by Lori L. Otto
“You do look sexy today,” he says. “Tear-streaked and everything.”
“You’re biased.”
“I am,” he agrees, unbuttoning his shirt and taking it off to reveal his undershirt. He runs the faucet over the makeup stains. I take it from him and rub the fabric together between my fingers.
“My mom can help with this at home,” I tell him. “Or I’ll get you a new one.” I scrub it a little harder, scratching at the interwoven threads with my painted nails.
“It’s not a problem.” He puts his hand on both of mine, stopping me. “It’s fine.” He takes his shirt and sets it aside, pulling my body to face him. “Is it okay if I kiss you now?”
“That depends. Did you come here to break things off?” I ask him, joking, feeling fairly confident now that he didn’t.
“I came here to talk about taking a break–”
“Jon!” I say, shocked. He puts his finger over my lips.
“But I realize I can’t do that. I can’t stand the thought of life without you. The thought of you being with anyone else. So no, I’m not breaking things off.” He shakes his head at me to reiterate his point.
“Then okay.”
He puts his hands on my cheeks and tilts my head, leaning in very slowly to kiss me softly. His familiar touch is welcome, and I let out a slight whimper as my fingers grasp the waistline at the front of his jeans, pulling him closer.
“Are you all right?” he asks suddenly, mistaking the sound that escaped.
“Don’t stop,” I encourage him, returning to our embrace. His actions seem calculated and deliberate, cautious but sweet.
His eyes still closed, and lips still mere millimeters away, he whispers a question to me. “Did you drive here?”
“No,” I answer, the word forming against his mouth. “I walked here from school.” As I take his bottom lip between my teeth, he sighs and groans in frustration.
His thumbs on my temples, he pushes me away gently. “That means we have about three minutes.”
“But you’re coming over,” I tell him, rather than ask him. “I want to talk.”
“I want to do a lot of things,” he says with a laugh. “But we can talk at your place.” My cheeks flush pink, and I kiss him on his jawline. When I pull away, I catch a glimpse of the tattoo in the mirror. I push his shoulders to turn him around and press my lips against it twice. I untuck the shirt from his jeans, straightening it out for him when I realize he’s not going to put his other shirt back on.
“You’re about to tell me you have nothing that I can put on over this, aren’t you?”
“Yep.” I smile broadly, admiring his reflection, loving how he looks. He takes a hard look at us, too, grinning as he puts his arm around my shoulders.
“Come on, then.” I slip my hand in his back pocket as we walk toward the door. Jon picks up my backpack and slings it over his shoulder while I grab my handbag and take out the keys. “Please, don’t ever come here with another man. Ever.”
“I won’t,” I vow as I lock the door behind us. “I never even thought of him like that.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Liv. I’m sorry there are people in the world like him.”
“It just makes me appreciate people like you even more.” He bends his arm, bringing me closer to him playfully once we get in the elevator. He kisses the top of my head.
“I look like a thug,” he laughs as he looks at himself in the mirror.
“Like a gorgeous street thug,” I sigh dreamily. “You know you look good.”
“We don’t look like we belong together,” he argues.
“Shut up!” I slap him playfully on his chest. “We look like we always look. And we do belong together.” As the elevator reaches the bottom floor, he kisses me just as the doors open to a crowd in the lobby. It takes me a moment to realize that the crowd has gathered because of me.
“It’s Livvy Holland!” someone exclaims, and flashes from cameras pulsate quickly. Francisco shoves through the crowd, flanking my right side.
“I’m sorry, Miss Holland,” he says as he walks with us. Jon shifts his arm, moving his hand to shield my face as he guides me through the large marble room.
“What happened?”
“There was a scene when your father left. I had called the police when Jon walked past us, so they showed up just before Mr. Holland came down. They questioned him for a few minutes, and people outside took note... after he left, more and more people showed up. I couldn’t keep them all out.”
“I’ve got it from here,” Jon says. I can tell he’s still angry with Francisco about how he was treated earlier. When we reach the front door of the building, we both see an opening in the chaos to our left and walk quickly. There’s no escaping the photographers, though. Jon stops abruptly and turns around when we get to the first street corner on the way back to school. “Could you all just back off? Please?” he yells. I bury my face in his back, anxiously waiting for us to continue on our way.
“Are you Jon? The boyfriend from Columbia who took the picture?”
“No comment!” he states forcefully. People start to shout questions out at me, each voice louder than the last. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jon adds through gritted teeth. “Can you please leave her alone?”
“He must be her bodyguard,” I hear someone mutter in the crowd. Something about that statement makes me smile. Sleeveless undershirt. Muscles. Tattoo. Jon puts his arm across my back and pulls me forward when he sees an opportunity to cross the street.
“Hurry!” he orders me as I realize there are cars coming. When we make it across, I look back at the crowd that’s been stopped by the traffic.
“Smart,” I say. “Daring. I would expect nothing less from my bodyguard.”
One corner of his lips raises into a sly smile as he looks down at me. After a quick glimpse across the street, he puts his hands on my neck and kisses me. As I hear the crowd become restless–still stuck on the other side–he takes my hand in his, running down the street next to me.
Neither of us can stop laughing by the time we reach my car. It’s in a private lot near my school, so there’s no one around us anymore. Jon opens the passenger door for me and helps me inside before jogging to the other side. He takes a seat behind the wheel and starts the car.
“This has been an eventful afternoon,” he comments, looking both ways out of the lot and turning down the street, taking us in the opposite direction of my house, away from the crowd.
“That’s insane,” I tell him, still stunned.
“Kind of a rush, though, no?”
“I don’t know what to think,” I admit. “I’ve never seen people like that with my parents.”
“You’re far more interesting than your parents, Olivia,” he says as he searches for a street that will take us back in the right direction. “I can’t wait to see the headlines,” he laughs. “Livvy Holland makes out with street thug on Madison Avenue.”
“Yeah,” I say as the adrenaline starts to wear off. I touch his right hand, noticing how red it is. “Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. It’ll probably fuel the fire.”
“Nah,” Jon says. “You’re news today,” he continues, “because your dad had to deal with some police. Someone else will do something better–or worse–tomorrow, and you’ll be safe until the next big thing happens.”
“I hope you’re right.”
By the time we make it home, Mom and Trey are peeking out the window. She opens the door for us as we get closer to it.
“There were people waiting around out here a few minutes ago,” she explains. “Matty asked them to leave. I guess they finally got bored.”
“Yeah, we were ambushed at the loft.”
“This is ridiculous. Are you okay, sweetie?” she asks as she embraces me.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“I can’t believe that man would have the nerve to do that to you,” she says. “Thank God you showed up, Jon.” She hugs him, too, then picks up his
hand. “That doesn’t look good. Can you move it?”
“Completely,” he says as he flexes his fingers, wincing only a little at the motion.
“Let’s get some ice.”
“What did Dad say?” I ask as we follow her into the kitchen.
“He just told me what had happened. He was following him to the studio when I talked to him, so I hope he didn’t kill him while they were alone.”
“I wouldn’t mind getting in another punch or two,” Jon adds.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t either,” my mother says, pressing an icepack onto Jon’s knuckles.
“Little Liv, you okay?” Matty says from the doorway. Jon turns to look at him, and I watch as my mom spots the tattoo on Jon’s shoulder. She reads it, looking a little surprised.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Good to see ya, Jon.” My uncle smiles at my boyfriend, and I remember how he’d left our house the night before. That seems like so long ago, and as much as I’d like to ignore what had happened, I know we need to talk about things.
“Mom, I was crying and I got makeup on Jon’s shirt. That’s why he’s just in his undershirt, if you’re wondering.”
“The thought had crossed my mind.” Jon smiles, realizing she’s seen the tattoo, but he doesn’t explain anything. “Need me to wash it?”
“Could you?” I ask her, fishing it out of my bag. She takes it, starting to walk to the basement.
“Can we go to my room, Mom? Just to talk?”
“Keep the door open.”
“All right.” We follow her down the stairs, veering off into my room.
“The Ever-Elusive Bedroom of Olivia Holland,” Jon murmurs as we walk in. “That’s what I’ll call my memoir.”
“Ha ha. Hurry before Dad gets home,” I tease him. He looks around the room and starts to have a seat on an old barstool I use when I paint. “Come here,” I encourage him, sitting down on the bed, arranging the pillows against the headboard.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. We’re not going to do anything with the door open. Mom’s two doors down, remember?”
“Yeah,” he agrees as he walks around to the other side of my bed and takes a seat next to me. He puts his right arm around me, and I take the icepack from him, holding it against his knuckles. “So how was your day?” he asks with a slight chuckle.
“Why’d you walk out last night?” I ask him pointedly. He looks away when I glance at him.
“I was angry,” he says with a shrug. I shake my head at his response, showing him my disapproval. “Well, I was.”
“You can’t just leave when you’re mad,” I tell him. “It’s not fair.”
“I don’t think fairness plays into it at all.”
“Well, then it’s childish,” I say, biting my lip as soon as the words come out.
He huffs quietly to himself. “That’s fair.” I look once more and see him nodding at me as he catches my gaze. “I’m sorry I left.”
“You can’t keep doing that. You can’t just threaten to walk away because you don’t get what you want.”
“Hold on, that’s not exactly how it went. This was more than me not getting my way. It’s about me accepting handouts–”
“That’s not what it is!” I exclaim, removing his arm from my shoulder and shifting to face him. “It’s you accepting me for who I am.” He stares at me for a few seconds, then looks away into the media room, frozen.
He nods in that direction as my dad clears his throat from the door, startling me. “Can I interrupt?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Jon says, standing up quickly.
“Sit down. Here,” Dad says as he walks toward my boyfriend with a glass of water. He hands him the drink and two pills. “You don’t think it’s broken?”
“It’s fine. Thanks.” Jon takes the medicine as he sits back down. He’s not relaxed this time, though.
“Thank you,” my father says. “I don’t think I would have had the guts to do what needed to be done. So thank you for handling it.”
“It was reflexive,” he explains. “Instinctive, even. I was actually surprised myself. I’ve never hit anyone before.”
“Well, let’s not let it happen often,” Dad says with a gentle smile. “He’ll be out of the public eye for awhile. No pun intended,” he laughs. “Did you have any trouble leaving the building?”
“It was crazy, Dad,” I tell him. “People taking pictures and videos, yelling things... we just tried to get out of there as soon as we could.”
His mood instantly changes. “I hate that. I don’t want that type of attention on you. I always vowed that I’d leave the city the second you or your brother started living under a microscope.”
“We’re not moving,” I tell him. “This is our home, and I’m sure it’ll pass. Like Jon said earlier, someone will do something worse and they’ll have all the press next.”
“I hope. It might make Yale look that much more attractive.”
“You planned this, didn’t you?” I tease him, and he smiles once more.
“I’d never do that,” he assures me. “If Abram tries to contact you at all, I want to know about it, okay? I’ll get a restraining order if I have to.”
“Surely that won’t be necessary,” I respond. “He seemed genuinely remorseful.”
“I don’t care how he seemed. I don’t want him coming near you.”
“I don’t either,” Jon says.
“Well, that makes three of us, then. I’ll tell you, Dad, don’t worry. But I don’t think he’ll try.”
“He still has one painting of yours that I’m getting back. He said you gave it to him as a gift?” The painting I did last year. I do want that back. I nod, letting him know I know to which one he’s referring. “I’m going to his apartment tomorrow to pick it up. Anything else?”
“That’s it.”
“For the record, there was no client tonight,” Dad says. “And I’m glad you went to the loft. If you hadn’t, I’m not sure anyone would have been there to help you.” His voice is strained with worry.
“Daddy, I’m fine. I don’t hold you responsible.”
“Do you need an agent?” he asks sheepishly.
“Find a woman,” I encourage him. “I’ll need one. Soon,” I tell him, hopeful.
“That’s a great suggestion. Matty’s making dinner. Since you’re here, you might as well stay,” Dad says to Jon.
“Sure.” He finally settles back against the headboard again. Dad looks at his watch on the way out of my room, letting us know it will be ready in about a half-hour. Dad pulls the door with him, leaving a gap of a few inches.
“That’s about as private as it’s gonna get,” I tell Jon as I settle against him. I pick up the icepack he’d discarded and examine his hand closely. I kiss the knuckles of his first two fingers, which look the worst. He takes the ice and puts it back on his hand.
“Where were we?” he asks.
“You weren’t accepting me for me,” I tell him without looking at him.
“Olivia, I love you, you know I do.”
“But can you live with all of this?” I ask, motioning to the room around me. “My Dad is a part of my life. The money will always be a part of this equation. Like it or not, it’s made me who I am–”
“I don’t believe that,” he says. “You’d be the same person without it all. In fact, I can forget about your wealth most of the time we’re together. But when I’m reminded of it, it just...”
“It just... what?”
“It just makes me feel like I’m not good enough for you. I’ll never be able to give you what your family can.”
“You don’t know that–”
“Money doesn’t motivate me,” he argues.
“It never motivated my father, either. It was just a byproduct of his instinct and ingenuity... and his drive. You have all of those things.”
“Liv, are you really thinking that I might become a millionaire someday?” he asks sarcastically.
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br /> “No, that’s not what I’m thinking. I’m just trying to get you to see that it could happen to you.”
“I don’t want you sitting back, hoping for that. This is about you accepting me, too.”
“Never once have I dreamed of you being rich,” I tell him. “You don’t need to be, for me. I’m set. And whoever I end up with is set, too, by association. Whether that’s you or someone else, I don’t know... but I hope it’s you.”
“You could have anyone,” he whispers.
“I want you. I want a guy who’s not going to live off of my wealth, and I know you won’t. I know it’s there. You know it’s there. And you have enough ambition to make a life for yourself, too. So do I. But you have to accept the help of my family when times get tough... especially now, while we’re young and don’t personally have a dime between us.”
“It’s just not that easy,” he says argumentatively.
I play with the ring on my finger, staring at it intently. “And walking away from me is?” When he doesn’t answer, I look back at him once more. “We are bound by things other than words or promises, Jon.”
I kneel on my bed and face him so I can talk softly and still say what needs to be said, what he needs to hear. I pray that we’re alone in the basement, but take a chance anyway.
“There are a handful of words in my vocabulary, Jon, that I didn’t truly know the meanings of until that night in Mykonos.” Jon shifts his focus back to his hand as I continue quietly. “Vulnerability. Passion. Heaven. Soul. Safety. Intimacy. Love. Devotion. Fate. Olivia.”
His eyes meet mine at the mention of my name.
“And it wasn’t you that defined those words for me, Jon. We did that, together. I know I couldn’t have known any of those things without you. I like to think that you couldn’t have, either.”
“I couldn’t,” he says as he pushes the ice aside and puts his swollen hand on the back of my neck. He plays with the curls at the nape, and slowly pulls my head to his for a long kiss. “As for Olivia,” he says as he nuzzles his nose to mine, “the most beautiful thing about you is that you do know who you are. You did before I came around. You know your purpose. I didn’t do that.”