I clench my jaw.
“She can wait,” I mutter, my fingers still wrapped around Olivia’s wrist.
Olivia’s free hand reaches to cup my face, her thumb brushing over my cheek in a calming stroke.
“It must be important if she’s calling again.”
I don’t let go of her immediately. I hold on for a second longer, just tofeelher.
Then, with reluctant fingers, I reach for the phone.
“Good morning, mother,” I say, my tone clipped.
My mother’s voice flows through the speaker, smooth and measured, as always. “Good morning, darling. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
I cast a glance at Olivia beside me. She’s curled up under the sheets, watching me attentively. No irritation at the interruption, only patience. Her presence soothes me.
“You didn’t,” I say shortly, unwilling to indulge in pleasantries.
Renée exhales softly. “Christmas Eve is approaching quickly,” she says. “There are some arrangements I want to discuss with you.”
I resist the urge to sigh, already dreading where this is going.
She continues. “I’d like Olivia to spend the afternoon with me. A few close family friends will be joining—just a small gathering, nothing too formal. I thought it would be a wonderful way to introduce her more fully to our world.”
My grip on the phone tightens. I can already hear the subtext beneath her carefully chosen words.A friendly gesture, she would say, but I know better. This is an evaluation. A step toward pulling Olivia into the Caldwell orbit and the expectations that come along with it.
I say nothing, so my mother continues, “Your father would also like to have lunch with you this afternoon. Just the two of you. He”—she pauses, choosing her words with care—“wants to spend some time with his son.”
I scoff, the sound sharp and derisive. “Is that what he said?”
Mother sighs. “Nathaniel.”
I clench my jaw.
The dinner last night made it clear where I stood with Charles Caldwell—beneath the shadow of a dead son, an heir he would always prefer. And now, this lunch isn’t an invitation; it’s a reminder. A calculated way to assert control after the tension that simmered between us at the table.
“Olivia doesn’t need to be paraded around for family approval,” I say tersely.
“Darling, this isn’t about scrutiny,” she counters, her voice laced with amusement. “It’s aboutinclusion. If Olivia is going to be a part of your life, she will need to form her own relationships within the family. This is an opportunity for her to do that on her own terms, beyond just beingyourOlivia.”
My jaw locks. Sheismy Olivia. I don’t give a damn about her forming connections with my family. She belongs tome, not to them. That should be enough.
Before I can voice my refusal, Olivia shifts beside me, reaching out. Her fingers brush over my wrist, a soft but deliberate touch. She meets my gaze, her eyes steady. Then, before I can react, she takes the phone from my hand.
Olivia places the call on speaker, holding the phone between us. “Good morning, Mrs. Caldwell,” she says brightly.
My mother’s demeanor changes instantly. “Good morning, my dear. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all,” Olivia replies. “And thank you for the invitation. I’d love to join you.”
I stiffen beside her. My entire body tenses as I watch her, my pulse hammering in protest.
Mother hums in approval. “Wonderful. I’ll send a car for you in two hours. And Olivia, dear, do ensure Nathaniel does not miss lunch with his father. He tends to be difficult about these things.”
Olivia glances at me, amusement flickering in her gaze. “I’ll make sure he’s there,” she promises.
Mother lets out a pleased little sigh. “That’s lovely to hear. I’ll see you soon, darling. Goodbye, Nathaniel.”
