A Holland and a Fighter Read online

  He fixes a few strands in the front, then shakes his head. I kiss him once before applying more lipstick.

  “Hey, did you know Coley took a cab the other day?” I segue poorly.

  “What? Really?”

  “Yeah, to our little spa day.”

  “Does Trey know?”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t. I didn’t tell him. I don’t want her to think I’m a snitch.”

  “Is that why you’re telling me?”

  “Well, I mean, I told her she can’t take them… but she didn’t seem to take me seriously.” The fact of the matter is, we’ve had to keep our circle of trust very small in recent years as my family’s wealth has continued to grow. The Hollands have been the wealthiest family in the country for a decade, and Dad’s investments are never bad. Jon and I make good money–him in architecture, and me in fine art. Sometimes, we even work together, and those projects are even more financially lucrative. Will has two prodigious and successful careers: he’s notable in the science community, but he’s rich and famous in the music world. Callen’s family is also incredibly well-off, and Max was the recipient of a very public, high-dollar donation for saving the lives of many people last inauguration day. The concentration of this much wealth makes each and every one of us a target. We’d received threats before.

  “I’ll talk to him. It’s for her own safety.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We’ve arrived,” our driver announces as we pull up to the classy Trevena Theatre.

  The flashbulbs are immediate as we get out of the car. We don’t often do red carpet events, but when Jon found out that Philip Winthrop was going to be at this one, he decided to surprise me.

  We pose for a few photo ops, but neither of us answer any questions, even the innocuous ones. We just smile and move along. Jon nudges me at one point and signals to an elevated platform where the star of the film is doing an interview for a cable entertainment channel.

  “Yep. He’s just as handsome in real life,” I comment, not allowing my eyes to linger. My cheeks flush hot, though, and Jon notices and laughs.

  As he ushers me inside, he leans in and whispers into my ear. “See, my hope for tonight is that there will be some really steamy sex scene with him, and that it’ll get you all revved up or something.” He’s smiling and has those little wrinkles around his eyes to let me know he’s kidding, but I know there’s some underlying truth there. I feign a smile and look to the front of the theater, waiting for the movie to start, now feeling sad and guilty and a little angry.

  He points out different celebrities every now and then, but finally, the lights dim, and I’m relieved that I can relax the muscles in my face. My real emotions surface, and my eyes swell with tears.

  I thought he was just taking me out on a nice date, but he really is just hoping to get laid tonight… and, yet again, I’ll get to disappoint him, which I never, ever want to do.

  He’s always understanding about it–he is. He never pressures me, but I’ve been with him long enough to know his wants and needs, and four months without sex is not something I ever dreamed would happen to us. We’ve always been very intimate with one another–for as long as I can remember. When I was pregnant with the girls, my sex drive was even more out-of-control, which Jon, of course, loved. With this boy, though, I’ve craved Jon’s attention and affection–the handholding and cuddles and kisses–but nothing more. My doctor says it happens sometimes. It’s a hormonal thing. We shouldn’t worry.

  But right now, as I sit in this theater, unable to get lost in a movie starring a gorgeous man while I sit next to the love of my life, I worry.

  I start crying. In the middle of this comedy, I start crying uncontrollably.

  “Baby, what is it?”

  “Can we go?”

  “Of course,” Jon says, but I’m already nearly out of our row. “What’s wrong?” he asks when we get outside of the viewing room. He’s got his arm around me and is trying to shield me from on-lookers.

  “Just call our car please.”

  “I’ve already texted him, Liv. He’ll be there by the time we hit the end of the carpet.”

  “I don’t want to go out there, Jon,” I cry harder.

  He wipes my eyes with his thumbs and reaches into his jacket to pull out his sunglasses, putting them on me. “It’s okay. You can just look down and hold my hand. We’ll go quickly.”

  I nod, sniffling, trying to breathe and calm myself. “Let’s go.”

  The incessant flashing begins again, as do the questions–this time louder, more unscripted and invasive. They can tell I’ve been crying, and everyone wants to know what’s wrong. It’s the longest fifteen seconds of my life.

  In the car, Jon asks the same questions.

  “When we get home,” I finally say, my throat tight. I keep his sunglasses on the whole time.

  I can tell he knows it’s something he did by his silence; by his distance when we walk into our home together.

  “We were supposed to go out for dinner, too,” he says, trying to cut through the tension. He loosens his tie. “Want me to order in?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You will be,” he says. I take off his shades and look at him severely. “I can make us something later, though.”

  I go upstairs to our bedroom and shut the door before he can follow me in. I want to get out of the fancy dress and wash my face. I want a few moments to myself.

  Once undressed, I decide to take a lavender-scented bubble bath to soothe my frayed nerves. I know being this upset isn’t good for the baby. After sliding into the hot water, I close my eyes and hear his voice again.

  My hope for tonight is that there will be some really steamy sex scene with him, and that it’ll get you all revved up.

  Am I being too sensitive? Of course, I am, but I know my feelings are still valid. I try to get my mind off of it by thinking of my girls. Maybe I’ll call them once I’m out of the bath and see if they’re having fun. They’ll center me and remind me that my place here as a mother is just as important as my identity as a wife.

  Jon knocks softly on the door. “Liv, I have some sparkling water for you. Can I bring it in?”

  “Sure,” I tell him, getting choked up at the mere thought of seeing him again. It’s not rational. Nothing’s rational when my hormones are like this.

  He sets down a champagne glass on the rim of the tub, filled with bubbly liquid and raspberries at the bottom. I smile a little at his thoughtful extra gesture. He hangs up his coat and tie in the adjoining walk-in closet, and then takes a seat on my small vanity stool, which he pulls up next to me. “Lay it on me. What did I do?”

  “Do you think I already don’t feel bad enough that we haven’t had sex in months? Do you think I need little reminders?”

  “No, Li–”

  “And honestly, Jon, for you to think any other man would somehow get me off over the valiant efforts of my own husband–do you think I’m that fickle? Or inconstant? My god!”

  “I was jus–”

  “I know you have needs, Jon, and I’m so sorry that I’m failing you as a wife right now, but I’m doing the best I can and I feel like I’ve always been so good to you and that, like, it’s not my fault. The doctor said it’s not my fault! I’m not choosing to not want to be, you know… sexual with you. I want us to be back in that place, but nothing’s going on down there for me. I just… don’t… want it. I’ve never not wanted it, but this pregnanc–”

  He pushes off the stool and surprises me with his lips on mine. His arm is in the bathwater with me to steady himself, even though he’s still got his dress shirt on. “Will you shut up for a second?” He says as he looks into my eyes.

  “You acted like Philip Winthrop was your key to getting laid,” I whine.

  “I was kidding, Livvy. It was a stupid joke, that’s all. I’m sorry I said it, but I meant absolutely nothing by it.”

  “I hate that I disappoint you. I hate that it’s something you think
about.”

  “Well, shit, baby… I miss you, yes. I think about you making love to me often, but I’ve never once been disappointed. Do you know how lucky I’ve felt for the last… what, twenty years of my life? Most men don’t get a woman like you. I am grateful for you.”

  “You’re just saying that because I’m in the bathtub, crying.”

  “No, I’m not. Scoot over,” he says, only kicking off his shoes before welcoming himself into the large bathtub next to me, fully clothed.

  “You have lost your mind,” I tell him, only managing a slight chuckle.

  He puts his arm around me. “Olivia, all I care about right now is that you take care of yourself and that little guy in there.” His hand rests on my belly, and I put mine on top of his. Our fingers weave together.

  “Our little Auggie,” I add.

  “Oh my god, no.” He laughs and kisses my forehead. “But you just need to do those two things. I can even manage the girls for the next few months.”

  “I’ve got the girls,” I vow. “I can’t paint. The smell makes me nauseous, so you’ve got to make the money.”

  “You know we’re fine on the money. We could both retire tomorrow, if we wanted.”

  “You know we’re never going to retire.”

  “I’m well aware. Retiring is for people who hate their jobs,” he says.

  “Retiring is for people who have jobs. We have passions.”

  “We have life,” he adds.

  “We do. A great life.”

  “The best. I am the luckiest man, Liv. Ever. And don’t you ever doubt how I feel about you.”

  “So,” I say, hesitant, “you really didn’t get tickets for me to see Philip Winthrop in hopes of me getting turned on by him?”

  “You want to know why I got us tickets for this?”

  “Why?”

  “To make sure we had plans you wouldn’t want to get out of. I can barely get you to leave our home since we moved in here.”

  “Well? Can you blame me? You built us paradise… in the middle of the Flatiron District. We have everything we need here, and we’re close to our best friends.”

  “I’m glad you love it here.”

  “I do.” I squeeze his hand tightly. “Wait, why’d you want me to leave it then?”

  “Because I’ve been working on something for you and I needed to get it in here–to surprise you.”

  “Really?” I look up at him, feeling guilty again. “Did I ruin that surprise, too?”

  He kisses me again. “Nope. It’s waiting in the other room. I’m going to dry off, get changed, and let you finish bathing. Then we can go have a look.”

  “Okay.” He slowly gets out of the tub, his wet clothes weighing him down. “And Jon?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you. And thank you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Feeling better, I hurry and finish my bath, then put on some lounge pants and a loose-fitting t-shirt. Jon is similarly dressed and waiting for me on the bed. I finish my last bit of water and place the glass on the nightstand. “Ready?” he asks.

  “Ready. I love your surprises.”

  “I do have the best surprises.”

  I clap my hands in anticipation and follow him out of our bedroom and down the hall. We pass the girls’ bedrooms and the small, open library. We’re heading toward the nursery.

  “You did something for Auggie?”

  “I… did something for the baby,” he corrects me, refusing to call him by the nickname. Before we go in the room, he grabs a box of tissues from the bookshelf and hands them to me.

  “Oh, man. It’s that good?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” he says.

  “Shit,” I mumble, but smile, preparing myself for the best–and worst.

  He holds my free hand in his before opening the door and looks me directly in the eyes. “I feel the need to prepare you a little.”

  “I’m worried now.”

  “It’s a bassinet,” he says softly. My heart sinks and my eyes water. He nods, and his lips break out into a smile. “I finished it.” He says it in a whisper. I’m crying and my arms are around him before we even go inside the room. He holds me tightly, dragging his hands slowly up and down my back. “Shhh,” he says soothingly. “It’s okay.”

  “I can’t go in,” I tell him.

  “It’s beautiful, baby. So, so beautiful.”

  “I miss him so much.” The words barely come out of my tightened throat.

  I was six weeks along when we decided to tell my father I was pregnant–my biological father, Isaiah. He’d had a minor heart attack in October, and his health hadn’t improved much since. It was as if his spirit had been broken–he’d lost interest in his sculpting and he was depressed, feeling his life was coming to an end.

  Jon and I thought the news of another grandchild might give him something to look forward to. After all, he loved Edie and Willow, and was always happy when they came to see him. He had been so good with them as babies, too. When we told him, it was just what he needed. The life came back into his eyes and he started taking care of himself again. Everything was on track.

  And then, at the end of February, we got a call from the hospital in Hartford. He’d had another heart attack while working in his shop. A neighbor heard a commotion and came to his aid immediately. We made it to the hospital just in time to say goodbye. He didn’t recover from his second episode. It was devastating.

  When we went to his shop, we found out he was in the early stages of building a bassinet for the baby. He had beautiful, elaborate drafts of it sketched out on his worktable. The wood was purchased. He had cut the first few pieces. And that was it.

  Years ago, he’d made a sweet little coat rack for Edie, and a toybox for Willow. In addition to the fact that our third child would never meet my biological father, I was heartbroken that little Auggie would never have anything specially-made by his Pop.

  I wipe my eyes with a couple tissues and reach for the door handle, leading the way into the room. The sight of the small, walnut cradle takes my breath away. “Ohhh… it’s even more beautiful than I could have imagined it, Jon.”

  “Isaiah had everything designed and detailed to the last letter, Liv. I stayed true to it all. Even down to the finish. I had to get some help from an expert a few times, but… I think it came out like he wanted it.”

  “Oh, yes. It’s perfect.” I run my hand across every inch of its smooth wood.

  “You won’t find a nick or a splinter anywhere. I’ve sanded the hell out of that thing.”

  “And when he grows out of it, he can put toys in it, or use it as a laundry hamper…” I say, thinking of how our son can get use out of it for years to come.

  “And he can use it for his children, and they can use it for theirs. This is going to last for generations, baby. Isaiah designed his work to last,” he says.

  “He’ll never be forgotten.”

  “Never. He’s made his mark, for sure.”

  I admire the bedding tied with cute bows to the sculpted, vertical slats. “Who did this?”

  “Your grandmother. She made a few different covers. And they’ll wash nicely, she said,” he tells me with a laugh. “They go over this padding here, see?”

  “Not too cushioned. It’s perfect. I just can’t believe you did all of this,” I say, looking up at him.

  “I couldn’t imagine not seeing that project through, Liv. He would have wanted our son to have that. It’s what had inspired him to keep going,” Jon says, his eyes watering. “I couldn’t let him down.”

  I pull his head to mine for a soft, sweet kiss. “Thank you,” I whisper to him.

  “You’re welcome,” he says, leaning in again. When his lips touch mine this time, I don’t want them to leave. I put my hand on his neck and hold him close, deepening the kiss. His hands caress my cheeks. I take a few steps backwards until I feel the wall behind me. Because Jon’s being cautious, not knowing what I want, he leaves a gap between
us.

  For the first time in months, though, I don’t want that gap. I want to feel him against me. My hands move quickly to his waistline, and I pull him so his body is flush with mine. They venture beneath his clothes, touching the bare skin of his ass.

  “Mmm,” he grunts into my mouth. “What’s going on?” he quickly asks as he takes a breath.

  “I’m not asking questions,” I tell him. “I want it, so we’re doing it.”

  “Really?” he asks, pulling away in shock.

  I nod.

  “This isn’t because–” He stops asking when I push his pants and underwear to the floor. “No?”

  I shake my head and take off my shirt. His head moves immediately to my breasts. “Oh, wow.” He sucks harder than I’m used to, but it feels amazing. “Do the other side.”

  “Fuck, yes, I’ll do the other side,” he says, pulling me to my knees. When we’re on the floor, I start touching him gently, palming him and tugging and feeling him grow in my hands. It’s fantastic. “Are we doing this here?”

  “Absolutely,” I tell him. He looks around and grabs a few of the baby comforters we’d already collected and lays them on the floor. I carefully ease back onto them as he rips off his shirt. “Take my pants off for me, okay?”

  “My pleasure.” I’m naked in no time, and his full weight is on my body seconds later as his lips and tongue play with mine.

  “I love how you feel on me,” I tell him.

  “I love how I feel in you,” he says. “Are we ready for that?”

  “Maybe a little more…” I say, and he’s moving down my body and then kissing me between my legs. “Oh, yeah. A little more of… oh, yeahhhh. Of that. Yeah. Oh, god, yeah. Ohh…” I can feel myself beginning to orgasm, but before I do, I fist his hair to get his attention. “Come back on top of me.”

  “Are we ready?”

  “I’m so ready.”

  “Oh, god,” he says, positioning himself. He lets out a huge sigh as he presses into me. The expression on his face is one of relief and sheer delight. “Oh, baby.”

  I smile and welcome him, getting lost in the intimate moment with the best husband a woman could ever ask for.