Page 59 of Wicked God
“What you saw tonight with Elena—it wasn’t what it looked like.” The words sound hollow even to my ears, a cliché that can’t possibly convey the truth. “Please, Olivia. Just let me come in so we can talk properly.”
“I think I saw exactly what it was,” she says, her jaw tightening. “You and your ex looking very cozy on a moonlit balcony. Her hand on your face. The perfect picture.” She starts to close the door. “I don’t need the explanation. I get it.”
Panic surges through me, and I wedge my foot against the door before she can shut it completely. “No, you don’t get it. That’s not what was happening. Elena approached me, and I was telling her that we were over.”
Olivia’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t try to force the door closed against my foot. “Move your foot, Alex.”
“Not until you hear me out.” I take a breath, forcing my voice to soften. “If you still want me to leave after that, I will. I promise.”
Water drips from my clothes, forming a small puddle at my feet. A neighbor’s door opens down the hall, and an elderly man peers out curiously before retreating back inside. Olivia notices, and her cheeks flush.
“Fine,” she says after a long moment. “Five minutes.”
She closes the door to remove the chain, and I withdraw my foot, exhaling slowly. When the door reopens, she stands back, creating as much distance between us as the small entryway allows. I step inside, immediately conscious of the water I’m tracking onto her polished hardwood floors.
“I should...” I gesture at my soaked suit.
“Stay there,” she instructs, voice clipped. She disappears into her bathroom, returning with a towel that she tosses to me without making eye contact. “You’re dripping all over my floor.”
I catch the towel, running it over my hair and face. Olivia stands with her back against the wall. The distance between us—barely six feet—feels like miles.
“Your five minutes start now,” she says, glancing at the sleek wall clock above my head.
I nod, suddenly unsure where to begin now that I have the chance to explain. All my carefully rehearsed words evaporate in the face of her hurt. The only thing I know with absolute certainty is that I can’t lose her—not like this, not over a misunderstanding born from Elena’s manipulation and my own failure to be completely honest about my past.
“I should have told you everything about Elena long before tonight,” I say, shrugging off my sodden jacket, wincing as water streams from the sleeves onto her floor. “I’m sorry about the mess,” I mutter, awkwardly folding the wet garment over my arm. Steam still clings to the air from Olivia’s shower, the scent of lavender and something citrusy surrounding us. We’re both exposed in different ways—me in my ruined suit with my usual composure washed away by rain and desperation, her in nothingbut a bathrobe with hurt plain in her eyes. I’ve never felt more vulnerable in my life.
“You wanted to explain. So explain.”
I nod, searching for the right place to begin. “Elena and I were never real. Our relationship and engagement were an arrangement. A business deal, essentially.”
Olivia’s eyebrow arches skeptically. “A business deal?”
“The Crawfords and the Hawthorns have been allies for generations. Her father owns half the media outlets on the East Coast. My father wants to run for president someday.” I run my fingers through my wet hair, sending droplets spattering against the wall. “Our engagement was planned since we were teenagers—a strategic alliance that would benefit both families. I rebelled in some ways—fought my father on Harvard Business, chose law school instead. But with Elena...” I watch Olivia’s face tighten as I say the name. “With the engagement, I gave in. I convinced myself it was practical. Inevitable. Until I realized I wanted something real.”
I take a tentative step forward, water squishing in my expensive leather shoes. “Elena developed feelings I couldn’t reciprocate. She began talking about our future together—children, a house in the Hamptons—while I still saw our relationship as a strategic alliance. We couldn’t even share a house, let alone a life. That’s why I broke it off last year, which sent my father scrambling to arrange another suitable match.”
Olivia’s eyes stay fixed on mine, searching for deception. “If it was over, then what was tonight about? Why were you alone with her on that balcony?”
“I wasn’t...” I sigh, frustrated by how this must sound. “I went outside for some air. The party, the photographers, all of it was becoming too much. Elena followed me out there. I didn’t seek her out, Olivia.”
A drop falls from my sleeve, landing with an audible pat against the hardwood. Olivia shifts her weight as steam continues to dissipate around us, the bathroom door still ajar behind her.
“She came onto the balcony,” I continue, “and immediately started talking about our past, trying to remind me of what we’d had. But what she doesn’t understand—what she’s never understood—is that we never had anything real. It was all for show, all to please our families.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“I told her no. I told her explicitly that what we had wasn’t real, and that I’m with you now.” I take another step closer, narrowing the gap between us. “I was clear, Olivia. Crystal clear. There’s nothing between Elena and me anymore.”
“You looked pretty cozy from where I was standing.”
“She touched my face,” I acknowledge. “It was a manipulation, a way of trying to create intimacy where there was none. I moved away from her immediately.”
She remains silent, but the rigid line of her shoulders relaxes.
“I ended things with Elena because I realized I wanted something genuine,” I say, moving close enough now that I could reach out and touch her if I dared. “I just didn’t know what that meant until that weekend at the beach when you fell asleep against my shoulder watching the sunset.”
A tear traces the contour of Olivia’s cheek, catching the light before I brush it away.
