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Felicity reminded herself to breathe. She hadn't expected this tour through their history, but she should have known she wouldn't be able to resist trying to knock through Oliver's walls. She also should have known that he probably wouldn't let her.
Maybe she was crazy to think that she knew the real Oliver—she'd just spent almost twice as much time apart from him as she had known him in the first place, after all. But when she'd seen him again, wearing that henley as the light fell around him on the sun porch, she had felt the same feeling as when their eyes met for the first time over that blackjack table in Vegas. I know who you are.
"You asked what I'm doing here. Well, obviously Wells had something to do with it. But when I read that you were going to marry Laurel, I couldn't believe it."
"Was it that much of a surprise? She's known me forever, for one. She knows Starling City and has standing in the community. She understands my work, and what being the wife of a CEO means."
"The same way your mother does?"
"You know I'm not that kind of husband, Felicity."
"No, but you're signing yourself up for that kind of marriage. One that's all about appearances. Laurel isn't perfect, you know. Other than her looks, being gorgeous Laurel and all." She paused. "That sounded way cattier than I actually meant it as."
"You hardly know her," said Oliver coldly.
"I know enough to know that she's not a match for you."
"So it's a class thing? Just because she doesn't come from the same background as you and I do?"
Felicity rolled her eyes. "Are you being serious about this? You can't have forgotten that I spent most of my life being raised by a Vegas cocktail waitress. My father may have turned out to be rich, but my childhood was more like Laurel's than yours. I'm talking about a difference in personality, or maybe a lack of difference. Not to mention a lot of baggage. Like, over the weight limit. Oliver, you tried it with her. And tried it with her. A lot. What makes you think anything has changed?"
"It's different now, Felicity. We're adults, not teenagers. We've both changed." He turned his back, jerking his shirt over his chest. Good. She didn't need the further distraction of his ridiculous body, on top of that ridiculous face.
"You're both hiding, you mean," said Felicity, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
"And just what do you mean by that?" He had turned back around, staring down into her eyes despite the 4-inch heels she had on. The growl was meant to intimidate; clearly he had forgotten that backing down wasn't her style. Instead, she stepped forward, until they were toe to toe. Or at least, Balenciaga strappy sandal to bare toes. And of course the big idiot was still a good 8 inches taller than she was.
"You know what I mean. You never faced your feelings about losing Tommy, and I'm willing to bet that Laurel didn't either. I take it back—you're a perfect match. Neither of you will ever make emotional demands on the other." There was one question answered. Laurel hadn't found the Oliver that Felicity had lost. She was just giving him better cover.
"You're awfully contemptuous of me all of a sudden, Felicity." His voice was steady but he didn't meet her eyes. She could see his fingers moving slightly, a subtle tell of stress.
Her anger suddenly deflated, as it often had in the past. Whatever she felt for him these days—which had been much more settled before she'd seen him again—it wasn't contempt. Felicity sighed. "Oliver, that's not what this is. I know you care about the people in your life. And I know you're a good person. I wouldn't have fallen in love with you if I didn't believe that." Oh god. She shouldn't have used that phrase. "But you can't be a true husband—or, you know, human—without listening to your heart and not just your head. You can't close yourself off from the people who love you."
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, eyes shuttered.
Felicity laughed. "That. I am talking about that. Exactly. That face, those words." She counted down from 3, took a deep breath. This argument had ended two years ago, really.
"I think we've had enough of this argument," said Oliver, jaw set.
Felicity's shoulders sagged slightly, but only for a second. This wasn't really a defeat, she told herself—just a replay of a past one. "Agreed. I've had my say."
Oliver had forgotten the way it felt to fight with Felicity. She was the most stubborn, infuriating person he had ever met, and once she got it into her head that something was wrong, there was no way she was letting it go. She was a splinter, the kind that just went deeper when you tried to get it out. He had his life in order now. Why did she have to come back and knock everything out again? To talk about falling in love with him?
"Felicity." It came out soft, despite his tumultuous emotions. Oliver paused, realizing he had no idea what he wanted to say next. It had just felt necessary, all of a sudden, to say her name.
Felicity looked up at him quizzically, almost hopefully, and he was so intent on her face and trying to interpret what he saw there that he almost jumped when a hand touched his arm from behind. Laurel. Suddenly realizing just how close he had gotten to Felicity in the heat of the moment, he tried to step back subtly.
"I suppose I should object to this twosome," Laurel said lightly, standing on her tiptoes to rest her chin on Oliver's shoulder and smile over it at Felicity.
"Is that legal humor? I'm pretty sure the judge would overrule," said Felicity, with a tight smile and a small step backwards. "I was just leaving. Laurel, anytime you need advice on how to manage him . . ."
"I'll give you a ring," said Laurel drily.
"Do that, will you?" Felicity fumbled in her handbag. "Here, I got you a wedding present," she held out a small paper bag, but when Oliver didn't take it, she set it on the table. "Sorry the wrapping leaves something to be desired. See you, Oliver. Laurel."
Rather than watch her walk away, Oliver turned to face Laurel. Dropping a light kiss on her lips, he said, "Aren't you swimming?"
She frowned. "Ollie, we can't—Walter is hosting that party for us at 8, remember? Plus, I've already had a blowout." She shook out her hair, squealing when he playfully mussed it.
He walked back to the cabana to dress (she had a point about that party). As he was hanging up his wet swim trunks, he heard a rustling. He exited to find Laurel holding something on her palm. "Look what Felicity considers a wedding present. What is this, a Christmas ornament? I thought she was Jewish."
He crossed to her and picked it up, heart beating a little faster. "It's a model of Lucky in Love."
"What?"
"Her father's casino hotel. Which I suppose is hers now. Or Donna's. It's where we met." And where they had gotten married, but he didn't say that. "When"—his voice caught—"Tommy and I were in Vegas for my 29th. We spent two weeks there. It was a good trip." He turned the model over thoughtfully in his hand. He and Tommy had had a blast that first week. And then he had met Felicity, and everything changed. They had fallen in love over the course of a weekend and when it was time to go back to Starling, nothing would do but to bring her with him. A few weeks after that, they'd been back at the Lucky in Love, feeling like the luckiest people in Vegas.
It had only been four years ago, but suddenly Oliver felt like that life had belonged to someone else.
"Laurel, do you think I'm," he swallowed, "closed off? Remote?"
She tipped her head up at his question. For a moment, he thought he caught a flash of sorrow on her face, but if it was there, it was quickly obliterated by a smile that held more than a hint of wickedness. "On the contrary, I find you very . . . accessible." She trailed a finger down the v-neck of his shirt, pressing herself against him.
"Not like that," he began, "I mean—well, what about controlling?"
She sighed and stepped back. "Ollie, you're a man. And I like you that way. No one expects you to start acting like you're on the 'Dr. Phil' show. Landing you wouldn't have felt like nearly as much of an accomplishment if you were."
"So I've been landed now?"
"Of course. Winning unconquerable Oliver Queen, the ultimate playboy—it's an ego boost for any woman."
"Even if I have been conquered, previously." And even if, he thought, it'd been a while since he'd earned that playboy moniker, with the exception of a few women with whom he'd tried to forget about his divorce.
"You mean Felicity?" At his nod, she took his hand, turning it over and tracing her finger over his palm as she continued, "I can't lie; I don't love that she's shown up like this. I wasn't around much when you were together, but it's obvious that things are over between the two of you. And how jealous can I really be of a Vegas wedding that didn't last a year? Answer: Not very." Laurel took a deep breath, looked up, and flashed him another smile. "She may have had you, but I'm the one who gets to keep you, right?"
"You talk like I'm something to be shelved and admired," he said, pulling his hand back. Even as he continued the conversation, a part of him was wondering what he was doing. Was he really trying to get his fiancée to talk about feelings? And was he actually bothered by the fact that she wouldn't?
"As I said, I landed Oliver Queen. Of course I want to admire my accomplishment." When he didn't smile back at her, she frowned. "Ollie, I don't understand what the problem is here. Shouldn't I be proud of my fiancé? Is that a problem?"
He shook his head. "Of course not. Never mind. I'll be dressed when you get back. We don't want to miss Walter's party." He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and walked toward the house.
Oliver took the front stairs two at a time, wishing he had time for a workout to really clear his head. The "swim," such as it was, hadn't been nearly enough. But as he entered the hallway and walked toward his room, he saw something unexpected: His mother and father were standing in the entrance to the back porch, and Robert was winding an arm around his mother's waist. Suddenly his jumbled, frustrated feelings had a target. Oliver was across the hallway in an instant.
"I can't believe you," he seethed, grabbing his father's shoulder and pulling him away from Moira. "You come back here, smelling of Isabel Roschev, to the wedding that I expressly told you NOT to attend, and think you can use this to get back into Mom's good graces? I would have thought she had more self respect than to take back someone as faithless as you."
"There's no need to talk to me like that," Robert replied.
"Oh, I can see how that might be upsetting to you, given the deference you're used to. How does your lady friend talk—or does she purr?"
"Listen, son—"
"Don't you call me son. You lost that right long ago." Oliver's voice was a quiet threat.
Moira placed a calming hand on his arm. "Oliver. This is not a reconciliation. Your father and I have actually just agreed to separate. We don't want the same things and we both know it. It's better for the family - and probably even the company, in the long run. We'll attend the wedding; hopefully the marriage will drown out some of the negative publicity."
Robert interjected. "And we're going to tell those reporters that we know who they are. I'm sick of this charade."
"You act like it was my idea," said Oliver, still coldly controlled. "And like you have any right to give orders in this house."
Robert shook his head. "You know, I was so proud to have a son. Never thought he'd be the one to squeeze me out of my own family."
Oliver let out a bitter bark of a laugh. "You think this is what I wanted? To be the man of the house in my teens? To watch Mom cry over your affairs when she thought I wasn't looking? To see Thea's heart break when you weren't there at her dance recitals? I don't think so. I had my own life and my own dreams, but you made me the man of the house when you treated us like your property, spent your life in the office and on the road, closed off from the people in your life."
With a brittle smile, Robert said, "I hate to break it to you, son, but for someone who spent so much time trying not to be me...it sounds an awful lot like you're describing yourself." He stepped away. "I'm sure Walter will understand if I'm not at the party tonight. I'll see you at the wedding." He nodded to Moira and turned toward the staircase.
Oliver dropped onto one of the sofas that flanked the porch doors, head in his hands. "What a day."
Moira seated herself beside him, smoothing her skirt under her legs. She placed her palm on his back in a wordless gesture of comfort, giving him the courage to say, "Was Dad right? Am I just like him?"
"Of course not," said Moira. "You are not your father. Not inside, at least."
He raised his head. "But outside?"
Moira sighed. "Outside . . . yes, sometimes. Especially after . . ."
"You don't have to be afraid to say his name in front of me."
"Don't I? You never do." She looked at him, challenge in her eyes. His mother was one of the few who had never been afraid to go toe-to-toe with him.
He said it for her anyway. "After Tommy died."
Her gaze softened. "Yes. After Tommy died. Oliver, I know how much you loved him. And I know you grieved. But you didn't let us see it. You didn't let us share it."
"Mom, I—" he hadn't been ready for this conversation. "I couldn't."
"Couldn't you? Why?" When he didn't answer, she tried another question. "Why did you bury yourself at QC instead of moving ahead with the nightclub?"
That, he could tell her, at least part of it. "It wouldn't have been the same, Mom. It wasn't just my dream." And he didn't deserve a dream that Tommy had died for.
Her voice softened. "I know. It's all right, sweetheart. But," she took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her, "don't hide from the people who love you. I shouldn't have let you do it the first time, and I'm not going to let you do it again."
All he could do was nod awkwardly against her palms, but apparently that was enough. "Right," she said briskly, dropping her hands and standing up in a smooth gesture. "We've got to go to Walter's. I'll see you downstairs in 30 minutes."
Oliver sat on the couch for a few more seconds, stunned. What was the matter with everyone all of a sudden?
