Omens
Page 11
Maura raked frosted pink nails through her hair, swept her bathrobe up like a ball gown, and waved me inside. I went into the living room, hoping she’d leave me to wait in peace.
She followed me. “So, Olivia, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this mess. My lawyer will sort it out—”
“I’m talking about this . . . news.”
What was I was supposed to do? Apologize for my poor choice of DNA? I settled onto the sofa and kicked off my sneakers.
“I didn’t know I was adopted.” I paused for a moment and decided it was time to construct a lie, for my family’s sake. “As for who my parents allegedly are, Mum and Dad didn’t know. As philanthropic as my mother is, knowingly adopting the child of serial killers is taking the milk of human kindness a little far. This is news to her, and a huge blow—”
“I’m sure it is. Poor Lena.”
Of course. Poor Lena. “My mother is shocked by the news, but she’s doing fine, thank you.”
“Well, of course, your mother is fine. She’s locked in a maximum security prison.”
I stood. “I’ll wait in James’s study.”
She stepped into my path. “Haven’t you put my son through enough?”
“Put James through enough? As far as I can tell, he doesn’t even know.”
“His reputation, I mean.” She studied me, then eased back. “I know he told you his plans, Olivia. About running for senator.” Her voice softened. I knew that tone. It was like a cat purring right before it takes a chunk out of your arm. “This is his dream, and if you love him, you’ll step away gracefully. Let him mourn you and move on.” She paused for effect. “You know it’s the right thing to do.”
Before I could answer, footsteps sounded on the stairs. I looked through the doorway to see James coming down.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I thought I heard voices.” James kissed my cheek. Then he looked at his mother. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t realize you were home,” Maura said.
“Well, I am. Go up to bed. I have this.”
Maura hesitated, but James repeated it, firmly, and she left. When she was gone he pulled me into a hug, and I let myself collapse into his arms and stay there, just stay there, fighting not to break down in tears.
“Something—” I said against his shoulder.
“I know. I’ve been trying to call you for the past half hour. I was just coming down to drive over to your place.”
I pulled back so I could see his face. “So you . . . got my message?”
“Yes. And several others. I know everything, Liv.”
Everything.
His expression didn’t change. No hint of disgust or distaste. I wanted to take that. Just take it. Don’t question. Don’t probe. Accept.
Only I couldn’t.
“About my . . . biological parents,” I said carefully, my gaze fixed on his. “You heard—”
“The Larsens. Yes. That’s what they’re saying.”
“It’s not just a rumor. There’s DNA.”
He nodded. “All right.”
I looked at him. He looked at me. Patient. Concerned. Just what I needed. What I’d expected. And yet, seeing it, I realized I had doubted, deep down. I still doubted.
“You know who they are, right? My parents?”
A faint smile. “Yes, I’ve met them many times, Liv.”
“You know what I—”
“Arthur Jones and Lena Taylor are your parents. They’re the ones who raised you. If you mean the Larsens, yes, I know who they are. Convicted murderers. As for what they are to you? Genetic donors. They’re responsible for the color of your hair, the shape of your mouth, the length of your fingers. Nothing more.”
I kissed him. A quiet thank-you. Only he didn’t let it stay quiet. He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me onto his lap in one of his usual oxygen-stealing kisses that left me gasping. Then he put his hands on either side of my face and held it up to his.
“I love you, Liv. You haven’t changed. So that hasn’t changed. Got it?”
I nodded and eased back, legs still stretched across him as I reclined against the corner of the sofa.
“It’s still on, then?” I said. “We’re getting married?”
He laughed. “Did you think you could get out of it that easily? You’re stuck with me. This is just a bump in the road. It’ll go away soon enough.”
“It better be very soon,” I said. “Only a month until the wedding.”
He dipped his chin in something that could be taken as a nod.
“We are getting married next month, right?” I said.
“Well . . .” He stretched his arm around me, gathering me in. “We can talk about that later. For now—”
I shrugged out from under his arm and swung my legs off him. “We are getting married next month, right?”
“We’re getting married. Absolutely. The timing may need to change, but that’s a conversation for tomorrow. Right now, we need to get you out of Chicago.”
“Out of Chicago?”
“Of course.” He straightened. “This is going to be an absolute media nightmare. Do you remember those reporters hanging out at the dinner tonight? And did you see the ones at the end of the driveway? You need to go someplace safe. Get away from these vultures.”
“For my sake? Or yours?”
“For you, of course. To protect you.”
“But I can handle it. You know I can handle it. The question is: can you?”
He looked away, shaking his head, saying something about how I shouldn’t need to handle it. But all I noticed was how fast he’d looked away.
“You’re postponing the wedding,” I said.
“I’ve been advised—”
“You’ve been what?” I scrambled to my feet. “You’ve talked to someone about this before me?”
He stood, began to pace. “Neil called when I was trying to get in touch with you. He advised me to postpone the wedding and, honestly, I agree. Can you imagine what kind of circus it would be?”
“You mean what kind of senatorial-dream-killing circus it would be.”
His expression hardened. “No, Olivia,” he said, barely opening his jaw enough to get the words out. “I’m thinking of you. Of the kind of wedding you deserve—”
She followed me. “So, Olivia, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this mess. My lawyer will sort it out—”
“I’m talking about this . . . news.”
What was I was supposed to do? Apologize for my poor choice of DNA? I settled onto the sofa and kicked off my sneakers.
“I didn’t know I was adopted.” I paused for a moment and decided it was time to construct a lie, for my family’s sake. “As for who my parents allegedly are, Mum and Dad didn’t know. As philanthropic as my mother is, knowingly adopting the child of serial killers is taking the milk of human kindness a little far. This is news to her, and a huge blow—”
“I’m sure it is. Poor Lena.”
Of course. Poor Lena. “My mother is shocked by the news, but she’s doing fine, thank you.”
“Well, of course, your mother is fine. She’s locked in a maximum security prison.”
I stood. “I’ll wait in James’s study.”
She stepped into my path. “Haven’t you put my son through enough?”
“Put James through enough? As far as I can tell, he doesn’t even know.”
“His reputation, I mean.” She studied me, then eased back. “I know he told you his plans, Olivia. About running for senator.” Her voice softened. I knew that tone. It was like a cat purring right before it takes a chunk out of your arm. “This is his dream, and if you love him, you’ll step away gracefully. Let him mourn you and move on.” She paused for effect. “You know it’s the right thing to do.”
Before I could answer, footsteps sounded on the stairs. I looked through the doorway to see James coming down.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I thought I heard voices.” James kissed my cheek. Then he looked at his mother. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t realize you were home,” Maura said.
“Well, I am. Go up to bed. I have this.”
Maura hesitated, but James repeated it, firmly, and she left. When she was gone he pulled me into a hug, and I let myself collapse into his arms and stay there, just stay there, fighting not to break down in tears.
“Something—” I said against his shoulder.
“I know. I’ve been trying to call you for the past half hour. I was just coming down to drive over to your place.”
I pulled back so I could see his face. “So you . . . got my message?”
“Yes. And several others. I know everything, Liv.”
Everything.
His expression didn’t change. No hint of disgust or distaste. I wanted to take that. Just take it. Don’t question. Don’t probe. Accept.
Only I couldn’t.
“About my . . . biological parents,” I said carefully, my gaze fixed on his. “You heard—”
“The Larsens. Yes. That’s what they’re saying.”
“It’s not just a rumor. There’s DNA.”
He nodded. “All right.”
I looked at him. He looked at me. Patient. Concerned. Just what I needed. What I’d expected. And yet, seeing it, I realized I had doubted, deep down. I still doubted.
“You know who they are, right? My parents?”
A faint smile. “Yes, I’ve met them many times, Liv.”
“You know what I—”
“Arthur Jones and Lena Taylor are your parents. They’re the ones who raised you. If you mean the Larsens, yes, I know who they are. Convicted murderers. As for what they are to you? Genetic donors. They’re responsible for the color of your hair, the shape of your mouth, the length of your fingers. Nothing more.”
I kissed him. A quiet thank-you. Only he didn’t let it stay quiet. He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me onto his lap in one of his usual oxygen-stealing kisses that left me gasping. Then he put his hands on either side of my face and held it up to his.
“I love you, Liv. You haven’t changed. So that hasn’t changed. Got it?”
I nodded and eased back, legs still stretched across him as I reclined against the corner of the sofa.
“It’s still on, then?” I said. “We’re getting married?”
He laughed. “Did you think you could get out of it that easily? You’re stuck with me. This is just a bump in the road. It’ll go away soon enough.”
“It better be very soon,” I said. “Only a month until the wedding.”
He dipped his chin in something that could be taken as a nod.
“We are getting married next month, right?” I said.
“Well . . .” He stretched his arm around me, gathering me in. “We can talk about that later. For now—”
I shrugged out from under his arm and swung my legs off him. “We are getting married next month, right?”
“We’re getting married. Absolutely. The timing may need to change, but that’s a conversation for tomorrow. Right now, we need to get you out of Chicago.”
“Out of Chicago?”
“Of course.” He straightened. “This is going to be an absolute media nightmare. Do you remember those reporters hanging out at the dinner tonight? And did you see the ones at the end of the driveway? You need to go someplace safe. Get away from these vultures.”
“For my sake? Or yours?”
“For you, of course. To protect you.”
“But I can handle it. You know I can handle it. The question is: can you?”
He looked away, shaking his head, saying something about how I shouldn’t need to handle it. But all I noticed was how fast he’d looked away.
“You’re postponing the wedding,” I said.
“I’ve been advised—”
“You’ve been what?” I scrambled to my feet. “You’ve talked to someone about this before me?”
He stood, began to pace. “Neil called when I was trying to get in touch with you. He advised me to postpone the wedding and, honestly, I agree. Can you imagine what kind of circus it would be?”
“You mean what kind of senatorial-dream-killing circus it would be.”
His expression hardened. “No, Olivia,” he said, barely opening his jaw enough to get the words out. “I’m thinking of you. Of the kind of wedding you deserve—”
