It doesn’t feel like I’ve brought her into my world. Instead, it’s as though she was meant to be here all along. In the blur of sound, scent, and familiar warmth, I realize I’ve never loved this house more than I do in this exact moment, because for the first time, it feels like the future I want isn’t just something I imagine. It’s right there in front of me, laughing in my mother’s kitchen like she’s always belonged.
Chapter forty-one
Liv
Dinnerfeelslikeablur in the best kind of way.
By the time dessert plates are stacked, I’ve met every single member of the Oliviera family—three sisters, three brothers-in-law, and enough nieces and nephews to start a small soccer team.
Isabel, the oldest, is the one who’s made me laugh the most. I like her immediately. She teases Jay relentlessly, but it’s with an affection that only comes from years of shared history. Her husband, Luis, barely gets a word in but smiles every time she speaks, which tells me everything I need to know. Their children, Luisa, Tomas, and Marco, bicker, but it makes me smile. I never had that, but it’s fun to watch.
Carina’s next, quieter but quick-witted, with girl twins who never stop talking and a husband, Mateo, who looks permanently amused by all of it. Then there’s Bea, the youngest girl, who has the same glint of mischief as Jay—just channeled into a little more chaos. Her husband, Rafa, has their baby, Nico,cradled against his chest most of the night, the pair of them a picture of calm in a storm of chatter.
And then there’s his parents—Sofia, whose warmth fills the whole house, and Manuel, whose quiet steadiness reminds me of the eye of a storm. Together, they radiate a love that has weathered years, but it’s clear to see everything they’ve built between them, not only in their family but as a couple, too.
It’s strange how comfortable I am here after only a few hours. The noise, the laughter, the number of people here—it should overwhelm me. But it doesn’t. It settles something inside me instead. Something I had no idea was so vacant.
Jay catches my eye from across the room just as the conversation shifts to plans for the weekend. He tilts his head toward the stairs, and I slip away to follow him, my senses now attuned to him as he clasps my hand. “Come on,” he murmurs, voice quiet enough that it feels like it’s meant only for me. “Let me show you where you’re sleeping.”
I arch a brow. “Just me?”
He smirks. “Trust me, it’s for everyone else’s sake.”
“What do you mean?” I ask as he turns to face me, giving me his whole attention now.
“Olivia,” he starts, and the depth of his voice skitters down my spine. “There’s no way I’m ever going to ask you to be quiet when we have sex, and after hours of not touching you, I can’t let you sleep in a bed and not fuck you senseless. So, we’re sleeping apart tonight, and I’ll make it up to you once you’re back in my bed.”
A pulse starts low in my stomach, delicious and traitorous, chasing the sound of his voice and the promise of him doing just that. My bed. Two simple words that shouldn’t make my pulse race. Despite it being his apartment, the place has felt more like home than anywhere I’ve been in a long time—and I don’t like the thought of leaving it. Or him.
“Jay,” I manage, though it comes out more like a breath than a warning.
He only grins, tugging gently on my hand as we move toward the stairs.
Every step feels intentional, but maybe that’s just the awareness coursing through my body. His thumb traces lazy circles against my palm, and it’s ridiculous how something so small can light every single nerve in me.
At the top of the stairs, the hallway is dim, the only light spilling from the room at the end—the one he leads me to without hesitation. His old room smells faintly of cedar and pine, like time pressed between the pages of his childhood. The walls are pale, one corner lined with old photographs and a few forgotten trophies. The bed sits neatly made, quilt tucked sharp, a life paused and left behind.
I step inside and turn to face him. “So this is where it all began?”
He shrugs, eyes dragging over me slowly, a faint smirk ghosting across his mouth as he shuts the door gently.
I let my hand trail across the dresser, the edge of the bed frame, then down to the quilt, the fabric rippling under my fingers, before sitting down, the mattress dipping slightly under my weight.
His gaze drags up my legs, deliberate and slow, until it meets mine again.
I shift back on the bed, the creak of the frame breaking the silence as I part my knees just enough for the challenge to register.
His expression changes in an instant, slipping into something darker, filled with desire. It fuels the heat inside me, too. He doesn’t move right away; he just looks at me, lower lip caught between his teeth.
“Olivia,” he warns, voice low and rough enough to make my skin prickle. God, I love it when he uses my whole name like that.
I smile, tilting my head. “What? You said we’re sleeping apart, not that I can’t make it difficult for you.”
My head lolls between my shoulder blades as I arch my back and gently move my hips forward, enough that I know he’ll be able to see the lace of my panties beneath my skirt.
The smirk fades from his mouth, replaced by something far quieter, more dangerous. He straightens, shoulders squaring, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight as he starts toward me.
Each step is unhurried, precise, as if he’s giving me a chance to take it back. I don’t.
