Page 31 of Oliver
And just like that, Oliver had won over the bride.
“He's a keeper," Parisa said once she regained control of her breathing. "Mom’s gonna hate that."
Her mom. My Auntie Maryam. Auntie's skepticism was legendary, and I wasn't sure I could survive her scrutiny.
Then I saw my parents. It was as if everything that had been weighing me down vanished, all my worries melting away in my mother’s warm embrace.
"Azizam," she murmured, squeezing me tight. "I've missed you."
"Missed you too, Mom," I said, meaning it.
When I moved to hug my dad, she turned to Oliver, her expression as full of affection as it was when she looked at me.
"Oliver." She beamed, and he extended his hand, but my mother waved it away, pulling him into a lingering hug instead. “It’s been too long.”
"Mrs. Nazarian." He tried to keep his voice level, but I heard the crack. "It's wonderful to see you again after all these years."
"I’ve been telling you to call me Mina since you were a child." She chuckled, patting his cheek in that maternal way shehad. "Maybe now that you’re officially part of the family, you’ll listen.”
The weight of the world came crashing down on me at her words, and by the tortured look in Oliver’s eyes, he wasn’t far behind.
“You've grown into quite the successful young man," my father said, stepping forward, his handshake firm as he greeted Oliver. "I’m happy to welcome you back into our family."
Another gutting statement. Oliver’s smooth smile faltered, but he regained control too quickly for anyone but me to notice.
I hated how good he was at this. Hated how much I wanted my parents’ words to become reality.
Then my aunt appeared, cutting through the small crowd with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue, which was about to be aimed at us.
As if sensing danger, Oliver moved closer, his hand finding mine and threading our fingers together as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Auntie.” I greeted her with a peck on each cheek before tucking myself back into Oliver’s side. “You remember Oliver Beck?”
"I do.” She sniffed, her green eyes studying him, stopping on our linked hands. “I also remember you two had a big fallout in high school, and that you went your separate ways."
My mother winced, my father suddenly became very interested in my baggage, and Parisa dropped her face into her hands, mumbling in Farsi. But Oliver didn't flinch.
“That was a long time ago,” he said smoothly, his arm slipping around my waist like it belonged there. "When we ran into each other in Seattle, whatweremembered was what made us good friends in the first place—trust, companionship." He glanced down at me, his hand flexing gently at my hip. It was meant to look casual. Natural. But his tightening fingers feltuncontrolled, possessive. Hot. And I was lost in his intense gaze, in all the unspoken words, in the sincerity of the ones he was saying out loud. “We grew out of the old labels and boxes, we saw each other so clearly all of a sudden, and we just knew.”
“I’m going to need you to write my vows,” Parisa whispered in awe, destroying the moment. I blinked, turned to her, and burst out laughing.
“Pari, I’m going to have you banned from coming near my man at this rate.”
“I wanna see you try to keep me away.”
“Don’t worry.” Oliver tugged me closer. “I’m all yours."
It was nothing.
It should have been nothing.
A reflex.
But my body responded as if it were real—warmth blooming in my cheeks, heart stuttering against my ribs, and before I could think, I leaned up and kissed him.
A light brush. Automatic. The kind of kiss that feels effortless, real. The kind you give when you're in love, when you don't even have to think about it.
Oliver froze.
