Page 38 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
He blinked, completely forgetting why he was there in the first place.
“Gracious–yer soaking wet, m’laird!” Olivia quickly ushered him inside, closing the door behind him as she went for the linens. “Here, take off yer clothes–shirt,” she quickly corrected herself. “Shirt! I meant just yer shirt.”
Arthur did so, unable to hold back a smirk as Olivia’s voice audibly squeaked. Her face flushed terribly, doing her best to hide it behind said linen as she handed it his way, and Arthur decided not to tease her over the fact. It was hardly the time, at any rate.
“Do ye have a moment to spare, selkie?” Arthur asked, rubbing his hair down and moving down to dry his chest. He watched Olivia’s gaze focus intently on him for a moment, then blink and nod frantically, her face a far brighter shade of pink than before.
“A-Aye, m’laird,” Olivia stammered. “I…have plenty of time fer ye.”
He knew she hadn’t meant it that way, but Arthur’s heart couldn’t help but soar in his chest. He loudly cleared his throat, draping the now-damp linen across his shoulders as he gestured towards a chair. Olivia moved to get it for him, but Arthur shook his head.
“I meant it to be for ye.”
“Oh.”
“Dinnae want to get yer furniture wet,” Arthur explained.
“Of course.” Olivia immediately sat down, hands folding over her lap and posture horrifically stiff.
Arthur didn’t exactly feel at ease, either, his leg bouncing off from the nerves skittering through his body. Why was he so nervous, though? They were just talking to each other–he hadn’t had this problem before, especially when it was just the two of them. Though, the subject of their conversation was…unpleasantly new.
Arthur exhaled loudly, deciding he had to be the one to start. “I’m sorry about yer maither, Olivia.”
Olivia visibly flinched; the metaphorical wound was still fresh. “She…just needs some time. If I’d had the chance to tell her about the ruse beforehand…”
“Aye, me own maither was a bit too excited,” Arthur admitted. Silence hung between them, and once more, he cleared his throat. “Then, ye haven’t the chance to tell her, yet?”
Olivia shook her head.
“I’m sorry I made ye lie so much, lass.”
Much to Arthur’s surprise…Olivia shook her head once more. “It’s nae yer fault entirely. I do think me maither needs some space, but…” she grasped a strand of her hair and began to absentmindedly braid it.
“May I?”
Olivia paused, visibly biting her lip and clutching the strand. Then, she nodded, setting her hands back onto her lap as Arthur crossed the room and stood behind her. “This is…much harder to say than I thought.”
“Take yer time,” Arthur reassured, bringing strands together for a braid.
And take her time she did; Olivia sat in her chair for what felt like forever, watching small flames dance within her hearth as Arthur quietly worked. It gave him a chance to think for himself as well, truly string his sentences together so as to not have them misconstrued.
Each finished braid brought new resolve, and once he finished the partial updo, his hands lingered against her shoulders, wanting nothing more than to gently caress them. To slide his arms around her chest, grasp her bosom, and endlessly kiss the back of her neck.
“Ye asked me once if we should simply betroth for real,” Olivia began softly. “To make it so I daenae have to lie as much.”
“Aye, I did.”
Olivia glanced over her shoulder, expression wavering between a desire and desperation. “Do…do you think we could do that, now?”
There it was. Out in the open, for Arthur to do with as he saw fit. Olivia felt as if she could melt into the chair itself, vanish completely from the world and her lackluster confession
. She should have said more, been clear and concise, as to not confuse the laird with her tip-toeing around the subject. But now, her words failed her. Now, it was Arthur’s turn to speak, and as she heard him inhale to do so, Olivia was certain she couldn't handle it.
She watched his expression closely, noting the slight twitch at the corner of his lip, the range of emotions flashing across his eye. It was like watching the sea churn beneath his gaze; unpredictable, powerful, and dangerous if someone made the wrong move. Moment by moment, she could feel her chest begin to tighten. Moment by moment, regret overtook her.
“Ye really meant all those things ye said to yer maither,” Arthur began. “Didnae ye, selkie?”
Olivia could barely will herself to nod. “Ye really have done so much for me, Arthur. And…” she bit her lip, but bravelycontinued. “And it truly is hard not to ignore that.” The way Arthur’s expression shifted…Olivia knew he felt the same. Then, suddenly, Arthur walked around the chair, closing the distance between them in mere moments. Olivia’s breath hitched in her chest, their noses practically touching.
