Chapter Twelve
Olivia
“Here. Pictures since you didn’t even arrange for a photographer. What would you do without me? Legal advice, and now free photography? Truly, your cup runneth over.” Jeremiah sends pictures from the ceremony to both our phones. “And speaking of cups, don’t forget that bottle of Dom you owe me.”
Liam looks at his phone, then grins. “I’ll make it two.”
“I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
I check her photos. She captured us staring at each other in the middle of exchanging vows, the ring going on my finger, the ring going on his finger, and the kiss shots. The first one isn’t bad, but the one to my forehead is a heavy punch to the armor around my emotions.
It’s good that I didn’t get to see his expression—I probably would’ve fled in panic.
Liam was glowing, like he was out digging in his garden and just uncovered the Holy Grail.
I’m not the kind of prize he should be that happy about.
And he wouldn’t be, if he could see the festering wounds underneath my mask.
Liam and I head out together. “You go ahead, and I’ll follow in my car,” I say, needing to get some alone time to restore my equilibrium. Never forget: this isn’t about love, just the justice Mom and Pochi are due.
“No, we should go together. Your car isn’t in the system yet.” He looks slightly abashed. “Sorry, should’ve taken care of that before. But I’ll have Frederich deal with it and bring your car to the house later.”
“Who?”
“The resident butler-slash-majordomo. You’ll love him.”
Can’t insist now, and not worth the argument. “Okay. Let me get my stuff.” I open my trunk and pull out a black clamshell suitcase.
He looks at it. “That’s it?”
“Yeah. Not like I need to bring my own furniture, right?”
“No, but…” Hesitation for a moment, then a tinge of disappointment flashes in his eyes.
What’s this about? “What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Let’s go.”
He takes the suitcase and loads it into his Spectre. The coupe is stunningly beautiful—and spotless, like he just had it washed. I don’t recall it being so shiny before.
Reluctant affection warms my heart. This marriage isn’t the most traditional, but he wants to make the best of it. I should play along and make him happy. He deserves at least that much.
Like a gentleman, he opens the door for me.
I climb into the car, then arrange my skirt, my fingers gliding over the smooth ivory silk.
I’m glad I picked the most bridal-looking outfit from my closet.
Simon suggested wearing something bright because vivid shades suit me, but I wanted to put on white, like every normal bride on her happy day.
I place the dahlias on my lap, run my fingers along the petals and enjoy the ticklish sensation.
The gorgeous red stone winks at me as though to say, “Everything’s going to be fine! ”
The Spectre’s electric engine stays quiet for the drive, but my heart pounds like a deafening drum in my head.
I’ve researched his family and business, to figure out who I need to win over and how, in order to make the marriage look as legit as possible to outsiders.
I’ve definitely stepped on some toes by having the courthouse wedding without informing or inviting any of his family and need to make it up somehow.
But I’ve intentionally avoided looking into his house.
I didn’t want to act like a bride full of anticipation about her bridal home.
Think of it like a hotel to stay in. Nothing sentimental. I’m sure it’ll be nice and comfortable, just like any other decent place.
Except… I steal a quick glance at Liam. Nothing about his smile looks temporary or unromantic.
If he were alone he’d probably be humming…
and I’d have to be blind to miss the way he looks at me.
My head says I should discourage him, but the desire to go along and be a real wife until our contract ends tugs at my heart.
After a little over an hour of fighting the Friday rush-hour traffic, Liam pulls into a private driveway winding through a shockingly lush garden.
Gnarled olive trees rise over a profusion of purple lavender and tall rosemary hedges.
As the Spectre makes a turn, a cutting garden to the side comes into view, reminding me of the one Mom used to nurture until Deena ripped everything out to plant tiger lilies instead.
Pink, orange and white dahlias bloom in rows like royalty above others that can’t quite make themselves seen over a thigh-high rock wall.
I look down at the dahlias in my lap. Are they from his garden? Did he cut them and tie them into a bouquet before coming to the courthouse? I recall the gardenias he gave me last week. That bouquet seemed pretty rustic—something homemade, not from a professional florist.
A sweet pang goes through me at the notion.
It’s just so incredibly thoughtful in ways I can’t even begin to describe.
Mom used to cut flowers from her garden and make little bouquets and crowns for me.
It’s almost like I’ve slipped back to that happier time.
I wish I could just enjoy it, rather than grieve for what I’ve lost.
Not lost. Taken from me. I clench my hands. I’ll take what they value the most in return. It’s only fair.
This is the end game, Olivia. My anxiety isn’t about the marriage, but the final moves I have to execute properly.
And the baby. I place a hand over my belly as I gaze at Liam’s garden.
If I didn’t need a baby in order to kick Hugh, Deena and Brielle off the gravy train, I would never bring one into the world, not when it might not be safe.
My clammy hand curls into a fist over my stomach. But since I have to… Nothing less than giving them the kind of childhood I had before Mom passed away will do. And unlike her, I plan to be cautious enough that I don’t ever leave myself vulnerable or put my baby in pain.
They’ll never suffer the kind of life I had after Mom’s death.
Liam stops the car in front of a huge mansion—at least as large as the Whitmore estate, if not bigger. I open the door and step out. The sound of waves fills the briny air.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Liam says with a deep, dramatic bow.
Recalling what he said about his place at the lawyer’s office, I have to laugh. “Humble, huh?” I look around. “Well… I guess this will do.”
“Glad it meets your expectations.” He grins.
I look up and see a small flock of willets wheel through a sky burning gold in the sunset. Closing my eyes, I inhale the sea breeze and feel every stale weight leave my heart. “This is amazing. I was expecting something that felt like a hotel or a model home or something, but this is like…”
“Like…?”
“A slice of paradise.” The words tumble out, but they sound right. This place is perfect—secluded and safe. Despite the grand size, it already feels like a home, a place where I can be at peace.
I haven’t felt this way in a long, long time…and that’s dangerous. Even my Century City condo is a place where I lurk and strategize, reminding myself of my purpose. It’ll be too easy to lose myself here.
“Let’s go in.” Liam takes the suitcase from the trunk and extends a hand, just like he did in the alley.
I look down at his strong fingers, then the steady set of his eyes. My heart does a little pirouette.
Girl, you’re in trouble.
The smart thing would be to step back, pretend I don’t see his hand.
But I don’t want to be smart right now. I don’t want to see a shadow of pain in his eyes from rejecting a nice, simple gesture.
I remember the times in college when he stood by me rather than Brielle—by me—and the way his lips compressed with barely restrained fury at Tyler’s disrespect in Kingswood Stones now that we’re married, Liam would become collateral damage.
Suddenly the image of Liam lying at the bottom of a staircase pops into my mind.
Air catches in my throat. I clench my teeth to stop them from chattering.
Stop being so melodramatic. Deena and Brielle can’t do anything to make Liam fall down a flight of stairs.
And I’m not an innocent ten-year-old child who didn’t know the kind of evil that exists in the world. I won’t lose him the way I did Mom.
Liam waits a beat, but when I don’t continue, takes the bouquet from my hand. “We can have these put in water. Are you hungry, by the way? It’s almost seven.”
“Yeah.” The response comes out too hoarsely; I clear my throat. “Starving.” I force a smile, glad for the change of topic.
A wiry man comes from the other side of the house.
His hair is silver and impeccably slicked back, revealing a high forehead.
He’s dressed all in white, from the starched jacket and shirt to slacks.
Either he just changed or he’s very good at avoiding dirt—his clothes are spotless.
His pale gray eyes warm as he takes me in.
“Ah, you’re finally here. Splendid. I’m Frederich. Olivia Desmond, I presume?”
“Kingswood,” Liam corrects him before I can nod.
“Of course. Terribly rude of me to forget.” Frederich doesn’t sound sorry. “Then again, it is easy to forget that which one doesn’t experience first-hand. Such as a wedding ceremony.”
“Only one person was invited,” Liam grumbles.
“Is that so?” Frederich turns his steely gaze toward me.
“Actually…two,” I say in a small voice, feeling like a kid caught stealing a cookie. A sensation I haven’t felt in twenty years.
“Did you hear that, Liam? Your wife disagrees. Which of you is correct?”
Liam rolls his eyes. “Obviously my wife is correct. But do you have to sulk? Act your age, old man.”
Frederich turns to me. “Olivia, you are a vision in white. As for dinner, it’s just something simple, some grilled sea bream with French tarragon sauce. My secret recipe.” He leans forward slightly. “Not even Liam’s brother, Silas, has it.”
I laugh. “Thank you.”
“I’d rather drizzle it down the cliffs outside than feed it to this ungrateful child, but you’re here.” A glimmer of affection twinkles in his eyes.
Despite myself, I smile. “I’m sure the dinner will be delightful.”