the hooks. She already knew which one she would wear. She just wasn't ready to stop looking at something that wasn't him.
The lipstick snapped shut.
"Why don't you wear one of those sexy thongs you know I like?"
He was trying for suggestive. It landed as demanding. It always did.
She kept her eyes on her reflection. Drew one slow breath. "Because I don't think tonight is going to be a thong night, Mark."
He frowned, the kind of frown a man gives when he thinks he's being reasonable and can't see the issue. "What do you mean? We're getting dressed up for a hundred-dollar-a-plate dinner. I'd think you'd want some excitement when we get back. I know I do."
Olivia set the lipstick down and turned to face him.
She faced him fully and directly, without a practiced smile or any performance.
"If you want to go out and have a civil conversation about our situation, that's fine," she said, her voice steady and cold and entirely done. "But if you're expecting anything romantic tonight, it's not happening. Don't expect a performance from me when we get home."
Mark's jaw tightened. He searched her face for the version of this that was negotiable.
He didn't find it.
"Are you serious?"
"Dead serious. I'm not in the mood for a performance, and I'm not in the mood for you." She held his stare without blinking. "If that's a dealbreaker for dinner, tell me now, and I'll stay home and eat a salad in the kitchen."
For a moment, it looked like he might lose his temper. His face reddened, a vein appeared at his temple, and his whole body went rigid as he tried to hold it in. But her steady gaze stopped him.
He grabbed his suit trousers off the chair and dressed without another word.
"Fine," he said, his back to her. "We'll go to dinner and talk. Since that's apparently all I'm allowed to get from you these days."
Olivia reached for the navy dress and said nothing.
The restaurant was exactly what he wanted: white tablecloths, crystal glasses, and lighting soft enough to flatter but expensive enough to suggest that everything here should be handled with a certain decorum.
Mark had always understood the value of a controlled environment.