Chapter 24
By the time I stepped into my apartment, I felt like I was floating. Oliver wanted me back. It was what I’d been hoping for since I packed my things and walked out of the penthouse.
But as much as I wanted to rush back to him, I didn't want to seem too eager. I busied myself with tasks to keep from obsessing over my answer—it was yes, but with a few stipulations. I wasn’t sure if Oliver would agree to them, but they were necessary.
By dinner time, I was ravenous and ordered a pizza with the works. I’d lost weight since our separation, but now my appetite had returned with a vengeance. I called in the food order and poured myself a glass of chilled white wine.
Twenty minutes later, I heard a knock on the door and frowned. Normally, the concierge didn’t let delivery people upstairs. I looked through the peephole, but no one was there, so I opened the door with the chain still on.
“Who’s there?” I called out cautiously.
Oliver's face suddenly appeared, holding my pizza. I gasped in shock. “What the fuck. How did you get up here?”
“Do I have to tell you?” he replied smugly.
“Fuck. You own this building? No wonder management is so nice to me. I didn’t see it on your holdings.”
“That’s because the minute you decided on this apartment, I bought the building,” he said, his tone nonchalant.
“But it wasn’t for sale,” I protested, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Everything is for sale at the right price. Now, are you going to let me in, or should I break the door down?”
“I said I needed time,” I reminded him, my voice firm.
“I’ve given you six hours. I can’t wait any longer. I need your decision,” he insisted, his tone allowing for no argument.
“You’re still a pushy bastard,” I muttered, closing the door to unhook the chain.
Oliver pushed past me, walking into my apartment and leaving a trail of his delicious citrusy cologne in his wake—the one he always wore when we were together.
“What do you want?” I asked, trying to keep my composure.
“To have dinner with you and to give you these,” he said, placing the pizza on my white quartz counter and handing me a white bakery bag.
Curious, I took the bag and unrolled the top, finding a clear plastic container filled with an array of colorful macarons. “From The Diamond Square?”
He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “I knew you liked them.”
I raised an eyebrow. “When did you plan on coming over here? Suppose I had a guest?”
“I knew you didn’t, and I took a chance with the pizza. Imagine my surprise when I got here at the same time as the delivery man,” he replied, his tone light but his eyes serious.
“But how did you know it was for me?” I asked, curiosity tinged with suspicion.
“I asked the concierge,” he admitted with a shrug.
“Have you been keeping an eye on me?” I demanded, a mix of irritation and intrigue bubbling up inside me.
“Maybe,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Oliver!” I exclaimed, feeling a strange mix of anger and warmth. “That’s a little creepy, you know.”
He held up his hands defensively. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” I retorted, though I couldn’t deny the flutter in my chest at the thought of him watching over me.
“I know you are,” he said, his voice softening. “But I couldn’t help it. I’ve missed you, Ryleigh. Every day without you has been hell.”
I bit my lip to hold back the tears. “I missed you too, but I’m hurt. You know how to hurt me worse than anyone can.”
Oliver hung his head and looked at the counter. It gave me a chance to travel his form with my eyes. The polo shirt he was wearing hugged his body showing every ridge and cut. His shorts curved around his muscular posterior. I stopped looking because I felt my core tighten with need. It had been months since I had sex, and the last time was with Oliver.
“I know. I told you I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”
His stare was intense, and his sapphire eyes looked like they were glistening with tears. I looked away because if I kept his gaze, I would start crying. We had been through so much in the past year and with our first anniversary coming soon, it was time to make a decision to move on or end our relationship for good.
“Do you want to eat with me?” I said in a soft tone.
His face brightened and he swiped his fingers across his eyes. “I’d like that.”
We finished eating, and after Oliver helped me clean the dishes, we took our glasses of fruity white wine and went to sit outside on my small terrace. It was a far cry from the expansive one at the penthouse, and I missed it. We settled onto the white loungers and looked out at the park as the sun set over the city.
“Thank you for dinner,” I said, breaking the comfortable silence.
“You ordered it and I invited myself,” he replied with a smirk.
I smirked back. “Typical. You ate a lot. When was the last time you had food?”
“Last night. I’ve been busy,” he said, taking a sip of his wine.
“Busy?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow.
“Many projects need my attention. I could use you back. Have you started a new job yet?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes searching.
“No. I’m not sure what I want to do,” I admitted, staring into my wine.
“You can come back and work with me. Your office is still vacant,” he offered, leaning forward slightly.
“Is that on purpose, or you haven’t found another protégé to mentor?” I asked, my voice tinged with skepticism.
“It’s on purpose. I’ve had plenty of time to think, too much in fact. I hate that my bed is empty at night,” he confessed, his gaze intense.
“Has it been empty the entire three months?” I asked, unable to hide the edge in my voice.
Oliver coughed on the wine in his mouth. “Are you asking if I slept with anyone else?”
“You looked pretty cozy with Lara in those pictures,” I said, my eyes narrowing.
“She was my escort, nothing more. I’m not interested in having sex with her. We’re friends,” he explained, his tone defensive.
“Then answer my question. Have you slept with anyone since our separation?” I demanded, my heart pounding.
“No. There’s no one else I want. Don’t you know that?” he replied, his voice softening.
“Oliver, we had a pretty fucked up end to our relationship. I don’t know anything at this point,” I said, feeling a lump in my throat.
“Our relationship isn’t over,” he stated firmly.
“Then what do you call our separation?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“A hiatus. We’re never going to be over. I won’t let it happen,” he said, his eyes locked on mine.
“But you almost did. We almost ended because of what happened,” I whispered, tears pricking my eyes.
“I wasn’t thinking. And I was afraid,” he admitted, his voice cracking.
“I needed you and you abandoned me. You just shut off. Once I lost our son, that was it. Like you didn’t have a need for me anymore,” I said, my voice breaking.
“I handled it very poorly. You deserved better. I don’t know what else to say,” he said, his eyes filled with regret.
"If I come back—" I began, my voice wavering slightly.
Oliver leaned forward, his eyes intense. "Not if," he interrupted, "when."
I sighed loudly, running a hand through my hair. "Suit yourself. When I come back, you need to do a few things for me. This is non-negotiable."
"Anything," Oliver said without hesitation, his eagerness palpable.
I held up a hand, cautioning him. "Don't say yes yet until you hear them."
Oliver's jaw set with determination. "I'll agree to anything if you come back."
I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "We need to go to couple's therapy."
To my surprise, Oliver nodded. "I know. I was going to suggest it."
"You were?" I asked, unable to hide my shock.
"I've wanted you to go for a long time," he admitted, his gaze dropping to his hands.
Eventually, I would tell him that I was seeing a therapist because the nightmares got too intense. Without him to be there to shut them down, they were an uninvited visitor on a nightly basis. Since I’ve been seeing Dr. Snell, they’d calmed some.
I leaned forward, my voice intense. "This isn't just about me. It's about us as a whole. Suppose I get pregnant again and have another miscarriage? Are you going to shut down and walk away? I can't handle that."
Oliver grimaced as if in pain, his shoulders tensing. "I won't," he promised. Then, almost tentatively, "You should stay home once you get pregnant."
I shook my head, frustration creeping into my voice. "Oliver, that won't stop me from miscarrying. It's nature."
"I hope it doesn't happen again," he said softly. "I'm not sure I can take it, but I promise you that I won't run away. I'll be open and honest about my feelings."
He set his wine glass on the small table between us and stood, moving to the end of my lounger. His hands found my legs, stroking gently. Despite my resolve, warmth bloomed in my belly at his touch. I felt my nipples tighten, a familiar ache of need stirring within me.
Oliver reached out, cupping my face with his hand. His touch was electric, sending shivers down my spine. "I love you, Ryleigh," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "I'll walk through fire to make this work."
I swallowed hard, fighting against the urge to melt into his touch. "I don't want you to walk through fire. I want you to make me a promise and keep it."
"I will," Oliver vowed, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. After a moment, he asked, "Can I ask you a small favor?"
I couldn't help but laugh, the tension breaking slightly. "Back together for two minutes and you're already asking for favors?"
A small smile played at the corners of Oliver's mouth. "Can I kiss you?"
My heart raced, desire warring with caution. "That's not a good idea."
"On the cheek at least," he pressed, his eyes pleading.
I hesitated, then relented. "The cheek is fine."
As Oliver leaned in, his lips brushing softly against my skin, I closed my eyes. The familiar scent of him enveloped me, and for a moment, I allowed myself to hope that maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back to each other.
“I think you should go,” I whispered.
"Now?" Oliver asked, his voice low and husky.
I nodded, trying to keep my composure. "Of course, now."
He glanced at his watch, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "It's still early."
"Yes, it is," I admitted, my heart racing. "But I don't trust myself with you."
Oliver's eyebrow arched. "Why?"
I let out an exasperated sigh. "You know why."
"No, I don't," he insisted, taking a step closer.
My patience wore thin. "Do I have to spell it out for you? S-E-X."
A smirk played at the corners of his mouth. "So, you think I want to get you into bed?"
In a moment of reckless abandon, I did something I shouldn't have. I placed my hand over the bulge in his shorts, feeling his hardness beneath my palm. Oliver's sharp intake of breath was all the confirmation I needed.
"This is what I mean," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "You're aroused by just our kiss."
I let him go, but Oliver wasn't done. He reached up, thumb grazing my nipple through my thin shirt. "I'm not the only one," he murmured. "Face it, Ryleigh, we're highly attracted to each other. We're perfect together."
I pushed his hand away, fighting against the heat building within me. "I still want you to go."
Oliver's eyes darkened with desire. "Are you sure?"
Anger flared within me, cutting through the haze of lust. "Is that why you came over here? You wanted a quick fuck?"
"I came over to talk," he said firmly, his jaw clenching. Then, his voice softened, "And quick when it comes to sex isn't in our vocabulary."
Despite myself, I felt a smile tugging at my lips. "We've had quickies," I argued.
Oliver stepped closer, his scent enveloping me. "But we both enjoy long, slow lovemaking. I want our reunion to be memorable."
I stood abruptly from the lounger, needing to put distance between us. Oliver followed suit, his presence overwhelming in the small space.
"You need to leave," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "Now, before..."
"Before what?" Oliver challenged, his eyes locked on mine.
I swallowed hard, fighting against the urge to close the distance between us. "Before I do something we both might regret."
The air crackled with tension as we stood there, mere inches apart. I could feel the heat radiating from Oliver's body, see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Every fiber of my being screamed to give in, to let him stay, to lose myself in his embrace.
But I knew if I did, we'd be right back where we started, papering over our problems with physical intimacy instead of addressing them head-on.
With herculean effort, I took a step back. "Goodbye, Oliver," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
As he turned to leave, the look in his eyes – a mixture of desire, frustration, and something that might have been hope – nearly undid my resolve. But I held firm, watching him go, knowing that this time, if we were to find our way back to each other, it had to be on different terms.