Title: Confessions Lead to Strange Bedfellows
Author: Kimberly21570
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia and Natalia
Disclaimers and Other Assorted Ramblings: The characters of Olivia and Emma Spencer, Natalia and Rafe Rivera, Josh Lewis, Reva Shayne, and Frank Cooper are owned by Guiding Light, CBS/TeleNext and Proctor & Gamble. The movies, songs, and books mentioned in the update are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended with regard to GL, CBS/TeleNext, Proctor & Gamble, or any other entity.
Other than the fact that she was raised Catholic and her parents disowned her for refusing to give up Rafe, Natalia's life before Springfield was left mostly to the imagination on Guiding Light. That's a veritable goldmine for any fan fic writer, because it opens the canvas to infinite possibilities. I have taken liberties with that canvas, creating a history for Natalia that I hope you will enjoy.
There are a couple of Jen/Tracy scenes in this update, as well. I've tried to keep them shorter, lest they overwhelm the chapter; but I felt they were necessary, in order to provide more insight into who they are, so that future interactions with Olivia and Natalia will make more sense. It's not so much what they are doing in these scenes, but rather who they are, that matters.
Also, based upon recommendations received from a reader, I have instituted some stylistic changes, including less use of italics to emphasize dialogue. The changes are intended to make the story more reader-friendly. I certainly hope that y'all find this to be the case. If not, please don't hesitate to voice your opinions. I am always open to hearing your thoughts.
I have made a slight format change by instituting the insertion of horizontal rulers to indicate shifts between scenes. I apologize for not having done so in past updates. I imagine the lack of separation made the story quite confusing at times. I was unaware that this was an issue, as my original documents contain such markers. It appears that the site removes embedded markers when the documents are published. At any rate, the error has been corrected for this update, and will continue moving forward. Previous updates will be reformatted as time permits.
Thank you all, once again, for taking the time to read and comment on this story. Positive or negative, I hear it all, and take it to heart. I appreciate it very much. To those of you who are looking beneath the surface and into the bigger picture, thank you for embracing that which is not blatantly obvious. I assure you, your faith in my storytelling abilities will be rewarded.
The dialogue, props, etc. in these scenes are original. Written for fun, not profit. All other standard disclaimers apply.
Rating: Chapter 6.6 is rated R for sexual innuendo; but subsequent chapters will eventually reach NC-17.
Confessions Lead to Strange Bedfellows
Copyright May 2009
"What lies behind us, and what lies before us, are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."
Oliver W. Holmes
"Take a look at yourself in a mirror… Who do you see looking back? Is it the person you want to be? Or is there someone else you were meant to be? The person you should have been; but fell short of. Believe that love is out there… Sometimes, happiness doesn't come from money, or fame, or power… sometimes happiness comes from good friends, and family, and from the quiet nobility of leading a good life… So take a look in that mirror, and remind yourself to be happy, because you deserve to be… Believe that…"
One Tree Hill 5.18.2009
Chapter 6.6 – The Dance | Mirror Images and Self-Reflections:
"What's your favorite color?" Natalia asked, with the giddiness of a schoolgirl. She propped her chin on the palm of her upturned hand, waiting with rapt attention for Olivia's response.
"Crimson."
"Crimson, huh?" she parroted, "Not just plain 'ole red?"
Olivia laughed. "No, not just plain 'ole red. What's yours?" she tossed back, around a mouthful of couscous.
"The smoky jade of your eyes that tells me you want me," Natalia answered, her voice low and sultry, as she leaned in, imparting to Olivia a deliberate kiss.
"Sweet-talker."
They had been bantering back and forth for the better part of an hour, asking questions, receiving answers, laughing at similarities and differences, sharing little threads of their personal experiences and truths that, when woven together, created the intricate tapestry of their lives.
Natalia smiled, and took a drink of her wine. "Dream car?"
"That's easy… A 1964-½ Ford Mustang convertible—Metallic blue, with a black top," Olivia answered without a moment's hesitation.
Natalia arched curious eyebrow, "1964-½?" she said; her emphasis on the "half" begging the question.
"Yeah," Olivia chirped. "That was the original Mustang, and it was the only half-year model Ford ever built," she explained.
"Oh," Natalia said, surprised at Olivia's knowledge of the subject. She vaulted that eyebrow again. "You mean you've never wanted a Ferrari or a Lamborghini, or some other flashy, overpriced sports car?" she prodded, skeptical of the hotelier's surprisingly modest taste in vehicles. She had to admit, though, that she had been surprised to learn Olivia drove a moderately-priced Nissan with conservative options, and thus, her skepticism seemed unwarranted.
"Never," Olivia denied, with a firm shake of her head. "My Dad had a '64-½ Mustang, just like the one I described. It was the only extravagant thing he ever owned," she shared. "My Mother hated it, but I loved riding in it with him. Top down, flying along the coastal highway, with the San Cristobel sun shining down on us and the wind, blowing through my hair," she mused, an air of wistfulness in her tone. "She sold it when he died," she added, all traces of that wistfulness abruptly gone.
"I'm so sorry, Liv," Natalia said softly; cradling Olivia's face in her hand.
Olivia's heart did a back-flip at the gentle sound of Natalia's voice calling her "Liv."
She didn't hear it very often, usually only in moments of quiet endearment, or when Olivia kissed her in that way that left her breathless; but she loved the way it sounded, cascading from Natalia's lips. "Don't be," she said quietly. "That was a long time ago," she reasoned, brushing the emotion aside.
Natalia squeezed Olivia's hand. "That doesn't mean it can't still hurt, Honey," she quietly empathized.
Olivia leaned over, brushing her lips against Natalia's. "Thank you," she whispered; finishing the kiss with soft nuzzles against Natalia's nose. Nothing more needed to be said.
She smiled at Natalia then, "What about you? What's your dream car?"
"Anything that runs," Natalia laughed; drawing a hearty burst of laughter from Olivia, as well.
When their laughter subsided, Natalia contemplated her next question, "Umm… okay, here's one for you: If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?"
"That's the easiest question you've asked all night," Olivia declared with a smile. "At our farmhouse, with you, Emma, and Rafe," she answered softly.
Natalia returned the smile, and regarded her with interest. "You really wouldn't want to live somewhere tropical or exotic, like the Galapagos Islands, or a Tuscan Villa, or a cliff-side cottage in the South of France?"
"I really wouldn't want to live anywhere other than where you are," Olivia answered with gentle sincerity; drawing a teary-eyed smile from Natalia.
"Well… I'm kinda part of the package," Natalia clarified.
"Oh… well, as long as we're clear on that, then…" Olivia said, making it sound as if she might be altering her response. But the sparkle in her eyes gave her away, "I still wouldn't want to live anywhere other than our farmhouse," she said softly.
"You're really happy there, aren't you," Natalia said; tenderly brushing locks of chestnut from Olivia's face. It was a solid statement, rather than a question in need of answering.
"Happier than I've ever been, thanks to you," Olivia declared.
Taking Olivia's face in her hands, Natalia whispered, "I feel the same way about being there with you."
Her quiet declaration was sealed with a soft, probing kiss, and when she released Olivia's mouth, Natalia gazed at her, dark eyes sparkling with mirth. "Who was your first kiss?"
"Ahh… Kyle Randen, in kindergarten. He was so cute," Olivia said, jokingly swooning.
"Wow, you started young," Natalia teased.
Olivia shrugged her shoulders. "What can I say?" she grinned. "Yours?" she asked; popping a piece of chicken into her mouth.
"Nicky."
Olivia almost choked the bite of chicken. "Really?" she said, surprised.
"Pathetic. I know—," Natalia sighed.
"No, not pathetic—Sweet," Olivia asserted; smiling at her. "I just can't believe no one kissed you until you were sixteen," she said, shaking her head in bewilderment. The comment was laced with compliments.
"Now who's the sweet-talker?"
Olivia laughed, and took another sip of her wine. "So… I'm only the third person you've ever kissed?" she presumed; the rising cadence of her voice on that final word begging the question.
Natalia self-consciously bit her lower lip. "Yes—," she answered sheepishly, glancing up at Olivia through thick, dark lashes.
More than pleased with the response, Olivia grinned; earning herself a playful swat across the arm.
"Well, don't look so happy about that," Natalia harrumphed. "Geez, it's like you just won the lottery or somethin'."
Olivia tipped Natalia's chin. "I won far more than that," she said sweetly; placing a chaste kiss on those perfect lips. "And honestly, I don't care how many people you've kissed before, as long as I'm the last…"
Natalia smiled at her. "I can guarantee it," she said confidently; sealing her pledge with a long, deliberate kiss.
And when the kiss ended, the banter continued, "Favorite cartoon?"
"The Jetson's. I loved Astro," Natalia answered. "You?"
"Umm… Tom and Jerry," Olivia answered. "I like the ones where they're chilling together at the end."
"Aww… that's sweet," Natalia mocked playfully.
"Oh, you hush," Olivia squawked. "Favorite TV show in grade school?" she put on the table; quickly evading the previous subject.
"Well… I know it's hokey, but… I really liked The Walton's," Natalia confessed. "I loved the whole family dynamic."
"Better that, than Little House on the Prairie," Olivia teased.
Natalia made a face at her.
"Let me guess, you liked that one too?"
"Oh, you shushy," Natalia fussed; drawing a laugh from Olivia. "What was yours, Miss Sassy-Pants?"
Olivia blushed. "Falcon Crest," she confessed.
"Are you serious?" Natalia gasped. She couldn't believe Olivia had been allowed to watch something that salacious as a child.
"Oh, I loved it!" Olivia exclaimed. "Angela Channing, the corrupt, tyrannical matriarch who ruled the Falcon Crest vineyards with an iron fist—," she said, sounding almost orgasmic in her description of the woman, "She was my mentor," she grinned. "I wanted to be just like her…"
Natalia smirked. "I think you've succeeded."
Olivia's mouth dropped open, and a disgruntled whimper escaped, as she stared at Natalia in disbelief. "Guess it's true, we should be careful what we wish for, huh?" she chuckled.
Natalia nodded her agreement, but remained silent.
"What did you wanna be when you grew up?" Olivia asked.
"A lawyer," Natalia answered.
"Seriously?" Olivia questioned. Natalia Rivera was just full of surprises, and Olivia looked forward to unwrapping every single one.
"Absolutely."
"I can totally see that."
Natalia arched a skeptical eyebrow. "You can?"
Olivia laughed again. "Totally," she reiterated, with a deliberate nod of her head. "You're intelligent, articulate, fair-minded, and you could argue just about anyone into a corner." She grinned mischievously.
"Shut up."
"No, I mean it," Olivia insisted, "You're the only person I know, who can argue me into a corner, and leave me babbling, not even knowing my own name," she teased.
"You are so not funny."
"Then why are you smiling?"
"Because I love you," Natalia answered softly.
"Good answer," Olivia smiled. And she kissed Natalia soundly.
It was early evening, the freezing rain had finally stopped; but the bitter cold of winter still held Springfield in its merciless grasp. Frank Cooper had finished his complete waste of a day several hours before, and after wandering aimlessly around town, purposely avoiding contact with others, he finally lumbered into Company; stomping the ice and snow from his boots at the door. He mumbled a greeting to his father, Buzz, as he grabbed a coffee mug from under the bar, pouring a cup of the steaming liquid; praying that it would take the chill from his bones.
"Pour you a cup, Pop?" he offered, lifting the carafe toward his father.
Buzz raked a hand through his thinning brown hair as he declined the offer, grumbling about having consumed far too much caffeine already, and not wanting to keep Lillian up all night with his restlessness.
Frank shrugged, and setting the carafe back on the burner, he ambled into the office, hanging his coat, hat, and suit jacket neatly in the closet. His single thought was that he would gladly tolerate caffeine-induced restlessness from Natalia in exchange for the privilege of waking up next to her every morning. But he knew there was no chance of that ever happening. Not anymore. He cast the thought aside, lest it be allowed to consume him; and returned to the dining area, where he settled on a nearby barstool, grasping the coffee mug in his hands.
The heat emanating from the ceramic warmed his hands, but nothing could soothe the chilling ache, the loneliness in his heart. He didn't want to grow bitter over the endless stream of heartbreaks he had endured in his life; but damn, it was difficult to evade—especially with the loss of Natalia.
Almost mindlessly, he chattered with his father about the banality of his day, recounting a conversation with his son-in-law, Mallet, about the need for a stoplight at the corner of Fifth and Elm. Frank disagreed, asserting that with the advent of flashing red lights, the four-way stop would suffice. Mallet had issued forth mumbles of agreement, rather than argue the point further. Considering the issue closed, Frank had informed him that he would discuss the recommendation with Mayor Wolfe at the next City Council meeting.
Once that conversation had been shared, almost verbatim, Frank moved on to the topic of his grandson, Henry. His daughter, Marina, had apparently dropped by the police station earlier that afternoon, to report that Henry was finally crawling. Frank was almost giddy when he relayed the information to his father, leaving Buzz to wonder if perhaps his son might need to find a hobby. But he listened politely, until one of the waitresses submitted a new order, and then he thankfully excused himself, leaving Frank to the relentless world of his own thoughts, as he headed toward the kitchen.
In Buzz's absence, Frank found himself still perched on that barstool, staring into the same cup of thick, black coffee he had been coaxing along for nearly half-an-hour. The noises from the kitchen indicated to him that Buzz, was busily manning the grill, and customers chattered all around him, as they dined on the typical fare of the Cooper family Bar-and-Grill. Cutlery clinked against ceramic plates, and the ice machine hummed behind the bar; the occasional crunch and swish of ice cubes indicating that glasses were being filled. The familiar din of the restaurant surrounded him, but it barely registered with his brain, as he sat there slack-jawed, shoulders slumping, his fingers thrumming methodically against the white ceramic mug in his hands; his thoughts lost, once again, in a Natalia-induced haze.
She had been a constant on his mind since turning down his marriage proposal three days prior; yet he had said not one single word to anyone, family or otherwise, about the scene that had unfolded on her front porch that night, or the heartbreak he was experiencing as a result. He wasn't the kind of man to react in anger, to strike out, seeking revenge. Nor was he the kind of man to sully the reputation of others simply to assuage his own pain. Thus, he kept his mouth shut, grieving the loss of her, of the future he desired with her, in silence. That's simply what Frank did when he was hurting—He withdrew into himself.
He wasn't sulking, so much as he just simply felt numb; that sense of numbness pervading him, heart, mind, and body. He was thankful for the fact that, despite being the State Capitol, Springfield had a reputation for being a rather sleepy little town, and there had been little need for him to focus on his duties as Chief of Detectives. He couldn't have focused, even if he tried; so busy was his mind, trying to sort out what had gone so very wrong.
The events that had transpired, begged that he explore places and emotions that he would much rather avoid. But reason told him he would be far better off exploring them now, while the immediacy of her rejection provided much-needed anesthetization. And so he surrendered to reason, and opened himself to inner exploration.
He loved her. Of that, he was certain. But logic commanded that he wonder how in love he could have been, given his lack of awareness with regard to the feelings that had sprouted and grown within her. Feelings for Olivia Spencer, of all people—the woman she had once loathed; but now loved enough to cast aside nearly everything she held dear. Despite her impassioned declaration, he still couldn't believe it was true. None of it made sense to him. Natalia Rivera was the last person on earth he would have pegged for falling in love with a woman. And even if he could have anticipated that it would happen, he certainly never would have expected her to fall in love with Olivia Spencer. Yet, she had. Right before his very eyes. And he had been completely oblivious.
If he were truly in love with her, how could he have not noticed that she was merely going through the motions with him? She hadn't been, he insisted to himself. She had initiated some of their kisses; some of their most passionate kisses, in fact—if one could call anything they shared, passionate. And she had pursued their lovemaking that night. He knew he wasn't fooling himself there, and he self-soothed with the reminder of that fact; knowing that he had far too much respect for her to ask for such things, and never would've gone there with her on his own.
Regardless of who instigated it, she had responded to him when they made love—hadn't she? If he were honest, he would be forced to admit that he couldn't remember. But he didn't feel like being honest, and so, he simply convinced himself that she had. It was easier for his faltering ego that way.
And then he remembered the moment that completely unraveled his painstakingly-orchestrated denial…
He had pressed into her, ever so gently, and as she exhaled the sweetest, softest moan he had ever heard, one, almost inaudible word had tumbled from those perfect lips— "Liv…"
He had paused in that moment, finding her eyes, seeking clarification, and she quietly reassured him that everything was as it should be—That she had said, "Live," as a way of reminding herself that it was time to move on from the past, and allow the future to take its course.
Natalia knew in her heart it was a complete lie—one of many she had told herself over the weeks and months since Gus's death—since she found herself falling in love with Olivia. And she was lying to Frank, as well. She had been for a while. She felt guilty, but she was also scared of what she was feeling for Olivia; and fear outranked guilt, ten-to-one in this scenario. Frank was the only viable solution to her growing sense of unrest. Or so she thought at the time.
As for Frank, he had been all too eager to believe her in that moment.
In the midst of taking her, he had been too caught up in his own happiness, in the wiping up of his own need, to see her clearly. But now, after countless hours of ruminations, hindsight ushered in that one moment of brutal clarity, and he was forced to face the truth—Not only had she not wanted him that night, she had wanted someone else. And she had never loved him. Not the way he wished she did, anyway. No—her heart belonged to Olivia Spencer.
In some ways, that baffled his mind. The woman had treated her horrifically in the past. In other ways, he understood. He had loved Olivia, too, once upon a time; and much to his chagrin, so had his father. He wondered if the chasm of bitterness would beckon him so ardently, had he lost her to someone other than Olivia. He guessed he would never know. And he sincerely prayed that Olivia would never hurt Natalia the way that she had hurt both him and his Pop; but knowing her reputation better than most, he had to wonder if even prayer could change the hotelier's wicked ways.
Finally releasing Natalia from their kiss, Olivia abandoned the jovial banter, turning toward the serious. "I've told you all about my family now, about my past," she said, "but what about yours?" she gently prodded. "You never talk about them, which, I understand," she said empathically. "But, I'd like to know about them… if you're willing to share."
Natalia's heart lurched in her chest. She might have expected a lot of things, but she certainly hadn't expected to hear that; and for obvious reasons, the topic of her family didn't bode well with her. Her eyes flitted toward the wine bottle, the crystal stemware, the partially-eaten loaf of bread. Anywhere but into Olivia's eyes, as her thoughts ran the course back in time, to a place where she had actually had a family, or at least a mildly passable simulation of one.
Olivia had been so open with her that afternoon. It wouldn't be fair of her not to respond in kind, she reasoned.
Finally, meeting Olivia's eyes, hesitantly, she nodded, indicating that she was willing. "I'll tell you about my family, Olivia," she said softly, as she took Olivia's hand into her own, "but I need you to know that I never felt like I had a real family before you and Emma came into my life."
Gentle fingers found Natalia's face, and Olivia leaned in, kissing her softly. "I feel the same way about you, Sweetheart," she whispered. "Nothing ever felt like home or family, until you."
That statement earned Olivia another kiss, and then Natalia smiled at her. "What would you like to know about my life before Rafe was born?"
She found it rather funny, in an odd sort of way, that her life could be so completely compartmentalized: Her life before Rafe… Her life before Springfield… Her life before Olivia and Emma… And as she gazed into soft jade, she realized that her life hadn't truly begun until Olivia and Emma. Rafe had been a true source of joy for her, and she loved him unconditionally, but she had simply existed in the world during those years she struggled to raise him on her own. It wasn't that she had been unhappy; just merely exhausted from years of too much physical labor, and not nearly enough money. It had only been since Olivia and Emma that Natalia had truly lived; and she was thankful for the opportunity to live and love so openly.
As Natalia silently mused about her new life and love, Olivia's mind spun in circles. She had so many questions; she didn't know where to begin. "Do you have brothers? Sisters, maybe?" she said, sounding almost hopeful.
Still understandably flustered about the topic, Natalia took a page from the Olivia Spencer Handbook, and tried to be breezy about it, saying, "I'm from a traditional Catholic family," attempting a grin as she pointed out the obvious. "What do you think?"
Olivia laughed. Given the touchiness of the subject, she was happy to see Natalia showing some lightheartedness; though, she knew it couldn't be easy given the way Natalia had been treated. "I think there's a damned good chance you have a whole gaggle of siblings."
"You would think correctly," Natalia confirmed. "I have, or… I had…" the distinction caught in her chest, but she rallied quickly, "two older brothers, Antonio and Dante, two younger sisters, Sierra and Christiana, and—"
All traces of the lightheartedness gone, she paused, swallowing hard around the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. Her emotions were overwhelming, and she fought for control.
"And—?" Olivia said quietly, a shadow of concern clouding the usual clarity of her eyes.
Natalia closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. "And a twin sister," she finished, her voice barely a whisper.
Olivia felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. "A twin," she said in a sharp exhalation of air. It was a statement, not a question, and she mulled the information over in her mind, attempting to wrap her head around it.
Natalia nodded numbly. "Nastassia," she said simply. "Natalia and Nastassia—The Lord's Birth and Resurrection…" she murmured almost to herself, as she closed her eyes, her thoughts somewhere far, far away.
"What?" Olivia said, confused.
Natalia took in a deep breath, staving off tears, and met Olivia's gaze. "That's what our names mean," she explained. "Natalia means 'The Lord's Birth', and Nastassia means 'Resurrection'," she said quietly. "It was something of a promise for my Mother—her perfect little girls, the perfect representation of the promises of God; the birth and resurrection of our Savior," she sighed. "And then my poor choices tarnished her perfection, and her world came crashing down."
"Natalia, I—," Olivia began, only to be stopped in her tracks by a swirl of emotion as she watched the flickering changes in Natalia's expression—Loss, grief, guilt, and profound shame. It was all there, reflected in the depths of those expressive mahogany eyes. She waited, allowing an opportunity for her to speak, and when nothing was forthcoming, Olivia began again. "The two of you were really close, weren't you," she said softly, as she soothed Natalia with the gentle stroking of her hand on Natalia's upper back. It wasn't a question.
The tentative nodding of Natalia's head answered, and Olivia could tell she was forcing back tears. "Yes—," she finally murmured. "We were very close. She was my best friend, Olivia. We did everything together. Well… everything except get pregnant. Nastassia didn't make that mistake with me," she said quietly. The full weight of that final statement hung heavy in the air around them, and Olivia could feel the immense guilt and shame Natalia had carried all these years.
"I can't even imagine how it must feel to lose your family the way you did, Sweetheart," she whispered empathically; tenderly kissing Natalia's temple. "And especially a sibling who's such a vital part of who you are…"
"You lost your family," Natalia said, pointing out the parallel.
"Death is different, Natalia," Olivia reasoned. "You've been left to mourn people while they're still breathing. There's no closure in that."
"There is when you just choose to forget their existence," Natalia said, matter-of-factly.
"You can't tell me you never think about them," Olivia gently challenged. "I still think about Marissa, still miss her all the time. I can't imagine knowing she was alive, and still having to mourn her loss."
"Of course, I think about them," Natalia admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I miss them; especially Nastassia. I miss how close we used to be. Or at least I used to. It's been twenty years, Olivia, and—"
"And still she never came looking for you; none of them did," Olivia said; shaking her head. It didn't need to be a question; she already knew the answer.
"No, they haven't, and they never will," Natalia asserted. "I know nothing can change what's happened, so I had to force myself to forget about them and move on."
"How do you know that?"
"Because Papi would never allow it," Natalia said bluntly. The endearment flowed from her tongue without need of thought; then stung like a hornet in its aftermath. She swallowed hard, biting back a curse.
"But they're adults now," Olivia said, allowing Natalia to fill in the blanks.
"Yeah—and they have been for a long time," Natalia countered, her voice even, almost rigid. "You don't understand, Olivia. My Father is the head of the family, and what he says goes. That's just the way it is, and always had been," she explicated; emphasizing the change in terms for the man who had disowned her, for her own sanity, rather than Olivia's benefit. "It doesn't matter how grown they are. No one would dare defy him. I defied him, and look at what happened…"
"Surely after all this time—," Olivia attempted to reason; but Natalia cut her off with the raising of one hand.
"Even if I believed that were possible, I would never go back, Olivia," Natalia stated forthrightly. "My father would be mortified to learn that his grandson, the child he ordered me to give away 'for his own good', ended up in prison," she said, emphasizing her father's words. "He told me I would fail, and it's like everything bad he ever predicted, ended up coming true."
"Natalia, the fact that Rafe is in prison is no reflection upon your parenting abilities," Olivia said insistently.
"How can you possibly say that?" Natalia argued. Clearly, Olivia was wrong.
"The shooting was an accident, Sweetheart," Olivia reminded. "Rafe didn't mean—"
Natalia cut her off. "Rafe never should've had a gun in the first place, Olivia," she countered, her tone more harsh than she intended.
"True," Olivia conceded, "but did you put it in his hand?"
"Well, no—"
"Then how could it be your fault?"
The question was rhetorical, and Natalia knew it. It shut her argument down cold. She hated it when Olivia was right, but by all logic, Olivia was, in fact, right. Natalia had not put the gun in Rafe's hand, nor had she caused him to do what he did. Why didn't that make her feel any better?
"Look, we teach our kids right from wrong, and just have to pray that some of it sinks in," Olivia was saying. "Once they're grown, it's out of our hands. Rafe is a grown man now, Natalia. He made some bad choices, but that doesn't make him a bad person. I know you know that. But what I think you still don't get, is that his choices don't make you a bad mother," she explicated. Her tone softened then, as she cradled Natalia's face in her hands, her thumbs tenderly stroking Natalia's cheeks, "You are a wonderful mother, Sweetheart. You're so loving and nurturing with Emma and Rafe, and you're tough on them when you need to be. Our kids couldn't ask for better," she smiled. "So please… stop blaming yourself for things that aren't your fault," she quietly implored.
That was easier said than done, given Natalia's lifelong tutelage in the fine arts of Catholic guilt and Latino culture, but somehow she knew that with Olivia by her side, all things were possible. She offered Olivia a weak smile and nodded her head, indicating her acquiescence. "I'll try," she promised; and Olivia understood the tacit battle. Or at least she thought she did.
Olivia smiled at her then. "That's my Girl," she said, kissing her affectionately.
Then, attempting to lighten the mood, Olivia grinned. "So… is this twin of yours as gorgeous as you?"
Natalia blushed at the compliment, and smiled softly. "She's my perfect mirror image."
"Oh, really," Olivia said, intrigued. Her mind processed the information, and generated a smile.
"Yeah," Natalia chuckled. "I'm right handed, she's left. My right foot is just a tad bigger than my left; she's the exact opposite. The part in my hair falls naturally to the left; hers falls to the right. Though, our hair is thick enough that we can make it go whichever way we want. The vision in my left eye has always been just slightly off; the opposite is true for her. Unless she's had it corrected, that is. And you see this?" she said, as she opened the second and third buttons of her shirt, pointing to the tiny birthmark that teetered on the inner swell of her left breast. And then she began to blush, realizing what she had done.
Delivered on a low growl, Natalia's name billowed out from the back of Olivia's throat at the sight of that ample cleavage, placed deliberately on display for her viewing. Her eyes flickered, and she reached out with her hand. "You mean this right here?" she husked, the tip of her fingernail lightly grazing the tiny mark on Natalia's breast; drawing a sharp gasp from Natalia, that quickly rolled into a groan, as Olivia leaned in, placing a slow, open-mouthed kiss right where her finger had just burned into flesh.
God, it was brazen to be doing such a thing, right there in the middle of Watershed. But, damn, it felt nice to have her mouth and tongue so close to one of Natalia's sweetest treasures. Olivia basked in the nearness of her, the scent of her soft skin, savoring the moment.
The heat of Olivia's mouth, the brush of that tongue against the edge of her breast made Natalia shudder. Her body grew warm, as her pulse increased, and her breathing turned to rapid panting, as Olivia continued kissing her there. "Nastassia has the same… Umm… Yeah… on her right—," she sputtered; attempting to quell the conniption fit her nerve endings were throwing.
Chuckling against the edge of Natalia's breast, Olivia kissed it one more time; then looked up, meeting dark eyes that flickered with shades of both arousal and delight. "And what else does she have that mirrors yours?" she asked suggestively, one eyebrow perfectly arched.
Natalia blushed crimson.
"Olivia—," she exhaled softly. She couldn't keep the wobbly grin from her face.
"You're adorable when you're flustered," Olivia laughed, sweeping her tongue against Natalia's mouth; drawing another groan, and a playful command to "Stop it," from Natalia.
As their kiss continued, Olivia reached between their bodies, fumbling with the buttons on Natalia's shirt for the second time that day.
"What are you doing?" Natalia murmured against Olivia's mouth.
Olivia slowly brought their kiss to an end, and meeting Natalia's eyes, she offered her an affectionate smile. "The guys will be here soon, and this…" she whispered, slowly tracing a feather-light fingertip along the delicate curve of Natalia's left breast, "is only for me," she declared, as she protectively refastened the buttons on Natalia's shirt.
Natalia's breath caught, and she shuddered at the sensation of Olivia's fingertip on her skin. And when those fingers began to button her shirt, she quietly acknowledged, "I love how protective you are of me." The depth of her emotion and appreciation was palpable within words spoken barely above a whisper.
Finishing with the buttons, Olivia tenderly cradled Natalia's face in her hands, and searching those mahogany eyes, she whispered in promise, "And I always will be…" before claiming Natalia's mouth in another slow, meaningful kiss.
After dinner in the Jackson-Morgan household, their usual routine continued—Jen cleaned the kitchen, while Tracy attended to the boys and their homework. The running joke in their house was that Tracy, being six years Jen's junior, had navigated third and fourth grade far more recently than Jen; thus, she should remember more, and would be better equipped to help with the boys' homework. In essence, grade school homework was Tracy's punishment for having pursued an older woman with children, Jen had reasoned. Tracy laughed the first time that argument had been launched at her, and she teased Jen about grabbing at straws; which only succeeded in earning her a scowl. She didn't debate the point, though; but rather, took on the role of tutor with the same joy that she had when she assumed the role of mother.
Wednesday evening meant vocabulary words for Jacob, who always had a spelling test on Thursday morning. He had to know the spelling, and the definition, where applicable, and be able to use the word in a coherent sentence. Per their usual routine, Tracy worked with him diligently, guiding him as he formed sentences that would be easy to recall when test time arrived. Careful preparation eased his test anxiety.
Jen watched Tracy as she worked with him at the dining room table; marveling at her endless stream of patience. Tracy was a wonderful mother to their boys, and Jen couldn't help but feel blessed to have found such a perfect partner. Tracy complemented her in every way; picked up the slack in areas where Jen was weak, and gave her latitude in areas where she was strong. Sometimes it really struck her, how similar Tracy was to Jake in those subtle little ways that often go unnoticed, yet make such a remarkable difference in the grand scheme of things. And she wondered if perhaps that had been by God's design. Regardless of their similarities, though, Tracy was her own person; an incredible woman whom she loved more than life, Jen reasoned; and with a thankful heart, she turned her attention back to loading the dishwasher.
Within minutes, she was finished with the kitchen, and with the gentle brushing of her fingers across Tracy's upper back as she passed through the dining room, she was on to other things; leaving the three of them to the task of homework.
The unspoken message imparted by those fingertips was received, and Tracy smiled, her eyes glued to Jen's perfect ass, as she sauntered from the room. [i]Damn, that woman looks good in jeans[/i], she thought. Her thoughts then turned to how much better Jen looked out of her jeans, and all the marvelous things she could do to her once she…
Jacob interrupted her musings with a question, and startled, she cleared her throat, dragging her thoughts away from the gorgeous body that beckoned to her. Forcing her mind to focus on vocabulary words, she suddenly found herself unwittingly jumping out of the frying pan, into the fire, as her eyes scrolled down the page. She blushed profusely, and had to chastise herself more than once for the thoughts that sprinted through her head as she noted words like descend, eager, flexible, release, response, and tremor on Jacob's list. Who knew fourth grade vocabulary could be so erotic? She squirmed in her chair, praying Dylan's homework wouldn't consist of words.
Willfully shaking it off, she focused on sentences; and once they were finished, she grabbed Jacob's parent-teacher communication folder. A quick review revealed a handful of graded assignments and quizzes; all of which he had aced. Tracy hugged him close, telling him how brilliant he was, as she smothered his face in kisses.
Jacob blushed. "Mamá—," he fussed, squirming under her rapt attention.
"What?" she countered with a grin. "I'm just so proud of my petit homme!" she said, addressing him affectionately.
Sighing, Jacob pleaded, "Yeah, well can your 'little man' go now?" He hoped that his translation of her French would assist in begging his release.
"Excellent translation, Querido," Tracy smiled proudly. "But it's 'may I go now', and yes, you may," she added; sneaking another kiss, this one to his cheek. "Teeth brushed," she said, by way of instruction, glancing up at him from his school papers, "it's bedtime as soon as I'm finished with Dylan."
"Yes, Ma'am," Jacob acknowledged, as he sped off down the hall toward the bathroom; his bare feet pounding against the hardwood floors, creating a much louder noise than they had when he was three.
Tracy smiled at the telltale sign of waning childhood, and turned her attention toward her younger son. "Okay, Dylan, how are we doing with that math homework?"
"Almost finished," Dylan replied; pride over his accomplishment evident in his tone, as his pencil continued scrawling numbers on the page, unabated. He knew better than to say he was 'done,' lest he be the recipient of another lesson in proper English.
Tracy was adamant about such things, and they had engaged in the "done/finished" debate more than a few times in the past, until finally both boys grew tired of being asked if they were turkeys. "If not," Tracy would say, "then you're 'finished', not 'done'." The comment would usually earn her a roll of their eyes; but they corrected their grammar, and that's what mattered most to her.
"Did you remember to turn in your permission slip for the field trip this morning?" Tracy was asking him.
"Uh-huh," Dylan replied, gnawing on the tip of his pencil, as he calculated in his head. Then, abandoning his math problem, he looked up at her, his eyes bright with excitement, "Mr. Davis says we're gonna learn lots about recycling; but I told him I already know lots about it, 'cause you taught me," he reported.
Tracy smiled at him with pride in her eyes. "And what did he say to that?"
"He wanted to know if you were my mommy, 'cause you signed my permission slip, but you have a different last name," Dylan answered.
"What did you tell him?" Tracy gently probed.
"I told him you were Mommy's best friend, and that you help take care of us," Dylan answered quietly. "That wasn't a lie… right?" he asked, the quavering trepidation in his voice begging her absolution.
Admittedly, she had experienced some misgivings about agreeing with Jen over the issue of coming out. But here, in this moment, with the worry and pleading in her son's voice, she realized that Jen had been right. It wasn't fair of them to place their boys in a position where it was necessary to lie, even if only by omission of the complete truth. They had taught the boys that lying was wrong, and yet, the secrecy in which they were living was forcing them to do exactly that. Their little boy felt guilty when he'd done nothing wrong. She felt terrible for having been a part of something that caused her son such distress.
An empathic expression fell across her visage, as she sighed softly, pulling her little boy close to her. "No, Cariño," she whispered, tenderly stroking his dark curls, "that wasn't a lie. Your mommy is my best friend in the whole world," she said reassuringly.
He responded by wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, as he burrowed his head into her chest; seeking the comforting reassurance of his Mamá's embrace.
She held him closer, and pressed a light kiss to the top of his head; silently vowing that neither of her sons would ever find themselves in such a precarious position again.
Reva Shayne sauntered into Company with her usual cat-like air, Oklahoman charm in full force, as she quickly sidled up to Frank. "Hey, Frank," she greeted jovially. "How ya doin'?"
"Evenin', Reva," Frank said cordially; his lips twisting into a weak attempt at a smile. "I'm doin'," he pacified. "You?" he asked, pretending to savor the cold, black sludge in his mug.
She flashed him a dazzling smile, those ever-mischievous blue eyes sparkling. "I'm fantastic!" she answered with her usual exuberance. "Love is grand, and I'm gettin' more than my fair share these days," she grinned.
Frank groused inwardly; but managed to offer up noises of approval.
Never one to remain silent for long, Reva continued, "Speaking of love… how's Natalia?"
Frank's heart winced at the mention of the woman's name; but he gave no outward indication.
"Seems strange, her not scurrying around here in her 'Company' t-shirt," Reva was saying; her eyes scanning the restaurant where Natalia's presence had been a constant for the better part of two years. She spotted Josh at a table near the back, and smiled at him; holding up a finger to indicate she would be there in a minute.
Josh smiled back, nodded his head, and returned his attention to the business section of the [i]Chicago Tribune[/i].
"Natalia? She's uh… she's fine, Reva," Frank sputtered, nodding his head.
"Well, where the blazes is she?" she pressed. "Haven't seen her in a coon's age."
"She quit when she took the position as Olivia's executive assistant. The job pays real well, so she doesn't need to work here anymore," he explained; a half-hearted smile on his face. This conversation was killing him inside.
"That's great for her," Reva said sincerely. "Who would've thought Olivia Spencer paid so well." She shrugged her shoulders. "Wonders never cease…"
If you only knew how well, Frank's thoughts grumbled. The very contemplation of the ways in which Olivia might be paying Natalia made his head spin, and his stomach turn sour. "Yeah, I'm uh… I'm real happy for her," he said, with another nod of his head. He meant it. Truly, he did. But still, it killed him to know that Olivia Spencer was the one holding her, kissing her, making love to her, giving her the life that he never could.
Taking advantage of the aberrant lull in a conversation with Reva, he cleared his throat, and sought his escape. "Listen, Reva, it's been real nice talking with you, but I've gotta get home. I promised Marina and Mallet I'd look after Henry so they can go out for a bit this evening," he said, making his polite excuses.
Reva flashed him a smile, and slapped him on the back. "Well, give that sweet baby a hug from me," she said cheerily. "And tell Marina anytime she needs a sitter to give me a call."
"Will do," Frank replied warmly. "Thanks, Reva."
"No problem. That grandson of yours is a real charmer," she declared with a grin. And with that said, she turned and walked away.
As Reva finally took her leave to join Josh at their table, Frank stood from the barstool, making his way into the office; his thoughts drifting back to Natalia. He had wanted to love her, to take care of her. But that's not what she really needed, he thought; remembering the conversation he'd had with Olivia about how Natalia needed to be challenged, and encouraged; to be seen not only as who she is, but who she can be. And then he thought about how different, how confident and assertive Natalia had become since taking the job as the hotelier's executive assistant. Damn, Olivia, she had been right all along. She knew Natalia, understood her, in ways that he never could. He hated admitting that, even to himself; but really, what choice did he have? It was the cold, hard truth.
And with that cold, hard truth threatening to freeze his heart, even as it beat in his chest, he donned his hat and coat, said goodnight to his father, and stepped out into the frigid night air, making his way back home.
"Were you close to your parents?" Olivia asked when their kiss finally ended.
Natalia shook her head back and forth. "Not particularly," she answered quietly. "My father was always more interested in his sons, and paid little attention to us girls. And my mother loved us, but she was too busy trying to keep my father happy to pay much attention to us. I was close to my Abuela; my mother's mother, though," she offered. "She lived with us as far back as I can remember."
Olivia smiled at the fondness in Natalia's tone as she mentioned her grandmother. "Tell me about your Abuela," she prompted.
Natalia offered her a bright, dimpled smile. "She was wonderful. So full of life and love," she gushed. "She played games with us, and read to us, and she told us stories about life in the Old Country, and taught us how to cook and sew."
"Ahh… so your Abuela is the reason Emma and I eat so well these days," Olivia deduced, grinning at Natalia.
"Yeah, I suppose she is," Natalia laughed softly. "I loved the times we spent in the kitchen together, Abuela, Nastassia and I," she said, her tone full of wistfulness. "She taught us all of the family recipes that had been handed down through the generations. You've enjoyed several of them, in fact," she informed with a grin. "Gosh, we laughed a lot, and had such fun," she said, turning wistful again.
"Sounds like she was an amazing woman," Olivia said softly.
"She was," Natalia quietly affirmed, tears clouding mahogany. "I miss her very much," she said, blinking back the tears. "She tucked us in and kissed us goodnight every night, even when we thought we were too old for such silliness. She believed that people were never too old for goodnight kisses," she chuckled.
"Lucky for me," Olivia interjected with a roguish grin that drew another laugh from Natalia.
"Yes, lucky for you," Natalia agreed, planting a deliberate kiss on Olivia's lips, before continuing with the recitation of her Abuela's finer points. "She taught me that hugs and kisses are important, and that everyone needs at least a half-dozen of each, every day."
Olivia smiled softly at her. "So that's why you've always expressed your love for Emma so openly," she recognized, her voice soft with emotion. "And why you never hesitated to touch me or hug me, even when there was a chance I might reject you." She closed her eyes tightly against the tears that burned like coals. "I came to crave your touch, Natalia; even when you thought I hated you. But I didn't, y'know… I didn't hate you. I needed you," she quietly admitted. "I never told you that before…"
Natalia's heart ached for Olivia, and she gathered her close; holding her securely. "Thank you for telling me now," she said softly. "I promise you, Liv, you'll never go another day without my touch," she whispered, brushing her lips against Olivia's temple.
Burying her face in the crook of Natalia's neck, Olivia soaked in the nearness of her. And then she lifted her gaze to meet Natalia's, offering her a teary-eyed smile. "I think I like this Abuela of yours. I'm gonna need to find her, just to tell her thank you," she said softly.
Natalia smiled at her. "You would love her as much as I do," she declared. "And certainly more than you would my mother," she said, with a decided roll of her eyes.
Olivia laughed at Natalia's candor. "What was your mother like?" she asked; curiosity getting the better of her.
"She was quiet and unassuming. Submissive to a fault," Natalia answered. "That's really the only way she could be," she said, resignation in her tone.
Olivia's eyebrow shot up in question, as she recalled Natalia's earlier comments regarding her father. "You said your father wouldn't tolerate defiance. Was he… abusive, Natalia?" she asked gently.
Natalia's head shot up, her eyes wide. "What?" she gasped, almost disbelievingly. "No, Olivia, No," she adamantly denied. She wasn't angry, but rather just caught off guard. She never meant to give a poor impression of her father, and felt an urgent need to correct the miscommunication. Yet, in the same moment, she wondered why she should care either way; given the way he had rejected her in a time when she had needed him the most. "He would never hurt us. We always knew he loved us, but he also demanded respect," she explained.
"Natalia, I'm sorry," Olivia said sincerely. "I didn't mean to—"
"No, no," Natalia was quick to dissuade, "obviously I gave you the wrong impression."
She sighed softly, and suddenly her fork became quite interesting. Flipping is around between her fingers, she explained, "When I got pregnant with Rafe, I shamed our entire family, Olivia. I know that probably doesn't make sense to you, but in my culture, pregnancy outside of marriage is a really big deal. At least it was twenty years ago. And honestly, I can't imagine the culture changing anytime soon. It's Old-World, and that kind of change takes generations," she said firmly, finally looking Olivia in the eyes. She set her fork back down on the table, as she continued, "Poor choices aren't just reflected upon the person who made them, but upon the entire family, grandparents and siblings included. And I made matters even worse by defying my father, and refusing to give my baby away."
Understanding dawned, lighting Olivia's eyes, and she nodded her head. "So what you were implying earlier, about Rafe's choices making you a bad mother, that comes from Latino culture," she said. It wasn't so much a question, as a clarification.
"Yes—," Natalia confirmed with a nod. "I was born in the United States, but I wasn't raised by people who embraced its individualistic ideology, Olivia. My culture has more of a collectivist mentality, meaning that we were expected to act and think in ways that took the best interests of our extended family into consideration. And if we didn't, it reflected poorly upon everyone."
Olivia considered all that Natalia had explained to her, and realized she had been remiss in her earlier comments. "Listen, I was wrong, Natalia. Very wrong," she said openly. "You'd better hold onto that admission, because it probably won't happen often," she grinned, drawing a laugh from Natalia.
She was thankful for a break in the tension, but knew she needed to explain. Her expression turned serious again, and she continued, "I shouldn't have imposed my values upon you, and I shouldn't have insisted that you view things from my point-of-view," she said apologetically. "I didn't realize how deeply your convictions were embedded in culture. I just assumed you had a case of Catholic guilt," she explained. "That's no excuse, though, and I really am sorry."
Natalia shook her head back and forth. "You weren't wrong to encourage me to see things from another perspective, Olivia," she countered. "I still live by some of the precepts of my culture, mostly because so many of them are in line with my spiritual beliefs, but I'm open to change," she explained. "If that weren't the case, then there's no way you and I could ever be together."
Offering Natalia a weak smile, Olivia said, "Well, then I'm glad you're open to change."
Natalia glanced at her through thick, dark lashes. "So am I, Olivia," she said softly. "I wouldn't wanna miss out on loving you for the world."
Olivia averted Natalia's eyes. "Not even if it meant your salvation?" she asked; finally lending voice to one of her deepest fears for Natalia.
"What?" Natalia exclaimed, her mind running rampant. "Olivia, what are you talking about?" she asked insistently, as she coaxed the hotelier to meet her eyes.
"What if loving me costs you your salvation?" Olivia quietly posed. "I don't have anything to lose, Natalia, but you risk everything to be with me." She closed her eyes firmly against the tears that threatened, but her attempts to thwart them were futile.
The tears that streaked down Olivia's face broke Natalia's heart. She reached out, catching them with her thumbs, wiping them away. "Olivia, look at me," she insisted, gently attempting to tip the hotelier's chin.
It took Olivia several moments to comply, and when she did, the pain lurking within deep jade brought tears to Natalia's eyes as well.
Natalia held Olivia's face tenderly as she spoke. "My salvation isn't in jeopardy, Olivia," she quietly assured. "I wouldn't have told you I loved you if I hadn't already found a way to reconcile that love with my faith. Why do you think it took me so long to tell you?" she asked rhetorically. "I knew I could find a way, because God wouldn't have given you to me if He didn't mean for me to love you. It just took me a little while to figure it all out," she said, smiling through tearstained mahogany. "And just for the record, your salvation isn't lost either," she insisted. "It's just waiting for you to claim it."
"I don't think I'm ready for all that," Olivia quietly admitted.
"I know," Natalia empathized, "but someday you will be, and it'll be there waiting for you. And He will be, too."
"You certainly do have a lot of faith," Olivia grinned; attempting to divert the intensity of the moment.
Natalia smiled at her. "Yes, I do," she declared, planting a firm kiss on Olivia's lips. "I have all the faith we'll ever need…"
After loading the dishwasher, and wiping down the countertop, Jen hung the towel and wash cloth to dry. Switching off the kitchen light, she sauntered into the dining room, her fingers lightly grazing Tracy's back as she passed through. She could feel the heat of Tracy's eyes following her as she left the room, and knew instinctively that the tacit message had been received and processed. And with a smile on her face, she turned her attention toward other household chores.
First, she cleaned up the bathroom, pulling dripping toys from the tub, and drying them before returning them to the boys' room. While she was in there, she found matches to the shoes that had been strewn about the room, setting them in front of their dresser in pairs so that they would be easily found in the morning; thus avoiding a replay of the shoe hunt that had ensued earlier that day. Next, she straightened their bookshelves, and picked up a few errant toys, placing them in their appointed plastic bins—a system that Tracy had implemented to keep sanity in their room. Army men and superhero action figures, Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars, Legos, Lincoln Logs, video games, they all had their own appointed storage space, and the room looked all the better for it.
She marveled at Tracy's organizational skills, remembering how she had completely reorganized the kitchen cabinets, closets, and the boys' room when she first moved in with them. Everything had its place, and their home ran like a well-oiled machine thanks to Tracy's personal touches. The woman would make an incredible manager someday, Jen silently acknowledged, given both her ease with people and her ability to handle a huge variety of details with seemingly no effort whatsoever.
Returning to the bathroom, she bent down, shaking her head as she collected the boys' discarded clothes and towels. They knew the rules: Dirty clothes go in the laundry room. Some days they remembered better than others. She mentally cut them some slack on this particular day, given that their usual routine had been altered due to staying so late at the Beacon. If it happened again tomorrow, she would gently remind them, she reasoned.
Taking the clothes and towels to the laundry room, she sorted them into appropriate piles. She didn't mind doing laundry, and it was a good thing, too, because there was never a dearth of it in their household. Who ever would have imagined two small boys could go through so many clothes in a day? She was loath to think about what it would be like when they were teenagers. And Lord, what if she'd had girls? She knew what that was like, having grown up in a house with three sisters. The four of them could create a mountain of laundry in less than a day; especially if the day included school, and practice for their sport of choice, followed by a trip to the mall with their girlfriends, and a date with some cute guy.
The mere thought of cute guys and daughters made her thankful she had given birth to boys, not girls; and she suddenly felt a pang of what her father must have experienced each time one of those cute boys arrived at their front door to pick up one of his daughters. Then she chastised herself for the assumption that any child she might have would necessarily turn out straight. They didn't have to be boxed into society's mold any more than she did, she reasoned; and she vowed in that moment to love and support her boys, regardless of their orientation. She didn't have any inkling that either of them was gay, but one never knew. She was living proof of that, wasn't she?
That question led her directly back to thoughts of Tracy; and more specifically, back to thoughts of sex with Tracy. The woman's mere kisses held the power to enrapture her; suffusing her body with heat and desires she never knew existed. She had nearly climaxed the first time Tracy kissed her; and many times after that, those slow, sultry kisses had left her completely undone. And when they made love, God, the sheer ecstasy she found in the sensation of Tracy's body, moving against her own. Sex with Jake had been fulfilling and wonderful, she would never deny that; but what she shared with Tracy transcended wonderful, reaching out beyond phenomenal, even; grasping a firm hold on earth-shattering.
She wondered then, what had gotten into her today. Had some sort of hormonal insurgence occurred as a result of their encounter in the shower this morning? A transient thought breezed through her mind—she hadn't been this horny since she was pregnant with Dylan. Poor Jake. She had nearly exhausted him. Not that he had complained, though; not by any means. The thought of being pregnant now, made her laugh out loud, and though the notion was completely ridiculous, she couldn't help but think that if any woman could accomplish such a feat, Tracy would be the one.
Distracting herself from her thoughts, she focused on the piles of laundry again. Nothing like mundane household chores to curb the raging libido. Noting there were enough darks to constitute a full load, she tossed them in the washing machine; setting the controls for a heavy cycle with a warm wash/rinse. Then, measuring the appropriate amounts of liquid detergent and fabric softener, she filled the dispensers, closed the drawer, and hit the start button. She waited, one… two… three seconds, and finally two distinctly different chimes sounded, confirming the cycle she had chosen, and then the warm water began to fill the machine.
Satisfied, she turned her attention to the load of whites she knew was in the dryer. Opening the door, she pulled out the load Tracy had started before work that morning; dumping the contents into the sturdy blue laundry basket. Fishing out the used dryer sheet, she tossed it in the nearby trashcan, along with the lint she had cleaned from the trap. Lint left in the dryer trap was a pet peeve of Tracy's, and Jen had quickly learned to clean it out after each load. Wondering how Tracy had come to wear the pants in their family, so to speak, she shook her head, as she lifted the basket; and switching off the light, she headed toward the family room to fold the laundry.
With the promise that Natalia would share stories from her childhood during their date the following evening, they agreed to table the discussion for the time being; thus avoiding the possibility of being interrupted by the arrival of Josh and Matt, mid-story. Olivia was more than pleased about the prospect of learning more about Natalia's life before Springfield, specifically, before Rafe, and she was willing to wait for the pleasure. They easily returned to their playful question and answer banter, as they waited for Damian to deliver their dessert.
"Favorite movie?"
"Oh, Gosh," Olivia said, fingers covering her mouth as she deliberated the question, "I haven't seen a movie that didn't involve a Disney logo, random singing and dancing, or some sort of cartoon character in eight years," she sighed, rolling her eyes.
Natalia laughed. "I know what you mean," she empathized. "Maybe we should do something about that," she suggested.
"That could definitely be fun," Olivia declared with a roguish grin. "I'd love to make out with you in a movie theatre."
Her cheeks coloring a bit, Natalia playfully slapped Olivia's arm. "Oh, would you be serious!" she laughed, "You make us sound like teenagers."
Olivia leaned in, nuzzling Natalia's ear. "You make me feel like a teenager," she whispered; kissing Natalia's neck in that sensitive spot just beneath her ear. "I never knew making out could be so much fun," she confessed, her mouth slowly exploring soft, warm skin.
Finding Natalia's pulse point, she garnered a soft moan, and an admission of, "Neither did I…" from her assistant.
Their mini-make-out session was interrupted by Damian's appearance with their dessert. If he hadn't been so polite throughout the evening, Olivia might have been annoyed. But the truth was, he had been nothing but pleasant, never once reacting with anything less than acceptance of their obvious romantic entanglement, and she was, in fact, quite appreciative of his professionalism.
After exchanging a few more pleasantries with them, and ensuring they weren't in need of anything else at the moment, Damian politely excused himself, and took his leave.
Olivia had selected Moroccan pastries, accompanied by mint tea, the quintessential Moroccan dessert drink, to cap off their long, leisurely dinner, and Natalia regarded the offering with a curious eye. "What's this?" she asked, studying the triangular-shaped pastry with measured interest.
"Briouat," Olivia answered. "It's a Moroccan pastry."
"What's in it?" Natalia pressed.
"Filo dough, filled with a sweet almond paste, dipped in honey and baked to a crisp," Olivia answered. She was quite certain Natalia would find it delectable.
Natalia lifted the pastry to her mouth, taking a tentative bite. Her face lit up immediately. "It's delicious, Olivia," she said, around a mouthful of the tasty treat. "Reminds me a bit of Baklava."
Olivia grinned. "That's a fair comparison," she admitted, taking a bite of her pastry. "It's made from mostly the same ingredients."
"It's wonderful," Natalia beamed; savoring the sweetness.
"I'm glad you like it," Olivia said, feeling quite satisfied with her choices for the evening. She wasn't certain her plans for their official first date could top this, but she hoped Natalia would be even more pleased the following evening.
"Oh! So, back to our favorite movies," Natalia segued, remembering the abandoned topic.
"I don't think I could choose just one movie," Olivia said. "How about we talk favorite genre?" she suggested.
Natalia nodded her agreement. "Okay, so what's your favorite genre?"
"I'll deny it if you ever repeat this," Olivia warned with a grin, "but I really love romantic comedies," she admitted.
Natalia gave her that familiar look; the one that says she was already privy to Olivia's secret, and reaching out, she playfully pinched Olivia's chin between her thumb and forefinger. "That doesn't surprise me in the least," she said with confidence.
Olivia's coloring deepened slightly, as she laughed; turning the topic back to Natalia. "What's yours?"
"The same," Natalia said sweetly, her voice almost a melody. "But I do like a good psychological thriller now and then," she admitted.
"Really?" Olivia said, surprised. "I do too," she confessed. "I really liked The Bone Collector."
"Yeah, that is a good one," Natalia agreed. "And of course, Silence of the Lambs is my all-time favorite."
"Ahh, yes… who could forget that classic?" Olivia concurred. "Okay, umm… Favorite song as a teenager?" she asked, swallowing another bite of her dessert.
Natalia pondered for a moment. "Amy Grant's Baby, Baby," she answered. "I used to sing it to Rafe when he was little. I know it's a love song, but… he's my baby," she smiled, with a bashful shrug of her shoulders.
Olivia gave her an affectionate smile. "Aww… that's so sweet," she nearly cooed; her heart melting.
"You're such an old softy," Natalia teased.
"I am not… old," Olivia denied with a grin; drawing a laugh from Natalia. "Just don't let that whole softy thing get out," she said furtively.
"Don't worry, Honey. Your secret is safe with me," Natalia assured, kissing Olivia on the cheek. She posed her next topic then, "Favorite book?"
"Easy," Olivia declared, tapping her palm on the table. "The Kama Sutra, of course," she said; the facetiousness in her tone supplanted by the appearance of that roguish grin and the suggestive wiggle of an eyebrow.
Natalia gave her that look. "I don't know what that means," she said, a hint of censure in her tone, "but given the expression on your face, I'll have to assume it's dirty."
Olivia responded with a hearty laugh. "Sweetheart, books about sex aren't dirty. They're… informative…" she asserted. The grin on her face was priceless.
Natalia rolled her eyes. "I can only imagine how much… information you've gathered over the years," she said wryly; drawing another hearty laugh from Olivia.
"Seriously, though," Olivia said when her laughter finally ceased, "My favorite book is Kate Chopin's The Awakening. It's about a woman who challenged the social norms and established gender roles in the late-nineteenth century. Chopin took a lot of heat for the controversial subject matter, but she also did a lot to bolster the early work of the feminist movement," she explained. "It's an empowering read."
Natalia nodded her head, telling herself that she needed to look for that book.
"What about you? What's your favorite book?" Olivia asked. "And the Bible doesn't count."
"Spoil-sport," Natalia teased, drawing a grin from Olivia.
She thought for a moment then, an unintelligible hum seeping through her lips; and finally, prefacing her response with the caveat that Olivia had probably never heard of it, she answered, "The Hiding Place. It's the autobiography of a Dutch woman named Corrie ten Boom, whose family was at the center of the Dutch underground during World War II. After her entire family was imprisoned by the Nazis for hiding Jewish people and helping them escape communist rule, Corrie and her sister taught the other prisoners, and even some of the guards, about God's love, and many of them became believers. They knew it was dangerous to witness to people in the concentration camps, but they didn't care, because they didn't want to see anyone die without first hearing about the gift of salvation," she said quietly, her dark eyes filled with tears. "It's a story of faith, miracles, and values, and of finding God's hand even in the little things," she explained, hitting only the most miniscule of highlights from the most amazing book she'd ever read.
Olivia was stunned into silence. She thought about this woman's story for several minutes, and then, planting her gaze in the rich soil of Natalia's eyes, she gently took her face in her hands. "That sounds like something you would do," she said softly.
Natalia offered her a wobbly smile. "I could only hope to possess such extraordinary courage under fire," she confessed.
"You should give yourself more credit," Olivia asserted, giving Natalia a chaste kiss. "You have far more courage than you think."
Releasing a sigh then, Olivia declared that they should be finished with the heavy topics, and go back to easier fare.
Natalia agreed wholeheartedly. She was having far too much fun with Olivia, and wanted so much for that to continue. "Okay… Oh! You never said your favorite song as a teenager," she pointed out.
"Hmm… guess I didn't, did I?" Olivia concurred. "Umm… mine was probably Def Leppard, Pour Some Sugar on Me," she announced, that roguish grin on her lips again.
"Olivia!" Natalia exclaimed, slapping the hotelier on the arm. "Would you be serious?"
"Who says I'm not serious?" Olivia countered, pokerfaced.
Natalia gave her that look again, and Olivia laughed. "Okay, so I'm not serious. But my real answer is just too embarrassing," she confessed. Which was exactly why she had so stealthily navigated away from the topic.
"More embarrassing than me not being kissed until I was sixteen?" Natalia posed.
Olivia feigned contemplation, earning herself another playful slap to the arm. She laughed then. "Actually, yes," she answered. "Definitely more embarrassing than that."
"Well, don't hold out on me here!" Natalia fussed; eager to bask in Olivia's discomfiture.
"Okay, okay!" Olivia exclaimed, holding up her hand in mock protection. "I'll tell you. But you have to promise not to laugh," she bargained.
"I promise," Natalia grinned.
Olivia glanced at her through sheepish eyes. "It's… Styx," she gulped, "their song Babe," she admitted with a wince.
Hand clasped firmly over her mouth, Natalia tried her hardest not to laugh, but her efforts proved futile. There was no way she could suppress the hearty burst of laughter that welled up in her chest. It wasn't Olivia's choice of song so much as the expression of complete mortification with which it was delivered.
"Stop it," Olivia groaned, unable to stifle her own laughter. "It reminds me of Saturday nights at the skating rink—Okay?" she blushed; thoroughly mortified.
Natalia threw her arms around Olivia's neck. "Oh, Babe," she laughed, her choice of endearment intended as a torture device, "that's so—"
"Romantic?" Olivia suggested optimistically, desperate to save face.
"No—," Natalia cackled. "Cheesy," she literally squeaked, as her laughter bubbled over into tears that streamed down her cheeks, unabated. "Oh, my Gosh, I can't believe you admitted to that!" she laughed.
Olivia felt like her blush reached all the way to her knees as she sat there, listening to Natalia's uncontrollable fit of laughter. But even as embarrassed as she felt, that laughter was contagious, and she couldn't help but join in. That was one of the things Olivia loved most about Natalia—Natalia made her feel safe enough to laugh about herself, rather than becoming angered by her own humanness.
It took them several minutes to regain their composure, and when they did, both of their faces were streaked with tears.
Natalia took Olivia's face in her hands, wiping the tears away with her thumbs. Then, leaning in, she playfully brushed her nose against Olivia's. "Babe, I love you," she whispered, tongue-in-cheek, which only caused them to laugh again.
"If you start singing that song—," Olivia warned; but any threat she might have made seemed pointless given Natalia's penchant for defiance. They were so much alike in that way.
Natalia casually draped her arms around Olivia's neck. "What, you mean like this?" she suggested, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of her mouth. "OOoOoOooo, Babe…" she sang, the pitch of her voice raising and lowering in perfect replication of that familiar melody.
Olivia laughed, as her arms snaked around Natalia's waist. "And you call me the incorrigible one," she teased, pulling her close. And once Natalia was close enough to kiss again, Olivia just simply couldn't resist the draw of those lips.
"That's because you are," Natalia laughed against Olivia's lips, and then the kiss grew deeper.
When they finally came up for air, Natalia looked into Olivia's eyes, and said, "I just realized I've lost count of how many times you've kissed me."
"You were counting?" Olivia laughed.
"Don't laugh at me," Natalia fussed, her cheeks coloring. "Yes, I was counting. It was my way of making sure I wasn't dreaming," she confessed, her tone soft and wistful. "But ya know what it means that I've lost count?"
Olivia arched an eyebrow. "That you've forgotten what number comes next?" she suggested, earning herself another slap to the arm.
"Stop it. No!" Natalia exclaimed. "It means kissing is a real part of who we are together," she concluded. "It's so natural that we don't even think about it anymore."
Olivia offered her an affectionate smile. "I like the sound of that," she said quietly. And she sealed that declaration with another slow, lingering kiss.
TBC…