by Sadie Grubor
“Let her be.” Mercedes gives a small smile.
I look back at Olivia and sigh.
“When she’s stressed or in an emotional state, this is what she does.” Mercedes answers my unasked question.
Standing stock-still, I watch her fluid movements around the table.
“She’s almost dancing,” I whisper.
“It’s her element,” Mercedes responds.
Alex whimpers and then cries from behind me. Turning, I see him reaching toward Mercedes and me from his play area.
"I'll take him upstairs." Mercedes quickly lifts him from the gated area.
"But you were just about to leave." Olivia wipes her hands on an apron.
"Go ahead and work on whatever you're doing. I can take him upstairs. I don't have any plans this evening." Mercedes disappears up the staircase.
When I turn back to Olivia, she is once again focused on her creation.
It isn't until I'm close enough to smell the buttery vanilla cloud surrounding her that I realize how close I've walked toward her. Licking my lips, I press the front of my body to the back of hers. She gasps and straightens. In a swift motion, before she can turn around, I swipe stray hairs from her neck and latch my mouth onto her skin. The taste of her explodes on my tongue and I murmur against her skin.
"You taste like buttercream and vanilla."
Olivia
The moan slips out before I can stop myself. His lips bring back memories of exactly how talented his mouth can be. His hands slip over my hips, pulling me closer, letting me feel every warm aroused inch of his body. When his tongue grazes the crook of my neck, I inhale sharply.
"I could taste you all day long," Damon groans, rubbing his body against mine.
The sound of his voice, though muffled by my skin, snaps me back to the reality of our situation. Pushing away, I spin. In a flash, my palm connects with his cheek.
"What the fuck, Olivia?" he yells, cupping his face.
"I should ask you that question," I shout. "What do you think you're doing?"
Narrowing his eyes, he drops his hand from his face. "You enjoyed it."
"You don't get to touch me," I growl.
"I'm your husband. You are my wife."
Shaking my head, I shout, "It doesn't matter what some paper says! You don't touch me unless I say you can, do you understand me?"
Damon's jaw unclenches and the hardness melts into a softer, apologetic expression.
"I apologize. Never again without your permission, I swear." His eyes search my face for what feels like hours before he turns and walks away. "Good night, Olivia."
The instant he's gone, I exhale and lean forward, palms down, on the table. My deep breaths don't stop the spasm that rocks my body. My chest heaves and tears trail down my cheeks. Collapsing to my knees on the floor, a sob rips from my soul and out of my mouth.
It's too much. It's all too much. I'm not supposed to react — to want — the man who shouldn't be here. A man who is invading every part of my life.
"Shh," Mercedes consoles, taking a seat on the floor beside me. Wrapping her arms around me, she rocks us. "Calm down, honey. It will all work out, I promise."
"No, no it won't, Ced," I sob. "I've messed everything up. He'll never leave us alone."
"Come on, Liv. It will all be fine."
She holds me until I calm and then helps me up the stairs and into my room. Ced excuses herself to clean up the kitchen and lets me shower.
Pressing my palms into the white tile with my head bowed, I revel in the hot spray hitting the back of my neck and running over my exhausted body. The hope of hot water therapy helping me process everything is proven to be a lost cause. Stepping from the shower, my mind still swirls like it’s stuck on the tilt-o-whirl ride at a carnival. Once dry and in pajamas, I throw myself into bed, letting the exhaustion take over.
The next morning, I wake to cramps. Groaning, I roll out of the bed and go to the bathroom. Low and behold, Aunt Flow is visiting. Cleaning up, I slip into menstrual approved comfy clothing. As I dress, I realize the time. I haven't heard Alex. Panic grips my chest and I dart for his room.
Empty. My chest heaves and I lunge toward sounds in the kitchen.
Alex is sitting in his highchair, shoveling handfuls of scrambled eggs into his mouth. Damon stands at the stove, his broad shoulders encased in a simple white t-shirt. Unable to stop myself, I take in the line of his tall, fit body, paying extra attention to his spectacular ass covered in gray sweatpants.
Internally groaning at my behavior and thoughts, I look back to Alex, who finally notices me.
"Momma!" he calls out.
I grin at my beautiful boy.
“Hungry?” Damon’s question draws my attention back to him.
He stands on the other side of the island with a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast held out to me. I start to decline when he places it onto the counter between us and shoves it closer.
"It's just eggs, Olivia. I'm not asking for your soul." He motions to the plate. "Go on, I'm working on mine now." He turns back to the stove.
"Thank you," I speak softly.
Taking the plate to the table, I sit next to Alex. Damon joins us, sitting across from me. As we eat, I feel his eyes on me.
"Why didn't I hear Alex this morning?" I question, my fork dangling from my fingers against my plate. I finally look at Damon.
He clears his throat.
"I was already awake." He shrugs and reaches for his glass of orange juice. "I heard him moving around, so I checked on him. He was awake, so I brought him out here, watched cartoons, and then began breakfast when he got a bit fussy." Putting the glass to his lips, he keeps his eyes on mine while he drinks.
I'm not sure why it's such a sexy act, but it's doing crazy things to me.
"And my alarm clock?" Taking a bite, I raise a brow at him, holding the eye contact. Am I flirting with him? I quickly drop my eyes to my plate.
"You needed sleep."
I look back up at him.
"I have a business to run," I counter, coldly.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair.
"Mercedes arrived early and said she could take charge of things downstairs."
"It's my responsibility, Damon. Not Mercedes’. And it's not your decision to make." Standing, I walk my plate to the sink.
Taking a deep breath, I walk back to clean Alex up for the morning. Damon's hand lightly grips mine.
"Please?" he pleads. "Please, let Alex stay up here with me."
Seeing the emotion swimming in his eyes, I cave. With a defeated sigh, I nod in approval.
"Thank you, Olivia. I appreciate it." He raises my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles.
I jerk my hand away, the pleasure of the simple act shocking my entire being. Fearing he will see the effect he has, I kiss Alex and hurry to the bakery.
For the next two days, I attempt to 'race' Damon to Alex in the morning. I fail each time. By day three, I forgo trying and go with what is now the morning routine. Damon takes care of Alex, he makes us breakfast, and I return to the kitchen down in the bakery.
Sarah and Mercedes aren't shy about the looks they've been giving me or the small smiles playing on their lips. I ignore them, not ready to address how things have evolved.
"Liv," Mercedes shouts from her office.
"Yo," I shout back, my attention still focused on the pale green piping.
"Felicity is on the phone. She needs to discuss some details for an upcoming wedding she's taken on," Mercedes shouts again.
"Get a time to call her back. I've gotta finish this detailing."
After twenty minutes of piping, I enter Mercedes' office, working the kinks out of my fingers and wrist.
"Can you dial Felicity for me?" I sit into the chair before her desk and hold out my hand for the cordless.
"It's ringing." She hands it to me.
"Hello?" Felicity's voice chimes.
"Hey, Felicity, it's Liv. What's up?" I cradle
the phone between my ear and shoulder as I pick food coloring out from under my nails.
"Hey, lady, where the hell have you been? I tried to call you a few days ago and texted you," she scolds.
"Sorry, I’ve been going through some…things," I explain.
"Still married to the stalker?" She giggles.
"Not funny," I groan.
"Shit, you're still dealing with him? Jim-a-nee-Christmas! Didn't Alfonso work that out for you?" she asks, concern lacing her voice.
"He did, but resolving the situation has become a bit more difficult and I'm trying to do it without too much legal involvement." I sigh. "It's a long story."
"One you are going to need to tell me over drinks. So, let's make that happen soon, okay?"
"Okay, name the night."
"How about tomorrow night? Lorna and I don't have plans."
"Lorna and you, huh? Well, well, well, Felicity Valiente, what have you been up to? Are you getting serious with Miss Lorna?" I giggle.
Mercedes comes over to me and presses her ear to the phone to listen in on the response.
"I told you about her." Felicity acts casual.
"So, how serious is this 'thing'?" I tease.
"Looks like you will have to meet me tomorrow night and find out," she quips. "Now, back to wedding business, I have a new client."
"Lame!" Mercedes shouts at the phone before returning to her chair.
"Tell her to come with,” Felicity responds.
“Will do. Now, tell me about this client." Grabbing the clipboard Mercedes holds out, I take a pen from her desk and get ready to write down the information.
"I have a mother who contacted me on behalf of her daughter. She's helping arrange the wedding since the daughter lives in New York."
I stiffen at the mention of New York, but push away thoughts of Damon so I can focus on the order.
"So, the mother is apparently acting as the bride’s surrogate planner. Lucky me," Felicity grumbles. "Anyhow, they will be coming to Pittsburgh in six months to get married and I'm hoping my favorite custom cake maker will be so kind as to schedule us a consult."
"Good luck with that," I snort.
"Olivia Harlow, you damn well know I'm talking about you! Smartass!" Felicity shouts.
"Oh, I know, but good luck getting an appointment," I tease, again.
"Come on, Liv," Felicity whines. "Don't make me beg."
"But it's so hot when you beg," I giggle.
"Liv," she continues to whine.
"Okay, for you, darling, of course." I drawl out darling.
"Thank you! I will let the bride…well, the mother, know. And try to keep some extra time open for this one. It's looking to be a mighty tall order, as far as weddings go," she adds before we confirm our dinner plans and hang up.
The rest of the day goes by smoothly until I get back upstairs.
"Do you have a fax machine?" Damon asks as soon as I step into the living area.
Ignoring his question, I look around for Alex. "Where is—?"
Before I finish my question, Damon points to the floor next to him.
Taking a couple steps closer and looking over my coffee table strewn with Damon's papers and such, I see Alex sitting on the floor with his back against Damon's leg.
"What does he have?" Worried, since it looks like a cell phone, I walk quickly around the table.
"It's just my Blackberry," Damon responds.
I look up as he shrugs.
"He can play with it."
"But what if he—?"
"He has already called two people." He shrugs again. "I assume you have a fax."
I nod, amazed at his lack of concern over his phone.
"What's the number?"
As I spout off the number for the fax machine in Mercedes’ office, he puts an iPhone up to his ear and starts making calls. How many cell phones does he need?
"I'm going to go start dinner," I mumble, walking to the kitchen.
"I already ordered Italian from the restaurant down the street."
I turn toward Damon's announcement. He stands with Alex in his arms.
"It should be here soon."
"Momma!" Alex shouts, reaching his arms out to me.
My chest warms and my heart skips a beat. Taking a couple steps, I reach out and take Alex into my arms, hugging him tightly to my chest. He squirms under the pressure of my embrace and I relax my hold.
"Where's your machine?"
"It's down in Mercedes' office." I look toward Damon when I respond. He's already started down the hallway. "Why?"
He doesn't respond, only disappears.
I place Alex in his highchair, getting him ready for dinner.
"Did you have fun today?" Smiling, I pinch his cheek.
"Momma," he giggles.
Ruffling his hair, I lean forward and kiss the top of his head. "I love you so much, little guy."
"Mon," Alex calls out.
"What?" I wrinkle my brow, confused.
"He calls me Mon." Damon's smooth voice sends tingles across my skin.
I turn toward his voice.
"I…" I don't know what to say.
Damon ignores my speechlessness and holds out the fax for me to take.
"I think we both know what these will say, but I assume you want to see the official results for yourself." His crooked smile does bad, bad, wonderful things to me.
Damn him!
"What are...?" When I see the bold print in the top left corner of the page, I swallow hard. The possibility of hyperventilation swarms over me as I look at Damon, who's still smiling. I look back down to the black and white evidence in my hand.
Parentage Testing Procedure Report
Report for Case AHarlow262.619
I take a long breath in through my nose.
DNA Solutions has undertaken a parentage testing procedure using DNA testing methods on the bodily samples identified to us as:
Alleged Father: Damon Patrick Knyght
Child: Alexander Isaac Harlow
Mother: Olivia Jean Harlow
Tests using DNA technology were carried out on the DNA extracted from the samples, analyzing multiple short tandem repeat (STR) regions of the DNA. The following results were found for each of these tested regions:
STR REGION - RESULT
D5S818 — MATCH
D18S51 — MATCH
vWA — MATCH
D3S1358 — MATCH
CSF1P0 — MATCH
D21S11 — MATCH
D13S317 — MATCH
TPOX — MATCH
D2S1338 — MATCH
D8S1179 — MATCH
D16S539 — MATCH
AMELOGENIN — MATCH
ACTBP2 (SE33) — MATCH
D6S366 — MATCH
D1S1656 — MATCH
D22S1045 — MATCH
DNA Solutions reports that the results of the parentage testing procedure carried out on the bodily samples of the donors specified above show that Damon Patrick Knyght is the biological father of Alexander Isaac Harlow.
The tears filling my eyes prevent me from truly seeing any more of the results or the signatures and certification stamp.
"You can't be that surprised?" Damon's voice causes me to look up from the papers, showing him the tears in my eyes. "Olivia," he breathes out, pain etched in his features.
The doorbell rings, saving me from his pity. Damon moves to take care of the food delivery while my mind reels. He would press for the visit to New York, the birth certificate, and every last one of his demands.
The sound of the door closing and smells of food pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. Damon places the white bags on the counter, turns toward a cabinet, and begins pulling out plates. When he turns back around, he stops and stares at my frozen form.
"Are you okay?" he asks, setting the plates on the counter.
I can only nod.
"Well, the food is here."
One by one, Damon reaches into the bags until he finds what he�
�s looking for.
"Aha, buddy! Here it is." With a small plastic container in his hand, he walks to Alex, who’s still sitting in his chair, and dumps some macaroni noodles with plain red sauce onto his tray. "Are you going to sit?"
His question draws my attention from the tray of the high chair to him moving back to the counter. Our eyes meet and he cocks one eyebrow. Gathering the food containers and plates, he takes them to the kitchen table.
I finally unfreeze and move to sit across from him.
"What would you like?" He motions to the containers.
"I'll get it." My voice, barely above a whisper, falters.
It wasn't that I hadn't known Alex could be his son, but to see it in black and white and so official…I try to process everything and prepare for what Damon will throw at me next. I reach for the linguini, but Damon takes my plate.
"Allow me," he offers with a cocksure smile.
I don't even want to imagine what is going through his mind now.
I take the plate full of linguini from him and we eat in silence. Well, he eats. I mostly shove my food around the plate.
"Olivia?"
My eyes snap up at his voice.
"Are you not hungry?"
I clear my throat. "Not really, I guess."
"Well, then, how about we discuss your trip to New York with me?"
He sits back in the dining chair and takes a long drink from his glass.
"We will leave Sunday and—"
"I never said I was going to New York with you." I place both palms on the table.
Damon's face hardens. "Olivia, you have the results. I want my family to meet the both of you. My wife and son."
"Damon," I sigh, "I can't just up and leave. I have a schedule and a business to run."
Annoyance saturates his movements as he rubs his hands over his face.
"Fine," he growls. "When is a good time?" His eyes come back to mine, challenging.
"I'll have to look over the schedule with Ced." I shrug.
His mouth opens to protest, but I put up my hand.
"Tomorrow," I add, quickly.
"Why can't you look tonight, so I can make proper arrangements?" Irritation pours off him.