36. Olivier

Ican't tell if I'm livid or terrified as Elodie tells the story of her father's latest beating. He was drunk. He thought her disappearance from the party was unacceptable, and the hickey apparently pushed him to violence. He'd followed her upstairs after Drew and I left, called her horrible names, and then proceeded to punch her in the fucking face.

Twice.

If literally any other circumstance applied, I would be on the phone with my father so fast, demanding some sort of swift, corporate castration. She's my fiancée for fuck's sake. My only friend.

But these are not the good old days. Not by a lot. I sink my face into my hands, feeling utterly useless and so guilty, I can't stand it. Drew's warm, strong hand settles on my shoulder. "It's not your fault, baby."

I'm about three of Drew's babies away from declaring my undying love for him, so he needs to watch it if he doesn't want to wind up stuck with a clingy, destitute hobo with no job skills and a bad attitude. He gives my face a light pat when I glare at him and then points a finger at me to say, "It's not. She already said this wasn't the first time."

"It's gonna be the last time, though. You're not going back there," I say to her.

"How'm I gonna manage that? They won't let me move in here before we're married."

"Then let's get married," I say.

Drew sits forward. "Hold on, Romeo—let's slow the fuck down, okay?"

I gesture toward Elodie. "I can't let her go back there!"

"I get it," he says. "I hear you. I know. But if you go pissing off your parents right now, they could take the whole marriage offer off the table, or she could get hurt worse, so we're not doing that. No one's getting married until they have to."

I narrow my eyes at him. I can't tell what Drew's angle is, but I don't like it. "But we are getting married. You understand that right?"

"Yes," he says through a tense jaw.

I nod once. "Good."

Drew glares before turning to Elodie. "Can I get you some water? Something stronger?" he asks like this is his apartment, too.

"Stronger. Yeah."

He gets up, and I let him play host while I sit down next to Elodie and speak softly to her. "What do you need?"

"I don't know," she says. "I just didn't have anywhere else to go, and I needed someone to like—see—for once."

Elodie's mom died when Elodie was eleven. I've only met the current Mrs. Lafayette, wife number three. She's around Drew's age, and Mr. Lafayette is on the older side with a thing for younger women and, apparently, a real mean streak.

I snuggle up with her and glance at Drew when he hands her a full glass of wine. He looks annoyed, but she needs me more than he does right now. I briefly consider letting him know he can go back to his own place, and I'll take it from here, but as soon as the thought pops into my head, I wince at the thought of having him out of my sight. I swear, every time he leaves, I'm afraid he won't come back.

But I also can't have him questioning my loyalty to Elodie or the marriage. Not tonight.

She takes a long gulp of her wine and sighs. "I wish I could go out and show this shiner off all over town. But I can't because everyone'll think you did it."

I jerk. "Thanks for thinking of me."

"I fucking hate this feeling."

"Me, too."

"Which feeling?" Drew asks.

"Just—like—being trapped," Elodie says. "Like I spent so long after I lost my mom being pissed off at the world that I missed my chance to do anything with my life. Now I'm totally dependent on my fucking asshole dad, and I have nothing."

"So—pardon my ignorance, but how do things work up here? Does everyone your age live off their parents?"

I cut another glare his way. "No," I tell him. "But some of us don't mind taking over a well-established company when our parents retire."

"With no college degree?"

"You don't need a college degree when everyone you employ has one," I say.

"Did you ever want one?" he asks me.

"Did you?" I clap back.

"Hey—I'm not the one being forced to marry someone so I don't have to move out of my fancy penthouse. And Elodie, you know you can still go to school, right?"

"No offense, but why is she gonna take advice from a doorman?"

Drew's brow's lift. "Really?"

Maybe I need a glass of wine to calm down, too. I severely regret saying that, but an apology might not quite cut it. "I said no offense." And then I close my eyes because I am as close to wanting to kill myself as I have ever been.

"Tell you what," Drew says as he rises from the coffee table. "I'm gonna head back to my place tonight. Let you two figure this out."

Fuck."Drew, no?—"

He whips his hand away as soon as I try to grab it. Elodie elbows me in the stomach as I watch him walk around the couch. "Apologize!" she mouths, looking as horrified as I feel.

I chase him up the stairs. He doesn't respond to any of my attempts to stop him or slow him down. When I reach my bedroom, he's already got his sweatshirt on and is one leg into his jeans.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "I didn't mean anything by that."

"Of course you did. You don't want me involved—message fucking received. Call me when you're ready to act like an adult. Otherwise, I'll see you in the lobby sometime."

He zips his jeans and grabs his phone charger from the nightstand.

"Drew, stop it. I'm very sorry. Stop leaving."

He stuffs the charger into his pocket and walks toward me, flipping that stubborn lock of hair out of his face. "What happens after you get married, anyway? You think that's gonna change what your parents want you to do? You think you're all of a sudden gonna be free? You're not trapped in an arranged marriage, Olivier—you're trapped because you're completely dependent on them. Unless you inherit on the day of your wedding, they still hold all the money—all the cards. You're even more broke than I am."

I suck in a breath as what he's saying lands like a bomb in my brain. He's not saying anything I don't know, but he's putting all the facts together into a picture I think I've deliberately avoided stepping back to look at.

"What am I supposed to do?" I ask him.

"You know, right now, I'm too pissed off at you to answer that. I'm going home. If you want to try to figure this out like a grown man, give me a call in the morning. We'll set up a time to talk. Otherwise—I'm gonna need a minute."

"Please, please don't go," I say. See prior statement about how I feel when he's out of my sight.

"Trust me, you don't want me here right now."

"Trust me, I do. I very much do."

"You remember that time I nearly killed you? I'm about at that level."

"I get that."

His blue eyes flash with barely contained rage. "I'm not sure you do."

I swallow. Hard. This man confessed love for me, and I just insulted him to his face. While he might not actually want to strangle me to death right now, I think I might understand that I've pushed a whole other button with a whole other set of violent responses attached to it. Things that would hurt me way worse than a little choking.

"Okay," I whisper, stepping aside. This is so bad already. I can't afford to make it worse.

"Thank you," he says walking past me to the stairs.

"Is this it?" I ask. I can't help it. If I'm losing him for good, it's probably better to know now.

"That's up to you, Peach."

I have never liked that nickname, and I just now realize why. It's because it's about my body. Not me. He uses it to put me in my place as an object—of his desire—sure—and it's way punchier than Olivier, but Peach is a dig. Kind of like "slut," which can be sexy in the right context, but can also slap hard.

"I know where you work, you know," I say, meaning it like—he's not gonna get away from me that easy, but the way he whips around and puts his finger in my face has me stumbling back a step.

"If you fuck with my job, I will tell everyone in this town exactly what you were doing when you went missing from your fucking party last night. Do you understand me?"

I press my lips shut and close my eyes, trembling everywhere. I nod. I knew I should have shut the fuck up.

"Fuckyou," he hisses. "Jesus."

I don't open my eyes again until I hear the door slam. Elodie is halfway up the stairs by the time I start heading back down. "What happened?"

God, her eye. I am ruining everything decent left in my life, and I'm too stupid and maladjusted to stop.

"Last night he told me he was falling in love with me, and today I kicked him in the fucking face."

"He told you what?"

I sit on the stairs, and she plops down beside me. "I couldn't believe it either."

"I mean, it hasn't been that long, has it?"

"Something changed in the last couple of days. Something major. Like, I feel it, too."

"You're in love, Ollie?"

"I can't be," I whisper. "And I wish he never said it."

"I don't believe that," she says softly, leaning her arm into mine.

"Do you ever think you'll fall in love?"

"I never want to," she says. "My dad loved my mom. When he lost her, he turned into a monster. Kinda taught me early that it's something to avoid. I think he hits me because he's mad she left him."

"She…died, though, right?"

"What difference does it make? She's gone, and he couldn't do shit about it." She takes a deep breath. "Look, I don't want to cry anymore tonight. Let's get drunk and figure out how to make money."

"I can't promise I won't cry."

"He'll be back, Olliepus."

"How do you know?"

"Because he came to the party last night. I'm pretty sure not just any doorman would do that for a guy he likes to fuck."

"That doesn't mean he'll come back here."

"He called you baby."

"Talk is cheap."

"And you fucking melted when he did it. Who could resist that?"

I hang my head, cover my face with my hands, and release a frustrated shout. "Fine. But I need something way stronger than wine."