by P. M. Briede
Of course when I pulled back the bed clothes I found I wasn’t tired. Unable to force myself to sleep, I grabbed the Jane Austen book from my bag and curled up on the chaise. But I didn’t read. The book was open, I turned the pages, but nothing stuck. Instead, I sat there in the shirt of one man, pretending to read his book, while staring longingly out my window hoping to catch a glimpse of the other. He never showed. That house was deathly still and quiet with every window closed. My mind raced with all I would say to Olivier if I ever again got the chance, of all I owed him for guarding Paige and looking out for our students. He didn’t have to tell me he’d healed victims of the mayhem, it had been written all over his body.
As I blinked my eyes after reflecting on all of that, I wondered how I’d ended up in my bed. I had no memory of actually putting myself in it; no memory of sleeping. With the sun cresting the horizon I decided to slip back into old habits and take it in on my back porch. I grabbed a pair of pajama pants from the drawer, pulled them on, and went downstairs. So imagine my surprise to see Olivier sitting at my kitchen table.
He didn’t smile or say anything when he saw me but nodded to a mug on the table. I shouldn’t have been shocked given his supernatural hearing, but I was. I took it and we stared at each other. Now was my chance but my mouth wouldn’t form any words. Because I’m a coward I took the mug and went outside. At the beep when the door opened, I paused and turned quizzical eyes on Olivier’s back. How had he gotten past the alarm last night? And if he could, what had been the point in installing it?
He was still mad and I agreed it was justified. But it was irritating that he was punishing me in my own home. I sought the solitude offered in my garden and cringed at the proof of neglect growing in my flower beds. In an effort to distract myself from the man sitting in my kitchen I put down my mug, grabbed the gardening mat and gloves, and knelt to care for my plants. I’d cleared the clutter from one of the beds when the door beeped announcing him.
I froze for a moment waiting to hear what Olivier would have to say. I was met with silence. Weeding the garden hadn’t kept me from constructing a litany of mistakes he’d made during our time together. Ultimately though, this time it was I who was utterly in the wrong. Since he saw no reason to acknowledge me, I kept my back to him, gathered the weeds, and deposited them in the composter. After wiping the sweat from my brow, I resumed my work at the nearest bed.
The feel of his chest against my back as Olivier knelt down behind me so his hands could capture mine was the last straw. My resolve melted away as I took the only step available into the garden to round on him. “Exactly what the hell are you about, Olivier?” I bellowed. Still in the position he’d taken to kneel behind me, his eyes widened in confusion. “I was wrong and I know that. But these mixed messages you’re sending, I can’t handle. How long have you been in the house? Did you put me to bed last night?” His lack of response was enough of an answer for me to know that he’d probably been in the house at least since I fell asleep in the chaise. “How? Why? You should be yelling at me, not tucking me sweetly in at night! I absolutely deserve it! I was insensitive and cruel.”
There was still no movement from him, he remained steadfastly mute. To an outside observer I would have appeared to be crazily railing against a stoic man. Finally, he dropped his head as he stood. When he lifted his eyes they were sullen and sad as he gazed at me as if we were strangers. The tears stung my eyes because the look of him made me feel worse than I already did.
I felt sick and wanted to be alone. So I ran into the house, not stopping until I was in my room. The blasted man was so quiet I hadn’t heard him racing after me, only becoming aware of his presence when I heard him catch the door I’d flung closed to enter the room and close it behind him.
“Olivier, please leave.” I couldn’t look at him.
He didn’t. His shattered voice finally broke his silence. “Exactly what should I be furious about, Charlotte? Since this began, I’ve known I was sharing you, known you weren’t solely mine. Before, I was just faced with stolen glimpses, the occasional stolen moment. Last night it was like you’d chosen him over me, and it wasn’t to break his heart.”
He still thought I’d traipsed off with Wesley last night. “But I didn’t,” I cut in. “I’m not sure what I did was much better. Olivier, I needed to get away from it all. I knew you’d rail at me for going. It never occurred to me what you’d be going through, what you would need. I didn’t choose Wesley over you, he found me.”
“What do you mean found you?” Olivier sounded stunned. “So you didn’t run off with him?” he asked as he stepped up behind me.
“No.” I opened my mouth to explain what actually had happened but a voice cut me off.
“Cheval, it’s Wesley,” came from a voice message on Olivier’s phone. “Look, Charlotte made us all swear to let you be, but she’s at home, at her insistence. I’m sure you left thinking she’d be safe with Paige, Tristan, and the patrolman, but I think she wanted to be near you. Be mad but we both know it’s because you love her. I can’t punish us all by not telling you and then have something happen to her. You keep her safe, safer than any of us. Paige told us what you did today. When you’re ready to see her again, text me and I’ll stay back for twenty-four hours and give you what you should have gotten tonight.”
Even over the phone I could see the pain behind Wesley’s eyes at having to leave that message. Why hadn’t he told Olivier that I’d run away. “Why would he do that?” I mumbled
“Because he’s the better man.” I hadn’t realized I’d voiced the question until Olivier answered it. “Charlotte, I’ve already sent him the text. You’re mine for twenty-four hours. So if you didn’t run off with Breaux what did happen?”
Olivier’s hands found my upper arms and his thumb started tracing circles. I’d always thought it was meant to soothe me but maybe it was also meant to soothe him. I leaned back into him and gave him the rundown. “It would make sense for Celinda to put eyes on you when the campaign is in town,” he surmised. “But I don’t think the men following you work for her.”
I pulled away and spun around. “What are you saying?” A veil dropped over his eyes, all the emotion they could hold was sucked out, leaving nothing. “I saw one of them at the Ritz after they’d wiped Wesley’s mind. Olivier, he looked right at me then. It’s the same one you talked to in the music room. If he’s not an exile, which how could he not be what with his flaming blue eyes, than who the hell is he?”
At my statement Olivier closed his eyes. “Get dressed, Charlotte.” He didn’t say anything else but turned and left the room. The alarm beeped a minute later saying he’d left the house. With nothing else to do I did as he’d commanded.
I’d just finished brushing my teeth when I heard the door beep again and Olivier call my name. “I’ll be right down,” I called back. Quickly pulling my hair into a ponytail, I threw my LSU baseball cap on. “Where are we going?” I asked when I joined him in the foyer.
He didn’t answer, just grabbed my hand and led me to his car which was parked in my driveway. I wasn’t shocked, he liked to have his little secrets and at least this was one I could live with. We didn’t say anything during the drive. I finally broke the silence when we arrived at a dock on Lake Pontchartrain. “Are we going boating?” The excitement in my voice was palpable. I loved being out on the water.
“That was the reaction I was hoping for,” Olivier admitted. “I remembered the talks we used to have about one day owning a boat and spending weekends on the water. So I decided now was the perfect time.” We’d made our way to his trunk where I discovered a duffle bag, fishing poles, a tackle box, and a picnic basket. I grabbed the tackle box and the picnic basket and Olivier grabbed the rest.
Olivier led me through the boat yard and down a dock. “Seems you’re well prepared for a spur-of-the-moment boat rental,” I observed. We were passing all the pontoons and speed boats I assumed normally would be the rental boats. Now surrounded by sma
ller yachts, I wondered exactly where we were going to stop.
“Who said anything about renting?” I stopped dead in my tracks. He had to be joking, right?
He didn’t immediately notice I was no longer beside him. “How did you manage to buy a boat in the last hour?” My skeptically voiced question pulled him up short.
As he shifted the duffle onto his shoulder, he came back, took my hand in his newly free one, and dragged me to a vessel called The Odyssey. Of course, his boat would be named that. “I’ve owned the boat for a little over a year now,” Olivier responded. “It’s where I lived until the house behind yours became available. Now are we going to continue this conversation on the dock or would you like to step onto the deck?” There was no evident anger but just a hint of exasperation. He wanted to be out on the water.
As we went below deck I saw a small galley, bedroom, and living room. He’d left the fishing poles on the deck and instructed me to put the picnic basket in the kitchen. I asked him about the boat and learned that it was a fifty-four foot Sportfish, whatever that was. Regardless, it was stunning, sleek, and clean. He obviously paid someone to care for it when he wasn’t using it. Delving deeper into the galley, I found Olivier in the bedroom. He turned as I entered the room and I saw a two-piece bathing suit laid out on the bed, along with sunscreen, a beach towel, and a wrap. “You don’t think it’s presumptuous of you to purchase me a bathing suit?” I teased, crossing my arms over my chest.
That mischievous grin took residence on Olivier’s face and lit up his eyes. “Oh, I didn’t buy that for you. I found it in those bags Paige left back in February. You can thank her for that. I know I will if you decide to wear it.” My eyes widened as I took a closer look at the suit. It was extremely skimpy with no practical purpose whatsoever other than to make men drool. Ugh!
I snatched the sunscreen off the bed and lathered up my face and exposed arms and legs. I was wearing Bermuda shorts and a t-shirt with three-quarter length sleeves. Olivier pulled his t-shirt off and put a dab of sunscreen on his fingers. Carefully watching to see what he needed that little for I arched a brow at him as he approached me. “You missed a spot,” he softly whispered as he took care of my ears. “Out on the water, you’re going to get hot in what you have on,” he cautioned when he was done.
“I’ll be fine,” I mumbled. “So are we just going to hang out in the docks or are you taking me fishing?” We went to the control panel and took the boat out on the water. Somehow on the crowded lake he found a secluded spot for us to cast our lines. At the stern of the boat he handed me a fishing pole, gave me a quick lesson in casting, and then opened his tackle box. Expecting some kind of wiggly synthetic bait or at worse a worm, I jumped back and started gagging when he opened a cup full of wriggly maggots.
He removed his sunglasses and put them on the brim of his cap before leveling a serious look at me. “You okay?” I emphatically shook my head no. “They don’t bite, Charlotte. Best thing for trout.” Yeah and they live on dead bodies mostly. I’ve watched enough criminal serials and my best friend heads the crime lab. Unfortunately, I know way more about maggots than I ever wanted to. Olivier picked up a fat one and held his hand out to me. I dropped my pole and backed away from him. “Come now, a true fisherman baits her own hook.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not a true fisherman. That’s what a man is for. So either bait my hook or fish by yourself. I am never going to touch that!” With false indignation he huffed at me and put the wriggly, disgusting insect on my hook before baiting his own. “Oh, and by the way, I’ll catch the fish but I’m not touching those either,” I informed him as we cast our lines.
With the arguments over what I was and wasn’t willing to touch resolved, we sat back in companionable silence and fished. It is actually quite boring when you’re not catching anything which is what happens most of the time. Although I did enjoy listening to the water gently slapping against the hull and the feel of the rhythmic rocking. Every now and again some college kids would race by in their speed boat or Jet Skis, making the rippling swells rougher.
Olivier must have picked up on my boredom because after a while he got up and went into the galley. When he returned he handed me a large, rectangular gift. “What’s this for?” I asked in astonishment.
Shrugging shyly, he challenged my surprise. “Can’t a friend get another friend a gift? Does it have to be for something? I saw it, thought of you, so I purchased it.” His explanation was crap but I decided not to call him on it this time. I vaguely suspected it was because I openly adored Wesley’s gifts and Olivier wanted to offer me something he hoped would compete. “So are you going to open it? It might come in handy today.” I ripped the paper like a child at Christmas for his amusement to discover a beautiful, leather bound book. The pages were worn and there was no title on the cover or spine, making it look like an ancient copy. When I flipped through the pages the text was handwritten and in Latin. It didn’t look ancient, it was ancient! I translated some of the very faded text, recognizing the prose. It was Homer’s Odyssey and probably as close to an original version as existed. “You know what it is then?” Olivier proudly inquired when I gasped.
At my attempt to put the book back in his hands he refused to take it from me. “Olivier, this is too much. You didn’t see that in a store, think of me, and purchase it. I can’t accept this. It’s probably worth a fortune!”
With his hands over mine, he pushed the book back towards me. “In a way I did. When I was cleaning out the house to make room for you, I found it along with some other texts I happen to have collected over the years. I’ve never met anyone with the proclivity and love for the language that you have. I sent the pages off to be restored and bound for you, only getting the finished book back late last week. So you see in a way I did see it, think of you, and purchase it. I have many copies of the story. Much like Austen’s work for you, it’s one of my favorites. Please keep it. I want you to have it.”
It was too much and I was committed to my argument. I tried again to decline it. “Charlotte, the monetary value means nothing to me. Surely it is not a surprise that I own a few antiquities. Never in my life have I ever wanted to share them with someone, much less give them to someone.” Finally accepting his graciously given gift, I scooted my chair closer to him and began reading. Periodically I’d stumble on the hand-writing. It wasn’t long before his arm was slung over the back of my chair with Olivier melodically reading the text to me. It was so peaceful that I fell asleep.
I woke up when the sun was at its peak to find I was sweating profusely. The morning hadn’t been hot and I’d been comfortable in the clothes I’d worn then. I wasn’t anymore. “Charlotte, I think I’m going to take a dip in the water. Dare to join me?” His voice held a mocking slickness but his eyes were strangely nervous. We hadn’t caught anything and I was ignoring how the sun emphasized the burnished quality of Olivier’s skin. It was just my stubborn pride keeping me from a cooler and more pleasant afternoon. So I swallowed it and stomped below deck to change into the dreadful thing Paige called a swimsuit.
I was staring at the stupid thing when a voice I didn’t recognize said my name behind me. I screamed. But Olivier didn’t race into the room. No, when he got there he stopped in the doorway, leaned against it with his arms crossed over his chest, and glared at the intruder. It was the blue-eyed exile. “Methos, I thought we agreed you wouldn’t scare her.”
Methos turned his attention to Olivier. “Is it my fault she walked into the room without clearing it first? Didn’t you say you were training her? If so, you’re doing a poor job.”
“You two are friends?” I cut in, shocked. I’d assumed the meeting in the music room had been Olivier maintaining the appearance of being on the side of the exiles. What if I’d been wrong? What if Olivier was still on their side? I tried to swallow the fear and remind myself that Olivier would never betray me. But the facts were staring me right in the face. I was on a boat in the middle of a lake. No one knew where I w
as. They only knew I was with Olivier and no one would question him until it was too late. This was going to be my demise and Olivier would just disappear into the world that remained.
Olivier must have sensed my thoughts because he rushed me and locked his eyes on mine, searching them. “Charlotte, no!” he cried. “This isn’t a betrayal. Methos is a friend.”
My eyes darted to Methos. He hadn’t moved from the corner where he was lazily leaning against the wall. He spread his arms, his hands palm up, as if to show he was harmless. “Surely you don’t think that puts me at ease?” I challenged him. “You’re probably more dangerous without a weapon than with one.”
Methos laughed and it was a deep, rich sound. “Touché, Mrs. Grace. But not today. Today you have nothing to fear. I was asked to prove to you that you’re not being followed by exiles. Because of a longstanding friendship,” he glanced at Olivier, “I came.”
“Then why were you in the hallway at the Ritz?” I asked. “Why did you let them alter Wesley’s mind?”
“Leave us, Olivier,” he commanded and Olivier moved to obey.
“I’d prefer if he stayed,” I countered. Olivier froze. At first I thought it was because he wasn’t sure who to listen to. But then I noticed that the boat was no longer rocking. I couldn’t hear the slapping of the water anymore. Terrified I wouldn’t be able to move either I reached out for Olivier with more energy than required and ended up hitting him. There was no response. “What have you done?!” I cried putting myself between Olivier and Methos as if I could protect Olivier.
Methos pulled his weight off the wall but didn’t approach me. “Showing you that if I wanted to harm you there is nothing he could do to stop me.”
“You’ve made your point! Let him go!” I’d backed up and put a hand on Olivier’s arm. His usually warm skin was ice cold.
“When we’re done. How was your climb yesterday?” Methos casually inquired.