Thirty days . . .
Thirty long, hard days.
Thirty day of learning who I am, and healing parts of myself that I didn’t even know were broken.
In my short time at Serenity Dr. Anderson helped me rebuild my foundation. Because if the foundation is strong everything else can be fixed.
That’s what I did, and now, whatever the future will bring, I know I’ll be just fine. I finally learned to love myself, scars and all. I’ll never be that perfect person. I’ll always be a little bit flawed, and that’s okay. Those flaws make me who I am. They aren’t marring my skin. Instead they are making me . . . me.
I’m back in the city. It’s a day earlier than expected, but I was in such a rush to get home it didn’t even dawn on me to call first. I’ll just have my parents drop me at The Lancaster.
When I walk in the front door, the concierge greets me. “Is Mr. Lancaster home?” I really should have called first to check, but I was too frazzled.
“No, but when he was walking out, he said he’d be back in five minutes. I’ll have George show you to the suite.”
Once inside, I nervously pace. I pick up my cell to dial him, the anticipation of surprising him growing too strong. I need to tell him I’m here. I need to see him.
As I’m about to dial the door opens, but I hear two voices and one is a girl. They grow louder as they turn the corner and enter the room. That’s when I see it’s Spencer. And he’s with Addison.
His mouth drops. Caught like a deer in headlights. “Olivia?”
I feel sick.
“I guess forever came too soon,” I say under my breath. I pick up my bag to go.
“What do you mean?”
“You said you’d wait.”
“I did. I am!”
“Sure looks that way,” I hiss, but then I realize I’m doing just what he did—not giving him the benefit of the doubt. It’s easy to fall back on old habits. I take a breath, but as I’m about to say his name, he grabs my face.
“Will you shut up already,” he growls. And then he’s kissing me.
“I-I should be going,” I hear from behind me, but neither of us breaks away to answer her.
In the background, the door opens and shuts.
“I love you,” he says against my lips.
“I love you too.”
“I can’t wait another minute,” he growls through kisses.
Hand and hand we walk into the bedroom until I’m standing at the foot of the bed and Spencer appraises me. He drops to his knees and pushes my panties down my thighs, and I push forward toward his hand. The rough pads of his fingers tease my sensitive skin.
Desperate for his touch, my hips tilt to meet the warmth of his caress.
To increase the pressure.
To beg him to touch me, to fill me.
My body starts to quiver as I wait, and then when the need is all encompassing, he pushes inside and then upward with his fingers, finding the sensitive spot buried deep within.
Spencer brings me so close, but when I’m teetering on the brink, he pulls back, strips off his clothes and begins to stroke himself.
I lay back, positioning my legs farther apart to allow him to cradle between them.
My chest heaves in as I wait. Then slowly Spencer pushes inside me, and our bodies come together.
He thrusts in and out, each move stronger than the last.
We move together as if we are one being. Spencer’s breath caressing my lips as he makes me his over and over again.
The next morning we’re lying in bed and I realize we have so much to say to each other. There’s so much he’s never told me, and if we want to move forward, it’s time he lets me in. I know we need to talk, but we won’t be able to do it here. Getting up from the bed, I walk to the bathroom and start to brush my teeth and freshen up. Once done, I pop my head through the door.
“Want to go for a walk?”
“Now?”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t ask why, but I imagine he knows we have a lot to talk about. So without another word, he starts to dress as well.
An hour later, we’re in Central Park. It’s eerily quiet for this time of day. As if we are the only people in the park, the only people in the city. We’re in our own snow globe and I hope this conversation won’t rattle our peaceful world.
“So, tell me what happened?” I ask, turning my head to look at him from where we’re perched on a small bench.
His brow furrows. “What happened? What do you mean?”
“I know you were having issues with work but we never talked. You never told me what really happened. You kept me at a distance, never letting me in. Why you were so cold and distant sometimes?”
“I was never cold and distant with you.” He pauses and looks me in the eyes. His normally vibrant green eyes look dull and tired. “Was I?” His jaw tightens as realization hits him.
“Only a few times, but although you might not have snapped often, I could still sense it. When you would walk into a room. When you got off the phone. I could feel the chill. Every time.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He runs his hands through his unruly hair.
“So tell me what happened?”
“My brother Grant happened.” He frowns.
“I don’t understand?”
Spencer looks up to the early morning sky, takes a deep breath and then meets my stare. “Then I guess I should start from about five years ago. Well, as you know my father wanted to retire.
“It was always assumed that Grant would take over. I didn’t initially want to go into the business in this manner. I had other dreams.” His eyes look lost. Like he’s remembering the life he had before The Lancaster.
“Architecture.”
He nods.
“Grant loved the business. He was ruthless like Dad, and loyal, but also stubborn like Dad.”
“Sounds a little like another brother I know.” I smile.
“I’m not sure the exact details because Dad doesn’t want to talk about Grant, and Grant . . . well, Grant cut us off. There was a major falling out so big that Dad not only stripped him of his chance at running The Lancaster, but also changed his will.”
I gasp at this information. “Oh my God. What did he do?”
“Well, Grant’s trust had already kicked, so he has plenty of money, but all he wanted was The Lancaster when Dad retired shortly after the fight and named me the CEO that was the end. Until that point, Grant and I still spoke, but after I was appointed it was like he was dead. He dropped completely out of the public realm for many years, but about a year ago he resurfaced. He had purchased property and announced he was opening the L. The L is in complete competition with our brand. Basically, it’s a big giant fuck you to me and my family.”
“But I don’t understand why is this affecting you now? Hasn’t this been going on for years?”
“Remember when we met?”
“Obviously.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be in London. I had flown into Manchester to do a deal. The deal fell through. Someone outbid me, so I changed plans and went to London, and from there you know what happened. But then, when I returned to the States, I put in some interest in a property in the Caribbean and I was outbid again. I had Jack look into it, and I bet you can’t guess who was behind it.”
My mouth falls open. “Oh my God. Was it Grant?”
“Yeah, what Jack found out was that Grant was bidding on every property I wanted.”
“That’s horrible.”
“The worst part is I thought we were making progress, but who the fuck knows with Grant.”
“So what happened? You obviously got the properties.”
“No, that’s where Addison stepped in. She sold me the property in Barcelona and the property in St. Bart’s.”
The sound of her name makes me shake, and Spencer pulls me into his lap and kisses my forehead. “It’s only been you, Olivia. Only you.”
“I know nothing happened. It just makes me remember what I did.” I try to move away from him.
“Don’t distance yourself from me. That’s why this all happened, I didn’t tell you the issues I was having with Grant and you didn’t tell me about the pressure you were under. I’m not sure why we both didn’t have the strength to fully open up to one another, but we can’t go back there. We need to be honest with each other in order for this to work.”
“Okay.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
He kisses my lips.
“Good girl.”
“I can show you just how good I can be,” I purr.
“I’ll take you up on that.” And with that, all words are stopped, and his mouth descends again.
A few weeks have passed and we have settled into a comfortable relationship. I still have an apartment, but I’m pretty much living with Spencer at The Lancaster these days.
“Goddamn it,” I mumble to myself.
“What?”
“I can’t find shit,” I say, closing my computer and finishing my Google search.
“Nothing? Really?”
“Nothing. Fuck. Now what am I going to do?”
“Start your own.”
“I can’t start my own.” He raises an eyebrow. “Wait, you’re serious aren’t you?”
“Olivia, if this is what you want, then do it. Start your own modeling agency. One that has the models interest at heart, not money. Be an advocate for these girls. Show them, teach them.”
“I don’t know a thing about—”
“You know a lot more than you think. You were in the business for how many years?”
“Over two.”
“You know models, photographers, you have contacts at brands and magazines and the ones you don’t have, I do.”
“How would I even start? I’d have to take out a loan,” I mutter to myself, trying to think of a way to do this. It actually would be a dream come true.
“I would finance you.”
“I could never let—”
“Stop right there. There’s nothing to let. I love you. I believe in you. I want to invest in you.”
“I could never take money from you.” We sit there at an impasse, but he knows I won’t budge.
“Would you take a zero interest loan?” Would I? Can I do that?
If it’s not a handout . . .
If I pay him back?
“I could ask my parents. They have the money.”
“Olivia, you’re being ridiculous. Why bother them? They still have graduate school for Bridget, and possibly medical school for Lynn. Let me help you.”
“I’d have to pay you back.”
“Of course.”
“What if I fail?”
“You won’t,” he says forcefully, full of conviction.
“But what if I do? None of them, not Lucinda, Helen, or Giorgio or Bennett, thought I’d make anything of my life.”
“Prove them wrong.”
He’s right, and I will do just that. I will prove them wrong. I will prove all of them wrong.
I stretch my arms above my head and let out an audible yawn. Spencer and I have been sitting on his couch for the last few hours with my legs draped over his as he speaks on the phone. Working. I, however, am reading a book on my Kindle. It’s Sunday, and unlike Spencer, I don’t work on Sundays. I guess once the agency is officially opened, I might be singing a different tune, but until then, I’ll snuggle up against him and enjoy his company.
From the corner of my eye, I see him put his phone down and turn to look at me. “Come on,” he says as he lifts my legs off his and moves to stand.
“Where?”
His lips tip up in a smirk. “I have a surprise for you.”
“Do you?” I toy with a lock of my hair to appear flirtatious, and he laughs.
“I do. But not that kind of surprise.” He gently encases my hand in his and pulls me up.
“Should I change?” When I look down at what I’m wearing, I’m horrified. Beat up black leggings that are so faded they appear gray and an oversized thermal.
“Not at all. You’re perfect.” Even in my current state of clothing disarray, when he says it, I believe it. I feel it. I feel like I’ve walked the gates of hell and made it out to the other side. Who cares what I’m wearing, as long as I’m happy. And these days, I am.
“Do I get a hint?”
“I hope you’re hungry.”
With that, my stomach decides to growl as if on cue. “That’s the only hint I get?”
“Yep.”
“Can’t wait,” I deadpan, but Spencer knows I’m excited. These last few months he’s learned everything about me. From every insecurity to all aspects of my sense of humor.
Hand and hand, we make our way out of the suite, which has officially become his private residence. He redecorated it to live there full-time so we could spend more time together. It’s warm and cozy now. Each piece of furniture picked for our comfort rather than luxury. He even asked my opinions, wanting to make sure I always felt at home here and I do.
When we make it down the elevator and out of the building, we’re greeted by George the doorman.
“Would you like me to have your driver come—”
“That won’t be necessary. It’s a beautiful night.”
And it is. Summer has turned to fall, and fall is my favorite time in the city. The air is crisp and smells of cinnamon spice and toasted nuts.
“It’s only a few blocks,” Spencer informs me.
Together we walk in perfect pace with one another. Comfortable. Like we’ve done this a million times, and in truth we have. Since I’ve been back from rehab, Spencer and I are rarely apart. Sure, I’m busy getting my agency set up, and he’s busy expanding, but when we’re not working, we are always together.
After about a ten-minute walk, we cross over Third Avenue, and Spencer stops in front of a small awning. He swings the door open, and there is a set of weathered stairs leading to a small intimate restaurant. There are no frills about the space, and the restaurant appears stuck in a time warp from the seventies. The furniture is old and dated, and soft music plays throughout the interior. The restaurant is not what I expect from Spencer Lancaster, but this man constantly surprises me.
Spencer leads us to a table in the corner and then lifts his arms to wave at a man coming out of the kitchen. We sit in comfortable silence as we wait for the waiter to approach the table. Spencer takes my hand in his, his fingers tracing circles on my own as he stares into my eyes lovingly, a gesture that makes me warm and fuzzy inside. He’s openly tender, never letting me doubt how he feels about me.
“Olivia, this is Nino,” Spencer introduces me once the waiter approaches our table. “He’s the owner and genius who will be preparing our food.”
“Such a pleasure to meet you,” I say extending my free hand to shake his.
“The pleasure is mine, bellissima.”
“Knock it off, old man,” Spencer chides, and Nino’s aged face cracks into a flirtatious smile as he winks at me. It’s obvious Spencer has known Nino awhile. “No menus tonight, Nino. Whatever you want to make, we’ll eat.”
As Nino walks away, Spencer turns to face me again. “This is my favorite Italian restaurant in the city. I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. As far back as I can remember, we used to do Friday night dinner here.”
“So how come I’m only now finding out about it?”
“I don’t know . . .” Small lines appear on Spencer’s forehead. He looks around. His gaze is distant, lost in a memory. “This place reminds me so much of a different time, but I like having you here.”
“Well, I like being here with you.”
“I’d like to make it a tradition. That’s what it was to me, but I want to change it to us. To you and me.”
“You mean that?”
“This is what I want my future to look like—you and me starting new traditions together. I want to do it all with you. When you’re strong, when you’re weak, I want to be with you. I can’t promise to not be an asshole, but I don’t want us to miss any experiences.”
“I feel as if I’m living in a fairy tale,” I whisper.
“No fairy tale. This is all real, Olivia. You deserve this and so much more.”