Chapter Twelve
NATHANIEL’S POV
D iane’s comment hit me right in my gut—she does know how to get my blood to boil. I would love to kick her out of here, but I can’t. I don’t even understand how Sascha could fall in love with her. I don’t understand how he was even able to marry this woman. And the worst part is I don’t understand how I even allowed her in my life in the first place.
Her blunt comment in front of Olivia reminded me how Diane and I could never work. This might be hard to believe, but I once was so infatuated by this woman I don’t recognize anymore.
She is a constant reminder that I can’t allow myself to trust anyone. And now, thanks to Sascha, she is family.
When I see her, I see it all over again.
Me going to her loft after work. That room. She and Adam. Her bare legs spread to either side of him. His face buried between her breasts. How she gasped when I opened the door with her eyes looking at me over her shoulder. She didn’t move, she stayed there on top of him. Adam raised his eyes at me, letting out a quiet laugh. He was so high it would have been wrong to hit him, even if I was dying to.
I could feel my heart sinking as I closed the door to Diane’s place, the place I loved her in. I remember asking myself, How long had this been going on? Had she been fooling me all this time?
I went back to the hotel, keeping tears inside myself, biting hard on my bottom lip. The constant image of them spiralled inside my head.
The feeling of Adam taking another thing from me gnawed at me. And again , I was unable to do anything. I was unable to protest. He always did whatever he wanted.
Adam disappeared the next day without explanations. Zero notes, zero texts, not even a call to say he was sorry for fucking my girlfriend— well, could I even call her that at that point?
Diane and I were only starting to date. She was my father’s new assistant back then, and when I saw her for the first time, I got my hopes up high. Really high.
I was leaving silly notes on her desk, asking her out every chance I could. How stupid I was, wasn’t I?
Adam didn’t even say where he was going after that. I found out because my father asked me to call him.
My father, the only person who knew, because if my mother had known this, it would have shattered her. My relationship with Diane didn’t evolve for me to take her to my mother—I didn’t even get the chance to tell her about her, thank God.
Adam had told our father what happened that same night, apparently. He urged me to call Adam, to tell him I forgave him. It was as if he had made that decision for me. While I was grappling with my pain, it felt like my father's focus was solely on Adam's feelings, leaving my own hurt in the shadows.
It’s only a woman, Nathaniel. Put yourself together, was his motivational speech.
I wasn’t surprised to find Diane at her desk on Monday morning, and every day after that. My father wasn’t going to fire her—it was stupid of me of thinking he would.
She was in almost every meeting, taking notes and acting as if nothing had happened between us. And I could sense my father’s testy eyes on me, watching my behaviour around her. He was not protecting her, no. He was making sure I behaved. He was making sure I keep the facade.
Eventually, Adam came back to become that reminder that even family can stab you in the back.
At first, I tried to understand his chaotic life and the addictions that consumed him. I wanted to believe that he had truly changed, that he felt regret. And according to his defence, he didn’t know. She lured him, and he wasn’t himself. But deep down, I wondered if that was supposed to make me feel better.
Adam left again soon after our father died. And I, as always, stayed. I couldn’t leave. I had to be a son, a brother. I had to grieve.
Diane helped with all the funeral arrangements, all the things I wasn’t able to handle, the little things we always forget when the pain and shock press our chests. She even held my mother’s hand, keeping a tissue in the other in case it was needed. I believe that her acts of kindness were what drew Sascha in toward her because he just wouldn’t shut up about her since.
When my mother made the bold decision to move to England, Sascha and I were there for her. She was about to start a new life. Was I supposed to leave her alone? She was still grieving. We all were. I tried to find Adam, to let him know of all the changes, but everything morphed.
The board unexpectedly appointed me as the head of the company, moving me right into my father’s office. I was shouldering all his responsibilities— and more.
With my new gained power, the first thing I did was transfer Diane to human resources, as far from me as possible. She agreed without any protest. I assumed she was happy with not finding herself fired the next day. She has my mother and Sascha to thank, as according to them ‘ she had been a light in a moment of darkness.’
I walk through the hall, making my way into the living room with Olivia next to me. I hope she is capable of ignoring Diane’s earlier comment. I wouldn’t know where to begin if I had to explain all that to her.
After Adam told me he now knew about my relationship with Olivia and apologized for their recent events I’ve chosen to ignore, bringing my past with Diane to her could damage her friendly bond to Adam. He’s been trying to put himself together, and Olivia has become a good friend to him. I trust her. More than I thought I could.
I turn to my left, but Olivia is nowhere in sight. A quick glance over my shoulder reveals she's lingering behind, absorbed in something only she can see. I shift my weight, my eyes locked onto her with a quiet intensity. She steps further into the living room, moving slowly; her gaze tracing over each detail carefully, as if she was studying every corner.
This house belonged to my grandmother, and my mother moved back here after many years away. I admit that this place holds the elegance of both of them, a blend of traditional charm and modern sophistication with an oriental touch that my mother insists on putting everywhere since she read a book on feng shui.
Olivia’s eyes light up with a gentle softness as they linger on select pieces around the room. A wide smile draws in her face when she spots my mother’s Japanese indoor garden behind a glass door. She turns in my direction, looking completely flabbergasted, and I can’t help but smile at her.
“You can go in, if you want,” I say.
“Can I?” she asks, already opening the door, not waiting for confirmation. Her fingertips ghost along the enormous rocks placed in the centre, her feet moving slowly through the wooden path, appreciating the different types of Bonsai trees and antique, oriental vases. Her hand floats around one of them, almost wanting to touch it, but without daring to do it. The way she bites her lips to control herself from her impulses makes me smile.
The last beams of sunlight filter through the ceiling windows, casting soft, golden rays that illuminate her silhouette, wrapping her in a warm glow. The way she moves makes me see the room in a new light, making me feel a pang.
I feel a quiet yearning as I watch her. The delicacy of her; her parted lips, her hair flowing on her shoulders to her lower back while a few strands frame her face. I want to get closer to her, but that would only ruin the view of her I now have.
She barely turns, glancing over her shoulder, and for a moment, our eyes meet. Her expression is curious with hints of warmth and something I cannot place. Did she sense me observing her? Has she noticed how in this moment to my eyes, she is part of the elegance of this place?
I feel a hand on my shoulder, sending me out of my thoughts.
“And this is?” Sascha asks, looking in Olivia’s direction.
I hug him briefly.
“Olivia,” I pause, “a friend.”
“Lovely,” he says. “A friend, friend ?”
I hide my smile at his comment.
“That too,” I manage to say.
“Better.” He nods and smiles widely at me.
Sascha is the best piece of soul our family has. He is empathetic, polite, and funny. Even with our age difference of seven years, we remain close, but we don’t see each other often. He spends most of his time in England with travels outside the continent twice a year— minimum .
I glance in Olivia’s direction who is coming back to the living room, and I hear a voice that I know too well.
“Nathaniel, sweetheart!” My mother approaches, and Olivia is now next to me. She grabs my arm, as if to transfer the tension she is feeling. Why is she so nervous? My mother comes in front of us, but without hugging me as she usually does. She stops, acknowledging Olivia's presence.
“Olivia, this is—” I try to introduce her, but my mother jumps ahead, interrupting me.
“Nathalie Martens, darling.” She goes closer to Olivia, kissing her cheek.
“I-I’m Olivia James. It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Martens.” I notice Olivia’s surprise. Her expression quickly evolves into relief.
“Nathalie it’s fine, darling,” my mother says, her voice relaxed as always.
“Nathaniel, dear.” She looks at me, as if she’s about to tell me I'm grounded.
“Yes, mother,” I say.
“It’s been a week since your arrival in the city, and only now you decide to come to see me?” She raises her eyebrow.
“No, it hasn’t been a week,” I say. My mother has a way of exaggerating everything, but only when it benefits her argument. “However, I decided a few days ago to come see you today ,” I titter, and she hugs me. “We do have a pending topic to discuss,” I remind her when she breaks apart.
“No, Nathaniel, do not bring any work here. Please,” she declares, even though this was meant to be a work dinner.
The hardest part of your mother being part of the board, is your mother being part of the board. She has a remarkable talent in turning work meetings into family dinners, and I get the feeling this might be one of those times.
I look around, and there are no other board members as there were supposed to be. She played me, again .
“I’ll come by the hotel tomorrow morning and we can discuss whatever you want.” She waves me off.
“I won’t be in the hotel tomorrow morning,” I warn her. Olivia surprised me by coming here. I don’t want to lock us up in a hotel room the whole weekend— except, I do. But it might not be fair for her coming all this way to not take a look around the city. I have made last minute plans for her—for us—tomorrow, and I won’t let work ruin that.
“Then, I’ll come on Sunday—we can have brunch together.”
“Perfect, we can discuss that over brunch.” While I may have my reservations about the idea, this might be the only place and time to dive into the discussion about Adam potentially joining the board, likely starting next year.
“I don’t speak business when I eat, Nathaniel.” Of course, she is trying her best to avoid this conversation.
“— Okay ,” Sascha interrupts. “We leave you two to pick a date, and we’ll show Olivia the rest of the house.”
Without giving me the time to intervene, he takes Olivia’s hand, which she accepts, giving me one last look before disappearing in the tiny corridor to the right. I stand there, talking with my mother, my mind struggling to focus as I listen to Olivia’s laugh. Sascha’s bright personality must certainly amuse her.
“She seems lovely, and she is stunning,” my mother says.
I nod.
“Yes, she is.”
“Wasn’t she dating Adam?” she asks, looking at me, lightly narrowing her eyes.
“She was not—where did you get that from?” I ask her. My tone comes out irritated.
“I saw her from afar at the rehearsal, your aunt Claire said she was Adam’s new girlfriend,” she admits. The thought of people taking her for Adam’s girlfriend gets on my nerves.
“She isn’t,” I say, almost as soon as she finishes her sentence.
“Is she yours?”
“She is,” I say. She smiles at me, locking her eyes with mine, and I just realize I spoke too fast.
“I love how you haven’t changed.” She pauses. “Do I need to keep the secret, or does she know she’s your girlfriend, too?” she whispers, talking to me in the same way she did when I was in love at fifteen-years-old.
I smile and look at her, putting my index finger over my closed lips, and wink. She giggles and does the same, lacing her arm with mine and walking me out of the living room.
As we step out of the living room and into the dining room, I spot Olivia standing beside Sascha, who is showing her my mother’s exquisite handmade ceramic creations. She is utterly captivated, nodding a couple of times, clearly paying attention. The moment our gazes meet, she gives me a playful wink, bringing an involuntary grin to my face.
I wonder if she realizes the effect she has on me. Not only sexually, but beyond that. She has intoxicated me with something that feels both thrilling and overwhelming.
Observing her is a delight that I enjoy more than I thought. I sometimes question myself if this is ok. But frankly, it feels too good to be wrong.
My mother announces we can sit down. I'm surprised to see that her usual chef is not around, and on the table, there are two large charcuterie boards with a selection of different cheeses and spreads— is that fresh baked bread ?
My first thought is that she did all this herself, and for someone who only trusts beef stew as her culinary speciality, this is different and surprisingly good. I take the chair in front of me and pull it in my direction, inviting Olivia to sit.
“Thank you, Mr. Martens,” she says briefly, looking at me, her voice sweet.
“You’re welcome, Miss James.” I nod and take the seat next to her. I feel how she puts her hand over my thigh, and I glance at her, searching for her expression. She looks back at me with the tail of her eye, and an insinuating smile draws on her face.
Olivia has this way of surprising me with her little acts. There’s something innocent about her, but that same something can switch when I least expect it, turning into something I didn’t know she had in her. It puzzles me, but I can’t resist loving it. These two sides of her.
I put my hand in my pocket to reach my phone and set it on silent, but I’m greeted with the soft fabric of her lace knickers, instead.
The naughtiness . I smirk, touching it, imagining more than I should. The image of her lifting her red dress to her waist, unattaching her nylon stockings from her suspender belt, smoothly sliding her panties down the length of her legs. How with such delicacy and determination she placed them inside my pocket—it’s an image I'm not allowing myself to forget.
My eyes lock on her again. She is talking about something, I don’t even know at this point. She is telling a story , I suppose. She laughs, loud. So loud she looks around the table apologizing. Her lips curve into a smile, trying to regain composure, and she continues talking. The sound of her laugh didn’t startle me, my gaze is too focused tracing a path on her facial features.
She grabs the length of her thick, dark hair and makes a quick low bun with it—no hair ties, no pins—all while still talking.
She seems comfortable around my family, like they are her family. Eventually, while I’m lost in my mind, she locks eyes with me and they widen, calling for my attention. I force myself out of my thoughts and glance around the table.
“His head must be at work,” Sascha says, shaking his head and grabbing a piece of cheese and ham from the board in front of him.
“As always. He is here, but he's not here,” my mother says, widening her eyes at me from the other side of the table. “Nathaniel! I’m dying to know!”
I shake my head, putting myself straight. “To know what?” I take a sip from my glass of wine. Ugh, too sweet for my taste.
“Masseto?” I narrow my eyes at my mother, placing the glass back on the table.
“Your father’s favourite.” I know. There’s a hint of nostalgia in her voice, but she shakes it off, locking eyes with me again. “Don’t change the subject, mister.”
I chuckle.
“What? Which subject?”
Olivia jumps in, her wide grin and eyes accompanying her words, as if a part of her was too nervous to speak.
“She wants to know how we met.”
I see now. I suppose it’s too embarrassing to say. Is she looking for my help to make up a story?
Except I don’t know what to say, either. Her eyes look at me wider, making me lose myself inside them again. So I decide to go with the truth.
I raise my glass once more, taking a hesitant sip of the wine that fails to please me. Glancing around the table, I catch the curious eyes of my mother, with even Sascha leaning in. I don’t even bother looking in Diane’s direction.
“Oh that.” I clear my throat. Olive is clearly anticipating my response.
“I-I walked near her coffee shop once, which is not so far from the hotel. I hesitated to go in to have a cold drink, but it was still closed, So, I waited in front for about five minutes?—”
“ You waited?” Sascha interrupts.
“Do you want to tell the story?” I glare at him, and he laughs.
“So—she finally opened the door, and a couple of people went inside almost at the same time I did. When it was my turn, her colleague took my order, a simple iced coffee, but I saw her while she was behind the counter. I sat down at one of the tables inside and waited, feeling a bit embarrassed in my gym clothes, but she came out to my table and—” I pause for a second, the silence at the table being a clear proof they are all listening to my story attentively, even Olive.
Her gaze is soft on me, a part of her is enjoying this. I wonder if she knows I’m not making this up so far. This was not the first time we met, but it was one of those times I was trying to regain contact with her, without success, I might add. Only settling with observing her from a place where she couldn’t push me away as I kept distance.
I resume my story, making it short. “—she brought my iced coffee, we exchanged numbers and—I invited her to come here and meet you all.” I laugh softly at the end. They all do, and Olivia gets near my ear.
“Such a good actor, Mr. Martens,” she whispers. Her soft voice, her warm breath near my neck, it sends shivers down my spine. The Mr. Martens at the end of her sentence puts pictures inside my head that are far from appropriate for this moment. I am not a good actor, not even a good liar. But I move along the lines that people tend to ignore.
My mother stands up from her seat, and Olive does the same when she sees that my mother has the intention of replacing the plates. She is so thoughtful, offering her help without being asked. I watch as she walks behind my mother and grants me one last wink with one of the unfinished charcuterie boards in her hands.
Sascha gets my attention.
“You’re different, I like seeing you like this, distracted—but a good distracted.” The way he emphasizes good makes me chuckle.
Diane leaves the table abruptly for a moment, with her phone in hand. She briefly excuses herself and leaves the dining room.
“Everything ok?” I ask Sascha as soon as we’re left alone.
He breathes in.
“Yes…” He lets out and looks into my eyes, an odd silence filling the room. A grin creeps on his face. “We want to…get pregnant,” he mumbles, sounding genuinely excited.
That’s—that’s a shock for me.
He lowers his voice.
“We’ve been talking about it since before the wedding. She has an appointment next week to see if we can—you know, begin trying . She doesn’t want to say anything now, but it’s so hard for me to keep the secret.” He smiles widely.
I want to be happy for him, but his pure soul could do so much better than her.
There’s and impulse pushing at my throat. Are you sure about all this? I want to ask, but he doesn’t know. He doesn’t have a clue of the kind of woman he has by his side. He only knows he is married to our father’s ex-assistant. That’s it.
I blame myself for it. I should have told him about me and Diane, but we never got to be serious. I should have told him why that couldn’t be an option, about Diane and Adam, but it’s too late now.
We keep too many things for ourselves. We say we are a family, but we are merely strangers who share a last name and a business.
I give him a smile, raising my glass to him.
“I love to see you happy.” I’m sorry. “Congratulations.” I’m so sorry, Sascha.
My mother and Olivia come out laughing from the kitchen. The smell filling the place is nostalgic and sends me back to Sunday dinners when I was fifteen, Adam was eleven, and Sascha was merely eight-years-old. My father would sit at the end of the table while my mother placed a pot full of slow-cooked beef stew where we served ourselves. No chef, no help, just us.
Olivia places the pot on the table after my mother quickly puts a wooden under-plate to protect the surface. She smiles at me, the pot steaming, sending the smell of my mother’s cooking everywhere in the house. This is a memory I'm holding onto.
“So…Nathalie and Daniel had a son they called Nathaniel,” she mocks, throwing her arms in my direction as if I were supposed to give a show. My mother laughs right behind Olivia, knowing how much I dislike her lack of creativity in choosing my name.
“Oh no, you didn’t say that to Olivia.” I shake my head.
“Stop complaining, it’s a beautiful name. You’re lucky, Nathaniel Martens,” my mother snaps and I drown a laugh. Olivia looks at me with sweet eyes, nodding at my mother’s comment, as if she agrees I am lucky to carry both my parents' names in one.
Diane comes back to the dining room, and I’m surprised to see Adam behind her.
“Look who I found in the hall,” she says, pointing both hands to him.
“My timing couldn't be more precise.” Adam’s says, looking nervous—for once, and Olivia half smiles when she sees him.
“Darling! I didn’t hear you come in!” My mother turns and hugs him intensively.
I look at Sascha and he smirks in my direction, almost shaking his head. I smile, reading his mind.
“I missed you, I wanted to come sooner, but got caught up with so much work,” he says, making the embrace even longer. I roll my eyes, looking at Sascha. He presses his lips as if he is forcing himself not to comment. I shift on my seat.
“ Mademoiselle ,” he greets Olivia, with a silly musical tone.
“ Monsieur ,” she mocks the melody, giving him a playful smile. Apparently, they’ve become close enough to have this connection and inside jokes I don’t seem to grasp.
Adam has this cool aura always revolving around him. The way he speaks and moves has always attracted people in his direction—and he is aware of it, often using it to his benefit. He plays dumb, but Sascha and I know him better than that.
Adam sits between Diane and our mother, controlling the motion of how conversations flow for the moment. He tells a few real stories that are slightly modified, where he adds that fantasy he’s always putting over everything coming out of his mouth. I do love him, but at this point, certain things about him have left me jaded.
We finish dinner, and Olivia remains next to me, eventually brushing her leg with mine, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear while locking her eyes briefly with me. The way she teases me without even trying...
I can’t wait to be out of here.
After we’ve listened to Adam through dinner and dessert, I need a break.
“I think it is about time we leave,” I say, standing up from my seat, quickly glancing at Olivia, who does the same.
“Oh s-sure, time goes by so fast. I had a great time, Nathalie. It was a pleasure,” she says politely.
My mother hugs her and lets her know that she doesn’t need an invitation if she ever wants to come back. When she turns to me, she hugs me tightly.
“Feel free to visit me more often, sweetheart,” she says near my ear. “Don’t make me lie to see you again.” She breaks apart. Her comment makes me smile.
I turn to say goodbye to my brothers, but I spot Olivia standing in the hall next to Adam.
Her eyes widen and she nods slowly. What’s that look on her face? She puts her hand over Adam’s shoulder, and he lifts his gaze to look at her, his lips reading thank you.
What is he thanking her for?
Adam’s eyes meet mine briefly and he takes a short step back. Olivia walks to me again and wraps her arm with mine, making me feel grounded again.
There’s an odd look on Adam’s face when him, Sascha, and Diane come say goodbye to us. Strangely, they have decided to stay a little longer.
Olivia and I walk out of the house in the direction of the car. She is clung to my arm, and I lower my head lightly to catch a glimpse of her expression to find her smiling.
I open the door for her, and she goes inside, granting me a playful smirk. I walk to the other side of the car, open the door, and sit. Almost automatically, I place my foot on the brake and press the engine start button, I buckle my seatbelt, and as I’m about to drive, Olivia speaks.
“Did I behave?” she asks, the sweetness not leaving her voice.
I smile.
“You did,” I say, turning my head to look at her.
“Where’s my reward?” She smirks, her voice sultry. My mind races.
Her mischievousness hooked me from day one.
We arrive in the hotel and she takes my hand, dragging me toward the elevator. I follow the path of giggles and insinuating looks she gives me. I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but I’m not complaining.
When the doors close, she comes near me, her hand behind my neck and her lips barely brushing mine. Her touch is light, dominating, teasing.
She roams her hand inside my jacket, making her way down my torso, and before she reaches the waistband of my trousers, I put my hands around her waist, grabbing her firmly, lust taking over me. But to my surprise she removes them. I tilt my head to the side, narrowing my eyes at her.
Huh? What is going on?
“No, no, sir,” she says shaking her head, her voice playful and alluring. “You don’t get to touch.” She smiles.
She wants me to look, she wants me to observe her. Is she aware of the amount of pleasure it gives me? Haven’t I been discreet? I grin and let out a light laugh. My gaze follows her, and the elevator’s doors open. She leaves first, glancing at me over her shoulder, moving slowly, one foot after the other. Enthralling.
I follow behind her, bewitched by her figure. That little red dress that I remember too well. Flashbacks of her delicacy removing it spin in my head, waiting to see more of her.
She stops in front of the door, her eyes soft on me. Her gaze trails down my face, to my lips, continuing its path down my chest, and it stops on the door. Without saying a word, she’s requesting me to open it, and I obey.With a beep of the key, it opens, and she goes in, brushing my chest with her hand. The delicate touch lingers, and I follow behind, closing the door after me.
I see her stop in the living room, and I come closer to her. She takes my hand, guiding me to sit on the sofa.
My grin is uncontrollably wide, and my shaft is uncomfortably hard inside my trousers—but I obey, I don’t touch her.
She lets her dress fall on the floor and stands there in front of me, wearing a lace bra, a suspender belt tight around her waist, her nylon stockings perfectly in place, and her lace knickers—still in my pocket.
She comes near me, bending over, unbuttoning my trousers and making her way inside my boxers. She curls her fingers around me, taking my cock out in one delicate movement. She doesn’t stroke me, but leaves it resting over my abdomen. She smiles and turns around, walking a couple of metres away from me.
I watch her take a seat on the upholstered, long lounge chair right in front, giving me the best of views. Her hands follow a path up her legs, reaching her torso and over her perfect breasts that she brushes gently with the tip of her fingers. Her right hand climbs up her shoulder, sliding down the thin strap of her bra, leaving it hanging over her arm.
I unconsciously start stroking my shaft slowly, wrapping my hand around my thickness, enjoying the show she is giving me.
How did I get so lucky?
She smiles looking at me, savouring this moment as much as I am. I can feel it in the way her lips part, her eyes glancing down at herself and then at me. She is provoking me.
She attempts to remove her lace bra, but I shake my head, wanting her to keep it on. Without saying anything, she obeys. Her hands move to her suspender belt. The sight is delicious, but I shake my head again. The expression on my face begging her to keep everything on, except what I already have in my pocket.
Her hand travels between her legs, her fingers tapping softly over her sex, and I’m melting inside. There’s an intense satisfaction that comes with watching her get off without me being involved. This is only her, what she does when she is alone. Except this time, she wants me here. She wants me to look.
Being observed turns her on.