“It’s bruising quite badly…” she remarks, guilt threading through her voice as she bites her lip.
I trail my fingers over the mark. “That’s the point.” A smile tugs at my lips when I see her brows pull together.
She reaches up, fingertips grazing the tender skin as if she can undo it.
“Does it hurt?” she asks.
“Only when you stop touching me.”
That earns me a flustered look. Before she can pull her hand back, I take it gently and turn her wrist toward my mouth. My lips find the soft skin there, dragging a slow kiss over her pulse.
She inhales sharply and her knees shift under the water.
“Don’t feel bad,” I tell her, stroking her knuckles. “You only gave me what I asked for.”
She hums, eyes darting away, and I release her wrist—if only to offer her some reprieve, even as a part of me savors the effect I still have on her up to now.
She scoops warm water over my shoulders, letting it run down my chest before smoothing lather along my collarbone. I mirror her motions, running suds down her arms, over the curve of her shoulder. The rhythm settles us, as if we’re easing ourselves back from the intensity that carried us here.
My thumb glides over the delicate ridge of her collarbone, clearing the last of the soap. She softens under the touch, and something inside me does the same. God, how she steadies me in ways I could never manage on my own.
And she deserves that from me too.
I’d wanted to tell her about Anne from the moment I got her alone at the gala, but she wasn’t ready to hear it then, and I didn’t want to force it. Still, it’s not something I want shadowing us. Not when she chose to trust me in a moment that would’ve rattled anyone else. She gave me that grace. I need to prove I’m worthy of it.
My hand stills, and she notices immediately.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, sweeping damp hair behind her ear as she studies my face.
Here we go.“Anne.”
Olivia stills, but she doesn’t pull away. She simply waits, giving me room to speak.
“Anne’s mother,” I begin, drawing a slow breath, “was my mother’s closest friend growing up. Practically a sister.” I slide my hand from Olivia’s shoulder to her forearm, tracing the line of water there. “She died when Anne was a kid. And my mother…stepped in. Tried to fill the gaps the best she could.”
Olivia nods once, encouraging without crowding me.
“So, growing up, Anne was always part of the family orbit. Always invited, always included. And from the moment we were old enough to understand what it meant, she was transparently enamored with Alex.”
Anne liked Alex so much for so long, it practically became a part of her personality. “But it wasn’t surprising. Alex was…Alex.” Charming. Bright. Effortless. Even now, I can still picture the way Anne’s gaze always slid right past me to him. She couldn’t help herself.
“And did he ever…?” Olivia starts.
“No.” I shake my head. “He always had other romantic pursuits. Never reciprocated.”
She absorbs that, eyes narrowing slightly—not at me, but at the implications.
“And then,” I say, exhaling, “one day, she made her move on me.”
Olivia’s reaction is instant—visceral. She sits up a little straighter, water shifting around her. “Like you were some kind of substitute?” The edge in her voice is unmistakable.
I can’t help it—I smile, helplessly fond. Her anger on my behalf hits me harder than any explanation I could offer.
“No,” I say gently. “She wasn’t thinking of me at all.”
Her brows pull together.
“She slept with me to get Alex’s attention,” I explain. “She thought…being with his twin would finally make him notice her. She was very pragmatic about it.”
