Page 38 of Olivia’s Only Pretending (Sweet River #3)

Twenty-Seven

O ur panel had to arrive early at the auditorium to review our seating arrangements and the flow of the presentations and discussions. I’d changed into a nicer but still professional black dress and blazer.

I was on stage across from Ryan and the other professors, going over what to expect with the moderator, Alexis, while the stagehands bustled around us, adjusting lights and microphones.

Ryan’s eyes kept roaming over to my seat. I crossed my arms over my chest, doing my best to ignore him.

As he asked Alexis a few questions, I bit the inside of my cheek. The conversation from this morning still rang in my ears. It was brought to my attention that you are dating a student, Dr. Rhodes.

Our eyes met for a moment, and he swallowed hard, tugging on his collar.

Later, backstage, just before we were scheduled to go on, someone handed us water bottles. I made small talk with a colleague, but I could feel Ryan’s eyes on me again, so I glanced his way. Is he sweating?

Ryan rarely sweated. He didn’t fidget or tug at his collar, especially not before he was about to step on a stage under a spotlight.

That was where he thrived. Always composed, always in control.

He took everything in stride, even feelings he might hurt along the way. He was frustratingly proud that way.

The only times I’d seen him sweat were when he felt bad about something. Like how he kept wiping his sweaty brow the day he told me he was taking the job in Ohio.

My nostrils flared. Ryan was sweating and staring at me because he started the rumor that Victor was a student and wasn’t sure if I’d been approached yet. Why would he do that?

I turned toward him, not even trying to hide the anger in my eyes, but then the stagehands began ushering us toward the stage.

The announcer was welcoming the crowd as we huddled on the side of the stage, waiting for our signal to walk out.

A boom of laughter from the audience echoed through the room.

“Now, let’s welcome our Classics and Antiquity panel to the stage, starting with Dr. Olivia Rhodes,” the moderator said into the microphone.

My heart raced as I took the first steps out onto the brightly lit stage. I smiled toward the audience, giving a slight wave.

In a sea of people sitting and clapping, there stood Victor, in the front row with the proudest grin. Even from the stage, I could see the crinkle around his eyes.

The way he looked at me, you’d think he was watching me win an award, not listening to a lengthy panel discussing the Middle Ages. All the anger and frustration about Ryan left me like vapor, as if there wasn’t room for me to feel anything but the bubbly joy from seeing Victor in the audience.

I sat down in my seat, trying to contain my grin. Focus , I reminded myself. Oh yes, clap for my colleagues as they walk on stage.

Throughout the panel, Victor was like my own pep squad, clapping the loudest after every one of my answers. I felt his support like a physical, tangible thing. My own extra dose of confidence, like I’d taken a shot of whiskey before I walked on stage, warm flooding under my skin.

Except Victor on the front row was better than a shot of whiskey. His eyes were solely on me the whole night, like I was the band at the concert he’d paid to see.

A fter the panel, I didn’t wait to shake hands with everyone and make small talk backstage like I normally would.

Instead, as the lights came back on across the room, I rushed down the stage steps.

Victor was already weaving down the aisle toward the exit.

I slipped through the small groups of chattering people throughout the aisles, trying to avoid any collisions.

“Victor,” I called out over the murmur of the crowd.

He didn’t hear me, walking through the glass doors. I jogged after him.

I followed him outside in the soft glow of twilight. “Victor!” I shouted.

This time, he stopped in his tracks on the sidewalk.

“Oh, hey,” he said, with a tentative smile. Almost polite. “I thought you’d be busy after, talking with everyone?—”

“No, no.” I shook my head as people brushed by us, exiting the building. “I want to talk to you. I ran out here because I need to talk to you.” I tried to catch my breath, placing my hand on my chest.

“You do want to talk? ’Cause I didn’t show up here to manipulate you or pressure you into talking to me before you were ready.

I was torn about whether or not to come.

” He put his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

“But I wanted to make sure you felt supported tonight. That’s all, I promise. ”

“I did feel supported. It meant a lot to look out in the crowd and see you there.” I tucked a piece of hair that had gotten loose from my ponytail behind my ear. “Did you get my text earlier? I found your note on the bulletin board.”

“I did see the text, right before I left to come here. I didn’t mean that to put any pressure on you; I just wanted to make you smile?—”

“It did make?—”

Victor’s eyes narrowed at something behind me, right as I felt a large hand on my shoulder.

“Olivia,” Ryan said.

I felt my heart sink. “Ryan?” I turned around. The timing of this guy .

“Hey, I think we need to talk,” Ryan said. I wondered if he was about to admit to going to Dean Oates. “I think it’s long overdue.”

I looked toward Victor, frustrated. “We were right in the middle?—”

“It’s okay.” Victor took a step back. “Go ahead.”

Ryan grabbed my hand in his. “We have unfinished business.”

“What does that even mean, Ryan?” I asked while Victor walked away from us, disappearing through the maze of autumnal trees lining the campus.

“It’s been tense between us since I arrived,” he said, his voice low. “I know you’ve felt it. The undeniable pull between us even at that first dinner.”

I felt my jaw drop a little.

“It’s been hard to be on this campus without feeling …

as if there’s so much unfinished and unsaid between us.

I’ve been trying to stay professional and swallow my feelings, but …

” He gripped my shoulders. “I regret how I ended things with you. Back then, I was trying to put my career first and remove any distractions. Now, as I’m sitting with you on stage, I know you’re so much more than a distraction. We could be a power cou?—”

“Wait, wait.” I held up a hand, stepping backward out of his grip. “You’re seriously trying to tell me you think there’s still something romantic between us? That’s what you want to talk about right now?”

“Yes, I?—”

“You’re not apologizing for telling Dean Oates that I was dating a student ,” I cut in.

His eyes grew wide.

“Or even apologizing for how you dumped me like I was an inconvenience, without an ounce of empathy or respect, after dating for years.”

“I am sorry. I’m sorry for how I ended things. I’ve felt a lot of regret since I got here,” Ryan stuttered. “Anything I’ve done … I’ve not had my head on straight. I know I’m not handling seeing you again very well.”

I laughed humorlessly. I thought I would be the one not handling Ryan well. I was terrified I would need a human shield in Victor.

“Olivia, I didn’t tell Dean Oates you were for sure dating a student. I told her …” He looked down at his feet. “I didn’t tell her anything for certain. I can promise you that.”

I pressed my lips into a firm line, nodding my head.

I didn’t actually care to hear him apologize or explain himself.

I just wanted to get back to Victor. “Okay, fine, Ryan. Good to know. I’m sorry you’ve had regrets.

I was right in the middle of something, so I don’t have time right now.

” I turned to leave, but he grabbed my hand. His fingers were cold.

“Olivia, you can’t walk away when I’m pouring my heart out.” He held my hand between both of his. “I think we should try again.”

I shook my head. “I disagree. Wholeheartedly. The only regret I’ve felt about our relationship is regret over the time I wasted believing you.”

He dropped my hands as if I’d physically burned him.

“I’m not looking for any type of reconciliation with you,” I said, trying to hold onto the fraying fragments of my patience. “You lied about me to my boss, Ryan. I don’t want anything from you at all .”

He didn’t say anything for a beat, sticking his hands in his trouser pockets. “I am sorry for what I said to Dean Oates. I couldn’t stand seeing how …” He was quiet, eyes downcast. “I am sorry, though.”

“Thank you for saying sorry,” I said. The word sorry sounded strange coming out of his mouth, as if he wasn’t quite sure of its meaning, but he was saying it anyway. “But I’ve got somewhere to be.”