34. Olivier

I'm on the verge of tears. There are plenty of logical reasons for this. Hormones, the consistent throbbing in my asshole, fear of what Drew wants to talk about. But what's pushing me to the edge is my father's unfiltered disdain.

I've only ever seen him like that when he's dealing with business associates—on the phone or a Zoom call. Never once has it been directed at me. I've been spoiled, sure, but I've also been indulged my entire life.

Has he just been humoring me all these years? Playing a part?

I skirt the edges of the party, avoiding eye contact with anyone on my way out. Has the disdain always been there, just waiting for the one thing I'd do to shatter his indulgent papa persona?

It makes me wonder if my mother feels the same way but is just better at hiding it behind smiles and etiquette.

While I'm shocked and feel very much like I've been publicly humiliated, I think that what happened in Elodie's room with Drew primed me for a breakdown.

He's not at the elevator, and my hand shakes as I push the button to call it back. It arrives quickly, and I ride it down to the lobby. He's not there either.

My chin trembles, the dam threatening to break. Outside, I find him, finally, and he looks at me in dismay. A tear slips out, beyond my control.

"Where's your coat?" he asks, annoyed.

The floodgates open, and more tears spill over my cheeks. I'm shivering, cold down to my bones, and like a dark knight, Drew whips off his overcoat and wraps it around my shoulders. "Hey, it's okay. I'm sorry, it's just cold. Let me get a car. We can wait for it inside."

I don't argue. I let him manage me, giving up control to him for the second time in one night. His arm around me is casual in the building lobby while he requests a rideshare on his phone, and I resist the urge to huddle closer to him, despite how much I might want to hide my face in his neck and weep. I swipe at my cheeks and take a few deep breaths, willing the tears to stop, and they do.

"Three minutes away," Drew says to me.

"What did you want to talk about?" I ask, to fill the uncomfortable silence.

"It can wait. Right now, I just want to get you back to your place. Decompress."

Good word.

I need to hit my punching bag. Kick the shit out of it. I need to vocalize the vicious emotions crowding my chest with shouts of effort and exertion. Tonight is definitely not a cartwheel night.

"Look at me," Drew says.

I turn to face him. He examines my cheeks, my eyes. His brow furrows with concern.

"I'm okay," I tell him.

"You wouldn't rather be alone, would you?"

"When have I ever wanted to be alone?" I ask.

His hand tightens on my arm, and a low noise escapes him. It sounds protective. "Good."

We don't speak again until the car arrives to take us the six and a half blocks to my building. But the second we're inside, I latch onto him greedily. I get as close to him as possible without actually crawling onto his lap. He holds me and strokes my hair, pressing kisses on the hickey he left. I don't need any words. I don't need anything more than this.

Except I keep saying something. Over and over. "I'm sorry."

And he tells me once for every time I say it, "It's okay."

When we arrive at home, he tells me to go in through the front, and he'll take the service entrance.

"Why can't I go with you?"

He shrugs. "We worry."

At any rate, he's holding the door of my apartment open with an ironic smile when I come off the main elevator. My shoulders finally begin to unwind now that we're home.

I yank at my tie, shrug off my jacket, and unbutton the top two buttons of my dress shirt as I walk to the kitchen to get some water. Normally, I'd pour myself a drink after a night like this one, but my father's words are implanted in my eardrums. "As usual." Like I'm some fucking drunk. Like his expectations for me have never been anything but abysmally low.

Is this why they didn't bat an eyelash when I told them I didn't want to go to college?

Drew is in the foyer, hanging his coat, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging that, too. He loosens his tie, but leaves it on, undoes the buttons at his neck and walks over to me. "Sorry for the mark," he says.

"Don't be. I would've stopped you if I didn't want it."

"Not sure I could have stopped," he said.

"I know you would have."

He nods, too quiet.

It makes me feel like I should explain. My tears. My family. Myself. "He's not usually like that," I say, filling a glass with filtered water from the fridge.

He leans a hip on the island countertop. "Your dad?"

"I mean, he didn't use to be. Mean, I guess."

"You did look surprised," he notes.

I decide I don't really want the water, so I set it aside and position myself like he is, facing him. "It was upsetting," I say, glad my voice stays even-ish. "This whole experience has taught me a lot."

"Such as…?" he asks, but the words are careful and measured, a note of caution in them.

"I used to think they liked me. Now I'm not sure they even care about me, much less love me."

Drew slides his hand over, palm up, for me to take if I want to. And I do. His skin is firm and warm. His grip is reassuring.

"I care about you," he says.

I lift my gaze from our clasped hands and meet his eyes in surprise.

"That's more or less what I wanted to tell you. That I care about you a lot, and I want to spend time with you and see where this goes."

I'm fucking speechless. I worry the edge of his thumb with mine.

He continues when I fail to respond. "So, I don't see that as bad news, personally, but I recognize if you might feel differently."

I manage to shake some words loose. "Have you broken up with Jericho? I mean, officially?"

"Not yet. You've kept me kind of busy, not sure if you noticed, but if you can spare me a few hours sometime soon, I'll go see her and explain."

"I'm sorry," I say, the guilt of making him cheat on his girlfriend hitting me firmly in the gut for the first time.

"For what?" he asks. "I'm the one who fucked up. You didn't know I was seeing someone. Anyway, you have nothing to be sorry for. But I gotta know, is this what you want?"

My hand slides out of his, and I use it to rub my face. "We can't be together," I tell him. "You know, not in any kind of real way. It'll be like this. Hiding and lying and…I'll be married."

"Can we maybe talk about that?"

"What about it? You heard my dad tonight. He's barely tolerating me. If I don't marry Elodie, he won't hesitate to do exactly what he said he was gonna do. Cut me off. He might even fucking disown me."

"And that would be the worst thing in the world?" Drew asks.

"Short of death? Yeah. Basically."

Drew puts his hands in his pockets, considering me for a long moment. "What if I told you I have feelings for you? Real feelings."

My own feelings rise like champagne bubbles in my chest as I look back at him. There's so much hope inside me, but it's at war with inevitability and obligation and the goddamn status quo. I want to be with him. We may have only been officially hooking up for a couple of weeks, but in that time he's come as close as possible to knowing the real me. I've been insanely uninhibited with him. But I'm also literally buying his time.

I'm as sensitive as any other wealthy person in this town to the threat of being taken advantage of. Drew has a lot to gain by being my guy on the side. He's a risk, and a terrifying one, because I really do think pretty highly of him. I care about him, too.

"I'd say that's hard for someone in my situation to trust," I answer him honestly.

He nods. "I get that. I guess I haven't shown myself to be the most trustworthy person."

Assuming he's referring to Jericho, I say, "It's not about that, Drew…"

"No, I mean, I get all of it. It's your classic wrong side of the tracks scenario. You have every right to doubt my intentions. Especially with the whole—you know…"

"What?"

"Like how would you even know I've never been with a man before."

I never even thought about that. I don't think I'm that na?ve. Am I? "You're saying you've been using me this whole time for an extra month's rent and a nice suit?"

He gives me a casual shoulder shrug. "Maybe I have been."

I'll bite. "Then why bring feelings into it? You've already got me thoroughly seduced."

"Maybe to seal the deal?"

"You think that would work on someone like me?"

"Yeah. I think it would. I think you're lonely enough to want to believe someone wants you for real."

I gulp. A second later, he's caging me in, one hand on my hip and the other braced on the countertop. His face is just close enough to mine that my eyes don't have to cross to look at him.

"You know, having actual feelings for you would be pretty inconvenient for me," he says quietly, gaze resting on my mouth.

I can barely breathe. My heart is beating in an unstable rhythm.

He continues. "Knowing I can't really ever be with you. Sounds like something I would do, though. I have a history of making stupid choices. It'd be on brand, at least."

I can't stop myself from touching him, buying every word of what he's selling. I run my hands up his chest and stroke his throat with my index fingers.

"Would you pay to keep me around longer than another month?" he asks.

I nod, quickly finding myself on the verge of tears again. I can't stand the thought of him leaving—of any paranoid scenario I could conjure up being true. I think I'd rather just be lied to. Believe whole-heartedly in every bullshit line and have him, rather than risk losing him anytime soon. His true colors will eventually show themselves, and I'll know what's real and what isn't—the same way I now know what my parents think of me.

"You'd keep me like a mistress?" he asks, his voice low and too sexy.

"I would," I whisper.

"Would I get to share your bed, or would that space be reserved for your wife?"

That question has me touching his face. It implies mutual trust somehow, and it does something else, too. It tells me at least some of what he's saying—if not all of it—is the truth. "What kind of feelings?" I ask.

"Hm?"

"What kind of feelings do you have for me?"

"Answer my question first."

"You already know my answer. Your turn."

He kisses me. It's soft at first, and then, as my lips part for him, it feels like he's searching for something, exploring my response to him. My knees give slightly. Slowly, he pulls away. "I care about you. Very, very much."

My next breath is shaky. "Are you trying not to scare me?"

He nods.

God.

I never thought this would happen to me. Falling for someone never seemed like something I would do. While I always imagined the circumstances would be different, I did kind of imagine my future a lot like it's unfolding. Allying myself with someone who would benefit me and my family, marrying them if partying ever started to get old like people say it eventually does.

I figured, if I ever had them, I'd find all the love I ever needed in kids—the way it once seemed like my parents found theirs in me, but now I wonder where their love really lies, or if they love anything at all.

I never thought someone would care about me enough to make me care about them so much, too.

I pull Drew's mouth back down to mine, kissing him tenderly and then very deeply. He wraps me in his arms and sinks into the kiss with me. All this new information makes this kiss feel incredibly different. Obviously it's getting me hard, he's basically the best kisser in the universe, but he's not groping me. He's not feverishly seeking more skin or grinding his hard cock against mine—he's just—kissing me. Like he cares about me very, very much.

I pull away, breathless, my forehead pressed to his brow and my mouth half an inch from his. "I'm not scared."

"Neither am I. And I'm falling in love with you."

I kiss him again, not giving a shit whether or not it's true. I needed him to say it so fucking bad. Especially tonight. Especially now. Now that we finally got it right. Now that he knows what I don't have to offer. Now that I know I'm not crazy for pulling out every trick in the book to get closer to him.

He makes me feel like no one in my life ever has—like I'm worth more than my name or my inheritance. Like I'm worth more than an hour a day. Like I'm just plain fucking worth it.