Olivia (12 page)

“
Tell me what you want.” He turns
on his side and glances up at me, taking one of my hands in
his.

“
When. Tonight?”

“
It’s a good start.”

“
I want you to make love to me.” My
voice cracks when I say it.

“
Why?” he challenges me.
Why? What kind of a question is
that?

“
Because I love you.”

“
You wear my ring because you love
me. You devote every Saturday night to me because you love me. You
answer my calls every day because you love me. Why do you
want
me?”

“
I don’t... I don’t think I
understand.”

“
Here’s what I want. I want to
trail my fingers down the length of your naked body and feel the
excitement they leave in their wake.”

I look around quickly, grateful that he’s not
speaking too loudly.

“
I want to smell the perfume you
wear as I nip at your earlobe and whisper things to you I’m too
afraid to say when I’m not inebriated by your very
presence.”

I can’t believe he’s saying these things to me right
here, in the light of day, as if he’s telling me about his classes
or what color shoes he decided to wear today.

“
I want to hear you pronounce my
name with such desperation, supplicating me for more–deeper,
slower
–like you can’t get enough of me
even though you’re holding me so tightly you leave marks on my skin
that take days to disappear and underscore the words forever
inscribed on my shoulder blade–”

“
I’m sorry–” He stops
my
interruption with a surprising kiss, his hand
supporting my neck as his mouth moves hard and fast against mine. I
gasp when he pulls away, and my eyes are enraptured by the fervency
of his gaze.

“
I’m not sorry,” he whispers, then
shakes his head. “I want the taste of you...” He pauses and nods
just so, making sure I fully understand what he’s implying. “...on
my lips.”

“
Jon!” I nearly shriek, taken aback
by his brazenness and indelicate suggestion. Oddly enough, though,
I’ve never been more attracted to him than I am in this moment. He
laughs at my response.

“
And I want to make you blush, just
like that.” He touches his thumb to the warm skin of my face. “To
see the glow of tamarisk in your cheeks when you’re coming down.
 There’s not a prettier color in nature.”

I can say nothing, do nothing, except stare at him
with my mouth agape.

“
And do you want to know why I want
these things?”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s asked me a
question; that he’s waiting for my answer. “Because you want me to
be happy?”

“
No.” Now both of his thumbs rub my
temples as he stares lustfully at me,
through
me. My pulse is raging, and I can hear it in
my ears and feel it coursing beneath my skin. “Because I’m a
selfish man, and every one of those things rouses me and makes me
want to take you in ways I never have — ways your virtuous mind has
probably never even imagined. You engage me and provoke me and you
drive me to the brink of insanity, and just when I think I’m gone,
you save me, Olivia. A brush of your hand. A kiss. A whisper. I’d
never felt so destroyed and yet so completely whole in one single
moment until that night in Mykonos. You have nothing to compare it
to, and I’m sorry that I do, but damn it. I have perspective I wish
you could have.”

I have to speak to cut the unavoidable tension.
“There are a lot of cute boys around here—”

He kisses me again, leaning me into the grass.
“Don’t even joke about that,” he warns. “I can’t even think of you
with another guy... just like there’s no way I could see myself
with another woman. I just wish you could know what I know: that
there can be no one better suited for me than you. There’s no point
in me looking any further, Olivia. I love you. I crave you. I have
to have you.”

It’s my turn to kiss him. I can’t help myself, and I
don’t even think that was his motive, or his reason for this whole
line of conversation. I don’t remember how we got here, to this
lawn, to this day, to this subject matter, to this intimate
position in the middle of the Columbia campus. I open one of my
eyes tentatively, closing it quickly and putting my hand on Jon’s
chest to push him away.

“
People are looking at us,” I
whisper, my forehead pressed against his.

“
Cameras?” he asks quietly, taking
off his royal blue cap and putting it on my head.

“
Not that I saw.” He kisses me
sweetly once more as I slowly dig through my purse to find my
sunglasses. He places them on me gently and smiles earnestly. He
stands, then offers his hand to help me up.

Once I’m upright, he pulls me into a tight hug. I
tuck my face into the crook of his neck. “I want to know what I do
to you, Liv,” he says softly in my ear. “I want to know what you
really want— for yourself, from me. What can I do for you?”

I pull back just to nod.

He continues, now staring intently into my darkened
lenses. “I want to know that I affect you the same way you affect
me.”

“
You do.”

“
I want you to tell me what you
want. Tonight.”

I can feel my cheeks redden again, bringing obvious
pleasure to Jon by the mischievous grin on his face.

I take a deep breath. “I can try.”

“
Let’s do what Olivia wants to
do... I don’t want to do what you think I want to do. Have a voice,
Liv. Tell me.”

“
I said I’d try.”

He sighs as he picks up my surprise, then looks
around, putting his hand around my back to guide me to a walkway
between two buildings that have much fewer students. I keep my eyes
focused on the ground and my left hand in my pocket. The last thing
I need is for Internet rumors of me and Jon to reach my parents and
threaten our night together. I was nervous earlier, but Jon’s
declarations give me confidence I’d been lacking. Do I think I can
repeat such things to him? No... but in the end, it’s not about
what I say. Tomorrow morning, he’ll have no doubt of my feelings
for him.

Although both of us are excited about tonight, we
take our time wandering the college grounds. Jon tells me stories
about his first week, and tales that he heard through his campus
tour and orientation. He’s passionate about Columbia. To me, it’s
just a school, a place where I’ll go to learn next year, but it’s
obvious this university is sacred to him. He tells me about his
father, who’d received not only his bachelor’s but his master’s
degree, too. He was the only person in his family. On his mom’s
side, no one had gone to college. He has a lot to live up to, but
most of the expectations are his own. He drives himself.

After the tour, we go to the loft to get ready for
dinner. We say hello to Timothy, the doorman filling in for
Francisco, both of us walking as if we belong in the building even
though we don’t. Timothy stutters out a greeting to me, using my
full name. He simply calls Jon “sir.” He’s obviously nervous around
us.

“
Are you going to fix your hair?”
he asks me when we get to the apartment with barely enough time to
change before we’re supposed to meet with my agent.

“
What’s wrong with my
hair?”

“
It just looks so pretty when it’s
down... and curly,” he says with a sweet smile.

“
I don’t know if we have
time.”

“
You tell me he’s consistently late
to meetings with you and your father. So what if we make him wait
ten more minutes?”

“
All right. You’re ready,
though?”

“
You tell me,” he says, standing in
front of me in his crisp shirt and black necktie. He gets his
response from the satisfied look on my face, the one that reaffirms
my anticipation for tonight, after our dinner. “Go do your hair,”
he says, seemingly shooing me into the bathroom. Jon turns on some
music while I finish getting ready–not mood music, just one of the
few bands we’ve come to agree on and listen to quite often. He
appears behind me, just after I’ve secured my bangs with a
barrette. He covers my eyes with his hands.

“
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.