“Don’t be.” Her voice is sweet and her dark eyes study me. “I like being with you.” She lifts a hand. “And I don’t mean that in a crazy, clingy kind of way. I just mean … I like your energy. There’s something genuine and grounding about you. Like you know who you are and you know what you want and you know what you stand for and you don’t take anyone’s crap. I like that about you, Gabriel.”
I refrain from allowing my attention to land on those rosy, pillow-soft lips of hers, but I let my mind wander, thinking of all the things I could do to her if we weren’t fresh off the heels of one of the shittiest days of her life.
I’m not an opportunist.
The couple on the other side of the paper-thin walls finish and Olivia fans herself. “I’m not a smoker, but I feel like I might need a cigarette after that.”
God, I love her sense of humor.
Any woman who can maintain that during one of the lowest moments of her life deserves all my respect. She’s a class act. Graceful despite her humble roots. And I bet she doesn’t even know it.
I’d also be willing to bet she doesn’t even know how beautiful she is. And I’m not talking about her looks. Olivia can turn heads, no question. I’m talking to her inner beauty. The sweetness and softness that radiates off of her, drawing me to her like a magnet.
“You hungry?” I ask, changing the subject because clearly she’s handling this a lot better than I assumed.
She slaps a menu into my hand. “Starving.”
Two hours later, we’re lying on our backs, bellies full of delivery pizza as we watch some Dateline special on the hotel TV.
“Do you ever think about the timing of things?” she asks out of the blue when a commercial comes on.
“What do you mean?”
She rolls to her side, tucking her hand under her cheek as she faces me. The reflection of the flickering TV screen shines off her eyes.
“I just think, like … what if I never would’ve met you?” she asks. “If I never would’ve went down to the hotel bar to have a drink, I never would’ve met you, and I’d be married to that lying asshole right now, none the wiser.”
“Everything happens for a reason.” I’m not one for cliche sentiments, but this one fits now more than ever.
“It’s the craziest thing,” she rolls to her back, hands clasped over her chest as she stares at the ceiling, “when you told me that he’d cheated on me … I wasn’t angry, Gabriel. I was relieved. Relieved not to have to marry him.”
She looks to me again, gauging my reaction.
“That isn’t crazy at all,” I tell her.
“Why couldn’t I have met you all those years ago?” she asks, peering at me through long lashes. “Or at least someone like you … someone real, someone honest, someone who cares about doing the right thing.” Olivia exhales. “All those years. Wasted.”
“Don’t look at it that way,” I say. “I’m sure you had some good times. They weren’t a total waste.”
“Can I tell you something, Gabriel?” she asks, eyes still glued to the popcorn ceiling above us.
“Of course.”
“Last night I had a dream that I was walking down the aisle, only it wasn’t Dorian at the alter,” she says before turning to me. “It was you.” Before I can respond, she adds, “I’m not telling you that to freak you out. Honestly, I think it’s funny. Or ironic. Depending on how you look at it.”
“That’s … interesting.”
“You know how dreams are … they never mean anything. It’s like a mish-mash of all your anxieties with your hopes and random pieces of your day,” she explains away her confession, almost as if she’s embarrassed about sharing her little revelation.
The show comes back on the TV, but I’ve already lost interest. The woman lying next to me is far more intriguing to me, far worthier of my attention than any weekend mystery special could ever be.
“Can I ask you something?” She turns to face me again, head propped on her hand and elbow digging into the mattress.
“Of course.”
“Why were you at the hotel this weekend?” she asks. “I mean, no one stays at a hotel for no reason and for you to just … whisk me away like you had nothing else better to do …”
I sniff, contemplating my response and turning my attention back to the TV to buy some time.
“It’s getting late, Olivia,” I say. “We should probably call it a night so we can get back in the morning.”
“So you’re not going to tell me what you were doing at the hotel?” she scoffs. “What, is it some secret? Are you not really a lawyer? Are you an undercover CIA agent or something?”