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Where do I even start to fucking look for clues?
I lather the citrus bath wash Riley keeps shopping for me on my body
Just this morning, I was going to get married, but now, I’m a… I’m a fucking widower.
Done with my shower and having successfully not gone crazy overthinking things, I change into a simple white sweater and gray sweatpants and head for the bedroom I know Olivia would be settled into by now.
It’s the opposite hallway from the one leading to my bedroom. This floor is exclusively mine, even though a few people can access Olivia's room . No one has stayed there until now.
I knock on her door and she opens it immediately.
“Hey,” she drops her eyes to the floor, and I step in.
“Hey,” I squint at the brightness in the room, but it’s the fact that she is in a robe that punches the breath out of my lungs.
“I just got out of the shower,” she says as she closes the door. “I thought it was Pedro.”
I tear my eyes away from her freshly washed face and the droplets on her neck area that I want to run my tongue on.
“You didn’t touch your food?” I stalk to the chaise longue on one side of the wall and drag the cart of food towards me.
“I wasn’t very hungry, but I ate some grapes and had a smoothie,” she fiddles with the belt of the black wooly robe. She takes a step towards the bed but then changes her mind and comes to sit in front of me.
“You have to eat,” I push the cart to the side of the chaise longue and focus on her eyes.
She stares at me with those onyx beauties, and her lips twitch as I hold her gaze. I am not oblivious to her breathing hitching or the shifts in her poise. I am not oblivious to the heat brewing in my stomach or the blood rushing to my cock.
I can sniff the freshness of the fruity body wash she used, and it makes me want to eat her up—lick her up. I love fruit. I could survive on just fruit. I wonder if I could survive by eating only her instead.
I break eye contact as the thought of her spread about on the mattress and my face buried between her legs, tasting her, invades my mind.
I don’t pretend to care so much that Barbara is dead. What I’m doing is not because I cared about her. I care about what is at stake. And I want to respect her.
“Why did you do it?” I clear my throat and pick up a bottle of water on the cart to distract myself.
“It wasn’t me,” she leans down, bringing her legs to her chest.
“Then who did it?” I crush the bottle of water and let go as she flinches slightly.
“I don’t know,” she sniffles, and I tut for her to suck it up, “Will he kill me?” I know who, and I want to tell her that no one will touch her while I’m alive, but I shrug instead.
“Why did you marry into such a family?”
“It’s no different from mine, Olivia.” I lean back on the chaise longue and open the bottle of water to wash away some of the huskiness in my tone.
“Who are you people?” she asks, “or I should not be asking because it could implicate me if I know too much?”
“How much of Hollywood crap have you been watching?” I sip from the water.
“Enough to know that what I saw earlier is like something from those crime boss movies,” she chews on her lower lip, “I always thought there was something weird about you.”
I sit back up now, “Was that part of the reason you broke up with me?”
She shakes her head, “It wasn’t,” she swallows, “But it kept me up at night.”
I lean forward now, resting my elbows on my knees to mirror her position.
“We would never have made it past high school,” I chuckle sadly, “This life isn’t for you, and I care too much about you to bring you anywhere close to it, even now,” I close the bottle of water and drop it on the floor.
