32. Olivia
Olivia
Friday morning arrived with sunlight filling the apartment in a way that felt different from every other morning that week.
Olivia was awake before her alarm.
Tonight she would see Nicholas.
She dressed for work without much thought: casual Friday meant jeans, a white blouse, and heels.
None of it really mattered since she’d be leaving early to change for dinner.
She moved through her morning routine with the lightness of someone who has been counting down to something and has finally run out of days to count.
Mark hadn't called. There was no news about Devon.
She assumed Devon was recovering, and found she didn't particularly care either way.
He was the reason Little Frankie had cornered her twice, and whatever had happened to both of them sat in the back of her mind as something she had decided, consciously and deliberately, not to examine too closely.
Nicholas had promised her she would be safe.
She was safe.
That was enough.
She sat down at her desk and lasted approximately four minutes before Lauren appeared in her peripheral vision.
"Someone looks happy today."
Olivia didn't bother hiding it.
"What time are you meeting him?" Lauren asked.
"I don't know yet. I'm going to run home after work and freshen up."
Lauren smiled the smile of someone who had been watching this unfold for months and felt entirely vindicated. "Keep me posted."
At 11:30, her phone buzzed.
Hey, beautiful. I'm in the Tampa office. What time works for you tonight?
Her heart kicked. She typed back quickly.
Does 6 work? Where—my apartment or the Market at Edition bar?
His reply was immediate.
Let's meet at Market at Edition. I feel like Lilac tonight. And if I pick you up at your apartment, there's a good chance we'll never leave. lol
She bit her lip.
What's wrong with that? lol
I miss you. Bring a change of clothes for tomorrow.
Her cheeks warmed.
You mean you plan on letting me out of bed? lol
Just in case. lol — I have someone walking in. See you at 6.
See you at 6 :)
She set the phone down, looked at her monitor, and saw nothing for a full minute.
He missed her.
The afternoon stretched like taffy, slow and resistant, every minute requiring effort to get through. She stared at the clock and felt the exquisite agony of anticipation. Wanting something this much was a feeling she had forgotten she was capable of.
The evening finally arrived.
Jim dropped her at the entrance to The Tampa Edition, and she stepped out onto the marble.
Her red Louboutins clicked a sharp rhythm that matched her pulse.
She wore a red wrap dress with thin straps, fitted through the body, and flaring just above the knee.
She felt it the moment she walked through the lobby doors.
The room shifted. She felt eyes find her.
She kept walking.
Nicholas was at the bar with his back to the room. She watched him notice the change around him, the subtle shift in the atmosphere as the room seemed to reorient, and then turn.
His eyes found her. He noticed the red dress, the heels, and the way she moved toward him as if she owned the floor.
He didn't just smile. His whole face lit up, something unguarded and immediate crossing his features that she would remember for a long time.
She reached him and threw her arms around his neck, squeezing hard. When she pulled back, he leaned in and kissed her, careful and deliberate, as if it was something he'd been thinking about.
"God, you look amazing. Is this for me?"
She leaned into him. "Only for you."
He took her hand and led her to the private elevator.
Their table at Lilac was by the window. The city spread out below in lights and movement, but the table felt small, bright, and entirely their own.
Nicholas reached across and took her hand as soon as they sat down.
She felt the week—the detectives, the bruise on her arm, and the days she had counted—begin to release its grip.
"I knew I missed you," he said quietly, his eyes on hers. "But I didn't realize how much until I saw you walk in tonight."
She squeezed his hand. "I know the feeling."
They ordered. The wine arrived. The stress continued its slow retreat.
"I spoke with Alexandra today," Olivia said. "She had Mark served." She paused. "I haven't heard anything from him. I expected him to blow up by now. Maybe he's focused on Devon."
She took a breath. "Nicholas, I have to ask. Did you have anything to do with what happened to Little Frankie or Devon?"
He didn't blink. His expression went flat and certain. "No."
She let the breath out. Held his gaze. "I'm glad." She paused. "When the detectives asked about my boyfriend, I immediately thought—could you have done something? I know what you said about protecting me, so I—"
"Olivia." He tightened his grip on her hand. "Sometimes there is only one way to handle something. I think we should leave this conversation here."
She understood. She heard what he left unsaid and made her peace with it in a single breath. He had promised she would be safe. She was safe. Some promises didn't need a full explanation.
"I want to always be here with you, Nicholas," she said. "What you've given me and shown me is everything I ever read about but never believed was real. I don't care if we're here in this restaurant or on the couch eating pizza. I'm exactly where I want to be."
She paused. A smile moved across her face.
"The detectives asked me about my boyfriend."
He nodded, watching her.
"Are you my boyfriend?"
Nicholas let out a short, dry laugh, surprised out of him. A real smile broke across his face, wide and unguarded. "I'm not sure how to answer that." He sobered slightly, his eyes finding hers with a directness that made her breath catch. "Olivia. I need to tell you something."
Her stomach dropped. The warmth of the moment faded, and something cold moved in behind it. It was the particular fear of a woman who had been happy for about forty minutes and is now sure it's about to be taken away.
She took a breath. "Yes."
He looked straight into her eyes.
"I have given this a great deal of thought. I don't know exactly what this means or how it works. But I know now that I love you." A beat. "I have never loved anyone the way I love you."
Everything stopped.
The restaurant sounds faded. The candlelight went soft and became irrelevant at the edges of her vision.
The words she had said to him more than once, words he had received in silence and held without returning, were now sitting across from her at a table in Lilac, offered back freely and without reservation.
"Oh, Nicholas," she whispered.
The tears came before she could decide whether to let them. She stood up without caring about the room, leaned across the table, and wrapped her arms around him.
"Everyone in the restaurant is watching us," he said against her hair, his voice warm with laughter underneath it.
"I don't care," she whispered. "Let them eat their hearts out. I love you, Nicholas. I can't begin to tell you how much."
"I love you too, baby." He pulled back just enough to look at her, a smirk playing at his mouth. "Do you think we should eat first?"
She laughed through her tears, kissed him deeply, and sat back down.
They returned to their wine and dinner, settling into the ease of two people who have finally said what matters and can now breathe.
They didn't make it through dessert.
Olivia set down her wine glass and looked at him with absolute clarity. "That's it. Get the check. We're leaving. I cannot wait any longer."
Nicholas laughed, stood, took her hand, and they walked out without looking back.
The night was everything it needed to be.
Saturday morning arrived late and golden, sunlight across tangled sheets. It was nearly eleven before either of them moved with any real intention. They lay in the warmth of each other, exchanging lazy kisses, hearts full, until hunger finally insisted.
They found a quiet bistro by the water, fingers intertwined across the table. Olivia looked at him across the coffee cups and felt the dreamlike quality of the last twelve hours settle into something more permanent.
"You know I'm still dreaming, right?" she whispered.
Nicholas laughed—warm and a little unsteady. "It does feel like a dream. But it's one I never want to wake up from."
She squeezed his hand. "I love you, Nicholas."
He met her eyes. "I love you too."
That evening, they stayed in the suite. Pizza, wine, and the low glow of the television filled the room.
Laughter mixed with whispers, and the connection between them felt deeper and easier than ever.
When the credits rolled, they were already tangled together, and the night found its own conclusion between them, completely and without reservation.
Sunday morning came too soon.
Nicholas left for Miami. Olivia stood at her apartment window, watching the SUV pull away, and felt the distance grow as soon as it was out of sight.
But this time it was different.
This time, he had said it.
This time, she knew.
The weeks that followed found their rhythm.
Nicholas came back the following Friday. Then the one after that. Sometimes, on Thursday nights, if the Tampa schedule allowed—a helicopter ride, a hotel suite, two people reconstructing the week across a dinner table, and a bottle of wine before the night made its own demands.
He was consistent in a way she hadn't expected from a man who had spent years being deliberately inconsistent. He called when he said he would. He texted when she crossed his mind, which was often enough that she stopped being surprised by it.
They settled into something real.
Saturdays became theirs: the bistro by the water, the farmers' market on Bayshore, or the suite and room service when neither of them felt like going anywhere.
On Sunday mornings, he would leave, and she would miss him in a way that was practical and present, sitting in her chest like a stone until his name appeared on her phone screen.
The divorce moved forward with the quiet efficiency of Alexandra at the helm. Mark, as it turned out, had nothing left to fight with.
Olivia moved through her days with the energy of a woman building something.
Her apartment became more hers with each passing week, her work found its footing again after months of distraction, and her friendship with Lauren deepened into the kind that forms when you've been through something difficult together and come out the other side.
She was happy.
And yet.
Two months in, she began to feel the shape of what was missing. Not Nicholas—he was present in all the ways that counted. But the distance itself. The Sunday departures. The week-shaped hole between Fridays.
She was lying awake one Tuesday night, staring at her ceiling in the dark, when she recognized the feeling precisely.
She wanted more.
She wanted all of it.
She wanted him.
Not on Fridays. Every day.
She didn't say it out loud. She waited, the way she had learned to wait: patiently, without pressure, trusting that what was real would find its way to the surface on its own.
It did.
It was a Friday evening in their third month. They were at Lilac, at their table with their wine and the city spread out below, when Nicholas set his glass down and looked at her with the expression she had learned to recognize as the one that came before something true.
"I've been thinking," he said.
"About what?"
He was quiet for a moment. "The week we spent together in the suite—do you remember how that felt?"
"I think about it constantly," she answered.
"Coming back at the end of the day and finding you there." He held her eyes. "I want that. Every day. Not Tampa to Miami every week." He paused. "I want you to move to Miami, Olivia. I want you to live with me."
She felt the warmth move through her from the inside out.
"You mean quit my job?"
"Transfer, maybe. Or take some time first. I have a beautiful penthouse with lots of space and incredible views.
It used to be Michael's before he and Verónica moved.
We could redesign the whole thing and make it yours as much as mine.
We could pick out everything new together.
" He leaned in. "It's the only way we'll actually know if this works. And I already know it works."
Olivia shook her head slowly, smiling at the ceiling. "Nicholas, I need to come back down to earth."
He laughed. "Take your time. You don't have to decide tonight." He paused. "But Sunday—I want you to come with me. The whole family is at my grandfather's house. I want everyone to meet the woman I'm in love with."
She felt it land in her chest like something settling into exactly the right place.
"I would love that," she said.
She looked at him across the candlelight, the wine glasses, and all the months that had led to this Friday evening, and felt entirely certain.
She stood up.
"Get the check," she said. "We're leaving."
He laughed, stood, and took her hand.
They didn't look back.