Chapter 8

Sunday

6:14 p.m.

Olivia stepped forward and shook hands with the smaller woman.

They stepped away from each other smiling.

"It's nice to meet you," Olivia offered.

"You, too." She eyed the brunette detective. "I've been here since about three and have gotten acquainted, so I've already checked out the bedroom. The closets are filled with clothes for us that you couldn't even imagine—or maybe you could," Tony began.

Olivia lifted her hands to her sides smiling. "Then, I guess, since I don't have anything of my own…that's great."

Tony eyed Olivia, watching her carefully, perhaps noting her slight discomfiture. She narrowed her eyes. "How about I give you a few minutes to get settled and look around. I've already gotten my chance to scope everything out. I don't want to be hanging over your shoulder. Your Captain told me you're married…three kids?"

Olivia swallowed. "That's right. Almost four years."

Tony smiled and continued, "That's amazing…I don't want to be a nuisance, so I'll let you explore and go up on your own." She smiled. "I was gonna hang out by the pool for a little while…" she thumbed to her left, in the direction of the expansive windows, raising her eyebrows, "…before we maybe think about dinner? That monstrosity of a refrigerator and the pantries are fully stocked so it should be easy to whip something up."

Wow, she's chipper, Olivia thought. But she sure did appreciate the space she was giving her right now.

Olivia rubbed her lips together and nodded. "Sounds good. Thanks, Tony."

"You're welcome. And…" she paused, "…is there anything different you want me to call you?" She furrowed her brow. "Besides Olivia?"

"Olivia is fine," she offered with a thin-lipped smile.

Only those closest to me call me Liv, the brunette thought.

"Olivia, it is…" Tony reached onto a concealed stool from the other side of the massive, marble island and lifted a towel and a pair of large black sunglasses. She slipped them onto her face. "Would you believe these are Prada?" She smiled, pointing to her frames.

"I would, actually," Olivia smiled. "It seems no expense has been spared on this one."

"I think you're right," Tony grinned back.

"Well…enjoy your swim."

"I will." Tony headed to the door, past the angular, white kitchen table—which also seemed to be made of a fine Italian marble, fourteen white-fabric chairs at the sides and heads—and patted the tops of her legs. "Princess!" she called.

Within seconds a tiny, ginger-haired Pomeranian appeared, panting and wagging its behind.

"This is Princess," Tony revealed, opening the sliding glass door, the little dog running outside immediately. "I guess you'll meet her later?"

Olivia smiled. "I guess I will."

Tony closed the door behind her and stepped down a set of wooden deck steps that circumvented the pool, several lounge chairs around the perimeter as well, the ocean and the near-setting sun just beyond that.

Olivia let out a big breath now and closed her eyes.

So far, so good. She hadn't spent but a few minutes with Tony Berlusconi but, so far, she seemed fairly amiable. A little too upbeat for the mood that Olivia was in at the moment. But, at least she was positive.

Olivia took her sunglasses from the top of her head and set them on the surface of the island. God, it was huge. The brunette estimated it must have been, at least, ten feet-by five feet, maybe bigger. She walked along the length, dragging her fingers along the cool, slick marble noting a large, white ceramic bowl that contained huge, shiny green apples sitting in the middle and a two-compartment sink on the opposite side. The side closest to Olivia had a row of six, wooden stools pushed up against it, and from where Antonia had gotten her pool belongings, the brunette guessed there were a couple more on the end.

Olivia took another deep breath, scanning for cameras, not outwardly seeing any but knowing they could be hidden in anything—the plants n the sill, the fixtures, the microwave—and headed down the hallway, past the kitchen. To her right, that same wall of windows that seemed to take up the expanse of the east side of the house.

A staircase to her left—spiral—and straight ahead was the living area that contained built in, white bookshelves, a white leather sectional facing the view of the ocean and all of those windows, and was adorned with numerous pale blue, blue and white striped, and coral throw pillows on top. The coffee table, also marble, had a large hurricane vase and a four-wick off-white candle in the center, a couple of architectural and beach magazines sitting on top of the surface.

She looked beyond the living area and noticed another hallway that most likely led to more rooms. She would have to check those out later.

Olivia moved back toward the staircase and glanced to her left, out of the windows then, and noticed that the cute. tiny, Pomeranian that was sitting next to Tony who had now shed her track suit and was currently in a brown crocheted bikini, slathering herself with suntan oil. The dog seemed already obedient, already mesmerized or, perhaps, very well trained.

Olivia took a glance upward to the top of the second floor, supposing she would meet the adorable canine later. She placed her left hand on the staircase railing and took another deep breath before she began climbing upward, circling and circling, making her way to see what else there was to see.

6:40 p.m.

Olivia slowly slid the hangers to the left, inspecting the clothing in the closet. It was all beautifully made and crafted, the finest cashmeres, silks, satins, pashminas—all brands like Armani, Gucci, Prada, Anna Sui, Givenchy, Alexander McQueen—in complete awe of the designers that she had only ever dreamed about touching, much less wearing.

Upon opening the closet, she had already spied the Louis Vuitton and Chanel bags on the top shelf and the Bvlgari, Jennifer Meyer, David Yurman, and Tom Ford jewelry in the bureau drawers, but what had taken her breath away from the moment that she opened the closet, were the shoes—Louboutin, Chanel, Versace.

There was also another thing she had instantly realized—which side was designated hers. After all, she was not a size two, but apparently Agent Antonia Berlusconi was.

Her new partner was far from too skinny, and on her petite frame—Olivia would guess she was around five foot four, maybe one-fifteen—but she still had quite a voluptuous figure.

Even though a size two.

Olivia had to laugh at that. A size two.

The brunette continued to slide the hangers of her size eights to the left, standing with a beige The Company Store Supima cotton bath towel wrapped around her, her wet hair damp and laying in the middle of her back.

She had looked at this particular towel that she was currently wrapped in many times just perusing online. But at sixty dollars per towel, she had never had the indulgence of frivolously purchasing one. Even though Alex had been known to spend more than she should on certain items, Olivia preferred to bargain shop and both she and her wife knew that.

But as the soft fluffy cotton skimmed along her body, boy did it feel good.

She paused in sliding the hangers now, and stopped at a light gray Armani, ribbed silk sweater and a pair of white lightweight crepe pants next to it by the same designer, and pulled them off the rack.

She moved to the bed and laid them on top, noticing the price tags were still on both, but she remembered that Cragen had told her that whatever clothes they didn't wear to leave the price tag on so that they could return them. She turned the tag on the sweater and saw that it was $1,235, and then turned the one on the pants, which was less, but still obscene, $995, and shook her head at the obnoxiousness.

But they were absolutely, decadently beautiful.

Olivia moved back to the closet and opened the narrow top drawer, revealing lacy panties and bras, all neatly stacked, deciding on a simple light gray of each to go with the rest of her ensemble.

Dressing quickly, she removed her towel and placed her undergarments on before lifting the sweater into the air and examining it.

"Mind if I take a shower before dinner?" a voice said.

Olivia brought the sweater to cover her body now, startled.

Normally, she was one hundred percent free and casual when it came to nudity with her wife. But, somehow, being in a strange place, a different environment with different rules, made this almost invasive.

"Go ahead," Olivia managed a meager smile.

"Thanks," Tony offered, moving to the bathroom, wrapped in her own striped beach towel. She stopped at the doorway and turned.

Olivia remained standing with the garment in front of her.

"Just to let you know…you have nothing to hide, Detective. Nothing at all." Tony then moved into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

Olivia closed her eyes and let out another stress-releasing breath.

That was just a comment, right? It was just a simple compliment between women. Right? That's what the brunette would take it as. She wouldn't give it another thought.

She wouldn't.

She didn't need an added stressor in this already stressful situation.

10:51 p.m.

People all around. Her mother? Her two aunts, Margo and Jane, Katie…

"Open another one, Alex!" her mother encouraged. "You've got so many more to go!"

Am I in a hospital bed?

She looked around and noticed the railing on both sides of the bed, the monitors, the TV mounted above and ahead of her on the wall. A doctor stood next to the door, immobile, hands folded in front of him, blue scrubs and white coat on. She squinted.

Is that Jonathan?

"Johnny?"

The figure didn't move. It only stood there, wordlessly unmoving.

"Open it, Alex!" her mother said again.

She looked at her mother and aunts and Katie and then down at the wrapped box on her lap—gold foil with a purple bow. Lifting the lid, it revealed a baby doll, naked, save for a diaper. "Why do I need this?" Alex asked.

"Oh, Alex! Now you have so many! It's wonderful!" Cathy Cabot squealed with delight, clapping her hands together.

Alex looked at her mother now, furrowing her brow. "So many what, Mom?"

"Babies, Alexandra. Look all around!" Katie beamed.

Alex looked down at the bed and, surrounding her sheet covered body, were boxes and boxes of the same baby doll, only this time, they were all alive and they were crying and wailing and shrieking.

"You have to comfort them, Dear," Cathy said as she held a doll and rocked it and shushed it. "Like this…"

"Like this, Alexandra…" Katie did the same with another doll.

"Like this Alex," Margo offered, copying the mannerisms with another doll.

"Just like this, Alex," Aunt Jane added.

"Like this Pumpkin."

Alex looked up and her father was there, holding his own baby doll. The crying began to get louder, and louder still, crying turning into wailing, the wailing turning into shrieking, the shrieking into a high-pitched sound that her ears couldn't handle. She dropped the doll and scrunched her eyes and plugged her ears.

"Stop!" she yelled.

A hand to her shoulder now and she gasped and sat up straight, holding a heaviness to the right side of her body. Her mother was to her left and Theo was on her chest against the back of the sofa, his slow-blinking eyes looking up at her, obviously startled from sleep.

"Alex, honey…" her mother began, "…you were dreaming, Dear."

Alex's breathing came out in short pants, her heartrate quick but beginning to slow down.

She looked to her left at the TV and saw Conan O'Brien interviewing the actress Emily Blunt, the volume down low. Closing her eyes tightly and pinching the bridge of her nose with her left hand, she gasped once more and questioned, "Where are the twins?"

"Alex…everything is fine. Katie and your father are putting them in their beds now." Cathy patted her left hand. "Are you OK? You were yelling for someone to stop…"

Alex swallowed and took a deep breath, closing her eyes once more, remembering the babies all around her that were so loud, piercing. "Yeah…" she smiled. "Just an anxiety dream, Mom."

Cathy Cabot looked suddenly confused. "Anxiety?"

Alex couldn't help a small laugh. "Yeah, Mom. Anxiety. You know that thing I've been dealing with most of my life?" She shook her head, still smirking.

"Oh…you mean Olivia."

Alex managed a thin-lipped smile. "Yeah, Mom. Olivia. I just hope she's OK."

Cathy patted her left knee now. "I know she's doing fine." She looked at her grandson whose face was now buried into Alex's bosom, his eyes closed with sleep once more. "But this little guy needs to go to bed." She reached for their brunette boy and took him.

Alex watched as he jolted momentarily from sleep and then cuddled against his grandmother.

Cathy turned just short of the doorway. "You coming, Dear?"

Alex smiled, "I'm gonna go get some water downstairs and then I'll be up."

"OK, sweetheart." Cathy smiled and moved out of the room.

Alex yawned, moving the gray throw from her legs to her right and onto the back of the sofa, and placed her bare feet on the floor. She was in a pair of black sweatpants and one of Olivia's black, flowy racerback tanks with rainbow patterned words that had "Hippie Soul" emblazoned on the front, her hair up in a loose ponytail, now disheveled from sleep, and decided, at that moment, that this would also be her pajamas. Besides, the top smelled faintly of her wife and she had also already showered that afternoon.

She headed down the stairs, slowly, adjusting her glasses and then her ponytail into a high bun, thinking.

She knew exactly what that dream meant. She wasn't a stranger to those types of dreams. She had had them when Olivia was pregnant. She had had them when she was pregnant with the twins. But having them was always jarring and always a bit of a wakeup call for the blonde. They always seemed to tell her something. They often reminded the blonde to take a breath, take a step back, and know that everything would be OK and to stop obsessing.

She entered the kitchen now, hugging her arms against her and moving to the refrigerator. Within seconds she had a glass filled from the Brita pitcher and was heading back up the stairs.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Thank you for the guest reviews I can't reply back to. I hope you enjoyed and, as always, I would love to hear from you. Clothing inspiration on Love Won't Leave Pinterest Board. Check it out.

pinterest slash love-wont-leave slash