“A setback?” I ask in alarm.
She glances over her shoulder at me. “He didn’t tell you? I thought that’s why you were here.”
I pull in a breath, guilt mixing with an ember of panic at her statement. No, I didn’t know. Because I removed him from my life. Again. I can’t bring myself to explain all of that to this stranger. Despite her words, I can’t shake the feeling that she’s not thrilled I’m here.
I force a smile. “Yeah, I came as soon as I could,” I say, still not sure what she means but hoping that deflects enough to get me past this interview to find out.
She nods and leads me toward a stairwell. “Well, he’s downstairs in the in-law suite.” I start down the steps. “Oh hey, I’m a huge fan of your music.”
I return her polite smile and mutter a “thanks” before continuing downstairs. Yeah, no way that’s true. In fact, I get the sense she’s not a fan of me period. Oh well, I’m not here for Raffie Sanderson’s wife. I continue on as quickly as possible, circling the wall once I reach the landing.
“Oliver?” I call out, scanning the space for any sign of him. A kitchenette with a fridge, sink, and a small range/oven unit anchors one wall. The other has a line of cabinets covered by a counter holding several small kitchen appliances. A breakfast table that seats two sits in the snug opening just before the room disappears to the left. The space is uncluttered and clean, if a little dark, which I guess is understandable given its location in the basement. Oliver clearly isn’t in his kitchen, so I keep walking, thinking I hear sounds from a television close by. I curve around the wall and suck in a quick breath.
Color.
Air.
Light.
Oliver.
I force a casual approach when he sees me, his face lighting up in a way I don’t expect. Has he really forgiven me? Can he really be happy to see the crazy girl who keeps messing up?
“You came,” he says, pausing the TV. A Trojans game is on the screen, but based on the time, it can’t be live. He must be studying the footage, and I realize how little I know about his world. I want to, though. I want to understand every part of his life, everything that makes him the incredible person he is.
He props himself up so I can see him over the back of the couch, and I appreciate the better view. Even in a simple t-shirt, he’s gorgeous, his muscular arms and chest clearly defined through the soft fabric as he holds himself in place. He’s not getting up to greet me, though. Guess he’s too comfortable? It does look like a nice couch.
“Of course I did. Oliver, I’m so sorry for what happened. I shouldn’t have—”
He waves his hand. “It’s fine. I get it. I’m the one who shouldn’t have pushed in front of your mother. This is your decision to make, your journey. And I think I get it now. Going down is a lot harder than going up. You have such a far distance to fall. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be looking down from the top and considering a step that would send you sailing to the ground. Just know that when you’re ready to fight the hard battles, I’ll be there with you. I truly believe it will be worth the pain. The climb back up will be so rewarding because it will be yours.”
I bite my lip at the surge of emotion. Who is this prince? How do I deserve him? I don’t, and my heart stutters in my chest when I move forward and see the rest of him. His left leg is propped up on the couch, a pile of melted ice packs on the coffee table in front of it. A pair of crutches leans against the wall beside him.
“Oh my gosh. What happened?”
His gaze hardens for a second before he releases a dry laugh. “Treadmill injury. I know. It’s stupid. Thank god it’s just bruised and I didn’t re-tear it. Doc says I need to stay off it for a few days, but we should be fine to resume my rehab without an issue by Saturday.”
I shake my head, studying him for more. The timing is suspicious, but if this latest injury is my fault, he doesn’t seem intent on blaming me.
“Can I get you anything while I’m here? Are you hungry? Want something to drink?”
He returns a lopsided grin that melts my heart. Gosh, how can he be so hot and so adorable at the same time?
“You gonna cook for me, Genevieve Fox?”
I laugh and shake my head. “No, but I can order something. I could probably figure out the microwave if you’re really desperate.”
He laughs and pushes himself into a more upright position on the couch. “I’m not that desperate. Come sit with me.”
I breathe a sigh of complex relief as I move around the L-shaped couch. Mostly, I just need to touch him. It’s been too long. Too many agonizing hours of imagining my life without him. I sit beside him, surprised at how well we fit together on the cushions. He wraps his arm around my shoulders, and I shove both of mine around his chest. He clamps me to him, and I rest my head on his beating heart. My leg instinctively curves over his thigh to wedge between his legs, careful to avoid his bad knee. I hope this position doesn’t hurt him because I never want to move.
“I’ve missed you so much,” I murmur. “I’m so sorry.”
“I missed you too. And you can stop apologizing.”
“When you didn’t respond, I thought I’d lost you.”
I feel the air leave his lungs in a long exhale. “I know. I’m sorry for not responding. I was in a bad place over the last couple of
