Contessa (98 page)

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Authors: Lori L. Otto

Tags: #Fiction, #Coming of Age

BOOK: Contessa
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Then I suppose I

ll notice,

I tease him.


I suppose you might. I have missed you so much, Olivia.


I missed you, too. I wish you had called me.


I

ve been keeping myself busy. I wanted a little distance, too. I wanted to make sure my feelings weren

t just physical. I wanted to take that out of the equation for a bit.


And they

re not?


No, they are physical–especially with you sitting on me like this.

I simply raise my eyebrows and settle closer against him.

Olivia, it

s so much more than my desire to be with you. I

m not going to lie, it

s there, and it

s even stronger than it was before. But it

s because I really didn

t like my life without you in it. I missed talking to you, and teaching you things, and learning new things with you. It wasn

t just that I

d lost my girlfriend–I

d lost my best friend, too.


Awww.


Don

t mock me.

He starts to tickle my waist, but stops after my first squeal. He nudges me off of his lap, and I help him to his feet.


So aside from you painting that masterpiece, what have I missed?


Nothing,

I tell him.

I

ve been studying a lot.


Grades okay?


The first couple weeks were a little rocky, but I

m back on track.


Good. We can start tutoring again, if you

d like. I don

t work on Tuesdays or Thursdays.

He takes my hand and we start walking down an unpaved path. I realize those were the two weekdays that were always reserved for me. I squeeze his hand a little harder.


Just for an excuse to see you, I

m not going to say no, but school ends in a few weeks... and then we

ll have all summer,

I tell him with a smile.


Well, I am going to be working some, you know.


Oh, right. I

m going to lead a few summer courses at the Art Room, too.


We should do one together. Maybe an evening class?


That

s a great idea!

I look up at him and admire the sweet look on his face.

I

m so proud of you and your scholarships, Jon. I knew it would work out.


Thanks. And I

m grateful to the Art Room. You really didn

t know?


No
, I had nothing to do with it.

I stop walking and turn to face him.

I lied to you before, Jon. I don

t know why I made that stuff up, but it was so stupid of me. I didn

t mean to lie, though. I was really just making false assumptions about what I thought I could get my parents to do.


I know. But Olivia, if there

s anything I know about myself, it

s that I will do whatever I have to do in order to get what I want. I just don

t let things stand in my way, and I may seem diffident about things sometimes, but it

s really just a way for me to manage my own disappointment. I don

t expect for anything to be given to me. I

ve worked hard for everything I

ve gotten in life.


I know you have.


Including you.


I know.


And I

ll keep working hard for you, to make you happy. I like it when you

re proud of me.


You impress me constantly, Jon, and I feel like I can do anything when I

m with you.

He studies my expression before leaning in to me.


Good,

he whispers, then gently presses his lips to mine.

You can. I want you to feel confident and comfortable with me, Olivia.


I do.

He tilts my head to kiss me deeper. I cling tightly to the waistline of his pants as his hands wander through my hair to the nape of my neck. He massages firmly, relaxing me to the point of weakness once more. He moves one arm around my waist to support me against his body.


I want you to feel like you can do
everything
with me,

he breathes weakly next to my ear, resting his head against mine, as if waiting nervously for my reaction.


I do,

I tell him, my thoughts clouded, my heart beating out of my chest. I release my grip from his slacks and move my hands to his chest, pushing him back so I can look into his eyes. His thumbs trace my cheekbones and he smiles earnestly.

I do, Jon.


I

ll take care of you, Olivia. I promise.


I know. I trust you.


Good,

he sighs, pressing his forehead to mine.

I love you.


I love you more.

He laughs quietly and kisses my forehead, then embraces me tightly and rocks back and forth on his feet slowly.

If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep.


You

re not dreaming, Shakespeare,

I tell him.

This is real, and I love you. I trust you. I want to be with you, and only you. I

ve
chosen
you.


Choisie
,

he whispers.


Choisie
.

Curiously, he pushes the collar of my blouse aside, glancing at my necklace.

I haven

t taken it off because I could never give up on you. You made me believe that I was someone special, and I didn

t want to let that go. I didn

t want to forget it.


You are, Olivia.

Our kiss is sweet and tender and too short.

It

s getting dark and I think it might rain. Should we head back to the car?


Sure.


We still have hours to kill,

he tells me after checking his watch. He raises his eyebrows suggestively.


Not tonight,

I tell him with a playful slap to his arm. He laughs and puts his arm around me as we walk back to my car. He opens the door for me, then assumes his place on the driver

s side. He starts the car and changes the radio station, but makes no motion to leave the parking space. Instead, we just talk.

I tell him how my parents and I reconciled, and recount to him the various ways my dad and I have worked to bridge the gaping hole I

d dug between us. I want him to know that I

ve changed.

He fills me in on his new job, detailing what he does and explaining why he got the job in the first place. He wanted to help his mother out financially while he was still in the apartment and able to do so. He was already worried about how things would be without him when he moved out for college in the fall.


You know, with the Art Room money, you can spend that however you want,

I remind him.


Mom already told me she wouldn

t let me use any of the money I

ve received for scholarships on her or my brothers. It

s for me to make a start for myself; that

s what she told me. I was honestly surprised. But I can

t just leave them behind. I want to make sure they have enough, once I

ve moved out. I

m not planning on working during the school year, so I want to do as much as I can now.


You are such a good man,

I tell him.

You really are someone I could see myself with, thirty years down the line.


But we don

t have to decide that now. I don

t want that kind of pressure–on either of us. I

m just happy with you
now
. And I hope I

m happy with you thirty years from now, too, but let

s just focus on today.


Okay,

I agree.

He picks up my left hand, studying it carefully.

If I hadn

t just seen those four spectacular portraits, I

d ask you why you stopped painting. These don

t look like the hands of an artist anymore.

I smile, admiring the unmarred skin and painted fingernails.

Sure they do,

I argue softly.

The smock-dress is gone, too.


Were those pieces of it in your last painting? The things that looked like they were blowing away in the wind?

I nod.

You see, I don

t need
him
anymore, either.


I

m proud of you, Olivia.

He squeezes my hand as I smile and thank him.

Where

s your ring?


In my purse.

I

d carried it with me since the day he broke up.


Let me make you a new promise.

I grab my bag and search for the tiny felt bag that holds the ring he gave me. I hand it to him and watch him pull the small token out.


Olivia Holland, from this day forward, I vow to live in the moment with you, and to make every single moment the best it can be. I promise to never take you for granted, and I will make sure you know that being with you is the best choice I

ve ever made.


I

ll take that promise,

I tell him.

And I

ll do the same for you.

He smiles and puts the ring back on my finger, then kisses it as his eyes stay trained on mine.

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