Chapter Twenty-Nine
Liam
–Frederich: All ready. Enjoy!
“Why is the house so dark?” Olivia asks. Normally the smart system turns a few lights on automatically at six thirty.
“I’m not sure,” I say, trying for an innocent tone. “Let’s go inside and see.” I take her hand, and we walk in together.
Countless tea candles all around the house flicker in the soft sea breeze like twilight fairies. The air smells of fresh flowers and a hint of brine.
Olivia gasps. “This is gorgeous.” She stares up at me, the candles casting a soft glow on her face. “What’s the occasion?”
I shrug, smiling at her reaction. The light sparkling in her eyes is more beautiful than the candle flames.
I lead her to the table set up on the terrace over the ocean. A lone pink camellia sits in the center, and two plates of food are laid out—Frederich’s special fish and iceberg wedges—and a bottle of chilled Meursault, and a bread basket and butter on small plates.
“You’re not going to tell me what the occasion is?” she asks.
“Nope. Just enjoy the food and really think about what today could be about,” I say, pulling out a chair.
She frowns, taking the seat. “Can’t be the day we met.”
“That’s right; it’s not. Have a bite of halibut before it gets cold.” Butter-poached halibut with Meyer lemon beurre blanc is one of Frederich’s top recipes. He only makes it when we beg—or bribe—him.
She takes a careful bite, watching me pour the white Burgundy. “It isn’t your birthday, is it?”
I almost spill the wine. “No!” I run a hand over my face. “How’s the fish?”
“Very good. But you’re killing me with curiosity.”
“Eat your fish and think harder.” I stick a fork into my fish, watching her trying to puzzle it out.
She purses her mouth, then starts sipping the wine.
“More?” I gesture to the glass after a few moments.
“Yes, I need my thinking wine.”
I laugh. “Nothing lubricates the brain like alcohol.”
“It’s good alcohol.” She takes another bite of the fish, then snaps her fingers. “This is the day you knew Kingswood Stones & Designs was going to become huge?”
I shake my head. “No. Not even close!”
“You have to give me a hint!”
“It involves somebody really dear to me.” There!
She frowns. “Your best friend did something?”
I sigh. “No, it’s not about my friends.”
“One of your brothers?”
I shake my head.
“Well then, I don’t know.”
“Oh my God, I gave you a hint!”
She stares back at me blankly. I just sigh again, deflating. How can she not know? The somebody really dear to me is her. Was I too subtle about who I love? I never told her I loved her because if I did, she’d likely run. But shouldn’t she know? At least a little?
And they say men are obtuse when it comes to romance.
“Give me another hint,” she says.
“No. Just finish your dinner.”
“Oh, come on! This is so unfair!”
“Unfair? What’s unfair is that you don’t know.”
“Fine. I’m going to Google right now.”
“Google won’t help.”
But she pulls out her phone and tries anyway, then says, “Aha! Your brothers—Rhys and Finn—founded their investment firm together today!”
My shoulders start shaking, and I just cover my face. She’s so far off it’s ridiculous. “And why would I celebrate their company founding with you, overlooking a beautiful ocean sunset and having halibut?”
She blinks a couple of times. “Maybe because they’re too busy…?”
I laugh harder, torn between affection and exasperation. How can she not realize that today is about her? That today is special because she came into this world?
Then I stop at a horrible realization: she never expected me to celebrate her birthday. Meanwhile, though, Simon got to give her a gift.
It pools in my belly like rancid oil, but I also wonder how much losing her mother robbed her of the chance to celebrate life’s happy milestones.
Hugh doesn’t strike me as a good father, and when your own father treats you badly, his mistress won’t be any better either.
As much as I dislike Simon, I have a feeling that, until him, nobody in her life bothered with things like birthdays after her mother’s death.
Olivia pouts. “Fine. You’re just being difficult. But I think I’m right.”
“Okay,” I say, humoring her even as my heart aches for the girl who hasn’t had a birthday celebrated since her mom’s passing.
“Good. I’m glad we agree that I’m right. And since you’re being agreeable, here, have a bite of salad.” Olivia cuts a piece of the iceberg lettuce wedge and tries to feed me.
“I have my own salad.”
“You can use a little extra.”
“Why?” I eye her extra-sunny smile warily.
“So you can live long and prosper and all that.”
I squint. “Do you not like the salad?”
“Of course I like the salad. It’s just that sometimes, when I have such delicate fish, I don’t want to overwhelm it with green stuff. That’s all.”
I point to the lettuce. “Eat yours, so you can live long and prosper.” And be happy. With me.
“Okay, fine, I’ll eat it!”
I chuckle at her mutinous face. She really is cute when she tries to get out of eating something as innocuous as iceberg lettuce.
“Tell Frederich that this salad would be much better if he put in about two spoonfuls of crumbled bacon bits,” she adds.
“That would negate the point of eating the salad, because I’m certain he used five sticks of butter to make this fish.”
“I knew I liked that man for a reason.”
Now the sky is completely dark. The moon hasn’t risen yet, but a few stars sparkle in the inky canvas. I check the time. Should be just about—
Suddenly the sky lights up with HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY WIFE, OLIVIA KINGSWOOD.
She gasps. Her fork clatters onto the plate, but I don’t think she notices. Her unblinking eyes take in the view.
“Oh wow,” she breathes.
The drones change to make a single heart—this is our first time celebrating her birthday together. We’ll have many, many more. Then they shift again, writing I’M SO GRATEFUL YOU’RE IN MY LIFE.
Absolutely still, she stares. Awe and wonder spread over her face, her jaw slack. In my peripheral vision, Frederich carries out a nama-cream cake from Bobbi’s Sweet Things with thirty lit candles. But from the absolute focus as she watches the drone show, I doubt Olivia notices.
I start to reach over to hold her hand, then stop at the sight of silent tears gleaming on her cheeks. Each drop is like a little diamond reflecting the lights from the drones.
My heart stops. Of all the possibilities, I never thought she would cry. How do I comfort her? I thought she would be happy over the show. But so much grief pours out of her unblinking eyes. God damn it. Did I ruin everything?
She turns to me, her cheeks soaked with tears. “How did you know?”
I don’t answer, just swipe a thumb over her cheek, but more tears flow.
“I haven’t celebrated since Mom passed away—Hugh couldn’t be bothered.”
Olivia doesn’t mention Simon. Maybe she only sees their lunches as a professional gesture, rather than something personal. I can’t decide if I should be happy or sad. Her birthday should’ve been special every year.
“Mom always planned something amazing, saying I was her greatest treasure. She even bought me a pony once,” Olivia continues.
“All my friends envied me. Brielle was furious when she saw it after moving in. Deena said if Mom hadn’t ‘shown off’ so much, she might’ve liked her better.
” Her face crumples a little. “I used to wonder if she would’ve called 911 sooner if I hadn’t received that pony for my birthday. ”
I take her hand in mine, even as I seethe with fury at the injustice she’s suffered.
“I tried not to remember my birthdays because I didn’t want to hurt.” She sniffles. “Still… This is the most beautiful celebration I’ve had in twenty years. Thank you so much, Liam.”
I cradle her face and kiss away her tears. “Happy birthday, my love.” I gesture at the cake. “Blow out the candles and make a wish.”