Chapter Twenty-Eight
Liam
I can’t focus on anything all morning. All I can think about is Simon’s smug face. Why didn’t Olivia say something? Or at least hint that it was her birthday?
Don’t I deserve to know? Especially when he knows? Or did she expect me to check the marriage license and remember? I was so excited about our ceremony that it didn’t occur to me at the time.
She probably forgot. She’s probably busy. She might tell me later. Not everyone remembers their birthdays. Rhys and Gideon never remember because they’d rather spend that time working. The rest of the brothers have to do something about it.
But none of that soothes me. Simon’s smirk as he left the house keeps digging into my head like a drill.
Emmie walks into the office. “About the meeting with the designers—”
“No.”
She blinks. “What?”
“Cancel it. In fact, cancel all my meetings for the day. I’m out.”
“But we need to finalize the launch of—”
“Have Mike take over. He’s senior enough, and it’s about time he takes on more responsibilities.”
I head out while Emmie’s mouth opens and closes like a goldfish.
It’s barely noon. Maybe buy a nama-cream cake from Bobbi’s Sweet Things and head over to Olivia’s office? Just drop it off casually and say, “Hey, just a little something for your birthday.”
No. That’s so…juvenile. Besides, who knows what the hell was in Simon’s box.
“I’ve got her covered this year, too,” he said. That fucker.
This year is my year—the year Liam Kingswood celebrates his wife’s birthday properly. And no smirky son of a bitch is going to get in the way.
I call Frederich with detailed instructions.
“All that. And before six this evening,” Frederich says. I can practically hear the raised eyebrows.
“Yes.”
“You could just give her a ring. I’m sure something suitable can be found within a couple of hours.”
“That’s so passé. Besides, it’s expected. You can’t be predictable and exciting.”
“Ah, yes. The excitement.”
“And grandeur.”
“Grandeur as well.”
“I have faith in you, Frederich.”
But I still stop by the showroom floor, just in case. What I planned should be enough to beat Simon, but I can’t be complacent. Every time I feel like my place is secure in my wife’s world, I feel like he kicks me from behind, trying to evict me.
No fucking way. I waited twelve years, and this is my time.
I text Frederich with more instructions. He reads them, but doesn’t respond. Damn it. Doesn’t he know this is important? Maybe he’s too old and out of touch. He’s been married for decades, after all. Probably forgotten what it’s like to be young.
I force down a taco for a late lunch since a growling stomach would be embarrassing. Then I drive over to her office and wait for her to come out.
By a quarter till five, people start pouring out, eager to start their weekend. I climb out of the car and oh-so casually lean against it, in the navy bespoke suit I picked out because it makes me look exceptionally broad-shouldered.
Olivia appears on the other side of the glass door. My pulse picks up.
She’s smiling, her eyes bright. My beautiful birthday girl. She’s speaking animatedly to…Simon. He’s such an icky, sticky pest—like old gum on a sidewalk that got stuck to her shoe. And what’s up with that stain on his shirt? Can’t even eat without dripping all over himself like a toddler?
Suddenly she blinks, then swivels her head. Her eyes light up as she trots out of the office.
My heart pounds as I step toward her and wrap my arms around her. She feels perfect—my heaven, my wife. And I love it that she relaxes against me, her face buried in my chest.
“Hello, wife.”
“Hello, husband,” she says, tilting her head up while I savor “husband” from her mouth. “What are you doing here?”
“What, I can’t pick my wife up after work?”
She presses her lips together to hide a smile as she pulls back. “No, but is this really the best use of your time as a CEO, taking a detour just to pick up your wife?”
I shrug. “It’s Friday and I’m the boss.”
“Should set a good example.” Her voice is mock-stern.
“I am. A good example of a devoted husband.”
She laughs, placing a loud kiss on my cheek. Simon looks like he just stepped in dog puke.
Eat your heart out!
She waves at Simon. “Thanks for your hard work today. Have a great weekend.”
“You too, Olivia.” He nods at me with a pained smile. “You, too.”
“I will.” I open the door to the Spectre. “He’s always so…close, isn’t he?”
“What do you mean? He’s been with me for seven years. Of course we’re close.”
Ha. Only seven years!
As I climb behind the wheel, she suddenly stops like a bloodhound scenting something. “Wait, you aren’t jealous of Simon, are you?”
“Jealous? Me? Of him? Pfft.” I pull the car into the busy traffic, flexing my jaw to ease the tension. “No. Never.”
Her mouth forms an O. “Oh my God, you totally are. I was hoping you guys would become closer.”
“Why would you think that?” I say, trying to sound calm.
“He said you told him about how we knew each other at Stanford.”
“Yeah, but…” I narrow my eyes. “Look, he’s a man, okay? I don’t even like male houseflies around you.”
She chuckles. “You have Emmie, and do I ever complain about her?” she teases.
Except I’m serious. “But Emmie doesn’t have feelings for me.”
“What, and Simon’s pining away for me? Come on. He’s just very loyal. And you”—she pokes my shoulder—“are just jealous for no reason.”
Ha! She didn’t see how he behaved this morning! But ratting him out would be petty. And unbecoming.
“Besides,” she says. “Am I with Simon right now? No. Am I wearing his ring? No.” She lifts her hand and flexes her finger. “See? Yours.”
The Rubedo catches my eye and a fierce possessiveness burns in my gut. Yes, she’s mine.
I stop at an intersection and glance at the light. Thirty-five seconds. Plenty of time. I grab her hair and pounce, taking her mouth. She lets out a soft gasp, then swipes her tongue over my lips.
Blood heats. The car interior feels too small.
Furious honking, and I pull back and start moving. “I hate it when he’s around,” I say after three beats.
She sits back in her seat, blinks and arranges a few stray locks. “Well, I can’t fire him just because you don’t like him. How about I tell him not to pick me up and drop me off? Things have been calm. No Simon in the car for two hours each day.”
A compromise. I didn’t expect her to offer one so easily. “That would be…nice. Thank you.”
She reaches over and lays her hand over mine. “Hey, you’re my man. If I don’t accommodate your feelings, whose should I?”
I want to record this so I can play it every time Simon gets on my nerves.
Still, Liam one, Simon zero. And does this mean she’s thinking about making our marriage more permanent?
Sometimes I think she’s open to that, but sometimes she acts like the end is inevitable.
It drives me crazy. Isn’t the love I bring to our marriage enough for both of us?
“How was your day?” I manage in a calm voice.
“It was nice. We found this great little Italian place.”
“We?”
“Well, Simon did.”
Back to him again? He’s worse than having termites! “Oh, I see. Simon discovered it.”
She seems oblivious to the edge in my voice. “Yeah, he likes to introduce me to a new restaurant every year.”
Tell me the company was awful. Tell me you want to celebrate with me tonight.
But she grows pensive, her eyes lowered. What’s making her sad on her birthday?
I reach over and brush a tendril off her cheek. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” she says. “Just some, you know, life goals.”
I wait a few beats. “Like what?” If it’s something I can do for her, I’ll do it, no questions asked. Anything to get the sadness off her face.
Her eyes are still a little red-rimmed, but her mouth is smiling. “Having a baby with you as soon as possible, maybe?”
My gut clenches. I’ve cooperated fully. So what is this melancholy really about? She can’t be regretting our marriage. But maybe it’s the deadline. If so, she can just tell me and I’ll rip the contract to shreds.
But it might be something else, so I lighten my tone. “Now that’s a great life goal to have.”
“Does it bother you that I said I want our child to carry the Whitmore name?”
“No. It doesn’t matter what name they carry. The fact that they’re ours will never change. Or the fact that I love them.”
The smile freezes on her face, and tears spring to her eyes. What did I say? But almost immediately I realize she might be thinking about her childhood—of the loving father she should’ve had but didn’t.
She blinks hard. “You say things that literally make my heart tremble. How can you be real?”
“I’m as real as the stars in the sky or that diamond on your finger, Olivia.”
She looks down at the Rubedo. “I think our kid will be really, really lucky to have you as a father.”
I turn my hand so I can thread our fingers together. “And they’ll be lucky to have a mother like you.”