Page 35 of When Hearts Unravel (The Orchid #6)

It’s late by the time I make it to Valencia. The cremà, the final act of Las Fallas, where all the sculptures are burned down in a blaze of glory, is in full swing after my driver picked me up from the jet and dropped me off near the town square.

Adriana, the nuisance of a model, was all smiles and coyness when I met her at our London office. It took some wining, dining, and a few expensive shopping trips to get the petulant woman to sign back onto our campaign.

It took every ounce of control inside me not to lash out at her for pulling me away from the woman who occupied my mind twenty-four seven.

Olivia.

She melted so beautifully in my arms at the masquerade.

While my cock leaked inside my pants and I didn’t come, seeing her in the throes of passion, her carefully crafted mask shattered on the floor, was the most unforgettable experience of my life.

The perfect way she submitted to me, how she absorbed my madness.

I’d been as hard as a rock every night, reliving those precious moments in the dark.

I want to push her limits, test her boundaries, and make her come again and again, until she’s speechless and sated.

I want to hear her soothing voice asking me questions I’ve never asked myself, making me face my past.

I want to listen to the sound of her breathing when I lay in bed at night, just to know she exists and wants to spend time with me—the real me under the playboy, jokester persona.

But she never responded to my text.

When I called Lana to give her an update on Adriana, I asked about Olivia.

“It’s interesting how you ask about her and not your friend, Bree,” Lana hums under her breath, her skepticism loud and clear.

“Bree and I are just friends.”

“You’ve never been friends with a woman before. What gives? And why are you concerned about Olivia if you don’t even ask after your ‘friend’?”

“None of your business, lil’ sis.”

“My alarm bells are ringing. You guys are hiding something from me.” She gasps, and I hear her chair squeaking. “You better not be messing with her, Rex! She’s one of my best friends and a sweet person with a heart of gold. She can’t survive your games with women.”

I stay silent.

“Rex Cassius Wentworth Anderson, I swear to God, unless you plan to put a ring on it, don’t mess with Olivia Lin. She’s your doctor, she has a reputat—”

I hung up on Lana that night. Everything she said were words I repeated to myself as I fought the impulse to call or text Olivia.

To tell her I miss her.

To tell her she wasn’t just a romp in the dark. That if I could, I would put a ring on her. The thought shook me to my core. I never thought I’d feel this way about anyone.

But then, what can I give her? I’m a freak—not right in the mind. She doesn’t know all my secrets, which, despite what Casey thinks, I’m damn sure she’ll have an issue with if she were ever to find out.

Frankly, who wouldn’t?

And so, I didn’t contact her. I gave us both space.

Instead, whenever I missed her, which felt like every minute of the day, I’d take out my phone and swipe to my secret photo album of her. I’d smile at the moments I stashed away.

The Velowake doesn’t keep my nightmares at bay anymore. Alcohol and sex with random women have long lost their appeal.

But Olivia? Tempting her, teasing her, fighting with her, marveling at the contradictions inside her petite frame—vulnerability and strength, control and chaos.

I can’t get enough.

The air smells like gunpowder and smoke as I stroll through the crowded streets, watching the flames erupt and consume the sculptures.

Destruction and rebirth.

The dark sky glows orange from the fires as the crowd chants, with the sound of crackling flames as the backdrop.

Something stirs inside me—a restlessness I can’t explain. My heart pulses, my hands twitch, my muscles ache. It’s different from the surge of energy I get from the Velowake.

I need to do something. Anything. It’s why, instead of resting in my stateroom after a tiring trip, I’m wandering aimlessly through nooks and crannies.

Pausing at a street corner, I take out my phone and snap a photo of the beautiful destruction. On an impulse, I open my text messages and reply to Ava, who I still have as “unknown number” in my contacts. I guess this is a step in the right direction—not avoiding my past.

Rex

I’m in Valencia for Las Fallas. Let the past burn. Focus on the future. Take care of yourselves.

She replies a minute later with an attachment of her own.

Unknown number

You’re so close by. Thanks for the pic. Here’s a card I made for your birthday. Forgot to text it to you last time.

I open it, finding a simple watercolor painting—two girls’ silhouettes against a beautiful sunset with a happy birthday written in script.

After thanking her, I make a right into a small courtyard, away from the larger crowds heading toward the burning of the main falla in the town hall square, the last event to bring the festival to a close.

My feet come to a stop and my heart pulses.

I see her, my Olive, standing next to a small sculpture already engulfed in flames. Happiness sweeps through me. I missed her this past week.

I miss her so damn much.

Without thinking, I hold up my phone and take a photo of her to add to my secret stash—a phoenix rising from the ashes.

But as I zoom in on my photo, I notice her expression.

Tears are streaming down her face.

My lungs constrict, her grief robbing me of my breath.

I want to know who did this to her, who made her cry.

I want to kill that person.

She sobs into her hand as she tosses small scraps of paper into the inferno, her lips moving like she’s whispering to the fire.

My feet move of their own accord.

I want—no, need—to make her feel better. This is my life’s purpose at this very second. My heart will give up on me if I can’t make her smile.

Make her smile, Rex. Make her laugh. Be the Anderson jokester. That’s what you’re good at.

But I can’t bring myself to speak, to intrude on the outpouring of emotions on her face. And with the time I’ve spent with her on this trip, I know one thing.

Olivia holds everything inside her. In some ways, we’re the same—I act out, but she restrains herself.

But both of us are hiding. And sometimes, we just need to let it out. To cry. Jokes won’t be appropriate.

I stop a few steps from her, and she must’ve sensed me because she looks up, her mouth parting, clearly in shock.

Her black hair is undone and flowing down her back. Wetness streaked over her ivory cheeks, her dark lashes clumped from moisture.

She’s so beautiful. So bewitching. So broken.

Just like me.

Without speaking, I walk up to her and cup her face, my heart twisting as I dry her tears with my fingers.

Olivia hiccups. Suddenly, she trembles, like something has knocked her off her feet.

She sways, and being the bastard with no impulse control, I haul her to me and crush her in my arms.

And she sobs.

I don’t know how many minutes pass by. I don’t care how passersby might look at us, wondering why we’re crying during a celebration to bid farewell to the winter and to welcome the fresh hope of spring.

If there were anything I could do to take away an ounce of her pain—jump off a building, walk through the literal flames before me—I would, no questions asked.

It’s madness. It’s illogical. It’s righteous.

Maybe this is my purpose, my calling. Maybe all the pain I’ve been through has led me to this very moment, to be the man to hold her when she cries.

“There is no closure,” she whispers into my shirt, already soaked through with her tears.

I stay silent, hoping she’ll let me in.

“I was an identical twin.”

I startle, wondering how none of us knew this about her. I’ve never heard her or my siblings mention anything about Olivia other than her family is on the West Coast. She’s kept her past hidden from everyone.

“Her name was Mia.”

Was. A boulder sits on top of my lungs. She’s lost someone close to her, just like I have. I pull her tighter against me, wanting to give her my warmth.

“She was the rebel, the extrovert, the sun. You couldn’t help but be drawn to her energy.

She had this gift,” I hear a smile in her voice now, “even if she pissed you off, you couldn’t stay mad at her.

And she’d piss me off so often, always getting us into situations we weren’t supposed to be in.

Breaking rules. There was one time she pulled the fire alarm before sixth period because she found out there was a pop quiz in calculus and she didn’t study for it.

She made us run in opposite directions, because if they suspected us, but they couldn’t tell which one of us did it, they couldn’t punish us, you know? ”

I chuckle, imagining the rule-following Olivia scared shitless as she sprinted down the hallways of her school. “She sounds like a riot.”

It sounds like shit I’d pull.

“She was. She always said, ‘carpe diem,’ like it’s an excuse to do shit because you only get one life to live. God, I was so mad at her. If she’d studied weekly like I did, she would’ve been prepared. A bad grade wasn’t worth a potential suspension. I didn’t speak to her for a week.”

Olivia looks up, her beautiful brown eyes soft, and she gives me a sad smile.

“But Mia would weasel her way into my good graces again. She’d give me her slab of barbecue pork when Mom made ramen for dinner.

She’d save the purple Skittles, my favorite flavor, into a bag and give them to me.

She’d sneak ‘I’m sorry’ notes into my pencil case so I’d see them when I opened it. I couldn’t stay mad at her.”

I brush her hair out of her face, relishing the soft silkiness I never got to enjoy before. Olivia’s eyes flutter shut.

“She was the sun. I was the shadow she cast on the ground. I let her shine because I was more comfortable being in the dark, in the background. No one knew she was depressed. She partied hard, worked hard. She was beautiful and brilliant. She had the world in her hands.”