The next morning, I arrived in church with Dad and Stellan.

I hated funerals but I had no choice but to be there.

Wanting to attract the least amount of attention from people who knew me and would be surprised at my appearance, I wore a simple black dress, my hair tied and tucked under a black silk scarf and my face sufficiently concealed by a large pair of dark sunglasses.

I only cared about one person knowing I was there.

Oliver stood by the coffin up front, his rigid back turned to us. Stellan and my father approached him first and they exchanged a short, hushed conversation. Then they stepped aside, as if choreographed, and revealed me standing there behind them.

Despite the cover up, it took no more than a second for Oliver to recognize me.

He sucked in a breath, his eyes narrowing as if in disbelief.

My knees went weak, having him this close and seeing the pain so crystal clear in his eyes.

What a complicated man—capable of so much brute force and bitterness but so raw and vulnerable at the same time.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Oliver," I said softly, taking a step forward despite the thundering of my heart and my difficulty with words I'd once whispered to him in my mind.

There was so much that needed to be said but now wasn't the right time so all that I allowed myself was to reach out and touch his hand.

He visibly shuddered at the contact before his fingers instantly wrapped around mine in an almost painful squeeze.

"Thank you," he managed to say, his jaw clenching with emotion. "Thank you for being here."

I offered him a faint smile. "I won't be far if you need me at all."

My brother cleared his throat, reminding us both that we were the center of everyone's attention at the moment. Whether he did that to reel me back in or just ward off the gossip, it didn't matter because he was right. This moment wasn't about us.

Oliver just nodded before reluctantly releasing my hand. I instantly missed its warmth and the rough brush of his calloused skin that felt so familiar to me. That brief touch left me heady with feeling and appropriate or not, I remembered all the ways he'd touched me like the flashbacks of a passing life. I remembered when he would wrangle my hair into a lopsided ponytail at my request when I couldn't have been more than ten; when he bandaged my knee after I tripped over an old tree root on one of our walks in Central Park; when he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear after walking me up to my door on prom night; when his thumb outlined my lips before his mouth followed it with a kiss that first night at Las Vegas; when his hands shaped my body with fire that would incinerate us both until we were ashes.

I didn't doubt that Oliver's thoughts would take the same route despite his grief. We were apart for six long years, after all, and for all our lies and truths, our connection was never in question. But if there was only one thing I wanted him to remember at this moment, it was that just like years ago, I was here by his side again, keeping him company in the darkness.

I'd rather be the light than the one who needs to find it.

I joined my father and brother at the front pew where family normally sat because we were the closest thing to a family that Oliver had left. More people came in to pay their respects and not soon after, Sebastian arrived with Max, the former looking as somber as he had in all the time I'd known him and the latter looking nothing like his usual laid-back, lazy-grinned self. After quietly clapping backs with Oliver, they took a seat beside us and while the two greeted me with pleasant surprise, they remained subdued as we waited for the rites to start.

It didn't occur to me that I was the only one sitting next to an empty spot at the end of the pew until Oliver made his way over and sat there. He didn't glance at me once but his closeness—the warmth radiating from his body and the unchanged scent of him—spun a storm inside of me that the gloomy, silent congregation couldn't possibly sense. I curled my hands into fists to stop myself from reaching out to him and forced myself to focus on the words of the priest.

Be strong, Vivienne, for this strong man who can't seem to lean on anyone for anything.

Once the rites were completed, I followed behind the men as they took their places around the casket to carry it out of the church.

Much like the day we buried Oliver's family over fifteen years ago, the skies were blue and sunlight was streaming down on our small group gathered in the green, rolling meadows of Cedar Hill, Cobalt Bay's oldest cemetery.

Uncle Bertrand had spent most of his life in Richmond but since his taking over his brother to look after Oliver and the family business, he'd moved to Cobalt Bay. Oliver wouldn't have wanted him buried anywhere else but in the family grounds.

Finally, the cemetery started to empty, the few who lingered talking to my father and Oliver's friends. No one would easily pass up the chance to chat up some of the most powerful men in the city all in one place, even if none of them would ever talk business at a time like this.

As soon as I parted ways with an elderly couple who were good friends of my father, I caught sight of Oliver whose gaze was already locked on me from across the field.

The dark expression on his face and the tense lines of his lean, powerful build in a sharp black suit was a stark contrast to the sunny and serene backdrop of the cemetery. Even in the distance, I could almost make out the wintry blue of his eyes but the last thing I felt was cold.

I started to make my way toward the hill where I'd once followed him up as a child. That day was the saddest I'd ever seen Oliver and I had wanted to cheer him up. When I got older, I realized I did more than just cheer him up that day. I saw the clues with adult eyes and realized how close Oliver had literally been to the edge. My childish coaxing had pulled him away from that and while I would always be thankful for it, it was an act I thought would forever hinder Oliver from ever feeling the same way I did.

"What is it about us and funerals, huh?" I asked lightly when we eventually fell into a step beside each other as we crested the hill. It was a hollow joke, one I felt reverberate through my insides.

"Maybe it's just a way to bring us back to where we started," Oliver said without preliminaries. "Unless you're only here just for the funeral."

We were over on the other side of the hill, out of view from the small group we'd left behind.

I stopped in my tracks and turned to him. There was a defiant set to his jaw as if he was bracing himself for a blow. Flashes of a vicious Oliver from last night's fight came to mind and a part of me softened at the fact that a man who could withstand so much was steeling himself from hoping for too much from me.

"I'm here earlier for the funeral but I'm here for good."

His breath visibly loosened from his chest and I almost reached out and touched him there. I told myself to keep my eyes on his face but that in itself was hypnotic.

"I don't want to question it but I can't wrap my mind around the fact that you're here."

I smiled. "You told me to come home, remember?"

He looked pained as he studied my face. "And you told me you missed me—after six years of radio silence."

My smile faded. "That radio silence allowed me to slowly process so much of what happened, Oliver. I thought I would never come back."

"You would've," he said tightly. "Because I would've come for you."

I couldn't help but grimace. "When you never have in those six years of radio silence? I wasn't the only one who stayed away, Oliver, so don't start casting stones."

He took in a deep, shaky breath and ran a hand down his face, his eyes closing briefly. "That's not how I meant it, Viv. And I stayed away all those years because I thought it was what was best for you then. I wasn't a good man when you found me in Vegas. I was in even worse shape when you left me. There was so much I needed to fix first."

"And is it all fixed, Oliver?" I asked, starting to walk again slowly, heading for the same bench shaded under a large, old tree where we'd stood many years ago. "All that we'd broken?"

"No," he said as he came up behind me, close but not crowding me. "What we have is still in shambles but I've fixed what I could of myself, Viv. I never wanted you to know me as that man and I don't want to come to you again unchanged."

I turned to him slowly. "How many versions are there of you, Oliver, and which one did I fall in love with?"

He had no worded answer but there was so much in his eyes.

Even he doesn't know.

"Today's probably not the best time to talk about this," I said, taking the easier road for both of us at the moment. "I know how much you cared about your uncle. I know how much this hurts you."

A faint, ironic smile lifted one corner of his lips. "Are you going to let me write it on a piece of paper and put away in your Ugly Box?"

I bit my lip. "I can't. There's no room left in it anymore."

I shouldn't have said it because guilt glinted in Oliver's eyes.

I steeled myself against taking just one more step forward and sinking into his arms to draw all of his pain unto myself.

I didn't come here to absolve the past because we both made mistakes we needed to own. I didn't come here simply because I was lonely and tired of being angry and in pain. I came here because we both deserved a chance to figure out where we stood, with all our sins, regrets and hopes on the table once and for all. I came here because our lives couldn't be forever in limbo.

But all that would have to wait for just a little while longer, when the shock of finding ourselves together again had worn off and we'd stopped feeling as reckless as we did six years ago.

"We have to get back to the group or they'll start asking questions," I said as I started to turn away.

"We can just tell them the truth."

I glanced at him over my shoulder, recognizing that same defiance with which Oliver confronted every hand fate dealt him. "I'm not going to destroy what I protected for years, Oliver. Especially not when we can't even explain to them where the truth's landed us."

He understood my point but he wasn't thrilled about it. "This isn't over, Vivienne."

I smiled. "I know. Why do you think I came back?"

***

My rushed return to Cobalt Bay showed its consequences in the week that followed.

Janine and I spent several long days closing the purchase of both our new condos and going back and forth on the office/studio spaces we were considering for our US headquarters. I was plugged into both my phone and laptop dealing with vendors and suppliers in our makeshift office which was a guest bedroom at Dad's house. I even kept working until early morning hours to support the Paris operations as Marg transitioned.

So I haven't had time to talk to Oliver who showed up bright and early the day after the funeral. I was in a conference call and he ended up chatting with my father in his office. His other later attempts were all foiled and after a week, he finally backed off and gave me the time and space I needed to sort my life out.

Working was my default defense mechanism and I might have clung to it for far longer than I should have.

Third week into it, just after I finally moved into my new place, I became craptastically ill.

"If I want visitors, I'll advertise it. You're trespassing," was what I was trying to say to whoever opened the door to my bedroom. It was either Dad or Janine. Those two had been hovering around me the last couple days as if I were six, coaxing me to eat or take all kinds of vitamins. Even Stellan came but I played no favorites. I kicked them all out.

Couldn't they see I just wanted to sleep?

"I'd like to see you try to throw me out."

The voice was different this time but one I'd know anywhere.

My eyes stretched open and my leaden arms swam through covers until my head came up the surface.

The lighting in the room was soft and with the drapes drawn close, I couldn't tell what time of the day it was. It took me a few blinks to clear my vision and sharpen on the figure of Oliver sitting on my bed.

He looked disgustingly perfect in a simple black jacket, a gray shirt and dark jeans. It occurred to me that I looked the exact opposite. At least I didn't reek because I was adamant about showering, even more when I was sick. But no fancy Derek Rose silk pajamas could improve my puffy, red-rimmed eyes or my fever-flushed face that was probably trying to match my hair.

Still, I didn't miss Oliver's intense gaze as it moved down my chest where the silk clung to the curve of my breasts and emphasized their hardened tips. Sick or not, I could still raise Oliver's temperature and that made me smile.

"Whose head needs to roll for letting you in here?" I asked before a cough caught me and I turned away to muffle it against my pillow.

"Even queens can't command a cold to just go away so you're gonna have to let one of us take care of you," he said as he gently pushed back my hair from my forehead. He fixed the pillows under my head so I can lean back more comfortably before he picked up a glass of water on my nightstand and helped me take a few long sips.

"Sleep can be done solo and that's all I need," I said as I pulled up the covers up to my shoulders to keep out the chill. "But that's not going to happen now with you here on my bed."

He grinned. "Tempting as you are, I'm not savage enough to take advantage of my sick wife."

The last word had the most startling effect on both of us.

It was a word neither of us had said out loud in a long time but it was a word that remained true after all these years.

"Oliver—"

"Vivienne—"

We halted in unison as well, just looking at each other as if trying to gauge what the other would say or do next.

After a while, I just smiled. "I promise you, I'm going to be okay. Who do you think looked after me while I lived in Paris? I know you're busy at work. I heard all about that new chain you acquired two months ago. That's a lot to sort out."

"If you think I'm putting business before you again, Vivienne, you're wrong," he said, absolutely resolute. "It can go hang itself for all I care."

Weakly, I raised my hand to press the back of it against his forehead. "Are you sure you're not the one with the fever, Oliver?"

He moved his head away as he captured my hand, his own large one wrapping around it. "It's hard to care about anything else when you thought you lost the only thing that mattered. At first, I thought I owed it to my family to rebuild our legacy. Later, I wanted to restore it so I could give you the life you deserved in asking you to be part of mine. And after you left, I only kept at it because it was the most consuming distraction I could find. Money's just money now, Viv. It's not the gravity that holds my life together."

"I'm not that gravity, either, Oliver," I said, squeezing his hand. "As much as I want to be the force that grounds you, only you can do that for yourself."

"Don't worry, Viv. I've got both feet firmly planted on the ground," he said with a smile as he raised my hand to his lips to press a kiss on the back of it. "I'm not going anywhere, including today, so I suggest you rest up and let me take care of you."

I opened my mouth to protest but then I spotted something in the corner of my eye. "Is that take out from Vicente's?"

He grinned as he reached back to pick up the brown paper bag that had been sitting on my side table. "Tomato bisque with some freshly baked garlic ciabatta rolls. I hope this is still your favorite sickroom food."

"It is and apparently you're the only one who remembered."

"There's nothing I don't remember about you, Vivienne," he said as he rose from the bed. "Let me put this in proper bowl. I'll be right back."

When he returned, his jacket was off and he was carrying a small tray with a bowl of soup, a plate with the rolls and another plate with what I recognized was his favorite porchetta sandwich from the restaurant which had been among our old local favorites.

I wasn't sure which sight was more appetizing—my favorite comfort food or Oliver's bare arms that reminded me of his brute strength while featuring in such a domestic scene.

"What day is it?" I asked as he put down the food on the side table.

"Saturday night." He leaned down to help prop up some pillows behind me and despite my congested nose, I could still pick up the scent of him. It took all of my will not to reach up and pull him down on the bed with me. When he sat down he was much closer to me. He looked like he was going to try to spoon-feed me but I wanted to maintain a little dignity so I put my hands out to take the bowl instead. I didn't realize I was starving until I had a few big gulps of soup. Oliver was probably watching me as he tucked into his own food but it was the first time I've felt better since I crashed into bed a couple days ago that I couldn't care less.

A rough coughing episode interrupted my feast and Oliver was there with a glass of water ready, his other hand rubbing my back lightly.

"You okay?" he asked as he dabbed the corner of my mouth with a napkin.

I nodded, taking a deep breath and leaning back until my chest loosened enough.

"I'm staying the night."

My eyes flew open even though I knew Oliver was dead serious.

A part of me didn't want to put up a fight and another warned me this was dangerous so in the confusion, I blurted out instead, "Don't you have to be at Mad Alley? Don't you have a fight or something?"

Oliver's brows rose slowly in surprise. "So Stellan told you."

"He brought me there on my first night back in town," I admitted. "I didn't know until that night. Until I saw you up in that cage—so wild and ruthless like I've never seen you before."

Oliver's lips tightened into a line. "It's partly why I didn't want you to know. Much of my old tricks were physical, Viv, because they gave me the quickest results. I bloodied men for cold hard cash and I fucked and blackmailed for leverage."

I winced at the blunt reminder of the secrets that had torn us apart all those years ago but I forced myself not to look away and cower from it. Oliver's gaze had grown distant and I had a brief flash of insight that this must've been what it was like for him, going through the motions necessary for his survival at that time. He did with his body what needed to be done and while it was easy to assume that a man would just simply enjoy pleasures he was paid for, the fact that it was in fact, paid, could sometimes be enough to change the experience.

I swallowed the lump in my throat painfully as I reached out to cup the side of his face and turn his gaze back to me. He took that hand in his and placed his other one over it.

"I know you don't do the fighting too much anymore," I said, bracing myself for a question I may not be able to bear the answer. "But the last part... do you still..."

"Absolutely not," Oliver replied fiercely. "Never again since Vegas. I could never betray you like that again."

"And the blackmail..."

Oliver's lips flattened into a line. "All the evidence I'd kept for years have been destroyed. I could only expose people's sins by exposing my own and I was done with that. I lost you to the sacrifice I'd made to have you and the numbness faded. I felt every vile, shameful thing I did over the years, no matter how worthy the cause may have seemed to me at the time. You were gone and with you left the only purpose that made all of it bearable. So no more, Viv. There's no more of that left."

I was entitled to a little bit of relief so I wasn't going to beat myself up with doubts and questions. I had six years of that and still, I came back.

"You were in a bad place, Oliver, and I'm glad you made the choice to get out," I said. "Whatever happens to us, that should never be your world."

"It never was. It could've never been," he said gruffly. "My world was you, Viv. All you. That's the world I want to live in again."

"And maybe it can happen," I said. "But there's so much to work through first. If we're going to make a decision about where we stand after everything that's happened, we need to know what we're signing up for. We can't rush it this time, Oliver."

"You're right, we can't," he said with a solemn nod. "I should've shown some restraint six years ago. I took you before I was completely free of my old life. And even though now, in hindsight, I realize I should've told you what that old life was like anyway, I still should've taken it slow. I should've given us both time to know exactly what we were doing."

I smiled. "What can I say? We're both a little selfish of each other."

He smiled back. "I'd like to think that's never changed."

"I don't think it has." I paused in thought, wondering if I should ask a question that I might not like the answer to. "But tell me, is there something that's changed? Six years is a long time, Oliver, and I wasn't here with you. Did you..."

"I've never touched another woman, Viv," Oliver said quietly, his eyes sharp on me. "While it didn't mean anything to me, I know what my actions had done to you. I'll regret it for the rest of my life. But I'm not foolish enough to ever repeat it. I promise you."

No one would blame me for doubting after the circumstances that had broken us apart. But I'd known Oliver for far longer than those first few days of our marriage before everything went to hell.

There was no question he loved me deeply.

Did that motivate his past actions?

Yes.

Did his means always justify the end?

No, and we both learned that the hard way.

And while we could never unlearn those painful lessons, we could make something of them—a second chance, maybe. A past we could put to rest. A future we could share together.

"Aren't you going to ask me the same question?" I said. "You have as much right to know as I do."

Oliver's eyes grew bleak and I could tell by the tense line of his jaw that he was leashing his emotions. "I wouldn't blame you if you'd run into someone else's arms. I pushed you there."

Trust Oliver to always own the guilt.

"Two kisses from two different men," I finally said to ease his misery. "One was an act of defiance. The other was simple curiosity."

I saw the brief second of relief on his face before his eyes narrowed. "What were you curious about?"

"If you're the only one who can make me feel this way."

Oliver's breath stuttered. "And?"

I rolled my eyes. "Don't be coy now, Oliver. The fact that I'm here should be answer enough."

"Yes, you're here but you're not with me."

My humor deflated just a little. "We'll be idiots to assume that with one click, everything will be back to the way it should be. We're more than just a shattered illusion. We're bleeding hearts and broken souls. Those are the ashes we'll need to rise from."

Oliver nodded and closed his eyes for a moment.

Then with a twist of his wrists, he'd hauled me up against him.

Neither the heat of my fever nor my disheveled state mattered in that moment he wrapped me up in arms of steel with heartbreaking tenderness.

I choked back the sob that rose in my throat as I sank into Oliver's embrace, surrendering for a moment to everything that my heart had ached for these six long years.

"I want a second chance with you, Viv," he murmured against my hair. "I want a chance to make it right this time."

"You're going to have to let me do my part, too, Oliver," I told him, lifting my head away to look into his eyes. "Because I'm half the mess we are."

His eyes smiled before his mouth did as he pressed his forehead against mine. "You got it. We'll take it slow. We'll do this how we should've done it all those years ago."

I grinned. "What? You don't think we should've gotten married before going out on our first date?"

"Marrying you was ultimately my plan, Viv. I don't regret that," he said, his fingers slipping through my tangled hair. "I should've wooed you, swept you off your feet."

I laughed. "I'm pretty sure you were already doing that for years, Oliver. No one would ever say you didn't spoil me."

"Yeah but it's different because you didn't know how I really felt then," he argued weakly. "We were friends. I had to hold back."

"Sure but that didn't mean you didn't impress me," I said, drumming my fingers on his chest lightly. "There was only one thing I needed from you then, Oliver, and that was honesty."

"I know," he said quietly, catching my fingers and slipping them between his own. "But it's hard to say the truth when it's ugly. When you're ashamed of it. When admitting it could cost you everything that means the world to you."

My stomach plunged at that and I lowered my eyes, knowing that I was a feeling ill at that moment for an entirely different reason.

"I know," I mimicked his first two words, my fingers tightening around his. "But it's the only way we'll know that we're with someone who knows our full measure, Oliver, and loves us for or despite of it."

I would have to walk my talk someday.

The truth was ugly but more than that, it was devastating. Still, it would have to be told once Oliver and I were strong enough not to shatter from its weight.

It would take time.

It would take trust.

It would take tenacity.

It was time to give it our all or nothing.

***

So, what do you think?

I know there will be people who won't agree with Vivienne's decision and that's okay. When I started to write this story, my goal was to have two people who won't follow the usual inclinations or make the usual obvious choices. 

Personally, cheating is a deal breaker for me. But I'm aware of the statistic of people who stay and work it out for a myriad of reasons and I'm fascinated by that because I'm pretty sure I'm not capable of it myself. Obviously, I give my characters some more compelling reasons for their actions but I leave it enough gray area to make the choice the other person needs to make not a very obvious one. 

Does a person who stay and fight for the relationship weak because they can't walk away or strong because they won't give up? Is it always black and white or do history and context make a difference? Is it easier on ourselves to forgive rather than hold on to the anger? These are some of the thoughts playing in my mind when I decided Vivienne wasn't going to sit around for another half a decade and wait for an apology and a grand gesture. 

My point in explaining this is that I hope you stick around and see how they pick up the pieces from here, whether you agree with their decisions or not. 

Anyway, it's Christmas Eve where I am. I hope that wherever you are in the world, whatever your faith may be, you're in a good place. I wish you and your loved ones all the best.

Enjoy the holidays!

XOXO,

Ninya

♪♪♪ Chapter Soundtrack: How Could I Have Known by Keaton Henson ♪♪♪

How could I have known

You were the one for me?

How could I have known

You were the air I breathe

If I don't believe in love?

How was I to know

I couldn't live without

Your arms around me?

If you'd only come back now

I'd not let you down again

And how could you allow

One little love you saw?

How could I think

If you'd only hold me close

I'd not let you go again?

Guess I could've been

A better man

I should have held onto your coat

But how could I've known?