by Nichole Van
And there it was.
My heart took a leaping swan dive to the bottom of my chest cavity. I knew that was why Michael was here. I knew that this was what he always did.
But it didn’t stop my eyes from stinging and my lungs from feeling tight and painful.
Just once, wouldn’t it be nice for Michael to assume that a guy could be interested in me for some reason other than money and/or political gain.
But was that why Tennyson was here? Money didn’t seem to be a motivator for him. I mean, he lived in a freaking palace for heaven’s sake. So he must be after my mom’s influence.
A shuffling noise. “I have no interest in your employer’s money.” Tennyson’s voice dripped disdain. “I’m here for Olivia herself and no other reason.”
“Don’t make this tiresome, Mr. D’Angelo. Please just get to the point and name your price.”
“My loyalties aren’t for sale, Mister McMillan.”
Michael scoffed again. “Everyone’s loyalties are for sale.”
“You’ve been hanging around the wrong people then.”
“Name your price.”
“Go to hell.”
I maybe gasped at that point.
No one told Michael to go to hell. Particularly on my behalf.
I loved everything about Tennyson D’Angelo.
I didn’t care what his motivations were. The man truly was a hero.
“Olivia?” Tennyson’s voice sounded closer to me.
Damn. I was so busted.
“Tennyson?” I whispered.
“I’m here.” Warm fingers wrapped around mine.
I blearily opened my eyes and looked up into his decidedly blue gaze.
His forceful defense of me still rang in my ears. I’m sure my eyes beamed rainbows and glitter at him. I was drowning in Tennyson adoration.
Help.
“There’s my girl,” he murmured, brushing hair from my forehead with his free hand. “Mia ragazza.”
Why couldn’t this be my life? Waking up to find Tennyson D’Angelo gazing at me with hearts in his eyes?
Stupid, stupid woman to be asking questions like that.
Emotion clogged my throat, that acute ache spreading, flushing my skin and making my chest tight and frantic.
I clearly had already purchased a one-way ticket to Unrequited Lovetown.
I was better than this.
I knew better than this.
Men like Tennyson D’Angelo only dated women like me in romantic fantasies. If life had taught me anything, it was this.
Fantasy and Reality were not friends. They were never going to hook up with each other.
Fantasy most certainly would never date Reality.
Tennyson would never look at me like this for reals.
TWELVE
Tennyson
Olivia gazed up at me with stars in her eyes.
My heart lurched. Why was she looking at me like that? Did she care? Was she feeling this connection as much as I was?
It was still unnerving, seeing an emotion so clearly on her face and not feeling an iota of it.
Michael, however, was no mystery. The man oozed annoyance, disbelief and frustration. As if he thought it impossible for a man to be interested in Olivia for herself.
The civilized part of me found his attitude toward Olivia unequivocally appalling. The less civilized part wanted to go Fight Club on his skinny ass.
First her mother, and now Michael. Was everyone in Olivia’s life like this? So scoffing and dismissive of her worth?
So even though I knew I needed to keep my distance, I had doubled-down on the ‘boyfriend’ claim. This woman should never feel anything other than deeply loved and cherished.
I braced myself for Olivia’s look of confusion when Michael inevitably brought it up.
“Michael?” She lifted her head slightly and gave him a groggy, puzzled look. “What are you doing here?”
“Mr. D’Angelo was kind enough to call your mother on your cell phone to inform us of your hospitalization.”
A beat.
“And you’re here because . . .” Her tone was clearly not amused.
A blast of irritation from Michael. “Because you had another of your episodes, and your parents are concerned for your health and anxious for you to return home.”
Episodes? Olivia’s mother had said something similar. Was Olivia’s collapse a symptom of whatever disease was killing her?
“Of course,” she replied.
Though I couldn’t read Olivia’s feelings, she obviously believed Michael’s professed concern about as much as I did.
I rubbed her hand. Her fingers were cold. I chaffed them between my own.
It had been a long night. Mom had come for a little bit to bring some food and sit with me. Her presence had helped soothe my jittery emotional state. Or rather, had helped me move past my obsessive thoughts and the emotions pummeling me.
It was remarkable that I had been able to manage over fifteen hours in a hospital. But, looking at Olivia, I supposed it wasn’t so completely unexpected.
She had been in crisis, injured without any clear cause. I couldn’t physically force myself to leave her side.
I was her caretaker.
In the past, I had usually been the dependent one in the hospital bed, or at least the direct reason why someone else was in the hospital.
But this time, I was the anchor. I was needed.
For Olivia, I could be strong.
She could see the scars and the Chucky-slime. She might be my salvation. I hoped to be hers. She was an enigma I was desperate to solve.
But if Michael whisked her back to Washington, D.C., then resolving our issues together would be more difficult. Besides, I wouldn’t give a hamster I liked to Michael, much less my woman.
I was determined to fight for her, beg her to stay if I had to. I just had to keep my lips off hers.
Michael pushed ahead, thumbing open his phone and tapping the screen before lifting his eyes to stare at Olivia. “We will get you discharged as soon as possible. I have a plane waiting at the airport, ready to take you back to a hospital in the States—”
“Whoa, whoa.” Olivia held out a staying hand, the cords of her IV dangling off. “I’m not going anywhere—”
“You’re ill.” Michael ignored that, speaking over the top of her. “You’re currently bed-ridden. Where will you go when they release you from here? A hotel?”
“She’ll be staying with us.” I nearly growled the words. “My family and I will be taking care of her.”
“Because you’re her boyfriend?” Michael swung back to me. Scorn and frustration seethed within him.
Olivia’s hand tightened in mine. A warning. “That’s right. He’s my boyfriend.”
Michael reared back, shock blazing from him, clearly not expecting Olivia to back up my story.
I barely managed to keep the surprise off my own face. Olivia’s emphatic hold on my hand helped.
I had not been expecting her to agree with him.
But a blazing fire of joy surged through me.
I wanted to strut my triumph in Michael’s pretty-boy face, preen like a rooster and crow it from the rooftops.
Damn, but I loved hearing the word ‘boyfriend’ on Olivia’s lips.
Lips.
Don’t think about her lips, you idiot. I mentally shook myself.
I had to give her credit. For someone just waking up after nearly a day unconscious, she was quick on her feet.
Just another reason why she was destined to be my woman.
“Your boyfriend?” Michael made that throaty scoffing noise I was rapidly understanding to be his signature sound. “Why hasn’t his name been submitted for clearance?”
“I haven’t gotten around to it,” Olivia said, voice dry. “I’m in the hospital.”
Michael’s eyes flicked up and down her form, his expression and his emotions clearly stating that he did not accept hospitalization as an excuse.
> I consider myself to be a fairly understanding, non-judgmental kinda guy. Peering inside people’s souls on a regular basis kinda forced me to see all sides of a person.
I didn’t like Michael.
“Shall I catch you up to speed then?” Michael tapped into his phone again.
“By all means.” Olivia settled into her pillow.
Catch her up to speed? On what? The State of the Union?
I glanced down at her. She clutched my hand and smiled at me, affection in her eyes.
My heart exploded.
I knew this was all for Michael’s benefit, but it was hard to explain the difference to my overwrought nervous system.
She squeezed my hand.
I squeezed back.
Got it.
She was with me. Neither of us was going anywhere. That was good, I guess. Unfortunately, that sense of security lasted about ten seconds.
Michael cleared his throat, reading from his phone. “Tennyson Alessio Campbell D’Angelo. Thirty-three years old. American and Italian citizenship. Forestry undergraduate degree. Former military contractor—”
“What are you doing?” Olivia tried to sit up.
I found the bed controls and raised the head for her. She shot me a thankful look.
Michael watched in stoic silence. “Catching you up to speed.”
“I thought you were going to summarize what Mom has been up to—”
“You say this man is your boyfriend,” Michael interrupted. “I’m just ensuring you are clearly informed as to who, precisely, you are dating.”
Ah, hell no. We were so not doing that right now.
“Excuse me?” I interrupted. “I am happy to fill in any information that Olivia would like to know about me.”
“And have you? Does Olivia know anything about you?”
“I know what I need to, Michael,” she said. “Tennyson’s right. This is between us.”
Amen.
Any woman would need to be gently eased into the morass of my history. If Olivia got it all in one fell swoop, she would run screaming.
Of course, if she did that, I wouldn’t have to worry about kissing her and causing her death. So . . . that was a pro?
Granted, I would never see her again, so that con outweighed anything else.
“This isn’t necessary, Michael,” Olivia continued.
“On the contrary, this is very much necessary. Let’s see.” He tapped his screen. “Injured in Afghanistan by a roadside bomb, resulting in a transfemoral amputation of the left leg.” He peered around the bed, staring pointedly at my prosthetic.
Olivia waved a hand. “This is pointless, Michael. My mother doesn’t need me home for another two weeks or so. I’ll be spending that time here with Tennyson.”
Again, Michael ignored her, continuing on. “Youngest of a set of triplets. Two older brothers. A younger sister. Mother and paternal grandmother still living in Florence, Italy. Father deceased.” He lifted his head, pinning me. “Suicide. Granted, self-harm apparently runs in the family.”
“Michael—”
“Stop—”
We both interjected, but Michael went on, talking over the top of us, voice raising. “Mr. D’Angelo has attempted suicide twice himself—”
Damn you, Michael.
Olivia hissed in a breath, her hand clutching mine in a crushing grip.
Worse, Michael experienced a vicious little stab of satisfaction saying those words.
Who knew what Olivia felt, but given the tight line of her mouth and flaring of her eyes, it probably wasn’t good.
“Is that true?” She looked at me.
I shrugged, not trusting myself to reply without yelling. Yes, sometimes my demons got the better of me. My number of attempted suicides was actually four, but no need to clarify.
I got another jolt of malice from Michael.
Michael’s purpose was clear: I was damaged goods, figuratively and literally, and Olivia should run far away from me.
He was enjoying himself far too much.
“How did you get hold of this? Isn’t this information classified?” I turned to him, going on the offensive.
Michael smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. “Why, yes, this information is classified, Mr. D’Angelo. Consider this to be a type of security clearance for dating my client’s daughter—”
“You’re being a jerk, Michael,” Olivia said. “Stop it.”
Michael ignored her, taping back into whatever file he had compiled on me. “Mr. D’Angelo was accepted into MIT for graduate studies but declined to attend and opted instead to pursue time as a military contractor in Afghanistan. Mental health history and citizenship status rendered Mr. D’Angelo ineligible for regular U.S. military service, hence the need to pursue a job with an outside contractor.”
“You done?” I asked. “Because I don’t think mia ragazza needs to hear any more of this, do you cara?” I looked at Olivia, making sure concern shone in my eyes.
“Why stop now?” Michael tapped his screen. Another stab of vindication. “I’m just getting to all the good paranormal stuff that I know Olivia loves.”
What did Michael mean by that? His words and emotions had layers.
Michael and Olivia shared a look that was laden with . . . I didn’t even know what.
Anger? Frustration? History?
“Just get on with it, Michael. Sorry, babe.” She shot me an apologetic glance. “Michael will whine and fuss until he gets his own way with this. You can step out if you need to.”
No way in hell I was leaving this room. Especially when Olivia had just called me babe. My pathetic soul liked it a little too much.
Of course, Michael considered her acquiescence a win and smirked in triumph before continuing, “Mr. D’Angelo is alleged psychic with a troubled psychological history. He claims to be able to see the future. This led to a string of freakishly accurate predictions according to eye-witnesses. Those involved estimate that Mr. D’Angelo’s predictions saved over two hundred lives during the course of his time in Afghanistan. Concerned that he was obtaining his information through Taliban contacts, military officials interrogated Mr. D’Angelo on three separate occasions. Mr. D’Angelo was absolved of any wrong-doing each time.
“Unfortunately, Mr. D’Angelo did not predict his own injury. He was driving a rig through the outskirts of Kabul when a blast detonated. Mr. D’Angelo took the brunt of the attack, resulting in a punctured lung, fractured ribs, shrapnel injuries and severe trauma to his left leg which was subsequently amputated.” Michael lifted his head at that point. “No explanations as to why you didn’t prevent your own injury? Huh, Mr. Psychic?”
Even without my GUT, his disdain and contempt would have been palpable.
I shrugged. “I did see my own injury. I just chose to go ahead anyway.”
Michael raised a very skeptical eyebrow.
I glance down at Olivia. Her gray eyes were full of questions.
I smiled at her, a small, bleak thing. “It was the only decision to make, honestly. I also saw what happened if I saved myself from harm. Instead of my truck taking the direct hit, it would have been the school children coming around the corner. Twelve children would have been killed.” The vision never left me. Their bodies torn and bloody, strewn across the street. The decision had been a no-brainer. “I consider my leg a small price to pay for their lives.”
Olivia squeezed my hand again. “You’re so amazing, babe,” she whispered.
Again . . . babe.
I loved it.
Michael did his scoff thing. “So you chose to make a noble sacrifice instead of simply admitting that you’re a fraud? Or should I add another suicide attempt to your dossier?”
Now that I had an answer for. “I honestly don’t care what you believe, Mr. McMillan. Your belief does not change the hard facts of my reality. I can live with your disdain and contempt. I can’t live with the blood of children on my hands.”
Olivia sniffled. I turned to her, watchin
g as she swiped a tear away.
My heart sank.
“Hey, none of that, bellissima,” I murmured, bending to catch another tear with my finger.
I may have also let my fingertip linger on her cheek a lot longer than necessary.
She shook her head, biting her trembling lip. “Sorry. I just get all teary-eyed when I think of you sacrificing yourself for those kids.”
She shot me those stars again. I returned them, telling myself it was for Michael’s benefit, that it wasn’t my own adoration.
“Cute,” Michael all but rolled his eyes. He looked to Olivia. “Regardless, there is a plane to catch. I’ll speak to the doctor about your release.” He turned to the door.
“I’m not going anywhere, Michael,” Olivia said, stopping him, wiping her face with both hands, the action decisive. “I’ll repeat that as many times as I need to. You can’t make me return with you. Tell my mother I’ll be home in two weeks.”
Michael slowly pivoted back to us.
Silence.
Michael death-stared Olivia down. She met his gaze without flinching.
“Your mother won’t be happy about this.”
Olivia shrugged. “I can live with that.”
More silence.
Emotions roiled through Michael. Frustration, irritation, anger. But his final emotion, resignation, was the one I was looking for.
“Fine. I’ll report this back to your mother.”
“Thank you for coming. Give my parents my love.” Olivia’s voice dripped sugar.
Michael slammed the door on his way out.
Silence hung in the room.
Olivia politely let go of my hand. The stars faded from her eyes, leaving them dull.
No. Don’t go, I almost whispered.
I adored those stars. I wanted them to be a permanent fixture of my life.
But of course they would fade now that we didn’t have an audience. I was essentially a stranger to her.
And despite my adoration of her, I barely knew her myself.
Olivia shot me a bright smile that didn’t reach her gaze. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”
THIRTEEN
Olivia
Tennyson continued to stare at the door where Michael had just disappeared.