17. Olivia

Chapter seventeen

Olivia

M y stomach has so many butterflies in it that it’s hard to focus on chewing the pretzel bite and swallowing. Him calling me a good girl twice and not making fun of me for needing his permission is making me hot. In more ways than one.

What’s wrong with me that I need his permission to eat another pretzel bite? Is there something wrong with me? He seems to enjoy me asking.

I think about how Caroline and Bass are with each other. They don’t have this kind of dynamic. And if Lincoln ever tried to tell Ansley what to do, she’d probably do the exact opposite just to piss him off.

Not that Lincoln and Ansley are in a relationship, but I don’t know anyone else. I think about Bec at the gym and wonder if she has a boyfriend. I grab the Diet Coke, then take a sip to help dislodge the lump in my throat. Finally bringing my eyes back to Victor, my heart takes off at a dangerous pace with how he’s looking at me with that small smile of his. That look feels like it’s reserved just for me, but who knows? He could have a lot of other women.

I scrunch my nose at that thought. He’s free to be with whoever he wants, but I don’t want him to. This is not good. I need to stop these feelings. Climbing off my chair to clean up, I avoid looking at him anymore. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never been interested in having a relationship. I always thought I’d grow old with my flowers and plants; and be referred to as the plant lady. That made me perfectly happy until he walked back into my life. What changed?

“Olivia?”

My head snaps up in surprise. Victor is standing right in front of me. So caught up in my thoughts, I hadn’t realized he moved. He lifts his hand slowly, and it makes me want to cry. Victor is so observant of how I react, so he goes out of his way to make me feel comfortable. He cups the side of my neck and rubs his thumb along my jaw.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

I stare at him as I try to think of what to tell him. If he spoke to me in that deep baritone voice, I’d tell him, but he’s not. He’s giving me a choice. Taking a step back, his hand falls away from my neck. “When you speak to me in that deep voice of yours, why do I want to do whatever it is you’re asking me to do?” My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes volley back and forth between mine, then he looks around the lobby. I follow his gaze. There isn’t anyone down here. Not many people come down here; they usually go to the breakroom or the gazebo at the back of the building. “I’m not sure that’s a conversation we should have here,” he finally says.

“Is it bad? Is there something wrong with me?”

He takes a step forward and shakes his head. “No, of course there’s nothing wrong with you.” He inhales deeply. “What are you doing after work? Would you like to go to dinner with me?”

My stomach is in knots as I drive home from work. Victor is going to pick me up from my house. It’s Friday night and I’m going to have dinner with Victor. Is this a date? He didn’t ask if I’d go on a date. He asked if I’d go to dinner with him. I’m relieved when I pull into my driveway. It’s difficult paying attention to my surroundings when I have so much going through my mind.

Walking quickly to my door, I glance around the street to make sure there aren't any cars I don’t recognize. Sighing, I unlock the door and let myself in and wonder again if it will be like this for the rest of my life. Will I ever feel safe?

Maybe, if Donovan were to no longer exist. I pause at the thought. My veins hum at the idea of being able to watch him take his last breath. I shake my head. What the hell is wrong with me? I run my fingers through my hair, unable to dislodge the thought now that it’s formed.

Would watching him taking his last breath help with the tension in my chest that’s a constant reminder of everything he did to me? I walk to the kitchen and grab a glass, filling it with ice and water, then sip on it as I stare out the window into my backyard. He’s the reason I won’t garden in the front yard, instead I do it in the back. It makes me feel too exposed in the front, so I hired a landscaper that Lincoln suggested.

They planted butterfly bushes and hydrangeas, since they’re easy and don’t need a lot of maintenance. One day, I’ll be able to have a home where I feel completely safe. One day. I sigh and turn around, leaning back against the counter as I finish my water. I didn’t ask Victor what type of restaurant we were going to, so I’m not sure what to wear.

Grabbing my phone and unlocking the screen, I open up our chat to text him.

Olivia: Is there a specific dress code for where we’re going tonight?

Walking to my bedroom, I study myself in the mirror. The outfit I wore to work would probably be okay, but I want to take a shower and wear fresh clothes. There’s this need inside of me to look and smell nice for him.

I really need to stop this infatuation I have with him. Does he feel it too? Or am I making this all up in my mind? My phone vibrates in my hand.

Victor: There isn’t a dress code. We’re having dinner at my house. Wear whatever makes you comfortable, but I do prefer you wearing anything blue.

Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I can’t stop my smile. We’re eating at his house. We’re going to be completely alone. Maybe. He might have a staff like Donovan did.

Olivia: I think I need to go shopping now that I know one of your preferences. Anything else I need to know before I plan my shopping excursion?

Am I flirting with him? My heart begins to beat rapidly in my chest and my stomach flips. I’ve never flirted with anyone in my life.

Victor: I’m so happy you asked, sweetness. I’ll tell you all about my preferences tonight, but you need to get ready. I’ll be there in an hour.

Olivia: Yes, sir.

I place my phone back on the counter and swallow. Earlier today, I said that to him and I’m pretty sure he liked it. I inhale deeply. Am I making something out of nothing? Turning to look through my closet, the blue maxi dress I pushed all the way to the back calls to me. I can’t remember the last time I wore a dress.

I saw this dress at the store, shopping with Ansley one day, and couldn’t stop staring at it. It’s not anything special, but I loved it because of its simplicity. Ansley told me I had to buy it and when I said no, she bought it for me. She hasn’t asked me why I haven’t worn it and she hasn’t pushed. Taking it out of the closet, I hang it on the closet door, and stare at it. It’s a bit wrinkled so I need to steam it, but I’m still not sure I have the courage to wear it.

Bringing it into the bathroom with me, I hang it on the door. Maybe the steam from the shower will get the wrinkles out. Turning the water on, I undress quickly and pull my hair up into a bun so it doesn’t get wet. I walk into the shower and close the glass door. As I wash, my eyes keep glancing at the dress. By the time I’ve finished shaving my legs, I’ve decided I’m going to wear it.

We’re not going anywhere public, so that makes it a lot easier. And for some reason wearing a dress in front of Victor doesn’t make me nervous. After I turn off the water, I grab my towel to dry myself. Running my fingers along the scars on the inside of my thighs, the tightness in my chest returns with a vengeance. Rationally, I know the scars won’t be seen, even if I were to wear a shorter dress, but I can never bring myself to do it.

The only scar I have that is visible is the one along my collarbone. I have a few on my lower abdomen as well, but I can hide them with pants. My shirts can usually hide the scar on my collarbone, but I know it will be visible in this dress. Wrapping the towel around me and tucking the end between my breasts, I stare in the mirror and rub my thumb along the scar.

It’s a few inches, a light shade of pink, and puckered slightly. It was the only time I ever thought Donovan might kill me. I remember hoping he would, so I could finally escape. Finally, I decide I’m wearing the dress. I’m sick of ignoring what happened to me. Trying to pretend like it never happened, but at the same time allowing it to affect every single moment of my life.

I want to heal and take off the mask I’ve been wearing for so long. Allow people to see who I really am. Dropping the towel and taking a deep breath, I put on my panties and strapless bra, then take the dress off the hanger, inspecting it to make sure the steam worked to get rid of the wrinkles.

Pulling the dress on, I smooth my hands down the dress and sway from side to side. It hits right at my ankles. It’s probably meant to stop mid calf, but I’m barely five feet so it’s longer on me. After putting my makeup on and brushing my hair, I walk to my room and stare at myself in my full-length mirror. The scar on my collarbone is visible, but it doesn’t look terrible. What does it mean that I want Victor to see me, the real me? Will he like what he sees?

My doorbell rings, so I take a long breath and make my way to the door to open it, but glance through the peephole to make sure it is him first. He’s standing there with a bouquet of calla lilies. My lips lift into a smile. Guess I’m about to find out if he likes what he sees.