Page 27 of Wicked God
I swallow. “Is she the one I’m supposed to marry, or is it her sister?” I’m not sure which answer I want.
“Sister.”
Every instinct in me tells me to turn around and walk away, but Lauren’s grip on my arm is like a vice.
I force myself to move forward.
Olivia looks up, and her bright hazel eyes meet mine. The noisy gallery fades into the background. For a second, it’s just the two of us, suspended in the moment.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was kissing those sweet lips and listening to her moan my name.
Olivia’s dress is green, deep and vivid, hugging her curves, a tantalizing strip of cleavage catching my eye.
She’s a vision, a goddess, and soon to be my sister-in-law.
I can’t look at her and not think of the hours we spent tangled in each other’s arms.
“Cassandra,” Lauren says, and I realize she’s speaking to the woman standing just behind Olivia. “This is my brother, Alexander. Do you remember him?”
Cassandra steps forward, hand outstretched, her eyes flitting between Olivia and me with a knowing glint. She’s dressed in a sleek black pantsuit, her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, emphasizing her sharp features and piercing gaze.
“We met on Friday,” she says. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”
I take her hand, but my attention is still on Olivia, who’s tapping her foot, lips parted like she’s about to speak.
After a beat, Cassandra glances at Olivia. “You must remember Olivia.”
My gaze sharpens. “Yes. I do.”
Lauren steps in, her voice light. “Cassandra, would you mind showing me around? Alex’s apartment could use a few finishing touches, and I’d rather have your company than his.”
Cassandra nods, already turning away. “I’m sure Alex and Olivia have plenty to catch up on.”
Lauren releases me, her gaze meeting Olivia’s for a heartbeat. Something silent passes between them.
“I’ll be back in a few.” Lauren shrugs off her jacket and disappears into the crowd with Cassandra, leaving me and Olivia standing alone in the storm-lit gallery.
Olivia’s eyes track them until they vanish, and then her shoulders sag, her mouth turning down. The silence between us is thick, suffocating, even with the bass of the music pounding and people pressed close on every side.
“Do you like the exposition?” Olivia’s voice finally breaks the heavy silence, brittle as glass.
“You lied to me,” I say. “Why did you lie to me?”
“I didn’t lie to you. How could I have known? Why would I do something like that to my sister?” She takes a step closer, her green dress whispering against her legs, the faintest trace of perfume drifting between us: something floral and delicate, like magnolias blooming in the summer heat.
I clench my jaw, trying to hold onto the anger simmering beneath the surface, but it’s slipping away, replaced by something far more dangerous. Desire. Confusion. Frustration. It all blurs together, making it hard to think straight. “When did you find out?”
Olivia’s expression softens. “Today. When Cassandra mentioned it. I had no idea you were Alexander Hawthorne.”
“Does it change things?” My voice is rough. “We’re here now. What are we going to do about this?” I gesture between us.
“About what?”
If she wants to pretend nothing happened, I can do the same.
I shrug, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Never mind. Seems like we’re done here. Tell my sister I’m waiting in the car, Miss Jackson—or should I say, my dear sister-in-law?”
Her eyes go wide. Hurt and surprise flash across those delicate features. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out as I turn on my heel and walk away, leaving her standing in the vibrant chaos of the gallery.
