Page 97 of Wed to the Devil

"He says I'm smothering him," I whimper against her shoulder. "I wanted to show him that I care and want to be there for him. But he can't see that."

Olive runs her fingers through my hair comfortingly as she rubs circles on my back. "It's okay," she murmurs, gentle yet resolute. "You didn't do anything wrong. You were trying to express your love for him in the only way you know how."

I'm still feeling jittery from our conversation earlier, but Olive's warmth helps to steady my nerves.

Olive and I meander down the busy New York streets, taking in all the sights and sounds of the city. We occasionally make small talk, but mostly we just soak in our surroundings.

Most of my sorrow faded until we stumbled across Tiffany's massive wedding ring section. I take one look at the wedding-themed bridal decor and lose all my composure.

My heart plummets and the tears start streaming down my cheeks in an instant. The sight of all those radiant diamond rings makes me sick to my stomach.

"My life is a stupid joke," I weep. "It's a photocopy of a love story. Dare will never love me, no matter how much I love him."

I hear Olive's soothing voice, but I can't make out her words through the deafening roar inside my head. I'm too busy drowning in my own misery to listen or respond.

Olive takes my arm and leads me away from the jewelry section; it takes all of her strength to tug me along, as if some invisible force is holding me back from leaving this place.

Olive and I have been shopping for hours, but it hasn't taken away the pain. I feel an emptiness in my chest that intensifies with each passing minute. Despite all the luxurious clothes and jewelry, nothing could fill the void.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Olive urges. "We can go to the park and talk."

I nod, my throat too tight to speak.

The sea breeze is a welcome relief after the stuffy air of the mall. We sit down on the bench and Olive wraps her arms around me. She holds me close as I sob into her shoulder.

"It's okay," she murmurs, although I know she doesn't believe it. "Let it all out."

And so I do—all the pain, anger and grief that has been bottled up inside me since Dare told me he didn't love me. I tell Olive about how scared I am that no one will ever love me again, no matter how much I try to be perfect or how hard I work at making everyone happy.

I tell her about my fears of living a life alone and unloved, and of never having a family of my own. As my tears dry up, an unexpected calm settles over me; in that moment, all my worries seem to drift away like smoke in the wind.

"You deserve better than this," Olive says firmly, taking my hands in hers and squeezing them gently.

"Maybe deep down, he can tell that I'm damaged goods," I blubber. "I'll never be good enough, classy enough, tough enough. Maybe it's the same thing my mom sensed when she left me at a shelter all those years ago."

"Talia! You know that's not true."

"But what if it is? What if the baby I'm carrying realizes it, too? She'll know that I'm not a good mom."

A sob escapes me despite attempting to hold it back and Olive looks at me sadly as she hugs me tightly.

"It's ok," she says soothingly into my hair. "You're going to be an amazing mom. You love this baby so much already. Something tells me any child would be lucky to have you as their parent."

Her words make my tears fall even faster, but they also bring comfort. For a moment, gratitude overrides fear in me and I hug Olive back tightly while struggling to control my emotions.

After a few more minutes of composing myself, Olive suggests we go out for lunch somewhere nice. I nod in agreement and quickly call for Frick, my bodyguard. She soon appears at my side and I ask her to find us the closest expensive restaurant.

The restaurant Olive and I choose is an exclusive Italian eatery in the middle of downtown. While the outside of the building looks modest, the inside is decorated with exquisite art pieces and ornamentation. The tables are covered with pristine white tablecloths, and a maître'd stands at the entrance to welcome us.

He leads us to a cozy corner booth where we can enjoy our meal without being seen by other guests. The waiter brings out a menu for us to peruse, but Olive requests that he surprise us with whatever he thinks is best.

We sit in silence for a few moments before I finally pluck up the courage to speak again.

"I'm sorry," I say softly, tears stinging my eyes once more. "It's all my fault."

Olive shakes her head. "It's not your fault, Talia," she says firmly. "Dare was just too scared to be honest with you about his feelings. You don't deserve to be treated like this."

She reaches across the table and places her hand over mine as she speaks, her words washing over me like a balm for my broken heart. I take comfort in her nurturing presence; it's been too long since anyone has cared about me in this way and I cling onto what she says like it is an anchor in turbulent waters.

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