“It’s okay, sweetness, but don’t interrupt me in the future.” She nods, so I continue. “As I was saying, I'd like for you to keep a journal. A journal that is separate from the current one you keep unless you’d like for them to be together, but you’ll share this journal with me. As you do research, if you have questions or certain feelings about what you’re reading, you can write it down and I’ll read it. Since we don’t live together, it will probably be easier if we share a document and it will give me a notification when you’ve updated it. But if you prefer writing on paper, we can figure that out.”
She’s quiet for a few moments. “Okay. I don’t mind sharing a document. I like writing, and technology doesn’t bother me either, as long as you can promise no one else will see it.”
“I promise.” We’re both quiet, thinking over the conversation we just had. “Now, I’d like for us to begin building our trust in each other. So, I want you to ask me a question that I promise to answer and I’d like to ask you a question that you promise to answer.”
Olivia freezes and looks out the windows as she scrunches her eyebrows. “I have a lot of secrets.”
I stand and walk the few steps until I’m directly in front of her. She looks up at me with glossy eyes, but tears won’t fall. I haven’t seen her cry since she was a kid; she didn’t even cry at her mom’s funeral. Kneeling down in front of her, I hold both of her hands in mine.
“I have a lot of secrets too. What if we compromise? If either of us asks a question and it’s too hard to answer right then, we can request a reprieve. We’ll answer the question, but not at that moment.”
She squeezes my hands and leans forward slightly. “Will there be a timeline of when we have to answer it?”
“How about a week? And if it’s too much to say out loud, we could write it down.”
She nods slowly. “I think I can handle that.” I bring her hands up to my lips and kiss each of them before standing to return to my chair.
“Ready?”
Chapter twenty-one
Olivia
My heart is racing a mile a minute because I know what his first question is going to be, while I have no idea what to ask him. He said we could hold off on answering a question, but I’ll have to answer it eventually. And as nerve-racking as it is, part of me wants to tell him. I want him to know my secrets because no one knows all my secrets, not even Rose. Flexing my hands on my thighs, I wait for him to begin.
“I’m going to ask my question first. If you need time to answer it, we’ll go on a tour of part of the house. Okay?”
Unable to find my voice, I nod. He stands from his chair, walks over to me, and extends his hand. Putting mine in his, he leads me out of the small breakfast nook. I’m sure this house has a large dining room, but this nook is more intimate.
“What about cleaning up?” I ask, turning back toward the door he just walked me through.
“It can wait.”
He tries to guide me again, but I pull away. “We can clean and talk at the same time.” The thought of leaving the plates, silverware, and glasses on the table makes my skin itch.
Victor gently grasps my biceps and turns me to face him. “Olivia, nothing bad is going to happen if we don’t clean up right away. I promise we will clean before I take you home tonight, but right now, I want your undivided attention.”
My muscles loosen, and I relax in his grip. Victor wants me. He needs me. He’s more important than the dishes. “Okay.”
His thumbs stroke my arms, and he smiles at me. “Thank you.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and continues to lead me into a sitting room.
“You’re welcome,” I whisper.
As we sit, I take in my surroundings. It’s a small, cozy room. On one wall there are built-in bookshelves.Only half filled, my gardening books would fit right in, so would my... I force myself to stop that thought and take in the rest of the room.The other wall there are windows, and a fireplace. There’s a green love seat with a coffee table in the middle of the room facing the fireplace. We sit down on the love seat and Victor faces me. He lifts his legs onto the couch so his back is leaning against the arm of the couch.
I lean into the corner on my side and face him, but avoid looking him straight in the eye. Biting my lip, I remind myself he promised to take me on a tour if I need to think. His eyes drop to my scar. I was right about what question he was going to ask.
“How did you get that scar?” He lifts his chin in the direction of my scar like I need clarification of what scar he’s talking about. Rubbing my thumb across it and still avoiding his eyes, I look toward the fireplace.
“I was cut by a knife. I should have received stitches, but it was too late before receiving medical attention.” Shrugging andforcing myself to look at him. “The scar would still be there, but maybe not as noticeable.”
Victor’s hand balls into a fist and his lips press into a thin line. “Who did it?”
I want to remind him that it’s my turn to ask a question now, but the fury and guilt that’s evident on his face stops me.Why would he feel guilty?I look away from him and rub my thumb over my index finger, wishing the paper cut was still there.
“Donovan,” I murmur.
Victor stands so quickly I flinch back and my blood pressure spikes. He stops in his tracks, grimacing at my reaction. He drops his chin to his chest and breathes in slowly before exhaling. I wish I wasn’t like that, but it’s not something easily controlled. Even after all the years with Donovan.
