Page 110 of Olivia's Only Pretending
“Say how you feel,” I repeated. The friend was still on the phone. We were in the bathroom for a moment, so I cleared my throat and asked. “How did you stop hesitating?” The feeling of the wordlovestayed stuck in my mouth, fresh in my mind.
“Oh.” Emma thought about it, eyebrows furrowed. “I guess I just forced myself to say what needed to be said. Like jumping off a diving board, you just make yourself leap.”
That was the thing about love. It didn’t come made to order, all safe and going out of its way to make you feel comfortable. It had a mind of its own. It showed up whether you were ready or not. It challenged you. Love asked you to be brave.
“That’s vague, huh?” she said, her nose scrunched. “Does it help at all?”
“It does help. It’s true. You just say the scary things,” I said, running my fingers over my own satin dress, taking a glance in the mirror.
Her friend ended her call before I could say anything else, walking over, rattling off an update from Katie about the photoshoot. She helped Emma with her train as they exited the bathroom.
Lucy walked in right after they left. “Hey, here you are. I was wondering where you’ve been.”
“I was getting a pep talk from the bride.”
Thirty-Five
Twinkle lights were everywhere, even woven through the trees, heavy with copper and gold leaves. Taper candles glowed in golden candelabras at the center of each table. A coffee bar toward the back of the garden helped fight the chill in the air this November night, while guests clutched drinks spiced with apple and pumpkin flavors.
Happy chatter hummed around us, along with poppy love songs the DJ played. Adam grabbed Lucy’s hand when we walked out and immediately spun her into a dance. Her wild red hair fell around her shoulders.
“Those two,” my mom said, arriving by my side, Charles in tow.
“Those two,” I said, grateful my sister found someone who made her so happy. Who made herglow.
“Your daughters both have such nice boyfriends,” Charles said, waving the cocktail in his hand toward me. “I met Olivia’s boyfriend weeks ago at our faculty dinner. Wasn’t his name Victor?”
I nodded, swallowing.Oh dear, that night was a total charade. I tried to remember what we’d said to him. Charles must’ve bought whatever we were selling.
“I remember how he told us the story of how he met you at the coffee shop—how he got your help with milk alternatives? Right?” he said. “He’d had a crush right away. Something about liking your freckles.”
The story he told came back to me.
All of it was true.
None of it was a charade. None of it was an act.
We never even had to lie—not a word, not a touch.
“I see where you got those beautiful freckles,” Charles said, blushing at Mom.
“Oh, well, thank you.” Mom touched her freckle-laden cheeks. Her blue dress swished at her ankles. “Did you recognize Victor up there in the wedding party?”
Charles’s eyes lit with recognition. “Now, that you mention it, I do.”
“Speak of the devil,” Mom said, nodding toward Victor, who strolled into the garden. His eyes swept the place until they landed on me.
He grabbed my hands. “I’ve got to show you something.” He led me farther into the garden, across the dance floor, to a corner with an ornate stone fountain, iron benches, and a beautiful wooden arch.
Victor’s arch.
Two intertwined triangles, meeting together to make one beautiful arch. I touched it. It was wrapped with ivy. My fingers traced the carved ivy detailing, Victor’s trademark.
My breath caught in my chest. “It’s beautiful.”
He bit his lip, looking down at his feet for a beat. “You think?”
I loved that I got to see the vulnerable moments of confident, cool Victor. I collected them like treasures I found along our life together.
