Then he shouldn't mind checking.
Gabriel had witnessed children's tantrums. In school. In shopping malls. In restaurants. A child howling at the universe because it did not give him what he wanted. Gabriel had never, even as a child, thrown such a tantrum, because he had not lived a life where he could presume the universe was in any way inclined to give him what he wanted. That wasn't how life worked. But now he felt like those children, stomping his feet and clenching his fists and raging at the unfairness of it all.
She said my name. Mine, mine, mine.
And how would he feel later, if he discovered he'd been mistaken? What if, instead, she'd had too much to drink? If she'd been drugged? If she kissed him then, would he claim she said his name and that was enough?
No. He would not.
He could do many things to many people, but that was one offense he had never been remotely guilty of. However uncomfortable the act of seduction, however much he wished to get what he needed and disappear into the night, he had never even been tempted to walk into a bar and choose someone too inebriated to make a conscious decision to leave with him. If he wouldn't do that to a stranger, he certainly wouldn't do it to Olivia.
He pulled back then, cupping her face and holding it away from his own.
Her eyes opened.
"Gabriel," she said, and smiled.
There. See? See?
The child in him pointed in glee. That "proof" was enough, wasn't it? He wished it was. But the adult in him looked into her eyes and saw that they weren't quite focused, felt the awareness, in the pit of his stomach, that she wasn't quite there.
"Olivia?"
She closed her eyes and pushed her hands into his hair, trying to pull him back to her.
"Olivia? I need to ask you something."
She wriggled in his grip, frustrated that she couldn't get back to him.
"Olivia? Can you open your eyes?"
She did not.
"Olivia? Do you know where you are? Do you know what's happened?"
No answer. She started shivering and whispered, "Cold, so cold." Her hands fell from his hair, and she pulled them between their bodies, shivering against him, and when he released her face, she pushed her head under his chin, finding warmth there and snuggling back into his arms.
"Cold," she said.
"I know."
"Gabriel," she sighed, and nuzzled against him.
"I know," he said. And that he did have--the knowled
ge that wherever Olivia was, whatever she was imagining, it was with him. Not mistaking him for Ricky. Not mistaking him for Gwynn. She might not realize where she was or what had happened, but she knew she was with him, contentedly curled up in his arms, and that was, for now, enough.
--
"Ma-til-da!"
A voice shouted, somewhere deep in Gabriel's brain. No, not just a voice. Arawn. Gwynn stirred, annoyed, and felt Matilda curled up against him, his face buried in her hair, the summer sun beating down on them, lying in the meadow's long grass.
"Ma-til-da! Gwynn!"
Go away. Just go away.
You have to get up now. Before he finds you. Before he sees you like this.