"Rubbish, you spend your entire life talking to, mingling with, and running after other people. Besides, they're already expecting you. You'll hurt their feelings if you don't come."
"Oh.” When had he arranged this? Did he know she couldn't stand the thought of causing other people distress? Of course, he did. That's why he'd said it. Even as hurt and resentment built, Olivia acceded out of politeness and the need to stay with him a little longer, the greedy need for more in her memoirs. “Then I really don't have a choice, do I?"
"Not really.” Cain smiled at the ceiling and she felt the sigh in his chest beneath her ear. Snuggling her closer to his side, he spent the rest of the afternoon teasing and cajoling smiles from her, rewarding good behaviour with kisses, and nibbling gratitude while they rolled and played in her sheets. There was tension hidden behind the light-hearted games, but she was willing to ignore it. They were back to cherishing the moments. There wouldn't be many more after this, whether she met his family or not.
* * * *
Olivia couldn't weasel out of meeting Cain's family, even if the portents were bad.
Saturday dawned cold, dismal, grey and raining. So morose did the city look, Olivia was forced to wonder whether she had caused its change in mood. A foolishly egomaniac thing to ponder, but the day mimicked her feelings well enough it seemed perhaps the universe, the very atmosphere, had been attracted by the strength of her emotions. The dull ache in her spirit might well have wrung the misty tears from the air. Congenial as ever, Mother Nature provided a perfect backdrop for Olivia's dejected mood.
Cain was dauntless. He'd rung twice already to ensure she was prepared, also to make sure she wasn't using the weather as an excuse to recant her promise. All morning she'd dithered with her clothes, flowers and language, hoping to ensure she'd make a good impression. Crawling out of bed at three in the morning provided plenty of time to imagine all the mistakes she might make. After multiple mirror checks, she finally decided to get a hold on herself. Scowling at her reflection, she tried commanding calm from her body. Buck up, Olivia! She was never this nervous. Certainly not over a man. Definitely not over a man who would be leaving town in less than twenty-four hours.
The doorbell chimed in with its own two cents, jauntily announcing his arrival.
"Bonjour, Cain." Olivia opened the door with a smile, hoping he didn't notice the tight mask settled in place where her face used to be. This was how she'd survived the last fifteen years. Lack of exposure to the atmosphere was a proven method of preservation and it worked for emotions, too.
"Bonjour." He winced when she laughed at the Australian accent crawling all over even his one French word.
Laughing at his pained expression, she left him at the door to snatch her bag from the coffee table. Taking his hand, she dragged him back down the stairs. She didn't stop on the landing to look at where they'd shuffled off social conventions in favour of sexual gratification. Instead, she raced him past the railing down to the car. Yet another reminder. Unpanicked, in daylight, she could see the car was sleek, powerful and amazingly beautiful to look at ... for a car. This was the same vehicle he'd driven when she'd poured out her soul. The same one he'd driven into her life. Too bad the quality of the car didn't reflect the quality of their relationship. Seating herself in plush leather surrounds, she considered it a shame that British engineering couldn't fix her as well as engines. Easing the tension from her neck as the car eased out of the city and onto quieter roads, Olivia cracked her jaw in an effort to avoid the headache that usually followed prolonged drives. She hadn't spoken a word to Cain from the second the engine had purred to life. He hadn't pushed by trying to make polite conversation, instead focusing on driving and letting her deal with her own demons.
"Tell me about your family.” With the slowing of traffic and the beginnings of lush green pasture, she finally felt able to speak. On Friday night she'd envisioned Cain being raised in a house full of men. Surely only a testosterone laden environment could produce a presence as powerful as Cain Warner. Probably a stack of brothers, a gorgeous if slightly eccentric father, and a meek little mother living quietly in the shadow of her boys. Presuming his mother had stayed of course. Such environments weren't generally conducive to female habitation.
"I have four sisters.” A fond smile twitched at his lips.
"Four!” Oh my, she knew how to charm men, but this was far different. “I see,” she responded dryly, “your parents had no television."
He chuckled. “They soon got one."
"How did you survive in a house with five women?” She'd always thought women were much more difficult to deal with than men. Generally men said what they meant and meant what they said. If they didn't like something or someone, they slugged it out, then left well enough alone. Women, on the other hand, put on polite faces before sliding a knife into their victim's back. She'd met any number of foster mothers like that. The perky ones had smiled to her face while reporting to the foster group about how she was too difficult, too uppity. The truth was she'd never had an uppity day in her life.
"I lived in the shed.” Cain's happy chatter interrupted the depressing tangent along which her memories meandered.
"Really?"
"Not literally. My dad and I evacuated to the shed when the going got rough. Only when you've lived in a house where five women are experiencing PMS at the same time can you truly appreciate the beauty of a tin shed."
She laughed out loud. It was easy to envision a cocky adolescent Cain under siege for daring to possess the wrong chromosomes. She could well imagine the browbeatings that would have taken place every time he'd tried to assert his feelings of male superiority. “I wish I could feel sorry for you...” she smiled, “but it's really too funny.” In fact, this one piece of information explained a lot. His confident persistence in the face of her sometimes irrational behaviour and his innate understanding of when to back off had all developed during long years of experience.
"Ah, yes, we can all laugh now, but it wasn't so funny when Jacinta chased me around the yard with a knife."
"Really?” Such rampant behaviour was not within her experience of families. It sounded ... fantastic.
"Then there was the time Moira choked and shook me until I was blue in the face."
Olivia eyed him suspiciously. “And what did you do?"
He grinned. “I broke her dollhouse. Mum told her to finish the job outside so she wouldn't have to listen to the terrible sound of my dying or clean my body off the carpet."
By now she felt her smile nearly splitting her face in half. His childhood sounded wonderful! Insane, but wonderful. Delighted giggles came pouring from her lips despite her previous nerves. “Tell me more,” she demanded.
"One summer they built a tree house complete with a pulley allowing them to lift all their precious things into the cubby on the end of a rope. They tested it by encouraging me to put my foot in the loop at the end of the rope. ‘Load testing’ they told me. I thought they actually wanted to play with me. They pulled me all the way to the top of the tree then dropped me."
Olivia gasped. “What?"
"Yep. I fell straight back down without touching a single branch, landed flat on my back, winded and worried I might die."
"But you didn't."
"No. Much to the sisters’ chagrin. After that I decided to just stay the hell away, bide my time and pick my battles."
"In other words, you charmed them.” Exactly the same way you charmed me—biding your time, choosing your battles.
"These women are unable to be charmed.” The wry comment sprang gleefully from his grinning face.
"But you adore them."
"I do. Although, when I was young, I used to swear to my friends that all four of them leapt off the roof on their brooms at midnight. I was so serious and the sisters were so scary, my gang almost believed me. I remember studying Macbeth in high school. My sisters fit the role of the ‘weird sisters’ perfectly. Ever since then, everyone who knows th
em as a group refers to them as ‘the sisters'."
Olivia laughed out loud at the image before moving on to her next point of interest. “You had a gang?"
"Absolutely. You need one when you have so many women about. We were deadly, too. There wasn't a hundred and fifty kilos of weight between the four of us and our greatest claim to fame was jumping the creek in John Jeffreys’ backyard on our Huffy's."
* * * *
Cain could tell his family stories had drawn Olivia to him more effectively than anything else he'd done. Better than his tutelage in mechanical engineering. Better than his gently protective behaviour toward her. Better even than the best sex he'd ever experienced ... rather a demoralising thought really. His stories clearly appealed to the lost part of her, called to all the pieces she'd buried. He could almost see them reemerging as he spoke.
"Cain?"
"Yes, Olivia."
"Where are we going?” Watching her during the early part of the drive, he knew she'd been in no state to pay attention to their direction. Typically, she'd turned inward. She was used to relying on herself. He knew that, but still it was painful to watch. Thinking of his own mad, wild sisters who'd always supported each other, he wondered if inner strength was a uniquely Olivia thing or if all women possessed it.
"We're going to Stawell, still about half an hour away."
"As in the Stawell Gift?"
He grinned. Naturally that would be the only thing she'd know about the small town in which he'd grown up. The Gift was a legendary race held every year in Stawell. Competitors sprinted over one hundred and twenty metres, more for the glory than the prize money. The Stawell Gift started in eighteen seventy-eight and had become a legendary race. Sadly for the economy of the area, but fortunately for him, his hometown had barely grown since the inaugural race. As an adult Cain loved the peace of the area, but as a brattish teenager he'd been filled with dreams of bigger and better things. “Yes, as in the Gift. But Stawell is also one of the oldest gold mining towns in the country. That's my favourite part of its history."
Olivia registered the small hint about his early career with little more than raised eyebrows.
"Didn't they mention Stawell on Oprah?” he teased.
"Oh, would you please stop. I'm sorry, all right? I'll never use the Oprah line again."
"Okay.” He'd prefer she never used any line again, but he'd work his way up to that particular bugbear. Perhaps he would make it rule three.
* * * *
Olivia slipped into Cain's family like a duck slides across the surface of a pond. Gently and without any great splash. Although, from the look on her face, her feet were paddling madly beneath the surface. His family was boisterous, even overwhelming, for many newcomers. His mother and father met them at the door. His mother delightedly welcomed Olivia to the fold, though God knew she already had enough daughters.
"Sit down, Olivia,” his mother encouraged, “tell me about yourself. How did the two of you meet and why are you the first woman my boy has brought home in a good five years?"
Olivia parried effectively, only her slight stammer and the flutter of her hands hinted she might be somewhat less than calm. “I ... I don't know why he hasn't brought anyone else home, Mrs. Warner. I'm an engineering student. I tutor first year maths to help pay my way."
"Call me, Yolande, honey. I love hearing my name with a French accent. Maybe I should shop for a French husband, eh?"
Cain's father, sedately sipping coffee in a chair beside Olivia, smelling of Old Spice aftershave and wearing one of his usual thick woolen jumpers, barely batted an eyelash. His father had taught him patience and never to say anything he didn't mean. From a young age, he'd learned to appreciate the man's quiet calm and to listen when he spoke, because the words were always well considered. Where his mother was the brightly lit and constantly partying flagship of the family, his father was their anchor.
Looking at his parents’ relationship now was enough to give him reason to pause. How could he be the port in Olivia's stormy, hectic life if he wasn't around? How could he have barged into her world knowing he'd have to leave? His dad was going to have some serious frowning and tutting to do.
Cain noted how Olivia neatly excised the part about being an escort from her introduction. Some things were best left unsaid. His mother already knew, of course, but there was no need to hash it over. Especially when just speaking of it made his gut tighten and his head pound. Here, in the kitchen of his parents’ stone cottage, Olivia looked nothing like his first impression of her. No slick, sexy escort image. Only the jeans-clad university student. Only the woman who drove him to distraction with startling regularity. The woman he was planning on leaving tomorrow.
Peace was shattered when Cain's sisters arrived. They came in a convoy with families in tow. A loud procession with children in every car, they slammed doors and yelled instructions to various family members before bowling on into the kitchen. This particular room was everyone's favourite, probably because it was always warm. It was always warm because his mum was always in it, cooking up something that smelled delicious and usually tasted even better.
The sisters poured copious amounts of wine into glasses, so large they could have passed for aboveground swimming pools, while the men were shooed into the back shed. Feeling guilty about leaving Olivia at the mercy of the awesome sweep of noise and emotion created by the women he loved, he fought against leaving.
"Olivia is my guest. She wouldn't know you lot from a bar of soap, so why would she want to stay here with you?"
"Because it's preferable to being around you.” Thank you very much, senior witch Moira.
"Because we want to talk to her.” Two cents from second in command Greta.
"Because we're fabulous company.” Oh so confident number three Jacinta.
"Why wouldn't she?” Youngest child syndrome never did leave the smallest imp, Felicity.
Cain surveyed the sisters affectionately. Naturally, he wasn't going to win, and he knew they wouldn't really cause Olivia any permanent damage. If he was lucky, if his plan came to fruition, these women might well be his saving grace. Raising his hands, he indicated his surrender with a knowing look at Olivia. “Didn't I tell you?"
"What?” came a chorus of voices.
"He told me he adored you,” Olivia cut in.
Dropping a kiss on the crown of her head, Cain made his exit, hoping against hope that the women in his world would convince Olivia to join them.
* * * *
Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, Olivia took a large gulp of wine while Cain's sisters settled themselves at the table around her. Families frightened her. There were so many emotions between so many participants, who could hope to sort one from the other? Settling into a family was an even more terrifying concept. With all the history surrounding these people, a newcomer couldn't possibly understand all the jokes, jibes and innuendoes. The best she could hope for was to survive this one night. At least she could be grateful for small mercies. This wasn't a long-term arrangement. This was only one night.
She'd met Charlotte's family, of course, but she'd never dated anyone else long enough to run the gauntlet of parents and siblings. Always liking the concept of happily frivolous affairs, she'd picked up lovers and left them off whenever she'd felt like it. No strings or connections to sever when it was over. It may have kept her isolated, but by the same token, she'd never been responsible for messing up the lives of innocent people. Watching the women around her, she rapidly developed a whole new appreciation for her choice of lifestyle
"So, Cain tells us you're an escort."
It was Felicity who'd spoken. According to Cain they all spoke their minds, but Felicity was the most capricious. Perhaps it was her name. The young woman narrowed her eyes, inspecting Olivia. Felicity's gaze ran up and down, mimicking many of the overconfident men Olivia had met in nightclubs. The youngest sister's face broke into a gleeful grin. “I can see it! Man you've got some face!"
"Don't forget the body,” heavily pregnant Moira pointed out from beside her. “I'm so incredibly jealous."
"Thank you ... I think.” Listening to them, Olivia decided that bluntness would cut both ways.
"Exactly what have you done to our brother that for the first time in his life he doesn't want to go overseas?” Greta was agog with curiosity.
Noting both the possessive pronoun and tone, Olivia blanched. Cain hadn't told her he didn't want to leave. In the recesses of her mind, she'd presumed this would always happen and that he would return to his pre-Olivia life without a backward glance. She had never imagined he had qualms about leaving. Knowing only made it more difficult. Struggling to find a suitable answer for Greta, she blushed at the thought of all the things they had done together—kinky wonderful things—which may well have been his reasons for not wanting to go.
"I didn't know he was having doubts about leaving."
Apparently her bewildered voice was cause for great hilarity because all the other women in the room snorted into their glasses.
"Honey, he's so cut up he enlisted us, for Christ's sake.” Greta giggled, sucking down more wine. Obviously the women celebrated when they all got together. On some unspoken cue, they rose to begin helping their mother with dinner preparations.
"What exactly did he enlist you to do?” Suspicion and mistrust began to rear ugly heads.
Jacinta shrugged. “Not sure exactly, but if he wants us to meet his girlfriend there's usually something going on."
"I'm not...” How could she explain to the sisters and mother of the man she was currently having magnificent sex with that she was not his girlfriend? Not an easy thing to do. Certainly it wasn't something to explain in a kitchen full of sharp knives either. “I'm not sure why he wants you to meet me."
"Hey, Livvy?"
"Yes?” Olivia turned to face the smallest sister, who could only have been nineteen at most and seemed to enjoy the very Australian habit of shortening names. An abbreviated name was a good sign. A sign of friendship and acceptance. Olivia settled more comfortably into her chair.
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