I don’t have to worry about Olivia looking at me. She’s settled inside the taxi before I’ve helped the driver with our bags, and by the time I sit beside her, her cheeks are wet with fresh tears. She’s hugging her knees, and I don’t know what to do or say. Promising to punch Mitch won’t make her stop grieving.
“You okay?” I know it’s a stupid question, but if listening helps, I’ll keep asking.
“After we check in, can you let people know?” Her voice shakes, but I hear her strength. My tough girl, she’ll get through this—I’ll make sure of it.
“What do you want me to tell them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe just I’ve left Sydney and you’re with me, so they don’t worry.”
“Your mum texted last night. I told her you’ll call today.”
“I can’t.” She shakes her head. “I’m so embarrassed. I can’t talk to anyone.”
“I’ll handle it,” I promise. “Whatever you need. I’m your man.”
“Thanks, but why?”
“Why what?”
“Why get involved?” She looks at me as if I’m a stranger, and not the guy who just put his life on hold to be the friend she needs.More than a friend—even if I’m not going to admit it.“You guys are all friends,” she continues, “Why didn’t you drop me off at Mum or Dad’s place and go hang with Pete? He needs his friends.”
“You need me.”
“Mum or Dad would say the same.”
“Yet, you won’t even talk to them. You got dozens of messages from your friends, but you won’t talk to them either.”
“I can’t.” Again with the head shake. “I can’t, not yet.”
“But you’ll talk to me.” Neither of us appreciate the beautiful island or the driver’s commentary. I can’t wait to be in the villa, away from prying eyes. I want Liv to feel safe to express any and all emotions—and hope I can ride each wave without crashing.
“Because you’re different … I don’t know … you’re like my oldest friend. But I don’t why you wanted to get involved.”
“I’ve been involved from the beginning.” Even if she doesn’t return my chuckle, at least we’re talking. I try some banter. “Some part of this egotistical asshole thinks he’s the only one who can help you now.”
“But why would you want to?” Liv returns my playful shrug with one that is vulnerable and sincere. Does she really not know how I feel? Or perhaps she does. It would be the easiest thing in the world to confess my undying love and devotion, but just because it’s true doesn’t mean it’s the right time for her to hear it.
Be the man she needs, not the man who wants her.“Someone has to prove not all guys are assholes.” My joke falls flat. Too soon.
Her soft voice breaks my heart, “Only the ones I want to marry.”
Plural. I was the first asshole she wanted to marry, now Mitch. Damn us both to hell. I want to smash both our heads together for not respecting Liv’s trust and love. At least I didn’t cheat, but it doesn’t win me any Brownie points.
The car pulls up at the resort and I have no idea how to make the next three weeks good for Olivia but as I said back in Cairns, I have a credit card and I’m not afraid to use it.
“Thanks, bro.” I hand over my card, making a mental note to sweep more money across. There’s no way I’ll let Olivia pay for anything this holiday. I tip generously to ensure staff treat her like a queen, starting with the bellhop who offers to take our bags while we check-in.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hazel, congratulations on your wedding.” The concierge’s smile fractures Olivia’s fragile composure. “Welcome to our resort.”
Shit. How many emails does it take for a resort to update a booking? I don’t know whether to hug Olivia to my chest or rip the concierge a new one for not checking the reservation before speaking.
“Liv, it’s okay,” I say into her hair, deciding the hug is necessary while I deal with the staff. “The names on the reservation are Olivia Woodgrove and Hunter Williams,” I lean over to hiss. “If you check your records, you’ll see that Mr. Hazelwill not be joining hisex-fiancéeon this holiday. He elected to stay in Sydney with his girlfriend.”
“Oh, um, I’m so sorry, Mr. Williams, Miss Woodgrove. I’m so sorry about, um.” The only thing stopping the concierge from blushing is the same sort of golden tan that I’d have if I could spend more time on my boat. Unfortunately, I have a job and it generally involves ensuring I remember important details about clients.
Like who is considering moving companies, and whose competitors have upped their market share. And more importantly, ensuring my customer relationship management system has the latest hatch, match, and despatch for all our client executives—right down to girlfriends, favored sporting codes, and clubs.
If I ever made the same faux pas as this fucking receptionist, being my father’s son wouldn’t save me.
