Chapter 5

5

OLIVER

I f someone told me a month ago that I would one day be domesticated, I would've laughed in their faces. A month later, they would've laughed in mine.

I'm making breakfast for the Lang family. After spending several nights watching videos and badgering the hired chef for lessons, I think I'm finally ready to cook for them.

I wake up early and raid the resort pantry for whatever ingredients I need. The chef and his sous chef will be up in a few hours to test different recipes again. They still haven't come up with a solid menu.

There are currently twelve villas—structures finished but unfurnished—for guests, a restaurant to accommodate at least thirty diners at a time, a spa, an outdoor bar and dining area, and three infinity pools.

This is supposed to be the ultra-exclusive wing of the resort, while on the other side—by Olivia's land—are for, well, budget accommodations. And by budget, I don't mean a few hundred dollars. The price starts at $750 per night. What can I say? My brother is ambitious.

Paul can stop here and add more amenities and maybe water activities. He doesn't need more. With the price of each villa and add-ons, he'll break even in no more than three years.

The Lang house is quiet and still when I arrive. Alice gave me a spare key after I told her I wanted to do a little something for them.

I set the bag on the countertop and pull out a tray of fresh eggs, thick slices of bacon, sausages, and two loaves of freshly baked bread.

As the coffee brews, I begin with the omelet before moving to the bacon and sausages. Olivia is the first to wake up, and she rubs the sleep from her eyes and smiles when she sees me. "Oh, look, a private chef. I've always wanted one."

I smile back at her and flip the bacon, the slices sizzling on the hot pan. "Sit down, love. I hope you're hungry."

She sits in front of the counter and props her chin on her palm, watching me and raising her eyebrow. "Last time you were in my kitchen, you couldn't even dice the onion properly and you asked why the need to blanch the chicken. Now you're making us breakfast?"

"I'm a fast learner."

"Who taught you?"

"Strangers on videos and the resort's chef."

"Ah, the perks of being the owner."

I hesitate before responding, "I don't own it. The company does."

"The company is yours."

"Only part of it. Both my dad and Paul have bigger shares than me."

She takes the cup of brewed coffee I just poured for her and wraps her hands around it. "You never told me about your mom. You never mention her."

Mom. The only one who ever cared for me and who wasn't afraid to show me what love was. The one I ran to when I had problems at school. The one whose loss still hurts me. The one I never stopped grieving.

I take out the bacon and put it over the paper napkins on the plate before dropping the sausages in the pan. While they cook, I slice the tomatoes and arrange them on a different plate, adding a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkle of salt.

"Mom was amazing," I start, still a bit unsure about what to say. I've never spoken about her for so long, especially to Paul and Dad. After her death, it was like they wanted to completely forget her existence. But not me. "Before she married my dad, she was a flight attendant. They met when he flew first class instead of his private jet. They fell in love and got married within three months."

The sausage is done, and I add it beside the bacon before continuing, "They had Paul the following year and me three years later. When I was eight, I remember coming home and finding her by the swimming pool, a glass in one hand, lying on the tiled floor and staring at the sky."

Memories rush at me, along with the all-too-familiar guilt. "That became a common scenario. Mom drinking wine at all hours of the day, staring into space, and just … not being there. Some days, she recognized me. Others, she didn't even know I was there."

I carry the plates one by one to the table. "When I was in ninth grade, I came home, and she was gone. She mixed wine with sleeping pills."

"Oh my God." Tears pool in her eyes, her fingertips flying to her open mouth. "I am so sorry, Oliver."

"She called me Oli, too. The only one who did."

"Oli."

"She would have loved you, Ol. She would've enjoyed being in your home. Mom was a fun, free-spirited soul, just like you. She liked beaches, nature, and just … laughing until her stomach hurt. She had millions in the bank and a shopping allowance of one hundred thousand a month, but she wasn't happy. I did my best to make her laugh, and she did, but I also heard her cry in the bedroom late at night when she thought I was asleep."

"I would've loved her too, you know."

"I know." I step closer to her and wipe the tears sliding down her cheeks. "I planned to make this a memorable breakfast, but I only succeeded in making you cry."

Olivia shakes her head and kisses my palm. "No. Thank you for sharing that with me, and thank you for this breakfast." She sniffs once and grins. "Now let's eat. Mom and Sammy won't be awake in at least an hour, and I'm starving."

A sudden knock on the door makes Olivia frown, and I'm equally puzzled. Based on what I learned these past few days, visits from neighbors are pretty rare, and if they do come here, it's never before lunch.

"I'll get it." Olivia gets up to answer it while I take two more plates full of bread and bacon. The door swings open, and the last person I expect to see is on the other side—Paul.

He doesn't look pleased. His lips are pressed into a tight line, and he wears a stony expression, which is usually reserved for our employees.

Not today.

"Hello, brother. Can I just say? I expected a phone call from you days ago telling me it's a done deal. Imagine my surprise when I find out you're being domestic and shit."

I set the plates down and stride toward him. "Let's talk outside."

Paul follows me without another word toward the small cabana in front. The beach stretches out before me, the white sands almost glittering. Waves lap against the shore, and it doesn't do anything to calm the raging storm inside me.

"You wanna tell me why you've been dodging my calls? The staff at the resort said you'd been hanging out with that girl."

That girl. The condescending tone only makes me angrier. "Olivia."

"What?"

"That girl's name is Olivia Lang."

"Don't care. So, did she agree to the terms?"

"No."

Paul moves in front of me, his nostrils flaring. "Then what the fuck are you still doing here? Is this your method to win her over? Try to do the boyfriend act?"

"I'm not doing it, Paul. They said no. We should just leave them alone."

Paul's sharp bark of laughter pierces the tranquility of this place. "No fucking way. You're the last person I would've thought who'd think with his dick. Are you telling me you're throwing away millions of profit for a mere slip of a girl?"

"Something Dad should've done for Mom, don't you think?"

He stops for a beat, and when he speaks, his voice is menacingly low. "What the fuck do you mean?"

"Don't tell me you never thought of it. Mom falling into depression, drinking herself into oblivion, and mixing her sleeping pills with her favorite bottle of red wine." I sigh and massage the back of my neck. "Dad was too obsessed with adding numbers to his net worth. He thought being rich and powerful was all that. In the end, he won against his competitors but lost his wife." I stare hard at Paul, desperate for him to understand. "I don't want that to happen to me."

"You've only been here for two weeks." His earlier vitriol is gone and is replaced by a mix of confusion and doubt.

"I know. Isn't it strange that I've traveled all over the world, lived in the most expensive addresses, and I don't want to leave? This place is home. I found my home, Paul." With slight hesitation, I rest a hand on his shoulder, even though we never normally touch. "And I hope someday you can find yours too. We don't have to be like Dad."

The fight goes out of him, and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. I rarely contradict him, so he knows whatever this is isn't just a passing whim. It's serious. "What do you propose we do? We can't just abandon the project. The board will go nuts."

"How about we stick to the ultra-rich as our target market? Let's continue with the twelve villas and market them as super exclusive. The 1% will eat it up. You can sell the rocks for a hundred dollars a piece, and they'd bring it home and brag about it to their friends."

Paul releases a huge breath and digs his hands into his pockets. He's turned from an angry, concerned brother to a billionaire businessman. "What else?"

"Give all the jobs to the locals, obviously, including the chef and sous chef positions. The ones you hired? They don't fit here, maybe in the resort in Bali or the hotel in Paris, but not here. Buy supplies from the locals, additional furniture, etc. Listen, I have this idea about…"

What started as a confrontation ended with me and Paul discussing business plans. My brother may be similar to Dad in terms of how driven he is, but he also loved Mom. We both did, and the last thing we want is to end up as miserable as Dad after he lost her.

Paul may not understand my feelings for Olivia, but he understands loss. At least we have that in common.