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 Rivera, Phillip, Alan, and Alan-Michael Spaulding, and Buzz, Eleni, Marina, Henry, and Frank Cooper are owned by Guiding Light, CBS/TeleNext and Proctor & Gamble. No copyright infringement intended with regard to GL, CBS/TeleNext, Proctor & Gamble, or any other entity. Written for fun, not profit. All other standard disclaimers apply.
For those who may be interested, the novel that is mentioned in this update, Karin Kallmaker's The Kiss that Counted, is a truly phenomenal read, as are all of her novels I've read, to date. I would HIGHLY recommend to anyone who enjoys well-written, genuine lesbian romance.
Chapter 8 consists of 9 updates, the majority of which will be presented in smaller segments than what you're generally accustomed to receiving. I find this to be the most prudent presentation because, while there is an overarching theme, each major segment has its own specific purpose. The segments will be posted weekly over the course of several weeks, which will allow me to continue providing you all with regular updates through the end of my semester. I will endeavor to post on the same day each week. Dialogue in this chapter is original. I don't remember whether or not Frank and Eleni went to Greece for their honeymoon, but it seems logical, given their family heritage, so for the purpose of my story, we'll just pretend that they did.
Rating: Chapter 8.6 is rated R for sexual innuendo.
It's been another crazy busy week, thus, the reason for delay in posting this update. My semester finished on Monday, with the two presentations. Feedback from both of those was positive, as was the feedback on the huge group project turned in the week prior. I'm breathing a huge sigh of relief! Still waiting on feedback from the paper I did on trauma and antigay hate crimes; though, given the response to my presentation, I'm expecting a positive response to the paper as well. I interviewed for another internship position on Tuesday, and I'm really hoping this one comes through. It's quite intensive, but I'm prepared for that, and I know it's one of the most well-respected programs in St. Louis. All of their interns have jobs at the end of the program—not necessarily at the facility, but definitely in the profession. Anyway, I celebrated the interviews and end of semester with lunch with an old friend on Wednesday—it was a welcome break. And now I'm settling in to do some intensive writing over the summer—which means only good things for y'all… ;)
Finally, Happy Mother's Day to all of you who are Moms! I honor you—and admittedly, I envy you a bit, as well. And to any of you who might be facing this holiday weekend without your beloved Mother or Mother-figure, or who might face Father's Day next month with that same sense of loss, my heart is right there with you… These holidays never get easier, do they? But I rest in the knowledge that I was blessed with wonderful, loving parents, and I am thankful to have realized and acknowledged those blessings before it was too late.
Okay, teary-eyed, melancholy moment aside, on with the chapter… Thank you all, once again, for taking this journey with me and our Girls. I hope you enjoy the continuation of Chapter 8: Confessions and Confrontations…
Regards—
Kimberly xo
Confessions Lead to Strange Bedfellows
Copyright May, 2009
"In the confrontation between the stream and the rock, the stream always wins. Not through strength, but through persistence."
Anonymous
"Love never fails, character never quits; and with patience and persistence, dreams do come true."
Pete Maravich
Chapter 8.6 – Confessions and Confrontations | Reflections:
Saturday Night—the Cooper House…
Frank sank down into the recliner chair in the corner of the living room, and opened the tattered photo album he had retrieved from the nearby closet. His father had retreated upstairs upon their arrival home, and Frank was thankful for the solace, as he began flipping through the pages. It was hard for him to fathom the passing of nearly twenty-five years.
Pictures of he and Eleni in the early days of their courtship, and then of their marriage, lined the opening pages. He shoved away thoughts of those missing months, when Eleni had betrayed him with Alan-Michael, ultimately marrying the youngest Spaulding heir; choosing instead, to focus on the happy times—their wedding day, pictures from their honeymoon in Greece. Pictures of Marina followed next in line—the day she was born, the day they brought her home, her first bath, first crawl, first tooth, and first steps, her first day of kindergarten… The memories played out as if they were a movie, projected through his mind's eye.
As he thumbed through the pages, he was struck by a long-forgotten wish that he and Eleni had given Marina a sibling. It was too late for that now, of course—it was too late for everything, it seemed. His melancholy mind played games with him, as he continued flipping the memories.
He paused on a picture of Eleni and Marina, baking Christmas cookies in the tiny kitchen of their house on Fifth Street—the last Christmas they spend there before the infamous Fifth Street Fire. His mind flashed from the image of Eleni—her long, dark wavy hair loosely tied back, apron draped around her neck, dark eyes glistening with love as she patiently helped Marina pour ingredients—to an image of Natalia, looking much the same way, as she watched Emma pour flour, eggs and vanilla into a mixing bowl in the kitchen at the farmhouse just weeks prior. It was the first palpable realization that his father was correct—Natalia was very much like Eleni, in myriad ways. He wasn't sure whether the realization made him feel better, or worse.
The light thumping of bare feet on the staircase drew him from his ponderings. Back to reality, he acknowledged that the nose could only signal one thing: Marina was headed toward the kitchen, probably to warm a bottle for little Henry.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Marina's attention was drawn toward the light from the living room. Noting her father sitting in the otherwise empty room, she paused in the entryway.
She smiled as she padded toward him. "What are you still doing up?" It wasn't like him to burn the midnight oil unless he was working.
Glancing up, he returned the smile. "Just reminiscing, I suppose," he answered, casually. "Is Henry fussing for a midnight snack?" he asked, hoping to sideline any impending questions.
"Yes… He takes after his great-grandpa," Marina laughed.
"Yeah, Pop is famous for his late-night refrigerator raids, isn't he?"
Marina perched on the arm of her father's chair, and glanced down at the album. "I remember that day," she said, her tone nostalgic, as her fingertips brushed the picture of her and her mother mixing cookie dough. "I always loved baking with Mom—even when I was a teenager, and couldn't stand being in the same room with her most of the time." She couldn't help the smile that teased at her lips. "I'm glad I finally got over that phase."
Frank gently patted his daughter's knee. "I am too, Baby Girl," he said, fondly. "It's amazing how much wisdom a mother gains as her children turn from teenagers to adults," he quipped; drawing a laugh from his daughter. "I suppose the same is true of fathers."
"Yes, I suppose," Marina grinned; purposely trying not to sound all that convincing.
"Very funny," Frank said, dryly.
"I get my sense of humor from you, Dad," Marina playfully pointed out, as she stood from the arm of his chair. She could hear Henry wailing from all the way upstairs—obviously, his father was having difficulty pacifying him. Leaning over, she kissed her father's cheek. "Gotta feed my hungry boy," she declared, and with that, she headed toward the kitchen.
"Marina?" Frank called after her.
"Yeah, Dad?" She turned toward him again.
"Umm…" He hesitated. "Does Natalia remind you at all, uh… of your mother?" he finally asked, nearly choking on the question.
She considered the question carefully; thankful that Henry seemed to have calmed down again. "Now that you mention it, yeah, she kinda does," she answered, forthrightly. "Why do you ask?"
Not surprised in the least, Frank nodded his head. "It's nothing important. Just something your grandpa said tonight, is all."
"Oh, okay," Marina replied, shrugging her shoulders. She couldn't stop the grin that spread across her face. "I think she would be a really terrific wife and step-mom, if that's why you're asking," she said, granting her unsolicited approval.
"I agree that she would be, but… she's taken," Frank said, softly. It was another important acknowledgement for him to make, and he felt better having made it.
"Really?" Marina said, surprised. "By whom?"
"Olivia…" Frank answered, candidly.
Marina's jaw hit the floor.
Saturday Evening—Springfield Police Department…
Phillip dropped down onto the dilapidated cot that had been his bed, virtually since his return to Springfield. Massaging his throbbing temples, he muttered to himself; thankful that the nattering old bigot in the next cell had finally passed out. She was facedown on the cot, and he couldn't help but get a little thrill, knowing how she would react when consciousness revealed her position in the light of day.
The woman had started out sounding rather civil—feigning concern for Emma's well-being. But it hadn't taken long for that concern to turn to outright rage. She carried on for over an hour, and he couldn't believe the hateful things that came spewing from her mouth. Yet, even after all her ranting, he hadn't a clue why she held such a deep grudge against Olivia, Natalia, and their friends—all he knew was that she was out for blood, and they were her prime targets.
If the woman weren't so vile, he might have pitied her though, for she knew not what she was doing, making an enemy of Olivia Spencer. Instead, he used the last of his energy to roll the tape of her spiteful ranting through his mind, making mental note of the most useful pieces of information—details that could be used to protect his youngest daughter, and her mothers.
The cot creaked as he reached over; grabbing the dull pencil and pad of paper he had been granted by the guard, once the psychiatrist had determined he wasn't a suicide risk. He laughed at the irony: suicidal ideation had been a part of his daily existence, once upon a time—back when Alan manipulated his thoughts, and controlled his every move. But he was a free man now, despite the iron bars that confined him, because he was finally ready to stand firm against his father; consequences be damned.
His thoughts drifted back to the early days with Olivia, and those things that had drawn him to her, despite the fact that she was his father's wife. Her passion, her strength and vitality, her underlying vulnerability; he had loved her for those things, and so much more. But ultimately it had all gone wrong, and he fully acknowledged his part in their downward spiral. If only, if only, his mind repeated; but he knew in his heart that neither if-only's nor wishful thinking would change anything. Not at this stage of the game.
Quickly, he began authoring a letter to Olivia, explaining what he had been told, and warning her of the woman's bent toward vengeance for a crime he couldn't yet define. He would work the woman for more information, given time. Until then, he focused on Olivia, and the information garnered both from the woman, and from Olivia herself. He hadn't been the least bit surprised by the woman's accusations of involvement between Olivia and Natalia—he knew Olivia far too well for her to lie to him with any success. And he acknowledged that he wasn't angry with her for sidestepping the truth—she had every reason in the world to distrust him, and he knew it would take time and patience to regain her trust. But as he had told Olivia earlier that day: he had time. And he planned to make the very best use of it. Whatever it took, however long it took, he would do what was necessary to make things right with Olivia and the rest of his family again.
It was nearly midnight when the two couples finally said their goodnights, and parted ways. The evening had been spent talking and laughing with new friends, as they finished their games and played with the kids. It was a good experience; an evening of firsts for all of them, as they each made an effort to get to know the others on a more personal level. And in the end, each of them was left with a sense of connection to the others.
It was a first for Olivia to intentionally build friendships with employees—her friendship with Natalia had been accidental, a byproduct of her illness; and that made it, by far, the most meaningful to her. But the relationships she was forging with Jen and Tracy would prove to be significant, as well, in ways Olivia never would have expected.
For Natalia, it was a first to build intentional friendships with other women—that they were lesbians, somehow made her feel empowered. It wasn't something she could articulate to anyone, but she felt it flooding her soul, and pouring into her spirit; leaving her with a sense of belonging that had never existed for her before. It felt like family, only better, because she knew these women would never judge her or toss her aside as if she were damaged goods.
And for Jen and Tracy, it was a first to be open and honest with friends about their relationship—it felt better than either of them ever would have imagined. Later that night, Tracy would admit to Jen how incredibly freeing it felt to kiss her in public for the first time. And kissed her, she had—without the slightest hesitation, right there under the flashing lights at Lighthouse Lanes.
The kiss had taken Jen completely by surprise—but she certainly hadn't resisted. Quite the contrary, she had, in fact, embraced the intimate gesture, returning Tracy's kiss without hesitation.
Saturday Night—Jen & Tracy's House…
And later that evening, as she picked up the book on her bedside table, Jen found herself thoroughly captivated by the story of one kiss that changed two lives forever. The parallel to her own life was not lost on her, as she remembered another kiss that had taken her completely by surprise—the first time Tracy had kissed her. It was the kiss that changed everything—the kiss that counted…
Their first kiss had come a little more than year into their friendship, after an impromptu dinner at Jen's favorite restaurant—a quaint little Italian place on the south side of town. It had been the first time she allowed Jake's parents an unsupervised evening with her boys; they were three and four at the time. She was extremely nervous about the prospect, and Tracy was determined to take her mind off of it; if only for a few brief hours.
The natural ambiance of the restaurant was relaxing, romantic even, if one should be so inclined, with its soft lighting, soothing cadence of Italian-influenced instrumentals, and the hushed tones of patrons and staff, alike. They had shared a quiet, leisurely dinner together, talking of work, their classes and ongoing projects, and as always, of the boys.
Tracy had been teaching them Spanish, Italian, and French since her entry into their lives the year prior, and they were quickly becoming both multilingual and multi-culturally attuned, thanks to her keenness for immersing herself in other cultures. They were, by nature, extremely bright children, having learned their alphabet, numbers, and colors nearly as soon as they began talking—thanks to Jen's influence and a little help from Elmo; but they had literally thrived under Tracy's constant, loving attention.
Jen marveled at Tracy's patience with them, and loved that they were learning about cultures other than their own. Jacob would be starting preschool in the fall, and they knew he would excel in the more structured environment. He was meticulous to a fault, and craved such order; often preferring a set schedule, even at his tender young age. Dylan, on the other hand, was a free spirit; detesting order and anything that stifled his innate creativity. He craved adventure, and his imagination was boundless. He was, as if by design, the absolute antithesis of his older brother; and throughout their lives, that very dynamic would be the force that grounded them, making them inseparable.
When the check came, Jen reached for it; but Tracy halted her with the gentle touch of her hand. "This one's on me," she softly declared; the tips of her fingers effortlessly falling between Jen's. Tracy hadn't planned for that to happen, but she wasn't sorry for the intimacy of the contact.
The simple touching of fingers caused Jen's heart to race, and she felt anxiously at ease—a paradoxical state, if ever one existed. Casting the confusing feelings aside, she protested payment of the bill, only to be silenced by Tracy with a single fingertip against her lips. "You spend your life looking after your boys," she said, quietly, "It's time someone looked after you."
It was a simple statement, but the sincerity in Tracy's voice brought tears to Jen's eyes.
An hour later, as they were walking through the park, filling the final minutes before picking up the boys by enjoying the warm spring evening, Jen's lips and fingers still tingled from Tracy's touch. And when Tracy slipped her hand into Jen's, intertwining their fingers as they walked side-by-side, Jen hadn't protested.
After picking up the boys, Tracy had driven them home in the sporty little blue five-speed convertible she had received as a graduation gift from her parents when she finished high school. Her older brothers had bemoaned the gift, whining, "Mom and Dad never bought us a fancy car!" To which Tracy had shrugged nonchalantly, saying, "Hey, I can't help it they like me best," with a mischievous smirk on her face.
Her father admonished her for teasing them in such a way, but she just flashed him that winsome smile. "You know it's true, Papà," she said, kissing him on the cheek. And though he protested for the sake of peace amongst his eldest three children, he knew he had no grounds for argument. The child had owned him from the moment she first wrapped her little fingers around his pinky—just minutes after she was born.
Like any little sister, Tracy enjoyed teasing her brothers—paybacks were a bitch, and she certainly owed them a few. But their statement haunted her, and ultimately their words left her determined to be independent, to pay her own way through college; despite her father's vehement objections. And it was through that decision that the receiving of a graduation gift had turned into a character building experience. It was an experience she and Jen hoped to pass on to the boys when they were older.
Jacob and Dylan relished riding in Tracy's car—it was an exciting adventure, especially when the top was down, as it was on that gorgeous spring evening. But the evening with their grandparents—their grandfather, in particular, had left them exhausted, and they were both fast asleep by the time they arrived home.
Tracy helped Jen carry them in and change them into their pajamas, and once they were tucked in for the night, she followed Jen back into the living room. "It's late," she said, softly, "I should probably get going."
They both knew how ridiculous the statement was, given their propensity for late-night talks that turned into breakfast. But they also knew something had shifted between them that night, and it was probably for the better that Tracy leave, before leaving became a literal impossibility.
A silent nod marked Jen's acquiescence, as she unconsciously bit her bottom lip. Torn between Tracy staying or going, she didn't meet the girl's eyes.
Walking Tracy to the door, Jen paused just before reaching for the handle. Instead, she reached out, hooking two of Tracy's fingers with her own. She closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a breath, before slowly lifting her gaze.
When their eyes met, Jen offered her an affectionate smile. "Thank you," she said, softly. The fullness of her voice told Tracy that she was talking about far more than just dinner. It was a thank you for all they had shared since the beginning of their friendship.
Tracy pulled her into a warm embrace, holding her close; and Jen melted into her arms. "You're welcome," she whispered against Jen's ear, as she gently caressed Jen's upper back, soothing the woman in her arms.
It wasn't the first time they had embraced, of course; but somehow, this was different, and the change was palpable for both of them. They sank into the welcoming warmth of the full-body embrace, and the heated rush of desire shot through them, as they lingered just a bit longer than either necessary or prudent, in one another's arms.
Jen was the first to break from their embrace, and a moment of awkward silence fell between them. To their mutual relief, it was quickly assuaged by the appearance of Mozart. Purring loudly, he rubbed affectionately against Jen's leg; seeking her attention.
They both chuckled, thankful for the interruption, and crouched down to pet him; rubbing their fingers around and in between his ears. He was oblivious to the spark that passed between them each time their fingers came into contact, too busy was he with reveling in their attention.
Pacing and purring, he pranced like a prince as their hands brushed along his fur, alternately scratching and rubbing. And finally, he hopped up into Tracy's makeshift lap, affectionately licking her face; drawing a soft laugh from each of them.
"Seems all the little men in my life are smitten with you," Jen teased; speaking of the affection her boys, and now even the cat, expressed toward the girl. "Should I be jealous?" Her voice was low, and she arched an eyebrow.
"No—," Tracy answered, softly; slowly shaking her head back and forth. And that single word held such depth of meaning that neither of them could deny it. Yet, neither of them spoke.
The moment seemed suspended in time, as their eyes met, transfixed; and then Mozart sprang from Tracy's lap, abandoning them in search of more important endeavors. And as he sashayed away, his fluffy tail waving carelessly behind him, they stood from their crouched positions, laughing at the laissez-faire attitude of the little white Norwegian prince.
They said their quiet goodnights then, and just as Jen was about the close the door, Tracy turned in the doorway; capturing a final glance at her.
Clear blue skies met rich brown soil, together creating a picturesque horizon. Tracy swallowed hard, trying to ward off the pounding of her heart, and the pulsing of blood rushing through her ears. Her palms were sweating, and her mouth ran dry, and suddenly air was fleeting, as she gazed into the crystal blue clarity of those eyes. No one had ever affected her this way. What had started as innocuous flirtation for her had turned into something far more powerful; and try as she might, she could no longer fight the force that drew her to this woman.
"Jen—," she softly entreated; one fluid movement bringing her into the woman's personal space. Nervously, she wiped her hands on her jeans, praying they wouldn't bead up with sweat again.
And then, pressing her forehead against Jen's temple, she tenderly cradled that beautiful face in her hands. The soft scent of Jen's body, of her hair, surrounded Tracy, overwhelming her senses, making her head spin, as she breathed it deep into her lungs, allowing it to splay throughout her body. The power of it suffused her body with a heat and desire she never knew existed.
Jen's heart began to pound within her chest; and she felt it slowly descend, sidling down through her body like a lead weight until it came to rest somewhere near the source of that incessant fluttering that always accompanied the girl's presence. Her head cursed her body; chastising it for its impetuosity. The girl was far too close; she could literally feel the warmth of her breath against her face. And the brief moments that followed seemed to sprawl out before her, overloading her senses like a rush of water barreling through a breach in a damn, saturating the soil and foliage beyond. That soft, musky scent of the girl was no longer evanescent; but rather, it lingered with her, filling her senses, and suffusing the air around her, until scent and air became one, and she had no choice but to breathe her in.
Tracy's body was flush up against hers now, as she gently pressed the woman against the doorframe; and Jen could feel the heat emanating from the girl's body, even through the layers of clothing between them.
Light as a feather, she felt Tracy's lips brush against her cheek. Jen's breath caught in her chest, as she fought to tamp down the rush of blood that flowed like a hot spring, gushing into the most intimate parts of her body.
And then breathing was a completely forgotten notion, as their eyes met again, and the fingers of Tracy's right hand were gently touching her lips. The touch was so delicate, like the petals of a flower, and Jen felt her body begin to tremble, those dark, expressive eyes flickering down to caress her lips, as the fingers slipped away, and Tracy's mouth moved ever closer to hers.
"We can't do this," Jen protested; her body trembling, as Tracy's mouth hovered above her own, only a hairsbreadth of space between them. She could feel the warmth of the girl's breath on her lips.
"No—," Tracy disagreed, slowly shaking her head back and forth, "We probably shouldn't—" she whispered, her open mouth just barely ghosting across Jen's lips, "but we definitely Can—"
Jen's lips trembled and her body swayed. Hazy blue eyes fluttered closed, as every nerve ending in her body lay suspended in rapt anticipation of that mouth against her own. And then Tracy's mouth was tentatively brushing against hers. A sharply inhaled breath of surprise marked her response; sucking the air from the girl's open mouth, then depositing it again, as she exhaled Tracy's name, in a hazy swirl of apprehension and desire.
And then Tracy's hands were tenderly cupping her face again, the warmth of her breath reaching out, caressing soft lips, as she quieted the woman with softly exhaled shushing sounds. Slowly nuzzling Jen's nose and mouth with her own, over and over again, her open mouth lightly brushed against quivering lips, coaxing her, drawing her in.
Jen heard a soft moan, as she tumbled head-long into the kiss, finally surrendering to it, and again as she felt the tip of Tracy's tongue lightly touching her lower lip for the first time. It took a moment for it to register, even in her heightened state of awareness, that the sounds had emanated from her within own chest.
And then the familiar songs of cicadas and crickets stilled, and the rush of water cascading from the fountain in the front yard seemingly turned to a silent trickle. The hum of the front porch light fading into the distance, the world fell quiet around them; the only audible sounds being the single breath that passed back and forth between them, enveloped in the soft moans that tumbled from their lips into one another's mouths, as finally, Jen's lips parted, allowing Tracy to deepen the kiss.
Slowly, slowly, Tracy kissed her; savoring the sweetness of those lips, that mouth, she had yearned to taste for so long. It was like tasting a slice of heaven, and she was certain that nothing else in the world would, or could, ever feel this good, this right.
And then Tracy felt the paradoxical tension of urgent yielding resistance, as finally, Jen returned her kiss with passion; their tongues meeting again and again in a tender, yet heated exchange that Jen could feel in the deepest recesses of her body and soul. No one had ever kissed her this way; holding her face so tenderly, so reverently; their body molding perfectly against her own, as their tongue caressed hers, leaving her with a feeling of connection that surpassed anything she had ever known.
When finally, Jen gave in to the need to touch, Tracy's body was a study in contrasts—her firm, toned biceps and taut abdomen felt like granite under curious fingertips, yet the muscles rippled and twitched, softening as those fingers slowly explored them. And her breasts were so soft and warm against Jen's body, save the rigid nipples that pressed hard against her own breasts. The sensation of those nipples left her feeling faint, and Jen fleetingly wondered whether Tracy could feel the tautness of her nipples, as well.
Neither of them knew how long their kisses lasted; neither cared, as the parting and reconnecting of mouths and tongues flowed together in what felt like a single fluid motion, each reconnection transcending the last.
When their mouths finally parted, lungs in need of deeper inhalations of air, Jen shivered in Tracy's arms; though her body was anything but cold. The depth of her emotional connection with this woman, coupled with the intensity of reaction within her body, scared the shit out of her. But as she felt the warm softness of Tracy's mouth, ghosting across her forehead, along her temple, and onto her cheek, in an outpouring of tenderness, she couldn't deny the desire that burned within her, to feel that mouth against hers again.
As her thoughts returned to the present, Jen glanced over at Tracy, who was sleeping soundly beside her. She smiled, at the memory of that first kiss, and the gloriously tumultuous emotions and desires it had evoked within her—physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Jake's kisses had always made her feel cherished, loved—but never the way Tracy's did, from that very first one. Tracy's kisses made her feel those things too, but they also left her body feeling enflamed in ways she never dreamed possible. The heat of Tracy's mouth had a way of making her feel as though she might self-combust, melting everything around her, as those lips seared her skin, and that tongue soothed in its wake. Looking back on the long months that had followed, she found herself amazed at the restraint it had taken to resist the woman for as long as she did.
Knowing what she knew now, she wondered why she had even bothered at all—they were meant to be together. She certainly never intended to resist again.
Setting her book on the bedside table, she leaned over; smiling at the way Tracy's mouth always seemed poised for kisses when she slept. Gently, her fingertips caressed Tracy's cheek. "God, I love you," she whispered, brushing her mouth against those slightly parted lips in a kiss that was meant to be light and fleeting.
But even in her sleep, Tracy responded to Jen's kiss, moaning softly against her mouth. It didn't take long for kisses to deepen, moans to intensify, or fingers to tangle in soft blonde and brunette locks, as they fell easily into lovemaking that would once again last long into the night.
Saturday Night—the Farmhouse of Love…
Olivia playfully nudged Natalia's abdomen with her right big toe. "Admit it, you were trying to seduce me tonight," she teased. They were lounging on the sofa with a bottle of their favorite red, after putting one exhausted little Jellybean to bed.
"Who, me?" Natalia said, coyly. "Never."
Olivia laughed, setting her half-empty glass on the coffee table.
Mahogany eyes smiled over the rim of a wine glass, as Natalia sat there, Indian-style, facing Olivia. "What?" she said, challenging Olivia's laugh.
"You're not nearly as innocent as you pretend to be," Olivia accused, with a roguish grin.
"Just makin' it clear that I know what I want."
Olivia arched an eyebrow. Natalia sounded so incredibly self-assured, and Olivia found her confidence completely alluring. Reaching across the sofa, she snatched Natalia's glass from her hand. Ignoring the protest that followed, she grinned, and set the glass on the table next to her own. And then she grabbed Natalia's hand—she couldn't resist the draw to hold her, for even one more second. "Come 'ere, you," she gently commanded, tugging lightly, as she leaned back against the arm of the sofa.
Willingly, Natalia came to her; falling into her arms. And Olivia kissed her slowly, as she pulled her close. "Assertiveness looks amazing on you, Natalia," she said, softly. She nipped at a kiss-swollen lower lip, as she tucked raven tresses behind Natalia's ear. "I love how self-assured you've become…"
Natalia settled against her. "You brought that out in me, ya know," she acknowledged, brushing stray tendrils of chestnut from Olivia's brow. "You make me feel good about who I am, inside and out. No one's ever made me feel that way before…"
"I want you to always feel that way, Sweetheart," Olivia quietly declared. "You're the most incredible woman I've ever known. You're my Freaking Superhero, remember?" she said, admiringly.
She remembered that very well, indeed. A faint blush colored her cheeks, and she bit her bottom lip, bashfully. "And you're my Rockstar," she said, her eyes flickering with mischief.
Olivia's soft laugh brought a smile to Natalia's lips, and she leaned down, kissing her softly.
Fingers tangled in raven tresses, as she returned Natalia's kiss. "Thank you for tonight. It was a good idea. All of it." Her voice was soft with appreciation. Other than the drama with Diane, it had been a perfect evening. They both knew Diane to be a nattering gossip, but neither had ever suspected the depth of hatred the woman possessed within her.
They had talked about that at length after putting Emma to bed, and while neither of them was certain what Tracy would ultimately decide to do, they had agreed to call Frank about giving their statements, and vowed to stand by her, no matter what. And had Olivia not already placed in motion a plan to deal with the woman, she certainly would have formulated one after what Diane had done to Tracy. Grateful though, that she had kept meticulous documentation of the woman's professional missteps, she vowed to deal with her first thing on Monday—if the hostile, homophobic bitch was even out of jail by then.
Setting those thoughts aside, she returned her attention fully to Natalia. "You were right about Jen and Tracy," she admitted. "It was a little strange for me at first, y'know, socializing with employees, but I really like them, and I had a great time."
Natalia offered a warm smile in response. "I knew you would," she said, though, not smugly. "I'm really proud of you, ya know." She sealed the declaration with a light kiss.
Olivia smiled. "Why's that?"
There were so many great reasons for Natalia to be proud of Olivia, but one in particular came to mind. She thought back to a situation that had occurred at the Beacon a few days prior, and to the conversation that had ensued with Olivia shortly thereafter…
"Do you happen to know…?" The guest was asking the Concierges, Bryce Mackenzie, for directions to an obscure location a hundred or so miles from Springfield, and Natalia just happened to be nearby, chatting with Rosalie about an issue in the laundry room.
"No, Sir, I don't, but I'd be happy to look into that for you," Bryce offered politely. "Might you have a few moments?"
"Well, my wife and I were planning to have lunch in your restaurant before heading out this afternoon…" the guest noted.
"That's perfect, Sir," Bryce replied. "Why don't the two of you head into the dining room, and enjoy your lunch. I'll be certain to have the requested information upon your return," he assured; handling the situation with professionalism. "And here…" he said, reaching down behind the desk, retrieving a shiny gray card, embossed with the Beacon logo. Scribbling on it, he handed it to the guest. "Give this to your server, and they'll bring you each a complimentary beverage of your choice…"
"Thank you," the guest smiled; nodding his head in appreciation. And turning to his wife, he led her toward the restaurant entrance.
Assuring Rosalie she would look into her issue, Natalia moved from where she had been standing behind the Concierge's desk, and placed a gentle hand on the young man's arm. "You handled that with the perfect mixture of poise and professionalism, Bryce," she acknowledged; her voice strong and confident, as she encouraged her employee.
Olivia was sorting through some paperwork in the front office, when she heard Natalia talking with the Concierges. She stopped what she was doing, and listened to the conversation.
Blue eyes beamed. "Thank you, Ms. Rivera," Bryce replied with a smile; satisfaction evident in his tone. She could tell by his reaction, that he was eager to please her.
"You're welcome," she replied. "I have every confidence that you'll be able to fulfill the guest's request," she said; assurance in her voice.
"Yes, Ma'am…" he replied, with the nod of his head, as she took her leave. He quickly set to work, searching for the requested information.
Later in Olivia's office, the hotelier had approached the conversation with Natalia. "I heard that whole exchange with the Concierges," she mentioned casually, as she concentrated on the spreadsheets for their meeting with the Board the next morning.
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah…" Olivia parroted; allowing the comment the dangle, as she thumbed through the folder, searching for the budget report for the proposed Chicago expansion.
"And?" Natalia prodded; shooting the hotelier a quizzical look, as she glanced up from her paperwork.
Locating the report, Olivia flipped the folder closed, and glanced up at her. "And… I was really impressed with the way that you handled him," she acknowledged. "He never responds to me that way," she noted. "He's terrified of me…"
"Well, that's because you're a bombastic bully…" Natalia accused.
"Uh, I am not!" Olivia protested; feigning offense at the sudden reappearance of Natalia's sharp tongue.
Natalia arched an eyebrow. "Really, Olivia?" she said, with incredulity. "You threatened to impale a man with whisk, if he didn't force the chef to come make you waffles at three in the morning!"
"I'm not one for tolerating attitude from my employees," Olivia noted.
"I've been giving you attitude since the day we met," Natalia reminded. "Surely you don't think that's gonna stop, just because we're involved now…"
Olivia just gave her that look. "Now why would I be fool enough to think that?" she said, dryly.
Natalia laughed. "What did you do to Bryce, anyway?" she asked, as she rifled through a stack of papers on the credenza behind Olivia's desk.
"You don't wanna know…"
"I'm sure I probably don't…" Natalia said, wryly. "I swear, I think I'm the only employee you have, who isn't terrified of you…"
"Well, that's because you're as stubborn as I am…"
"Yeah, I am…" Natalia pointedly admitted. "And it's a good thing, too, or…"
"Or what?"
"Or we wouldn't have this…" Stealthily, Natalia slid into Olivia's lap, and kissed her soundly, aptly demonstrating her point.
Olivia had no argument.
The conversation continued when their kiss ended. "You're just… better with people than I am," Olivia contended.
"Nice try, Spencer, but I'm calling you on your bullshit…"
Olivia's eyes widened at the uncharacteristic vulgarity—twice in one day, she mentally noted; smirking at Natalia. "Why, Miss Rivera—you're turning into quite the little potty-mouth," she teased; arching a decided eyebrow.
"You're not funny," Natalia said, sternly. The seeds of a smile sprouted at the corners of her mouth.
"Then why is it such a challenge for you to not smile?" Olivia bantered; grinning at her. "Admit it…" she coaxed; leaning in, playfully nuzzling Natalia's cheek, "you think I'm funny, and you really wanna kiss me right now…"
Natalia couldn't help but smile at Olivia's nonsense. "I always want to kiss you," she willingly confessed, "but… you're still not getting out of this conversation."
Olivia sighed. "Can't blame a girl for tryin'," she grinned.
Amused, Natalia just shook her head. "You just need to learn how to communicate with the staff without yelling," she asserted. "Yes, there's a time for yelling—that's what bosses do sometimes. They yell. But most of the time, well… I just believe there's a better way to get through to them, that's all," she explained. "I offer encouragement, or acknowledge something they've done well, when I see it, so that if I have to reprimand them for something at another time, they don't feel like I only see the bad things…"
"That makes a lot of sense," Olivia admitted. "I'm just not programmed that way…"
"Well, you're that way with me. Or… least you are now," Natalia grinned as she emphasized that final word, causing Olivia to laugh. "This whole conversation started with you complimenting me on something I did well…"
"Yeah, but it's different with you…"
"It shouldn't be," Natalia boldly asserted. She weighed her thoughts for a moment; then said, "Look, I know you're good at recognizing people's strengths—you certainly recognized mine. You've done the same with Jennifer Morgan, by promoting her into management," she pointed out. "And I know you've been watching Tracy Jackson and Damian Andreas, and several others…"
"Yes, I have," Olivia willingly affirmed.
"Then you need to start telling them, Olivia," Natalia emphasized. "Build a more personal rapport with them—let them know you're aware of their strengths. And you need to be more real with them. You're amazing, Liv, and I want them to really know that. I want them to see what I see in you. There's nothing that says you can't be yourself, and still maintain control."
Olivia thought long and hard about what Natalia was saying to her. Natalia possessed such an innate ability to connect with their employees—a way of relating to them that Olivia both admired and envied. She knew it would be a difficult balancing act, to be more friendly and personable, while still maintaining managerial control, but she knew with Natalia's help, she could learn. "You know what," she said, finally, already sounding as though she agreed, "you're absolutely right. I do need to learn. And I need you to teach me."
Natalia's dimples bloomed, and Olivia's heart skipped a beat. "I can do that."
It had been that conversation that sparked Olivia's attempt to connect with Damian as he served their dinner that evening—and even more so, her willingness to socialize with Jen and Tracy. Natalia knew it had been difficult for her to break free of the familiar, and she was immensely proud of the way Olivia had tackled the situation, head-on. And while she acknowledged that it would take time for both Olivia and the staff to adjust, ultimately, she knew it would improve morale at the Beacon.
Smiling at her, Natalia brushed another wayward lock of chestnut from Olivia's face. "I'm proud of you for so many things, Liv. For being so open to change. For challenging yourself; making such an effort with Jen and Tracy, and with Damian the other night. And for stepping in to help Tracy tonight, when Diane went after her," she acknowledged. "And mostly, for learning to be more open, more vulnerable. Honestly, other than me and your girls, I've never seen you show any vulnerability whatsoever, with anyone other than Josh." She thought about that for a moment; then reasoned, "I guess that's why I felt so threatened by him."
"You don't feel that way anymore?" Olivia asked, seeking clarification of Natalia's use of past-tense.
"No," Natalia answered, forthrightly. "I don't feel that way anymore. He apologized to me, and we have an understanding now. And I believe that you won't behave that way with him again."
"I won't, Natalia. I swear it," Olivia vowed.
Natalia nodded, indicating that she accepted Olivia's words as the promise she intended. "I'll always want to be the only one who gets to see all of you," she admitted, "but I like seeing you open up to other people, too."
"I liked it, too. And it was really nice getting to know them better," Olivia admitted. "You were right to challenge me."
"Wow, I've been right a lot lately, huh?" Natalia sounded rather pleased with herself.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Olivia said, dryly.
"'Lil bit, yeah." Natalia grinned, mischievously.
Olivia just laughed. Though she hated to admit it, Natalia was right far more often than she was wrong—especially when it came to dealing with Olivia. And she appreciated that Natalia wasn't afraid to challenge her—they had developed such a symbiotic relationship in that regard, as in many others. And it was that paradoxical element to their relationship—the meeting of such disparate minds—that would keep their daily exchanges fresh and exciting, and more importantly, would carry them through the challenging times that lay ahead.
TBC… in Chapter 8.7: Hell—Party of Two…