Chapter Six
Olivia
“Hello, Ms. Desmond. My name is Andrew,” a clerk in a crisp suit says with a welcoming smile. “Are you here for your wedding jewelry?”
“Yes.” The smoked mirror in front of me shows Tyler and Brielle stumbling in together, her arm wrapped around him like a vine.
“Perfect. We’ve made the modification you requested.” If he thinks it’s gaudy to the point of parody, his tone doesn’t betray him.
I smile with appreciation at his discretion as he leads us to the salon.
It’s the same room Liam took us to, but somehow not the same without him in it.
Andrew gestures for us to sit. I slide in first, with Tyler and Brielle following me.
A young woman brings out a tray of champagne and Belgian truffles, placing it on the table so the chocolate lies closest to me.
Brielle places a hand on Tyler’s thigh and leans over, brushing her breasts across his arm, then grabs a truffle and pops it into her mouth. “So this is what they serve when you buy rings at one of these places.”
I glance at her bright red lips moving as she masticates with gusto. Too bad she can’t buy class, but it’ll never happen. Not even if she goes to Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré with a bag full of cash.
Andrew returns, his white-gloved hands holding a near-black navy lacquered tray lined with ivory suede. The KSD monogram in silver sparkles like a promise of a life as beautiful as the stones inside.
He picks up the first box. “This is for the bride.”
Before he can open the lid, Brielle lunges forward, coming off the couch.
“I always wanted to know what kind of jewelry you would get for your wedding!” Glib entitlement and a hint of envy and hatred ripple under her seemingly innocent tone.
It reminds me of the way she claimed she was just curious about what kind of people got to live in a place like the Whitmore mansion—
Icy shivers run down my spine. An impetuous urge to smack Brielle’s hand cuts through me. Before I can stop myself, I extend an arm to block her.
“Ow!” she cries, then pretends to hit the edge of the table hard with her wrist—and crashes into Tyler.
His arms shoot out to steady her. “Are you all right?”
Brielle nods, her eyes lowered and her mouth quivering as though she’s about to cry. She moves her wrist, then winces. “Maybe it’s a little strained.”
He swings a furious gaze in my direction. “What the hell is wrong with you? Apologize.”
“No. I didn’t do anything to her.” I quit placing my hands on her as soon as I learned that it only earned me punishment and got her a reward for being a poor little victim to the mean Olivia who ostensibly has everything.
“I said apologize,” Tyler orders again. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“I didn’t push her. She hit the table for some reason I can’t comprehend. Why does she want to see the set anyway? It’s our jewelry, isn’t it?”
Contempt and condescension twist his face.
Not even a trace of guilt flits in his blazing eyes.
He’s apparently comfortable with Brielle’s plot to swap brides and finds my role in the whole scheme pathetic.
“Who gives a shit? They’re just wedding bands, nothing special. If you aren’t going to apologize—”
Before I can blink, he shoves me off the couch. I slide off the leather and hit the table with my left forearm and side. The impact takes my breath away. Andrew jumps to his feet, his face white.
I look back at Tyler in shock. I always knew he was a jerk, but didn’t realize he was capable of violence—intentional or not.
He stares at me, eyes wide. He clenches and unclenches his hand, then clears his throat.
“If you hadn’t been so difficult, causing trouble every time I see you, this wouldn’t have been necessary.
Why do you have to be so damn cold and pick on your sister all the time?
” He snatches the boxes off the tray. “I’ve got this.
And I’m taking Brielle to the bakery around the corner.
She probably needs something sweet to cheer her up after what you did. ”
I continue to gaze at him. His words remind me so much of what happened back then—how Deena came to Brielle’s defense and soothed her pain with something sweet while my mom lay at the bottom of the stairs.
The injustice of it all burns until I can barely drag in air.
“Are you all right?” Andrew says, his voice lower but still taut.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I rasp. “And the account’s already settled. I… I need to go.”
He doesn’t reply, but his tight jaw betrays his thoughts.
Brielle and Tyler leave first. I murmur an apology to Andrew for the scene and then walk out, my eyes following them as they walk down the block, drenched in the bright late afternoon sun.
Without thinking, I take a few steps back into the shaded alley beside the store.
She’s able to stand in the light, flaunting everything she has, while I can’t even hint at who I care about without a cold sweat slickening my palms.
A chill seeps into my bones, and I shiver. Why is it that Brielle always has people protecting her? It doesn’t matter that they’re horrible people. They’re always ready to keep her safe. And me? I’m out here on my own. Nobody to keep me safe, and I can’t protect anyone who really matters.
I imagine Brielle tilting her head with a smile.
And Tyler looking down at her, his eyes crinkling with endless patience and indulgence.
The image blends with the scene from twenty years ago, and suddenly I feel alone and adrift, without an anchor in this turbulent world.
The weight of everything I’ve been planning presses down, and finally my knees buckle.
Getting them to marry each other is just the first step to my revenge.
I need a husband and a child before justice can be fully served, and Simon is taking too long to come up with a list. Given how efficient and capable he is, there might not be anyone I can marry without getting hurt in the process.
Or maybe no one wants to marry me. I have too many secrets, and I don’t share more than I have to with anybody.
I wouldn’t want to marry me.
The gaping hole Mom’s death has left in my heart throbs. I push a fist against my chest, willing it to return to its usual cold state, but the pain only intensifies.
If Mom were alive, I wouldn’t have to suffer like this. I’d probably be married by now to a man I love. And had a child out of love. Be able to look at dogs without feeling like my heart is being ripped out. And I would’ve been able to do more than just start a charity to help rescues.
Hot tears soak my cold cheeks. I’d give everything I have right now just to see my mom one more time, have her put her arms around me and tell me everything’s going to be fine.
But nothing in the world can bring her back.
I squat, then bury my face between my knees. Have to hide until my control is steadier. Can’t afford to let anything slip if I run into Brielle and Tyler again.
“Olivia?”
Liam’s voice. Except how could he be here?
After wiping my cheeks against my dress, I lift my head. Sure enough, it’s him. In his hand is a bouquet of white gardenias. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was on his way to a romantic date. But the tuxedo is too formal. Maybe a wedding…?
His? A sharp shard digs into my heart at the possibility.
He extends a hand to help me up, which I stare at blankly. He drops it awkwardly. “Is it Tyler again?” His soft tone can’t hide the frustration simmering underneath.
Grief still clutches my throat, choking off all my words. I nod, then slowly rise to my feet.
He runs his fingers through his hair. “You should just kick his ass.”
A fresh wave of tears gathers—for reasons I can’t articulate. I choke, then clear my throat. “It isn’t that simple.”
“Sure, it is. A lot of things in life are much simpler than you think. The problem is you have to act, not just think.”
I look at him. He’s limned by the golden sunlight like a god of wisdom—or a patron saint of broken people.
He glances down, then extends his hand. The tips of his ears redden a little. “Here. Flowers. Uh…I give them to you.”
Yup. Definitely a saint. I bury my face in the soft blossoms, their sweet scent soothing the pain roiling in my heart. When was the last time somebody gave me flowers because I looked sad?
As I inhale the fragrance, an event from our sophomore year at Stanford superimposes itself over him looking at me with eyes full of concern while offering me flowers. Back then he did something similar, except he’d held out the pocket watch Mom left me.
I thought I’d never see it again. Brielle had managed to get into my dorm, telling my roommate that she came by to see how I was doing after spraining my ankle in a field hockey game, and snatched the watch from my desk and ran out with it.
I hobbled after her, refusing to lose one of the very few things Mom had left me. The pocket watch belonged to my great-grandfather, then my grandfather, then Mom. Inside was a photo of her holding me in her arms when I was a baby.
“Give it back!” I shouted, trying to ignore the unbearable throbbing in my ankle.
Turning around and hopping backward, Brielle held it over her head. “Make me.”
If only I weren’t injured…! I curled my hands into fists as I glared at her.
Grinning, she tossed it high above us. Malice glinted in her eyes as she waited for me to cry as another of Mom’s keepsakes was about to be destroyed.
A guy ran between us and caught it, arm outstretched. Brielle looked shocked, and I bit my lip at the sight of Liam holding the watch. “What’s going on?” he said, his unreadable eyes on Brielle’s face.
She smiled and strode over, wrapping her arms around one of his and pressing her cleavage against it. His eyes flicked in my direction, then he looked at her again, the tips of his ears reddening.
Dread settled in my belly like milk gone sour. Guys always sided with her when she rubbed herself against them—something I was never able to do.
“I’m just taking my watch back,” she said in that slightly nasal, cloying voice that always seems to work with boys. “From my dad.”
“Don’t listen to her. It’s mine.” My own voice was taut with the pain from my ankle—and desperation. I refused to give up without a fight, even though I knew I should brace for a bitter disappointment.
Brielle looked down, the corners of her mouth drooping. “She’s always jealous of the few nice things I get from Daddy when she already has so much.”
Lies! But I knew better than to burst out in anger. “It’s mine, Liam. Can you give it to me, please?”
At the same time, she said, “Can you please let me keep it? Pretty please?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Okay.”
My mouth dried. She clutched him harder. “You’re the best!” she cooed.
He shook her off and walked toward me. “Here.” He cleared his throat. “Your watch.” He held it out to me.
Tears burned in my eyes. It was the first time since Mom had passed away that anybody had taken my side. “Thank you,” I managed hoarsely before taking the watch with a shaking hand.
Now a realization dawns. “Why are you nice to me?” I whisper. There’s no need for a list from Simon. The perfect candidate is standing right here. Liam meets all my criteria for a husband—except he’s too precious to be used in my plot.
“Why shouldn’t I be, Olivia?” He looks at me like he can’t fathom my confusion.
“You weren’t part of the plan.” You’re making it so hard for me to stay away.
“Like a life plan?”
“Something like that.”
His eyes darken, but he looks away before I can decipher what’s in them. He shrugs stiffly. “Don’t keep working on an unworkable plan. Pivot. Make yourself happy.” He presses his lips together like he’s trying to hold back all the things he wants to say.
“It isn’t that easy.”
“Sure it is. Start with this: Get rid of Tyler.”
“Then what?” I let out a shaky laugh. “I have to get married.” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I cover my eyes. I said too much. How to recover before—?
Liam takes my wrist and slowly lowers the hand over my eyes. His gaze is steady as he studies my face, like he can’t afford to miss even the flicker of an eyelash. “How about me?”