Olivia “Hello, Ms. Desmond. My name is Andrew,” a clerk in a crisp suit says with a
welcoming smile. “Are you here for your wedding jewelry?” “Yes.” The smoked mirror in
front of me shows Tyler and Brielle stumbling in together, her arm wrapped around him like
a vine. “Perfect. We’ve made the modification you requested.” If he thinks it’s gaudy to the
point of parody, his tone doesn’t betray him. I smile with appreciation at his discretion as he
leads us to the salon. It’s the same room Liam took us to, but somehow not the same
without him in it. Andrew gestures for us to sit. I slide in first, with Tyler and Brielle
following me. A young woman brings out a tray of champagne and Belgian truffles, placing
it on the table so the chocolate lies closest to me. Brielle places a hand on Tyler’s thigh and
leans over, brushing her breasts across his arm, then grabs a truffle and pops it into her
mouth. “So this is what they serve when you buy rings at one of these places.” I glance at
her bright red lips moving as she masticates with gusto. Too bad she can’t buy class, but
it’ll never happen. Not even if she goes to Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré with a bag full of
cash. Andrew returns, his white-gloved hands holding a near-black navy lacquered tray
lined with ivory suede. The KSD monogram in silver sparkles like a promise of a life as
beautiful as the stones inside. He picks up the first box. “This is for the bride.” Before he
can open the lid, Brielle lunges forward, coming off the couch. “I always wanted to know
what kind of jewelry you would get for your wedding!” Glib entitlement and a hint of envy
and hatred ripple under her seemingly innocent tone. It reminds me of the way she claimed
she was just curious about what kind of people got to live in a place like the Whitmore
mansion—
Icy shivers run down my spine. An impetuous urge to smack Brielle’s hand cuts through me.
Before I can stop myself, I extend an arm to block her. “Ow!” she cries, then pretends to hit
the edge of the table hard with her wrist—and crashes into Tyler. His arms shoot out to
steady her. “Are you all right?” Brielle nods, her eyes lowered and her mouth quivering as
though she’s about to cry. She moves her wrist, then winces. “Maybe it’s a little strained.”
He swings a furious gaze in my direction. “What the hell is wrong with you? Apologize.”
“No. I didn’t do anything to her.” I quit placing my hands on her as soon as I learned that it
only earned me punishment and got her a reward for being a poor little victim to the mean
Olivia who ostensibly has everything. “I said apologize,” Tyler orders again. “Don’t make me
r epeat myself.” “I didn’t push her. She hit the table for some reason I can’t comprehend.
Why does she want to see the set anyway? It’s our jewelry, isn’t it?” Contempt and
condescension twist his face. Not even a trace of guilt flits in his blazing eyes. He’s
apparently comfortable with Brielle’s plot to swap brides and finds my role in the whole
scheme pathetic. “Who gives a shit? They’re just wedding bands, nothing special. If you
aren’t going to apologize—” Before I can blink, he shoves me off the couch. I slide off the
leather and hit the table with my left forearm and side. The impact takes my breath away.
Andrew jumps to his feet, his face white. I look back at Tyler in shock. I always knew he was
a jerk, but didn’t realize he was capable of violence—intentional or not. He stares at me,
eyes wide. He clenches and unclenches his hand, then clears his throat. “If you hadn’t been
so difficult, causing trouble every time I see you, this wouldn’t have been necessary. Why do
you have to be so damn cold and pick on your sister all the time?” He snatches the boxes off
the tray. “I’ve got this. And I’m taking Brielle to the bakery around the corner. She probably
needs something sweet to cheer her up after what you did.” I continue to gaze at him. His
words remind me so much of what happened back then—how Deena came to Brielle’s
defense and soothed her pain with something sweet while my mom lay at the bottom of the
stairs.
The injustice of it all burns until I can barely drag in air. “Are you all right?” Andrew says,
his voice lower but still taut. “Yes, I’m fine,” I rasp. “And the account’s already settled. I... I
need to go.” He doesn’t r eply, but his tight jaw betrays his thoughts. Brielle and Tyler leave
first. I murmur an apology to Andrew for the scene and then walk out, my eyes following
them as they walk down the block, drenched in the bright late afternoon sun. Without
thinking, I take a few st eps back into the shaded alley beside the store. She’s able to stand
in the light, flaunting everything she has, while I can’t even hint at who I care about without
a cold sweat slickening my palms. A chill se eps into my bones, and I shiver. Why is it that
Brielle always has people protecting her? It doesn’t matter that they’re horrible people.
They’re always ready to ke ep her safe. And me? I’m out here on my own. Nobody to ke ep
me safe, and I can’t protect anyone who really matters. I imagine Brielle tilting her head
with a smile. And Tyler looking down at her, his eyes crinkling with endless patience and
indulgence. The image blends with the scene from twenty years ago, and suddenly I feel
alone and adrift, without an anchor in this turbulent world. The weight of everything I’ve
been planning presses down, and finally my knees buckle. Getting them to marry each other
is just the first st ep to my revenge. I need a husband and a child before justice can be fully
served, and Simon is taking too long to come up with a list. Given how efficient and capable
he is, there might not be anyone I can marry without getting hurt in the process. Or maybe
no one wants to marry me. I have too many secrets, and I don’t share more than I have to
with anybody. I wouldn’t want to marry me. The gaping hole Mom’s death has left in my
heart throbs. I push a fist against my chest, willing it to return to its usual cold state, but
the pain only intensifies. If Mom were alive, I wouldn’t have to suffer like this. I’d probably
be married by now to a man I love. And had a child out of love. Be able to look at dogs
without feeling like my heart is being ripped out. And I would’ve been able to do more than
just start a charity to help rescues. Hot tears soak my cold cheeks. I’d give everything I
have right now just to see my mom one more time, have her put her arms around me and
tell me
everything’s going to be fine. But nothing in the world can bring her back. I squat, then
bury my face between my knees. Have to hide until my control is steadier. Can’t afford to let
anything slip if I run into Brielle and Tyler again. “Olivia?” Liam’s voice. Exc ept how could
he be here? After wiping my cheeks against my dress, I lift my head. Sure enough, it’s him.
In his hand is a bouquet of white gardenias. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was on his
way to a romantic date. But the tuxedo is too formal. Maybe a wedding...? His? A sharp
shard digs into my heart at the possibility. He extends a hand to help me up, which I stare
at blankly. He drops it awkwardly. “Is it Tyler again?” His soft tone can’t hide the
frustration simmering underneath. Grief still clutches my throat, choking off all my words. I
nod, then slowly rise to my feet. He runs his fingers through his hair. “You should just kick
his ass.” A fresh wave of tears gathers—for reasons I can’t articulate. I choke, then clear my
throat. “It isn’t that simple.” “Sure, it is. A lot of things in life are much simpler than you
think. The problem is you have to act, not just think.” I look at him. He’s limned by the
golden sunlight like a god of wisdom —or a patron saint of broken people. He glances down,
then extends his hand. The tips of his ears redden a little. “Here. Flowers. Uh... I give them
to you.” Yup. Definitely a saint. I bury my face in the soft blossoms, their sweet scent
soothing the pain roiling in my heart. When was the last time somebody gave me flowers
because I looked sad? As I inhale the fragrance, an event from our sophomore year at
Stanford superimposes itself over him looking at me with eyes full of concern while offering
me flowers. Back then he did something similar, exc ept he’d held out the pocket watch
Mom left me. I thought I’d never see it again. Brielle had managed to get into my dorm,
telling my roommate that she came by to see how I was doing after spraining my ankle in a
field hockey game, and snatched the watch from my desk and ran out with it.
I hobbled after her, refusing to lose one of the very few things Mom had left me. The pocket
watch belonged to my great-grandfather, then my grandfather, then Mom. Inside was a
photo of her holding me in her arms when I was a baby. “Give it back!” I shouted, trying to
ignore the unbearable throbbing in my ankle. Turning around and hopping backward,
Brielle held it over her head. “Make me.” If only I weren’t injured...! I curled my hands into
fists as I glared at her. Grinning, she tossed it high above us. Malice glinted in her eyes as
she waited for me to cry as another of Mom’s ke epsakes was about to be destroyed. A guy
ran between us and caught it, arm outstretched. Brielle looked shocked, and I bit my lip at
the sight of Liam holding the watch. “What’s going on?” he said, his unreadable eyes on
Brielle’s face. She smiled and strode over, wrapping her arms around one of his and
pressing her cleavage against it. His eyes flicked in my direction, then he looked at her
again, the tips of his ears reddening. Dread settled in my belly like milk gone sour. Guys
always sided with her when she rubbed herself against them—something I was never able
to do. “I’m just taking my watch back,” she said in that slightly nasal, cloying voice that
always seems to work with boys. “From my dad.” “Don’t listen to her. It’s mine.” My own
voice was taut with the pain from my ankle—and desperation. I refused to give up without a
fight, even though I knew I should brace for a bitter disappointment. Brielle looked down,
the corners of her mouth drooping. “She’s always jealous of the few nice things I get from
Daddy when she already has so much.” Lies! But I knew better than to burst out in anger.
“It’s mine, Liam. Can you give it to me, please?” At the same time, she said, “Can you please
let me ke ep it? Pretty please?” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Okay.” My mouth dried. She
clutched him harder. “You’re the best!” she cooed.
He shook her off and walked toward me. “Here.” He cleared his throat. “Your watch.” He
held it out to me. Tears burned in my eyes. It was the first time since Mom had passed away
that anybody had taken my side. “Thank you,” I managed hoarsely before taking the watch
with a shaking hand. Now a realization dawns. “Why are you nice to me?” I whisper. There’s
no need for a list from Simon. The perfect candidate is standing right here. Liam meets all
my criteria for a husband—exc ept he’s too precious to be used in my plot. “Why shouldn’t I
be, Olivia?” He looks at me like he can’t fathom my confusion. “You weren’t part of the
plan.” You’re making it so hard for me to stay away. “Like a life plan?” “Something like
that.” His eyes darken, but he looks away before I can decipher what’s in them. He shrugs
stiffly. “Don’t ke ep working on an unworkable plan. Pivot. Make yourself happy.” He
presses his lips together like he’s trying to hold back all the things he wants to say. “It isn’t
that easy.” “Sure it is. Start with this: Get rid of Tyler.” “Then what?” I let out a shaky
laugh. “I have to get married.” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I cover my eyes.
I said too much. How to recover before—? Liam takes my wrist and slowly lowers the hand
over my eyes. His gaze is steady as he studies my face, like he can’t afford to miss even the
flicker of an eyelash. “How about me?”