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“So why’d you bring it?”
I shrug. “I wanted to make sure you had dinner. And then I wanted to say sorry.”
The last part of that catches her off guard. “Sorry?”
“I… Shit, where do I even start? From the jump, I should have stood up for you when this press bullshit hit the fan,” I begin. “Instead, I wanted to hide. I’m real good at that, even if I pretend like that’s not me. But I did it when I first got Violet and then I did it again with you. That’s twice now, and each and every time, all it does is hurt the people I love. I can’t change that I was selfish. But I can promise you that, as soon as you want me to, I’m setting the record straight about you and me and all this Holly mess.”
I swallow and stand up. I need Olivia to see that I’m serious. I need her to understand that I mean everything that I’m telling her right now.
“I’m gonna have Elliot put together everything that we’ve found out so far. It doesn’t matter that it’s an unfinished investigation—I’m gonna make sure everything is put together in a nice little document and send it to every hit piece-peddling shit-rag publication so they can put out the facts if they’re going to talk trash. The world is going to know who’s right in this situation and it’s not going to be Holly.”
The disbelief deepens on Olivia’s face. It’s like I’ve grown another head. Honestly, that would be kind of cool. Maybe two heads would help me make better choices when it comes to the people I care about.
“You’re… serious. You’re going to tell people the truth about us?”
“One hundred percent.”
Olivia sits up a little straighter. “What happened?” she asks. “Something had to have happened.”
I shake my head. “Nothing serious. Just my two best friends telling me to my face that I’m the problem and I ain’t shit, basically. I got a real dressing down today. You’d be proud of them.”
Olivia smirks a little. “Well, someone has to get it through your thick skull that sometimes, you’re an asshole.” Her face softens. “But you’re my asshole. And you’re really serious, aren’t you?”
“Serious as a heart attack.”
She continues to stare at me before snuggling back with her food. “I appreciate the apology, Reese,” she says after a moment. “I wish that you had come to that conclusion earlier but…” She sighs. “So I also had a friend conversation. I’ve been sitting on it for a few days. And basically, I understand that being benched and getting traded is serious for you. I shouldn’t have acted like it didn’t matter just because you weren’t doing what I wanted you to. I’m sorry.”
For the first time in the last few days, I smile. “You don’t have to?—”
She holds up her hand. “I do. If you can be the bigger person and apologize, so can I.”
Then she scoots over on the couch. She pats the newly made space at her side. “Sit over here with me. We can eat and I can torture you with Bridgerton.”
“… Bridgerton? What’s that?”
Olivia gets a deep, wicked glint in her eyes. “Oh, boy. This is gonna be fun.”
50
OLIVIA
Get ready for dinner. Picking you up in an hour.
Reese’s cryptic message lights up my phone screen as I frantically finish getting myself dressed and my makeup put on. He’s been gone most of the day. Errands, he said, between meeting with Elliot to set up the smoking gun against Holly and compiling paperwork for the Bulls to kickstart his trade.
It was a busy, momentous day for him, so the last thing I expected was an impromptu dinner date to follow.
I won’t complain, however.
Instead, I wiggle my way into a nice black dress. With slinky straps and a slightly shiny material, I feel… sexy in it. Even taking in my reflection, where a bump protrudes at my stomach where there didn’t used to be, I can’t help but smile at myself.
For all the parts of pregnancy that have been different than I expected, one thing has certainly seemed true: pregnant women do glow. My skin is clear even before I apply foundation. My hair is lustrous and thick as it flows over my shoulders in natural waves.
My eyes keep trailing down to the baby bump. This isn't the kind of dress most pregnant women wear, but most pregnant women haven't gone through half the things I have in the last month, so I think I'm allowed a little bit of flare, thank you very much.
I grab the tallest pair of strappy heels I feel confident in—spoiler alert: they aren’t all that tall—and slip into them. As I’m buckling them up, I get a message from Reese.
Coming up. Game time.
