When in Paris... (Language of Love) (40 page)

“I-I don’t care what anyone thinks anymore,” I manage to gasp.

“Good,” he grunts before capturing my lips with his and then proceeds to cover my body with his.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
E
IGHT

OLIVIA

After Zach drops me home Thanksgiving Day, I’m in and out, leaving my mom in the kitchen cooking up a storm. The next two hours I spend visiting with Samantha, who is all sympathetic about my parents’ divorce. And no matter how much she presses, I don’t share the gory details about their split.

Next stop is my dad’s at his newly rented apartment close to his job. Home from his business trip as of last night, despite his drawn appearance, he’s a sight for sore eyes. We hug, I cry, we talk and I cry some more. When it’s time to leave I don’t want to go but my dad insists because he doesn’t want my mom alone for Thanksgiving dinner since my brother couldn't get the Friday off work to come home. Yeah, that’s my dad. He may be divorcing her but it’s obvious he still loves her. Something, as far as I’m concerned, she doesn’t deserve.

For Thanksgiving dinner, my mom goes all out, cooking enough food to feed a small army. Okay, I’m exaggerating, but there’s a ton of food.

At first, conversation between us is stilted and awkward, and quickly deteriorates to nonexistent. Dinner’s over by seven, the kitchen cleaned and food put away by eight and my mom’s in bed by eight fifteen.

When Zach pulls up in front of the house at nine, I let her know I’m going out and won’t be back until tomorrow.

~*~*~

After Thanksgiving break, Zach and I are closer than ever. It’s amazing what sharing your whole self with someone does to cement a relationship. And yes, that includes the hot sex we’ve been having as often as we can fit it in. No pun intended.

Unfortunately, the sex doesn’t end up being all that often the week leading up to opening night. With daily and much longer rehearsals and Zach’s football game that takes him away two days that week, we don’t get to talk on the phone until the morning of the opening of the play.

“You’ll do great,” Zach assures me in response to pre-performance jitters.

“I just need to calm down,” I say, willing the growing knot in my stomach to uncoil.

“I know a good way to loosen you up,” he says with a throaty laugh. He’s using his I-wanna-get-you-naked voice, which he knows does it to me every time.

“Zach, be good,” I warn, amused and aroused at the same time.

“Will I be able to see you tonight?” he asks, ignoring my warning.

“Of course, you know we’re going out after the show with April, Rebecca and my dad.” For obvious reasons, my mom won’t be here tonight.

His voice drops low. “I mean
see you
see you.”

Ah sex.
Right, I get it. “I hope so,” I reply, a soft yearning in my voice.

“Okay, then I’ll see you tonight. I’ve got two days of classes to catch up on and I need to start studying for finals.”

I grimace. Finals. I’ll have to cram all next week.

“Okay, see you tonight.”

~*~*~

The cast is hyped but we’re nervous. I always get performance jitters but this is the first time I’ve ever gone on stage knowing Zach is going to be sitting in the audience watching me. He’s my boyfriend, so it’s not that I’m afraid he won’t think I’m good. He’ll tell me I am whether I flub my line a dozen times. But I want him to be proud of me the same way I am every time he suits up and takes the field. Supportive girlfriend that I am, I now attend all his home games.

Last week he threw two touchdown passes and rushed for over seventy-five yards. I don’t think there was anyone in the stands screaming louder than I was. Okay, April and Rebecca screamed nearly as loud but that’s only because my enthusiasm rubbed off on them. Plus, I’m sure most of the screaming April had been doing was for Troy.

We still have fifteen minutes before curtain call and there’s not much to do now except go over my lines. I’m startled when my cell vibrates in my hand. I smile when I see Zach’s name lighting the screen.

He’s here.

“Hey, what took you so long?” I ask, smiling. “I thought you were going to get here early and kiss me good luck. Unless you want me to break my leg?”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. That’s when I know something’s wrong.

“Liv—”

The tone of his voice tells me something’s really
really
wrong.

“—I’m not going to be able to make it.” The sheer weight of the regret in his voice does nothing to temper my reaction. That is after I’m able to fully understand what he’s telling me.

“What do you mean you can’t make it?” I’m doing my best to keep my voice calm and not overreact, all the while thinking his reason had better be some hideous illness or massive catastrophe because those are the only excuses I’m willing to accept. Not that I’m wishing those things on him.

I want to cover my bases. “Are you hurt? Is it someone in your family?” Although, at this point, I’m almost sure there’s nothing physically wrong with Zach.

On the other end of the phone, his sigh sounds like a heavy expulsion of a breath, then there’s just silence.

“Zach, what is it?” My voice rises.

“No, I’m fine and my family’s fine, it’s…”

The connection starts to go fuzzy.

“Zach, where are you? Are you in the car?” I ask sharply.

“I’m on my way to Maryland.”

“Goddammit, Zach, please just tell me what the fuck is going on.” That’s how pissed I am, I dropped the
f
-bomb and I’m sure half the people backstage heard me.

“It’s Ashley—”

And that’s all I hear because I nearly break my nail stabbing my finger against the screen ending the call.

Ashley.

Ashley.

Fucking Ashley!

He’s missing my opening night performance because of Ashley. My chest feels like it’s caving in and my breathing has become its casualty. The pain racking me feels like a million little knives are whacking away at my insides.

How I make it to the bathroom, I can’t even remember. All I know as I stand, looking down at the ceramic floor, my vision blurred by tears I desperately try to stop from falling, I’m more angry than I’ve ever been in my life. And more heartsick than any one person should ever be.

Zach.

Ashley.

My cell rings again. And again and again and again. When it finally stops, a minute later it gives one final buzz, indicating I have a voicemail. It’s Zach of course. But there’s no way I’m going to pick it up. I can’t. Physically cannot.

Lifting my head, I look in the mirror. I have to be onstage in ten minutes and my face needs repairing where tears wove a trail through the pancake make-up. I can’t afford to fall apart. My dad and my friends are out there waiting for me to give the performance of a lifetime. The entire cast is counting on me.

A knock sounds on the door followed by, “Olivia, are you in there? Is everything alright?”

It’s Beth who plays another reporter. She must have seen me run in here, looking all hysterical.

“I’m fine,” I reply, feeling anything else but that. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

I take that minute to collect myself, carefully wiping all traces of tears from my face. A few deep, calming breaths later, I exit the bathroom and fix my make-up before taking my place on stage. By the time the curtain goes up I’m Caroline and for the next two hours, Olivia, Zach and Ashley don’t exist.

~*~*~

Ask me how I made it through opening night and I couldn’t give you anything concrete except to say I shut down my emotions and lost myself in someone else’s life. I almost forgot my lines in the fifth scene but with Greg’s—the guy I was doing the scene with—subtle prompt, I was saved from that embarrassment. All in all, we did a great job. When the final scene came to an end, the applause was deafening and two curtain calls were not enough to appease our enthusiastic audience.

As I stand on the stage, Greg on the left, Beth on my right, taking a bow, I finally allow my gaze to sweep over the audience. I see my dad so tall and proud, grinning and clapping furiously. Beside him, April and Rebecca beam up at me like it’s Oscar night and I’ll be taking home the prized golden statue. The seat beside Rebecca, where Zach should have been, is occupied my some guy I don’t recognize.

I swallow hard and look away, trying not to dwell on that but it’s hard now that I no longer have a place to channel my energy. Acting is just that, acting. For a time, probably like the time we were in Paris, reality slips away and you can be anyone you want. But inevitably, you have to go back or sometimes you come crashing back to it wholly unprepared to face what the re-entry brings.

After our “huddle”, where Miss Ramsay heaps lots of praise upon us, complimenting us on our brilliant performances and hard work, we break and everyone goes off to celebrate a successful opening night.

The excited chatter around me only reminds me of how crappy I feel. Thoughts of Zach haunt me. The pain in my chest is unrelenting. And the thought of faking my way through dinner with my dad, April and Rebecca already has me feeling exhausted. I’m in no mood to celebrate and I’ll end up being the quintessential Debbie Downer spoiling a night out that
should
be marking a happy occasion. I wouldn’t know happiness right now if it came and bit me in the ass or punched me in the gut. Although what I’m feeling right now isn’t too far off from that—a punch in the gut.

But getting out of dinner is impossible. If I bailed, I’ll be doing the same thing Zach just did to me. Except, I wouldn’t be dumping them to be with my ex. The ache in my chest intensifies and my vision is a green haze of jealousy. The kind that doubles you over in pain and makes it hard to breathe.

Somehow, though, I make it through dinner. I push thoughts of my mom, whom I asked not to come because a) I’m still mad at her and don’t know how I’ll ever get past her betrayal and b) because I know how awkward it would have been for my dad to have her there. I know my dad, and to the outside world he may appear the stoic businessman, but on the inside I know he must be hurting. I mean she betrayed
him
and their marriage above all else.

Trying not to think about Zach is impossible so I force a smile and when everyone asks where he is, I tell them he had to go home because of an emergency. I suffer their sympathetic looks but I follow through on our plans for the night and by ten thirty it’s finally over.

My dad’s staying at the local Hilton so we part in the restaurant parking lot.

“I’m so proud of you, Livvie.” He’s the only one who calls me that and the only one who can get away with it. Enclosing me in his big, strong arms, he hugs me tightly, bussing my cheeks on both sides—that’s the European in him. I hug him back just as tightly, wishing I could take away both our pain.

Slowly and by degrees, he releases me and stares down into my eyes. “You’re going to have to talk to her one day. Whatever she’s done, she’s your mother and the only one you’ll ever have no matter what happens between us. You and Jason are her children and it would kill her if she lost either of you.”

I don’t want him to defend her—not to me.

“But, Dad—”

“
Shh.
Listen, Livvie, I’m not trying to excuse what she did. As far as I’m concerned there was no excuse for infidelity. But your mom isn’t perfect and neither am I.” He chuckles softly, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Neither are you.” His thumb gently strokes my cheek.

I blink away the mistiness from my eyes. Hearing what he’s saying is one thing, understanding it is another. As much as I love my mom, I don’t want to forgive her. What she did was inexcusable. If she didn’t want to be with my dad anymore, then she should have divorced him instead of sneaking behind his back…and getting pregnant. Talk about being totally irresponsible and selfish.

Same with Zach. Despite everything he’s been telling me, somewhere inside him he must want to be with her or he’d be here with me tonight.

“It’s just too soon now,” I mumble, lowering my gaze from his.

“Christmas is coming up pretty soon. I know she’d love to hear from you.”

“Are you sure you want a divorce?” I’m getting the distinct feeling that’s not so much a certainty with my dad anymore. At least not the way he’s talking and being all forgiving. And I don’t know how I feel about that if he’s ready and willing to take her back.

A sigh filled with lots of internal angsting whistles in the late autumn night. “I-I don’t know,” he finally says. I can see the turmoil in his brown eyes. “I thought I did at first but…” He shrugs.

“Dad, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Wow. Just wow. It’s hard to believe that after everything he’s even contemplating it.

“You’ll understand one day.” He kisses me on the forehead, the whisper-soft kind full of love only a father can give to his daughter. I’m swamped with a wave of love for him so powerful, my eyes start to sting.