Olivia

  “What are you doing?”

  “Come with me,” he says softly into my ear, kissing it a few times before he guides me into the main room of the loft. “Keep your eyes closed.”

  “We can’t do this now,” I remind him.

  “I know, that’s not what I’m doing,” he confirms. “Okay, right here,” he says, stopping and dropping his hands. When I open my eyes, I’m not greeted by the normal glaring sunlight that streams through the windows. I stare where the light is supposed to be, finally focusing on huge printed photos of a place very sacred to us.

  Mykonos.

  And they’re his photos, blown up and centered over each window. “Jon, this is amazing,” I tell him, my stomach feeling the surprise. “It’s the view from the balcony.”

  “How else are we going to recreate this?” he asks smugly. His tone gets serious and he moves to stand between me and the windows. He puts his hands on my shoulders. “I just want us to wake up tomorrow with nothing but good feelings surrounding us. I hate that we have to associate our first time together with what happened. This night should only be about us, okay?”

  “Okay. This is a great start.” He moves his hands to my hips and kisses me.

  “I’m glad you like them.”

  “Let’s get out of here so we can get back and enjoy our little paradise.” I grab my bag and portfolio and follow Jon out the door, locking it behind us. I adjust the knot on his tie in the elevator like I learned from my mom as he stares at me intensely, smiling, and I don’t have to guess what he’s thinking about.

  “Have a good evening, Miss Holland,” the concierge says as he opens the heavy doors for us.

  “Thanks. I’ll be back to paint later,” I tell him, setting up my alibi. Even though I trust that he won’t say anything, my conscience is still getting the best of me tonight. It had been months since I lied to my parents. I hate doing it now, but this is important to me and Jon–and it’s a private matter between us.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says. “You two have a good dinner.” We both nod politely as Jon walks to the driver’s side of the car. The valet helps me in.

  “Before I forget,” I tell Jon, buckling my seatbelt, “here.” I pull out the bills my dad had given me this morning and hold them up. “Wallet?”

  “Are we really going to need that?”

  “I doubt it, but please just take it.” He frowns, but pulls the leather billfold I bought him out of his back pocket and hands it to me. “But I’m not that kind of man, Olivia,” he teases me, watching me put the money inside. Even though he’s trying to make a joke out of it, I can tell it annoys him.

  “Dad wants us to offer to pay, but I don’t think Abram will let us... but just offer.”

  “Is this enough?” he asks.

  “It’s more than enough.” I don’t bother to tell him it’s $200 and that I’d heard stories from my parents and aunts and uncles that dinner for one could be between one and two hundred dollars at the restaurant Abram’s taking us to. Granted, I’m sure that has something to do with cocktails and scotch, so I’m not too worried–and I don’t want him to worry, either. I’d already decided to eat light, anyway, knowing what’s coming after my meeting.

  “Thanks,” he says as he takes his wallet back and puts it in his jeans. He holds my hand over the console as we take off down the street.

  Abram walks in at the same time we do, shaking Jon’s hand first, then kissing the back of mine. This is how he always greets me; so formal and foreign. That’s Abram, though. He’s wearing a greenish-tan suit and a yellow tie with blue stripes. His white shoes complete the unstylish look. He’d actually be pretty attractive if he tried a little harder.

  “Jon, what a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect you.”

  “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” he assures us both. Abram had reservations for two, but the restaurant is quick to find a table to accommodate us. Although Le Créme has a strict dress code, they don’t even bat an eye at me or Jon as they greet me by name. Even though my agent technically meets all the requirements of the dress code–coat, tie, slacks, dress shoes–I think he’d be the first of the three of us to be asked to leave for his lack of fashion sense. After all, this is a trendy restaurant, and he’s far from that.

  Jon and I look good, and we look even better together. Both men try to pull a chair out for me. I take the one my boyfriend offers, and he sits to my right. Abram sits down to my immediate left, smiling at both of us.

  After we place our orders, I show Abram photos of some of the paintings I’d had in storage.

  “Did you get a new camera, Miss Holland?”

  I glance over to Jon quickly, who gives me a look. He hates how Abram addresses me. It creates a false sense of propriety and reeks of superiority, Jon had said to me. I waved it off as a British thing. Brits have first names, too, Olivia, he’d retorted.

  “No, but I got a new photographer. Jon and I set up some lighting at home, and he took these for me.”

  “Outstanding, Jon,” he says. “Are these colors true?”

  “Yeah,” Jon assures him. “We had multiple prints done to get it right.”

  “Perfect, I’m glad you can appreciate the importance of depicting her art as true-to-form as possible.”

  “I want her work to shine,” Jon says, “just like she does.” I blush at his compliment.

  “She is radiant, isn’t she?” my agent agrees. This makes me a little uncomfortable.

  “She is,” Jon says evenly, glaring across the table as Abram keeps his nose in my portfolio. I squeeze my boyfriend’s knee under the table, and he puts his hand on top of mine, holding it gently in his.

  “Miss Holland,” he starts. Jon’s grip gets a little tighter, and I start to laugh a little at his response. “Have you given any more thought to selling your work yet?”

  “I have. I spoke with my dad, and I’m ready. I think he has some figures in mind, what he’d like to get for them... but I think that’s something you two should discuss next time we meet.”

  “I’ll schedule something this week. I want to have a show very soon.”

  “Do I have enough work for a gallery event?”

  “More than enough. That’s why we need to sell some of them. You know,” he says cautiously, “we’ll get more for them if we put your name on them.”

  “I’m not looking to make money off of my name, Abram,” I tell him for the twentieth time. Sometimes I think he took me on as a client simply because of who I am and not because of what I do, but I’m confident my art will sell on its own. “Olivia Choisie. That’s the name I’m using for this.”

  “Well, what if you meet your buyers? You aren’t an unknown here, darling.”

  “Well, by the time she meets them,” Jon interjects, “I gather they will have already agreed to purchase one of her paintings. And that will mean they’re buying her art for the art.”

  Abram looks at Jon as if he shouldn’t have a say in the matter, but he concedes, knowing that my boyfriend’s opinion means almost as much to me as my father’s. They both have my best interest at heart.

  “If you’re sure.” He directs his response to me.

  “I’m sure, and my parents back me one-hundred percent... so please don’t try to get them to change my mind again. They won’t.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Holland. I overstepped my boundaries last time.”

  “Okay, then,” I tell him with a satisfied smirk as the waitstaff sets our orders down at the table. “And you can keep that book; I had a duplicate made just for you.”

  Abram smiles and thanks me, setting it on the empty chair across from me.

  “She is radiant, isn’t she?” Jon says in a mock-British accent as we wait for my car to be brought around. Abram had taken a cab, so he was already gone. I slap Jon’s chest and snicker.

  “What, I’m not?” I argue playfully.

  “Oh, you most certainly are,” he answers, his voice low and scratc
hy and sexy. “I’ll never forget how you looked that night in Greece.” He stands behind me and wraps his arms around my back, kissing my neck. I duck my head instinctively, shielding my blushing face with my long hair, just in case anyone of note might be watching. I’m pretty sure I would be in trouble if my dad saw a picture of us like this, so I keep a low profile as much as possible, trying not to draw any unnecessary attention to my family. We’d seen enough this past summer.

  In fact, after all the pictures of me had been leaked, Dad had put out a personal plea to the media, asking photographers and journalists to leave me and my brother alone. He’d given multiple press conferences, just to minimize the curiosity about our family at a time when we wanted nothing but privacy.

  Normally, Jon wasn’t this hands-on in such a public setting, but the week apart was brutal on both of us. During the summer, we spent three days together every week, and saw each other for at least an hour or two most evenings. My dad has repeatedly voiced his concern about how much we saw each other, but he definitely likes to see me happy... and he knows, above all, that Jon makes me happy.

  “I’m tempted to turn our phones off,” Jon tells me as he shuts the door to the loft after dinner.

  “You know I can’t do that. It’s still early. My parents could still call.”

  “You should call them.”

  “No,” I laugh. “There are lots of things I want to do. Calling Mom and Dad is not one of them.”

  He smiles, walking over to me slowly. He wastes no time, pressing his lips hard against mine. I tuck my hands under his shirt, feeling his warm, smooth skin. He stills me abruptly, giving me a funny look. “You’d rather that they interrupt this?”

  “Well, when you put it that way...”

  “I’m going to get comfortable,” Jon tells me, taking off his tie and throwing it on the floor with purpose. I laugh a little on the way to my purse, heeding his advice and preemptively calling my parents.

  “Hey, Mom. What are you guys doing?” I close my eyes, imagining myself at my friend’s house instead of in the loft, alone, with Jon. It’s easier for me to sound casual, especially when my nerves are starting to get the best of me.

  “We were just putting your brother to bed. Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I guess. My head’s kind of hurting, so Camille gave me some aspirin. I was going to go to bed. I just wanted to call you before I fell asleep.”

  “Is it bad? We can come home,” Mom says.

  “No, it’s fine. Just a little headache. I’m fine. Please don’t worry about me. Don’t worry about anything, in fact. Just enjoy your little weekend getaway. You earned it.”

  “Did you make it through the day okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay. Did you?”

  “I did. I was completely surprised when your dad picked me up at the Art Room, and he’s kept us all busy all day. Your poor brother fell asleep at dinner,” she laughs.

  “Good. I hope you were able to leave some of your stress behind.”

  “I definitely did, Livvy. I needed this.”

  “I know. Mom, I don’t know how you do it,” I tell her honestly. She spends about ten hours a day at the foundation, then comes home to do her own work or sleep. Dad had become the sole parent over the summer. He’d done a great job, but we all missed Mom around the house. It was Dad’s intention to talk her into finding someone else to take over for Granna this weekend. I think he had someone in mind; I’d overheard a phone conversation.

  “I just don’t want things to fall apart,” she responds.

  “I know. I know she’d be so proud of you.”

  “I hope so, sweetie. Listen, go get some sleep. If you need us to come home early tomorrow, just call us. We’ve got plans to go to some local markets, but it’s nothing we can’t put off until next time.”

  “Okay, but I know I’ll be fine. Probably just the change in the weather,” I reason with her.

  “All right.”

  “Tell Dad and Trey I said good night.”

  “I will. See you tomorrow.” I hang up and turn the ringer off, slipping the phone into my purse. I find my suitcase and pull out the clothes I’d picked out for tonight. I know he’s expecting the yellow satin slip I’d worn our first night together, but I want to surprise him with something else. I quickly hide the outfit behind my back when he comes out of the bathroom. I smile at his cotton, pin-striped pants and make note of the black sleeveless undershirt.

  “Wow,” I sigh, excited. “I’ll hurry.” He stops me on my way for a slow kiss. His hand eases behind my back and touches my clothes.

  “What’s this?” he murmurs, his lips on mine. As he tries to peer over my shoulder, I hide the clothes under my dress shirt and run to the bathroom. I hurry, just like I told him I would, mainly because I can’t wait to see him again–and I can’t wait for him to see me.

  The only piece of clothing I’d ever bought that cost more than this lingerie set was my prom dress last year. I’d been pulling out a little cash every week, setting it aside for this purchase. The short night gown has horizontal stripes of alternating fine, black, netted lace ruffles and nude-colored, hand-cut lace. It’s barely see-through. As if that wasn’t enough, the matching ruffled panties tie in bows at my hips. Even I think it’s sexy.

  When I bought it, I had hoped it would give me the confidence I’d need to get through tonight.

  I fidget with my hair, pushing it behind my shoulders, and pulling it back in front of them, trying to figure out how I like it best. I realize it doesn’t matter, because in just a few minutes, it will be a mess anyway.

  I’d brought high-heels to wear with this, but it feels silly to wear shoes with night clothes. I quietly escape the bathroom unnoticed, padding across the hardwood floors softly with my bare feet. Jon’s looking out the window.

  “You’re supposed to be admiring the other view,” I tell him, referring to the Mykonos posters. He turns around and stops moving the second he sees me. His jaw actually drops, and I laugh at his reaction, pointing to the large print now behind him. “That one.”

  He shakes his head. “No, I’ll admire this one,” he says after clearing his throat.

  “The lace is really soft,” I tell him, inviting him to come closer.

  He wastes no time, crossing the room, his eyes scanning me from head to foot. “I don’t know where to begin,” he says quietly with a slight laugh. He finally chooses to rest his hands on my hips, taking the ruffled material between his fingers. “It is soft.” He moves his hands to touch more of the fabric, as if different sections might feel differently. He tucks his fingers beneath the delicate satin spaghetti straps that hold the slip on my body. He finally looks in my eyes.

  “Do you know how sexy you look right now?”

  “Kind of,” I tell him. “That was the point.”

  “Let me just take this in for a second,” he says as he takes a step away from me.

  “You’re supposed to move closer to me, not farther away.”

  “Give me a second,” he laughs, ogling me and putting his fingers through his hair. He asks me to turn around, and I do quickly, not wanting to miss a single expression. The way he’s getting turned on is making me feel the same. I start to relax a little, just being in his presence. He does calm me. He will take care of me.

  Growing impatient, I taunt him. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” I start to walk in his direction, tired of the distance between us.

  “Can I?” he asks.

  “Can you what?” I realize his question immediately. “No! It’s just an expression.”

  “Please, Olivia, let me take a picture. Just one. Give me one shot to capture this beauty forever. Please?”

  “Jon,” I half-whine. “You can see this anytime.”

  “No, I can’t,” he argues. “I’m at school, you’re with your parents... if I could see that anytime, we wouldn’t have waited two and a half months for this. This is literally the first opportunity we’ve had to make this right. Please,
Livvy. I’ll guard it with my life. Just one picture.”

  I shake my head. It’s not that I don’t want him to have a souvenir of this night. I really just want him to stop putting off what we’ve had to put off all summer. I take his hands in mine and put them at the top of my thighs. His fingers move slowly up my legs, beneath the lace garment, until they discover the strings tied in bows on either of my hips.

  “What in the hell are you wearing?” he asks in surprise, his eyes bright. He pulls up one side of the slip to reveal the panties. “I have to, Liv. Please. One quick picture because I honestly can’t believe you’re wearing this. For me.”

  “I was hoping to not be wearing this for you, too.”

  “I swear, you won’t have to. Just give me two minutes.”

  “Okay, hurry,” I tell him, slightly annoyed, but more flattered. He takes my hand and leads me across the room to where some studio lighting is. He turns on a few lamps and adjusts some of the filters, then positions me in front of the plain, white backdrop. After he pulls out his phone, I shake my head and walk away quickly, grabbing my good camera from the closet and giving it to him. He holds the viewfinder to his eye. “You have one shot,” I remind him. “Make it count.”

  “Shhh...” he says, walking around in front of me, searching for the right spot. “Okay, right there.” He points at a spot on the floor, and I take a few steps over to that area. “Angle your body to that wall. Good. Now can you lift the bottom of your... um, shirt? No, on the side. I want to see the bow on your hip. Can you pull the string? Like you’re going to untie it?” Knowing it will speed up the progress, I do as he asks, but feel stupid doing it. “Perfect.”

  “Jon, this is silly,” I laugh, turning my head to the side just as he snaps the picture. “Wait! I wasn’t ready!”