Page 100 of Oliver
Or maybe I'd saved us both from an even greater heartbreak down the road. Maybe?—
"The fuck?" Ryan's angry exclamation cut through my thoughts.
My fingers tightened around the edge of the table. A fork clattered to the ground. I barely heard it over the roaring in my ears.
No.
I followed Ryan’s glare across the garden, my breath locking in my throat.
Oliver.
He stood at the entrance, scanning the crowd, his tall frame impossibly handsome in his beige suit and maroon shirt. His hair was neatly combed, his glasses reflecting the twinkle of fairy lights, lending him an ethereal quality that made my chest constrict painfully.
Our eyes locked across the space, and the world around me blurred.
He moved toward me with purposeful strides, shoulders back, chin raised, but I could see the tension in his jaw, and the slight tremble in his hands as he stretched his arms to invite me into his embrace.
My heart hammered against my ribs. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not when I'd finally convinced myself I was doing the right thing by letting him go.
"I'm sorry I'm late," Oliver said once he reached me, his voice low and intimate, his arms wrapping around me. I allowed myself to sink into the hug, if only for one precious moment,and Oliver’s posture relaxed instantly. He leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of my head that sent electricity racing along my skin. "I had something urgent to take care of before I came."
He took a step back, and his fingers found mine, warm and secure, tugging gently. "Come with me?"
A request, not a demand.
I stared at our joined hands, forcing myself not to react to the comforting weight of his palm against mine. The same hand that had traced patterns on my skin just yesterday. The same hand that had kept secrets, had hidden truths.
My aunt's threat echoed in my mind, jolting me back to reality.
"You can't be here," I whispered urgently, looking around for my aunt. I pulled him toward the exit, away from prying eyes. "My aunt has a video of you attacking Ryan. She said if you showed up, she'd send it to the police."
Oliver stopped dead in his tracks, but instead of panicking, his lips curled into something dangerously close to a smirk.
"Oh," he murmured, adjusting his glasses in that infuriatingly calm and controlled motion. "So that’s their play."
My pulse spiked. "Oliver, this isn’t funny. My aunt will?—"
"She’ll do nothing," he cut in smoothly. Then, softer, meant only for me, "I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t already know I’d win."
A chill ran down my spine. "And if she does send it?"
Oliver’s expression hardened, something dark flickering across his features. "Then she loses more than I do."
I wanted to ask what he meant, but Oliver was already tugging me after him, back into the thick of the wedding party, weaving through clusters of guests who watched us with barely concealed curiosity.
I noticed Ryan start toward us, then scramble back at Oliver's quick glare, his hand rubbing his neck in a gesture of remembered pain.
We stopped abruptly, and I realized we were standing in front of Oliver's parents. Mrs. Beck's mouth twisted with familiar disgust, her husband's features hardening at the sight of his son.
"You keep trying to take away the things I love," Oliver said quietly, his voice steady despite the tremor I felt in his hand.
His father practically spat his response. "Everything you love is a disgrace to our family name. You know what happens next."
"Well, that depends on whether you want to keep your house of cards standing or not." Oliver's voice was calm, collected, but there was an edge to it I'd never heard before.
I watched in shock as his parents' faces transformed from disdain to confusion.
Oliver reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a neatly folded document, his movements deliberate, his expression unreadable.
