"I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity."
- Edgar Allan Poe
. . .
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"What scares you?"
Olivia liked having deep conversations while she sat on my lap and I played the piano.
I shrugged, eyes on the keys. "Not many things."
She hummed into my chest. "Many things scare me."
"I can scare them away."
She giggled. I smiled.
She stayed silent for a while. I played a soft tune. Ashton and Zavier sat on a recliner nearby. Ashton preparing for his next lecture, and Zavier reading about the deal with Williams.
Williams was going to give us land for the construction of a few hotels. It was a long process.
We'd have to be in Paris often.
I ran my hand through her hair. "How was your day?"
"It was good," she muttered. "Ashton doesn't know how to teach."
Ashton paused from his reading and lifted his eyes. "Say that again, Little one?"
"I said what I said," she mumbled under her breath, snuggling closer to me.
"I can't take this anymore," Zavier said, throwing his laptop away carelessly on a couch. He stood up and stretched. "Do it yourself, Xerxes."
"Told you he can't do it," Ashton muttered.
"I can do it," Zavier said. "I just don't want to. Michael can do it. Sammy can do it. Why the fuck should I give a fuck about interior designs of the hotel?"
Olivia looked at him. "What?"
He shrugged. "Everything is settled. But the interior isn't. It needs to be settled before the construction starts."
"What can't you decide on?"
"Too many designs. It all looks the fucking same."
"Oh." She got off my lap and picked Zavier's laptop off the couch. "This is ew."
Zavier stood beside her, wrapping his arms around her and setting his chin on her head. "Which one do you like? These are the earlier works of some of the best designers, Kitten. We need to know which one we'll hire."
"Well," she whispered, scrolling. "All of your hotels look like luxurious goth houses. How about some colour?"
"I don't like where this is going," Zavier muttered.
"Hush," she whispered. "A little colour won't kill you."
"You don't know that."
I watched her. "You can tell us which one you like. Then we can put you in touch with the designer. How does that sound?"
"I'll be in Paris next week."
"Most of these designers are centred in Paris as the hotels are going to be constructed there."
She paused. "What?"
Ashton closed his book. "I'm not explaining."
"Yes, you are!" She frowned at him, closing the laptop and gently putting it down on the couch. She sat down beside it and folded her arms against her chest. "Explain to me, Ashton."
"Well," Ashton muttered, rubbing his forehead. "We had a feeling you'd want to go to Paris. So, we came up with something we could work for us."
"Why did you not tell me?"
"It was going to be a surprise." Ashton threw his book at me. I dodged. "You need to keep your mouth shut."
"Look at her face," I muttered, looking down at the keys as I played a slightly aggressive tune. "Can't keep shit from her anymore."
She smiled briefly at that. "Liars."
"You forgave us," Zavier reminded her quietly, leaning against a wall.
She lay on the couch. "I did."
"You regret doing that?" I asked.
She thought about it. I watched as her expression turned to sadness. "You created this whole project of millions of dollars because of the possibility of me going to Paris?"
"Yes," Ashton muttered. "We have too much money and you refuse to let us buy stuff for you."
"I don't need more jewellery," she grumbled under her breath.
She was quiet for a moment. We watched her silently.
"You shouldn't have lied."
I knew this conversation was coming.
"We know," I muttered. "Shouldn't have lied. But can you blame us? You had the worst reaction to Valentinos."
"That does not excuse it," she muttered, sitting up.
"Really?" Zavier asked. "Would you not have run away if we had told you the truth from the start?"
She stayed silent. "You should have told me."
"I know," Ashton said. "And we regret not telling you, Olivia. So much."
"Promise you won't keep things from me from now on?" She looked at us with those wide eyes. She looked so delicate, sitting there in a pretty dress.
But she wasn't delicate. She was so fucking strong. And she was brave for even putting up with men like us.
"We won't," I said and I meant it. "Won't keep anything from you."
. . .
She was sitting on a still swing. Her hair which used to be blue was now back to its brown colour. Her wheelchair was nearby.
It was dark here. Her bodyguard stood a few feet away. He nodded at me. I nodded back and walked till I was standing behind her.
"Push?" I asked.
She looked up at me. "What are you doing here?"
"Heard you weren't eating, Kylie."
I gently pushed her swing.
"I'm eating," she said, taking in a shaky breath. "Nothing tastes like how dad used to make it."
My hands clenched. "Zavier cooks well. Come live with us."
"Mom needs me."
"Your mom can live with us too."
"Mom hates your girlfriend."
And Kylie hated Olivia too. Many in the family didn't like Olivia. I didn't know what to fucking do with that.
They had loved Harry. He was a good soldier. They blamed Olivia for the attack at the mansion.
"It wasn't her fault," I said. "It was mine. I am sorry, Kylie."
