21. Olivia

Chapter twenty-one

Olivia

M y heart is racing a mile a minute because I know what his first question is going to be, while I have no idea what to ask him. He said we could hold off on answering a question, but I’ll have to answer it eventually. And as nerve-racking as it is, part of me wants to tell him. I want him to know my secrets because no one knows all my secrets, not even Rose. Flexing my hands on my thighs, I wait for him to begin.

“I’m going to ask my question first. If you need time to answer it, we’ll go on a tour of part of the house. Okay?”

Unable to find my voice, I nod. He stands from his chair, walks over to me, and extends his hand. Putting mine in his, he leads me out of the small breakfast nook. I’m sure this house has a large dining room, but this nook is more intimate.

“What about cleaning up?” I ask, turning back toward the door he just walked me through.

“It can wait.”

He tries to guide me again, but I pull away. “We can clean and talk at the same time.” The thought of leaving the plates, silverware, and glasses on the table makes my skin itch.

Victor gently grasps my biceps and turns me to face him. “Olivia, nothing bad is going to happen if we don’t clean up right away. I promise we will clean before I take you home tonight, but right now, I want your undivided attention.”

My muscles loosen, and I relax in his grip. Victor wants me. He needs me. He’s more important than the dishes. “Okay.”

His thumbs stroke my arms, and he smiles at me. “Thank you.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and continues to lead me into a sitting room.

“You’re welcome,” I whisper.

As we sit, I take in my surroundings. It’s a small, cozy room. On one wall there are built-in bookshelves. Only half filled, my gardening books would fit right in, so would my ... I force myself to stop that thought and take in the rest of the room. The other wall there are windows, and a fireplace. There’s a green love seat with a coffee table in the middle of the room facing the fireplace. We sit down on the love seat and Victor faces me. He lifts his legs onto the couch so his back is leaning against the arm of the couch.

I lean into the corner on my side and face him, but avoid looking him straight in the eye. Biting my lip, I remind myself he promised to take me on a tour if I need to think. His eyes drop to my scar. I was right about what question he was going to ask.

“How did you get that scar?” He lifts his chin in the direction of my scar like I need clarification of what scar he’s talking about. Rubbing my thumb across it and still avoiding his eyes, I look toward the fireplace.

“I was cut by a knife. I should have received stitches, but it was too late before receiving medical attention.” Shrugging and forcing myself to look at him. “The scar would still be there, but maybe not as noticeable.”

Victor’s hand balls into a fist and his lips press into a thin line. “Who did it?”

I want to remind him that it’s my turn to ask a question now, but the fury and guilt that’s evident on his face stops me. Why would he feel guilty? I look away from him and rub my thumb over my index finger, wishing the paper cut was still there.

“Donovan,” I murmur.

Victor stands so quickly I flinch back and my blood pressure spikes. He stops in his tracks, grimacing at my reaction. He drops his chin to his chest and breathes in slowly before exhaling. I wish I wasn’t like that, but it’s not something easily controlled. Even after all the years with Donovan.

I knew what flinching got me and it was never good, but it’s a reaction your body has to try to protect you. Victor drops to his knees in front of me and slowly cups my face, bringing our foreheads together. I close my eyes and inhale his spicy scent, then bring my hands up to hold on to his forearms and allow his presence to soothe me.

“I’m so sorry, dolce ragazza . I should have been there.”

Caught off guard by his Italian endearment, I’m not sure what it means, but make note of it to look it up later.

“You had a life, Victor. I understand.”

In all honesty I was angry at him, but after growing up I realized he was there as often as he could be. He had a wife and apparently they were having a lot of issues because he got divorced a few years ago.

“It’s not an excuse. I made a promise, and I didn’t keep it.”

Opening my eyes to stare into his green ones, I rub my thumbs along the veins on his forearms. “We had lunch every month. That’s more than some families see each other.”

His breath washes over my lips when he huffs out a laugh. He stands before sitting next to me on the couch and wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in tight to him. Returning his embrace, I allow myself to enjoy this for a little while.

“I did have things going on, but I should have seen what was right in front of my face.”

I look up at him from where my head is resting against his shoulder. “You see it now, and in just the short amount of time you’ve been back in my life, you’ve helped me. I don’t know if it’s because you know Donovan, but I’ve never been able to talk to anyone about him. Except my therapist, but she doesn’t know his name and there were a few things I still kept to myself. My friends know some things, but not everything. I legally changed my last name to mom’s maiden name and so far it’s worked.”

He looks down at me and offers me a small smile. “Thank you for answering my questions. I asked you more than one, so you can ask me two as well.”

Snorting, I rest my head on his chest again. He smells so good and his arm wrapped around me feels so right. What would it be like if this never ended? I think about Josie and their marriage. As I swallow, I sit up to watch his expression when I ask.

“What happened with Josie? Why did you two get divorced?”

His jaw clenches, and his hold on me tightens for a moment. He rubs his jaw with the hand that’s not wrapped around me and the sound of his beard scraping against the palm of his hand makes my stomach clench. His gaze darts to me like he knows what just happened. Heat travels from my chest, up my neck, and to my cheeks.

There’s a glint in his eyes and his lips lift in a small smile. He takes a deep breath. “I told you Josie was jealous. Of everything, but it was more than that. She wanted to control me and when she realized she couldn’t, she used my dominance against me.”

I squint my eyes, trying to read between the lines. “What does that mean?”

He exhales sharply and looks toward the ceiling. “Now that I’m more experienced, this wouldn’t happen, but Josie and I met when we were both getting into the Dom/sub lifestyle. I didn’t recognize the warning signs. My mentor pointed them out to me, but I was young and stupid and didn’t listen.”

I try to think back. He and Josie got married around the same time mom and Donovan got married, so about fourteen years ago. He would have been in his early thirties. But I don’t know how long they dated.

“She always said she was a masochist.” My face must show my confusion because he clarifies the term for me. “A masochist is someone who gets turned on by their own pain or being degraded.”

My heart begins to beat heavy in my chest as I wonder if that would apply to me. I cut myself, but as a way to release tension, not because it turns me on. I put that thought in another compartment to revisit later when researching.

“Turns out she was more of a sadist, which is the opposite. A sadist gets pleasure from inflicting pain and humiliation on others. I learned that the hard way.”

Unease skates up my spine as I try to understand what he’s saying. “Did she hurt you?” I finally ask.

He gives me a sad smile. “Let’s just say you’re not the only one that has scars.”