Page 179 of The Temporary Fiancée
“Yes, I do.”
His gaze falls to the rough beginnings of the blanket beside him. “Does this have anything to do with Olivia, by any chance?”
“Yes, it does,” I admit. “But it’s also about you and me. It’s about something I should’ve done a long time ago.”
He arches a brow. “I’m listening.”
“Okay.” I sit down on the armchair across from him and lean forward. “Here’s what I’ve got.”
Chapter 43
Olivia
I’ve been puttingoff the inevitable for long enough: it’s time for me to pick up the rest of my stuff from Reed’s place.
I left most of my things at The Luxe in my haste to leave. I’ve been nervous about the prospect of going to get them back, and when I thought that he had disparaged me to his father, I didn’t particularly want to do it at all.
Now that I know that wasn’t the case, though, I can’t delay it any longer. It needs to be done. I need to move out of my parents’ house, and that means I need to gather up my belongings and find a place of my own.
So I leave my parents’ house in the afternoon one day in late January, heading to The Luxe.
Part of me is hoping Reed will be there, and part is hoping he won’t. Either way, I texted him to let him know I’d be coming by, and he okayed it, so he knows I’ll be there.
As I walk into the lobby, Henry smiles and nods at me, a touch of sadness in his gaze. He lets me into the elevator to Reed’s penthouse without a word.
I step out of the elevator tentatively, half expecting Reed to be waiting in the foyer. But he isn’t. The apartment seems empty. Quiet.
I make my way down the hallway, letting my fingers trail across the familiar white walls, underneath the artwork I’d gotten to know so well during my time living here. I let myself into my bedroom, turning to close the door behind me.
When I face the room, I freeze, stunned.
There are sticky notes everywhere. All over the dresser, spread across the side table and the headboard. Different colors, but the same penmanship on each one: my handwriting. It’s every note I ever left for Reed.
And on the bed, spread across the sheets, is a roughly knitted blanket, dark blue and purple.
I swallow, moving slowly into the room, and lay a hand on the blanket.
“What do you think?”
Reed’s voice startles me, and I whirl around to see him standing in the doorway. I have no idea how he managed to come up behind me so quietly. He’s not smiling, but there’s warmth in his eyes.
“What is this?” I whisper. “You kept all of these? All this time?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Why?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “I’ll be honest. At first, I didn’t even know why. I just like those little reminders of you. Thinking about you made me smile. But now…” He trails off, breathes deeply, then says, “Now I know exactly why.”
He meets my gaze, and I have to fight to hold his.
“You were always more than my fake fiancée,” he says. “You were the love of my life.”
I feel a tightness in my chest, and tears burning at the corners of my eyes. I reach down to touch the soft, knitted blanket. “Did you make this?”
He nods. “Yes, I did. I learned to knit. Because it was something you cared about, and that made it special to me.”
I can’t find the words to reply. I’m too overwhelmed by emotion, caught up in the intensity of the moment.
