Page 31 of Sweet Silver Bells

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

W hen the light fell away and the room darkened, Hunter and Olivia finally stirred. Hunter lay there, staring at her face, her eyelashes, as she slowly woke up before him, a doll turning into life.

“Hi.” He smiled, and his heart skipped a beat when she smiled back. Olivia put her hand on the back of his neck, pulling his face into hers as they shared a sweet kiss, their lips parting slowly, savoring the moment.

“How could we stay like this forever?” Hunter mused.

“I can think of a way,” Olivia teased, allowing Hunter to move in for another kiss, and then another, and another as his hands slid down to her thighs.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Hunter, Hunter, are you awake yet?” His mom’s voice came through the door. “You left your phone in the car. Your father brought it in, and it has been nonstop pinging all day. I checked it because it felt like an emergency, and well, I think you should look at it.”

Fucking hell.

“I called your homeowner’s insurance for you. They’re sending someone out on the twenty-sixth. You’re welcome,” Minerva said from the door.

Hunter sighed, got off the bed, and went to the door. Minerva stood there, holding his phone out to him as he opened it.

“Thanks, Mom,” he said.

“When are you coming downstairs?”

Hunter checked his phone, seeing his co-worker group text had gone wild that day. His mom watched him like a hawk as he read through it.

Sadie 8:23 am:

Who even has a funeral on Christmas Eve? How tragic.

Celia 8:25 am:

You know we all have to go. We were there.

Elaine 8:26 am:

I think it sounds beautiful, in a dark, sordid way.

Nina 8:29 am:

I’m still in this group chat.

Darius 8:32 am:

Oops. Well, I’m coming to the funeral, Nina. I’m sorry for your loss.

Hunter exited the group chat and scrolled to his email, where there was a formal invitation awaiting him for Tom’s funeral tomorrow at eleven in the morning.

“Tom … died.” Hunter turned towards Olivia. “The night we were at the market, Tom died.”

Poor Nina.

His mom put her hand to her heart.

“You poor thing, you’ve been through such an ordeal. I’ll see you downstairs for dinner.”

Hunter closed the door as his mom walked away.

“There is a funeral tomorrow,” he said. “We should go.”

“I’m sorry, Hunter. I’m sorry if I killed your friend.” She took his face in her hands.

Hunter nodded, appreciative of her apology.

This is who you are now, Hunter. She will kill, and you agreed to protect her.

The light side in his internal tug of war was suddenly winning the battle as guilt began to creep inside him, gasoline directly from the pump, just waiting for a match to fall. He was raised, as most were, to be good, to be kind, not to take any lives.

She isn’t evil , he told himself. She’s heartbroken. She’s been alone.

It was hard for Hunter to see someone who rose up from hell. Instead, he saw a wounded puppy who needed love and would give it in return.

You need love, too.

“Would you like to take a shower? My parents are expecting us downstairs.”

“Will you join me?” Olivia asked.

Hunter’s sorrowful look was nearly instantly eradicated as he opened the bedroom door, his arm pointing out. “After you.”

Her hand grazed his pelvis, a tickle, as she walked through.

An hour later, fully recovered and impeccably cleaned, the couple sat down at the table in the formal dining room, plates of mashed potatoes and halibut in front of them.

Hunter’s dad, Mark, sat across from Hunter, taking slow bites of his meal with large gulps of red wine, slowly draining the glass.

“Your friend’s dead then?” his dad asked, breaking the silence. “A bit fast to get the body back, but I suppose if it’s just cremation then?—”

“Not appropriate dinner conversation, Mark,” his mom cut in, too bubbly. “How about instead, Olivia, tell me what is it that you do, or want to do?”

“What I do?” Olivia questioned, poking the fish.

“Olivia loves plants, gardening, trees,” Hunter chimed in.

“Really?” Mark’s interest piqued.

“Will you open a nursery, then?” Minerva asked. “I think it would be grand to own a nursery. You could hire people to work for you and visit whenever you’d like to see your hard work.”

Olivia shook her head. “I do not want to be around people. I try, for Hunter, but it is not my preference.”

Minerva seemed like she could not comprehend the thought; she’d always been entirely too social.

“I understand that,” Mark chimed in.

“So then what, get married and be a housewife?”

“Why would I want to do that either?” Olivia asked.

“What else is there?” Minerva asked, eyebrows almost defeating the Botox to rise.

“The forest—” Olivia started to say, but Hunter cut her off.

“Olivia is on furlough, trying to decide what direction she wants to take.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Minerva said, “to have that opportunity to explore. Isn’t it lovely, Mark?” Hunter’s father grunted and nodded his head. “I just mean that a woman who wants an exploratory life needs to marry into money. And until we both die, Hunter has none.”

“Mom.” Hunter stared. “We will be attending a funeral tomorrow morning. The timing isn’t ideal—I know how important the holidays are to you—but we should really be there to support.”

“Oh yes, well, you’ll have to go to that by yourself. Olivia and I have plans,” his mom responded while pushing her food around on her plate.

Hunter looked at Olivia, who just shrugged at him.

“I’m sorry, what plans do you two have?”

“Well, I have to take Olivia shopping for the ball at the manor tomorrow night.”

“I didn’t realize we were all going to that.” Hunter raised his eyebrows, not excited at all to dance formally at the place where he had gotten married.

“We are not all going,” Minerva said with obvious frustration. “The two of you are. I packed an envelope with the tickets from your kitchen counter.”

Hunter wracked his mind, not putting together what she was saying, but finally, the memory hit him.

The teachers’ raffle prize.

“I can’t imagine you would deny Olivia a chance to be twirled around to a small orchestra on Christmas Eve. I couldn’t imagine something so romantic. I know exactly where to take you for your gown. Hunter, there’s a tux in your father’s closet that will fit you fine.”

Hunter looked at Olivia, a new ping of guilt building in his chest. He hadn’t even thought of the ball or inviting her. How very like Minerva to instigate this situation.

“Is it the manor by the forest?” Olivia asked him.

Hunter nodded.

“Home,” Olivia said.

“Home?” Minerva questioned.

“Home,” Olivia confirmed with no context.

“You’re quite strange, aren't you, Olivia?” Mark laughed. “We could use some of that energy around here.”

Hunter reached his hand out and put it on top of Olivia’s. “We can go.”

The dark-haired beauty before him smiled sweetly, looking down into her lap.

She looked so out of place in the quiet opulence of the room they were in, with the crown molding up above them and the napkin rings gleaming silver from the low, yellow light bulbs glowing from shaded vintage lamps.

Olivia was born into a world of wealth and yet did not seem at all at home when surrounded by it.

There were no plants in this room, Hunter realized, with the exception of the fresh thyme sprinkled over his plate.

Surely, Olivia had noticed, too. Perhaps that’s why she looked so out of place here.

Hunter didn’t like it; he didn’t like seeing her sitting there, a product for his mom to create, a future perfect wife.

That wasn’t Olivia. He didn’t want that for her. He wouldn’t accept that for her.

Inheriting his family home felt ever further away, a possibility that he could spit on, unless Olivia could make trees run through the windows and intertwine themselves in the walls, a ghostly version of the picture-perfect life the estate did its best to emulate.

Olivia wanted the forest. And Hunter wanted Olivia.

“I’ll take you, of course,” Hunter said. “We can go tomorrow night. My mom’s right, you should get a dress.”

Bringing Tom’s murderer to his funeral, on second thought, would be looked down upon.

If Olivia existed, who was to say that angels were not looking down on them right then?

It seemed better not to test the theory, not until he felt like the two of them were safe, not until he was sure they had forever in the palms of their hands with fists closing.

“We are going to have the best time.” Minerva put down her wineglass, absolutely giddy.

“And after the ball—the tickets said it ended at midnight—you’ll come here for a night of sleep.

When you wake, we will have a traditional Christmas.

The caterer did not mind accounting for the extra people at all.

In the evening, your aunt will be coming with the rest of her family.

All those children, she is a breeder. We come from good genes, what a blessing. ”

“What do you do?” Olivia asked.

Minerva blinked at her, as if it were the silliest question in the world.

“Well, dear, I am a housewife. I raised a child and took care of the estate.”

“That sounds lonely. I know how that feels, to be lonely.” Olivia said.

“Well, dinner was lovely,” Mark said. “I’m all finished. Will we be playing cards in the living room tonight? Your mother loves that.”

Hunter looked at his mom. Her eye almost twitched as she tried to avoid Olivia’s stare.

“You know, tomorrow is a big day,” his mom said, pushing her plate away from her. “I’d rather get some rest. Thank you for coming down to dinner. I know it’s been a hard day for you with the tree and your home.”

Minerva stood up and exited the room.

Mark cleared his throat while Hunter took Olivia’s hand under the table.

“She thought she’d lost you after Sarah, son. You’re starting to come back to life. I know Olivia here is to thank you for that. You know that she’s trying—she’s trying so hard to make Olivia feel welcome. I can tell that she will be a part of your life for a long time.”

Hunter looked over toward Olivia. “If she wants me, I’ll be there.”

Olivia smiled.

“I want you, but I don’t want this,” she said.

I know.

Mark frowned, his hands out, gesturing toward the rest of the house. “You’re well suited for each other, then. Hunter doesn’t want this either.”

“I know,” she replied, “isn't he perfect?”