My stomach drops even before I see the regretful twist of my father’s mouth. This is like one of those wretched movie scenes come to life. You know, the one where the dickhead guy says something cruel about the girl who’s standing behind him?
My chin dips down and rests on my chest in defeat. I can’t turn around. I can’t make myself look at her face. But the little hurt noise she makes tears at me anyway.
“I made your eggs, Mr. Langdon.” Her voice wavers just the tiniest bit. “I’ll just leave them here on the desk.”
She moves toward us, and she and I are standing shoulder to shoulder as she sets down the tray, although neither of us looks at the other. I keep my eyes locked on my cane, while she looks only at my father.
“Will there be anything else?” she asks, her voice steadier.
“No, we’re good,” Dad says quietly. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, Olivia? I’ll take care of Paul.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that I don’t need anyone to take care of me. But I want Olivia to tell him that. I want her to tell him that she’s here with me because she wants to be, not because he’s paying her. I want her to tell him the truth about the breakfast, and last night.
Of course, she says nothing. And can I really be surprised after what she overheard me telling my father? You might as well have bought me a puppy or a hooker, for all the use she’s been.
It was an asshole thing to say, and yet…I wasn’t that far off. All of her kindness, her posing as the agreeable workout buddy, all that cozy reading by the fire, even the kissing—those moments are for my sake, aren’t they? It’s clear to everyone in this room that I need her a hell of a lot more than she needs me.
I risk a sidelong glance at her, and the relief on her face at my father’s offer of a day off is obvious. “Thanks. I’d like that.”
And suddenly, just for a moment, I hate her. I hate both of them.
“Enjoy your day off,” I say, idly tapping my cane against my foot. She turns her eyes to me then, and I go for the kill. “You know, since you have some time to yourself, maybe you should catch up on the social life you left back in New York. Maybe call some old friends? What’s Ethan up to? I bet he could use a little dose of your special TLC.”
I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. I may not know what the hell happened with her and Ethan, but I know it’s a painful topic, and I very deliberately dumped salt into that wound.
I’m no stranger to being mean these past few years, but I’m pretty sure I just hopped over the line into barbaric territory. I deserve a slap, but the flash of raw pain in her eyes is so much worse. She’s out the door before I can apologize.
All of a sudden, everything hurts. Leg, nose, head. Heart.
“What was that about?” my father asks, looking nervous. I wonder if he’s starting to realize that his conniving plan to “fix” me using a blond princess might be doing more harm than good.
“Nothing,” I mutter. Just me being a monster, as usual.
My father leaves that afternoon. I don’t know why he bothers coming at all. It takes him longer to fly from Boston to Portland than it does for him to dole out whatever gloomy, sanctimonious message he’s feeling I need at the moment.
I grunt out some half-assed agreement that I’ll “think twice” before going to Frenchy’s in my “condition.” I don’t bother to tell him that walking into that bar after years of solitude was the most human thing I’ve done in a long time. I certainly don’t tell him that I worry it had nothing to do with the bar and everything to do with the girl waiting in the bar.
I don’t see Olivia for the rest of the day. I keep the door cracked so I’ll know if she goes out, but as far as I can tell, she doesn’t leave her room.
My dad texts me from the airport. Don’t forget I gave Olivia the day off. You’re on your own for dinner.