Page 66 of King of Praise
Please be careful, I think, the words forming like a prayer.Please come back to me.
The silence offers no response except the soft pat of snowflakes against glass and the steady rhythm of my own anxious heartbeat.
The headlightsof Olivia’s sleek, black Mercedes pierce through the gathering darkness as she navigates the winding road leading to Micah’s cabin. Her arrival sends a wave of relief coursing through me. After hours of anxious pacing and failed attempts at baking, the prospect of company—especially from someone who understands this world—feels like a lifeline thrown into turbulent waters.
She emerges from her car with the grace of someone accustomed to making an entrance. Even here, miles from civilization, Olivia maintains an air of sophisticated elegance. Her long, dark hair cascades over a designer coat. In her hands, she balances takeout bags and a bottle of wine.
“This place isdefinitelyremote,” she declares as I open the door, her breath visible in the cold air. “But I can see the appeal. Very romantic hideaway vibe.”
Heat rises to my cheeks at her knowing smirk. “It’s not like that—”
“Honey, it’sexactlylike that.” She breezes past me into the cabin, her perfume leaving a trail of expensive florals in her wake. “And we’re going to talk all about it over this absolutely divine chicken piccata from Amelia’s.”
The mention of Amelia’s—my favorite restaurant in Columbus—brings an unexpected lump to my throat. It’s been months since I’ve enjoyed their signature dish, months since I’ve done anything as normal as dining out. The thoughtfulness of Olivia’s choice strikes deep.
“You didn’t have to,” I say, but she waves away my protest with a perfectly manicured hand.
“Of course I did. Crisis counseling requires proper sustenance.” She sets the bags on the counter and begins unpacking containers with practiced efficiency. “And this particular crisis definitely calls for the good wine.”
She produces two crystal wine glasses from her purse—because of course Olivia Stark-Vitale wouldn’t dream of drinking fine wine from anything less.
“So,” Olivia says once we’re settled in the chairs with plates balanced on our laps and wine breathing in our glasses. “Tell me what’s really going on. Your text seemed anxious.”
I take a bite of chicken to delay responding, savoring the familiar flavors that transport me momentarily to better times.
How do I explain the complexity of emotions churning through me? Fear, worry, guilt, uncertainty—they’re all battling for first place in my mind.
“I’m worried about him,” I finally admit, staring into my wine glass as though it might offer answers. “He’s involved in something dangerous. I can tell by the way he left this morning. But he won’t tell me what’s happening, and I don’t know how tohandle this constant fear that something terrible could happen to him.”
Olivia’s expression softens. “Welcome to loving a man in this life, sweetie. It’s not for the faint of heart.”
“How do you do it?” I ask, desperate for guidance. “How do you not lose your mind with worry every time they walk out the door?”
“Bold of you to assume I haven’t already lost my mind.” She chuckles as she takes a measured sip of wine. “But honestly? You learn to compartmentalize. To trust their capabilities while accepting that some things are beyond your control.”
Her words resonate with uncomfortable truth. Control—or rather the illusion of it—had been Lucas’s weapon of choice. He’d systematically stripped away my autonomy until I believed I needed his permission to breathe.
Now, with Micah, I’m learning to navigate a different kind of powerlessness—one born from caring too deeply about someone whose life involves consistent risk.
“It was different with Vinny,” Olivia continues, her tone turning contemplative. “That marriage was a business arrangement, pure and simple. My father’s idea of strengthening family ties.” Her lip curls with remembered distaste. “I spent most of those years praying something would happen to him, actually. Karmic justice for all the bruises he left, you know?”
I nod, understanding all too well the complex emotions that accompany hoping for an abuser’s death. The reality of actually causing that death, however, adds layers of guilt and confusion I’m still struggling to process.
“But watching my father’s men, seeing how they treated their chosen partners versus arranged marriages like mine,” Olivia leans forward, her dark eyes intense, “that’s when I realized there’s something different about the men who actually love thewomen in their lives. A loyalty that goes bone-deep. They’ll burn the world down to keep their women safe and happy.”
I think of Micah’s fierce protectiveness, the way he’s risked everything to keep me hidden and safe. His gentle dominance, the way he makes me feel cherished. The praise that rebuilds pieces of me I thought were destroyed forever.
“What about rewards?” I ask. “Please tell me there’s a way to balance the risks.”
Olivia’s lips curve into a knowing smile. “Oh honey,somany rewards. The loyalty alone is intoxicating. These men—the good ones, anyway—they love with their whole souls. None of that half-hearted bullshit you see in normal relationships. When they commit, it’s absolute.”
She pauses to refill our wine glasses, the rich, red liquid catching the lamplight like liquid garnets. “Take Micah, for example. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. That man would die to protect you without hesitation.”
The truth of her words settles in my chest. I’ve seen that devotion in Micah’s actions, felt it in the reverent way he touches me, heard it in the praise he whispers against my skin. But having someone else recognize and validate it makes it feel more real somehow.
“But that’s what scares me,” I confess, voicing the fear that’s been growing since he left this morning. “The thought of him taking risks, putting himself in danger … I don’t know if I’m strong enough to handle that kind of constant worry.”
Olivia laughs and it holds more understanding than mockery. “You survived years of actual abuse. The fact that you’re sitting here having this conversation with me is a testament of your resilience. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
