A/N: So this is a period piece requested by MyPenCries. It's set in the late 1890s and I tried to be as accurate as I could but I'll admit I'm not a huge history buff so it might not be exactly on the mark with that time period. But I had a lot of fun writing and researching this, so much so that I'm working on another piece set in WWII. Let's be honest though, Olitz works anywhere at any time in any place. Constructive—and I stress the word—criticism is welcome, as well as reviews are welcome! XOXO
Fitz smiled good-naturedly at Eli Pope as they stood in Fitz's studio. Eli walked around, silently looking at Fitz's work. Fitz wondered what the man was thinking. He hoped Eli was impressed. The man had considerable means as the heir of one of New Orleans' oldest Gens de Couleur Libres families, and Fitz needed a commission desperately. He sat on his stool, appraising the older man with interest. Eli's smoke gray suit was European, Italian Fitz would have guessed, and lined with fuchsia silk.
"Mr. Grant," Eli finally spoke, stopping his pacing to have a closer look at a portrait of a girl in a black unitard and pink silk ballet slippers, posing in the arabesque position. Eli had to admit the picture was good, the girl appeared lithe and vibrant, and the colors were perfect. "My Olivia is an exceptional girl. Jaunty finger-painting won't capture her glory."
She's probably too big to fit on a canvas, Fitz thought with a smirk. He was willing to wager good money that Mr. Pope's "exceptional" daughter was exceptionally ugly, or exceptionally fat, or exceptionally stupid. Girls of means were rarely given beauty and charm as well, Fitz had learned. Smiling at Eli, he replied, "Mr. Pope, I'm sure your Olivia is magnificent. As you can see from my many portraits, I'm quite qualified to capture her beauty."
"I should hope so." Eli was impressed that he didn't intimidate Fitz. "I'll be expecting you at Magnolia post-haste."
Eli left without a word and Fitz wondered what to make of the man. He knew he didn't like Eli Pope, and that his daughter was probably an ogre. But he needed the money so he decided to bury his disdain and paint the girl.
XXXXX
The next day, Fitz found himself trudging through the humid spring air, headed for Magnolia plantation. He took the cable car as far as he could then walked to the city limits where the plantations splintered off. After asking a young boy on a bicycle for directions, he set off east toward the clearing swamps. Lugging his easel and satchel brought a thin sheen of sweat to his forehead, slicking his unruly espresso dark curls back. The willows opened to beautifully manicured lawns sprawling before a pristinely white plantation house. All the house's bay windows were open and Fitz breathed in the beautiful scent of magnolias wafting around the property. The trees lined the sides of the house and the long walkway. Fitz squinted at the front porch and made out a plump old woman sweeping on the porch. As he neared, he heard her singing an old hymn as she swept pink magnolia petals off the porch. She didn't seem to see him as she finished her cleaning then disappeared into the house, the screen door slapping shut behind her. He was looking around for any sign of Eli when he spotted her.
She sat on a wooden swing hanging from the one out of place tree in the center of the yard, beautifully luminous in a white shirtwaist with a pleated skirt. She was reading intently, her little bare feet kicking lazily to keep the swing swaying. The sun seemed to love her cinnamon colored skin, hitting it in a way that made her almost ethereal. Fitz guessed that she was Eli's "exceptional" Olivia. Fitz could have thought of a million more words to describe Olivia—exceptional being the least of which. He walked over, unable to take his eyes off her.
"Hello," he said, making her look up from her book. She stopped swinging.
Olivia had never encountered anyone so handsome. She almost dropped her book when he smiled at her kindly. He had the most magnificent blue eyes, almost gray really, and gorgeous coffee colored curls. She wondered who he was, what he was doing at Magnolia. They didn't have many white visitors at the house, and they were never as handsome as this stranger.
"Hello," she replied, smiling politely.
"Hello," he said a second time, unable to think of anything else to say to her. It was quite unlike him. He could normally talk women into anything he wanted, never at a loss for words, but Olivia had rendered him almost speechless. His smile was so charming that Olivia blushed like he was flirting with her. He looked down at her book, wishing he could get close enough to breathe in her scent, imaging she smelled heavenly. Taking a step closer to peer down at the book in her little hands, he asked, "What are you reading?"
"Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," she answered. She was a little embarrassed as it was a child's book, but it was her favorite story of all time.
"I've never read it. Is it any good?" he asked in reply.
"It's my favorite story of all time." She wanted to sit and read to him in the garden, his head in her lap and her fingers buried in those luscious curls.
"Maybe I'll have a look at it some time." He wanted to read the book in front of a fire, with her curled in his lap, her head on his chest. She stood and held the book out to him, thinking that if he borrowed it, he'd have a reason to come back and visit her again. Fitz took the book, their hands brushing lightly, and put it in his bag.
"Do let me know what you think," she requested. He looked down at her. She was tiny, like a hummingbird or a sparrow. A breeze blew her scent into his nostrils. She smelled like soap and baby powder. The smiled at each other in silence for a short while before the old woman, Celestine, appeared on the porch again.
"Olivia go fetch your father," she called, breaking their spell. Any white man who came to visit was undoubtedly there for Eli and it was best for everyone that he stay away from Olivia lest Eli see them and blow a gasket. He was fiercely protective of his baby girl. Nothing and no one were good enough for her.
Olivia was reluctant to leave the handsome stranger. She told him, "You should come inside. It's awfully hot. And it smells like rain is coming."
"After you ma'am," Fitz replied, stepping out of her way so she could walk to the cobblestone walkway.
Olivia smiled at him as he fell in step with her. "What's your name?"
"Fitzgerald Thomas Grant the third," he answered, acutely aware of their arms brushing lightly as they walked toward the house. "What's your name?"
"Olivia Carolyn Pope," she answered. Fitz knew he would never forget that name, or that smile. She took quick little steps and ended up a little ahead of him. He couldn't help admiring her shapely little bottom making the pleats of her skirt sway. She had a maiden's disposition but a vixen's body, a surprisingly enchanting combination. To say she was a pleasant surprise was a gross understatement.
"Hello ma'am." Fitz smiled down at the old woman. She was taller than Olivia but he still towered over her.
"You must be the painter," she replied, her face stern. She had seen the way he looked at Olivia, like he was ready to put her on a plate and have her for supper.
"Yes ma'am," Fitz answered. He guessed that the old woman was Olivia's chaperone and that she would be quite a formidable obstacle standing between him and Olivia. Celestine sniffed then stepped aside so he could go inside. Fitz smirked as he went inside.
Eli was waiting in the grand drawing room, sitting in his favorite high-backed leather chair. He wore a blue shirt and gray pants, looking out the window as he sipped lemonade. He smiled at Olivia as she entered the room ahead of Fitz. "Hello darlin'!"
"Hi Daddy," she replied, going over to sit on the arm of his chair. Eli squeezed her knee. There were few people to whom he was genuinely kind and affectionate. Olivia was the first and most frequent of those few. He couldn't even bring himself to raise his voice to her. He was putty in her little hands.
Eli looked up at Fitz and his smile disappeared. He didn't dislike Fitz. He was generally contemptuous of artists. "Hello Mr. Grant. I see you've met my princess."
"Yes sir, and please call me Fitz." Fitz stole a glance at Olivia. She was looking at him curiously. He went on, "She's exquisite."
"Quite so," Eli replied. "Any idea how you'd like to paint her?"
"Well," Fitz wasn't sure how Eli would react to what he said next, "I'd like to follow her around for the day and see what sparks my creativity…if that's fine with you of course."
Eli was never one for arts and creativity. He actually had a general distaste for such frivolous things. But art was a part of culture, and Eli was nothing if not cultured. He wasn't keen on the idea of Fitz being around his little girl all day—he knew Fitz was something of a Casanova because many a female painting subject made goo goo eyes when his name was mentioned—but Celestine would be with them too and Eli was confident nothing would happen under her watchful eyes. He answered, "I suppose that wouldn't be too troubling." He looked at Olivia. "Is that alright with you, sweet pea?"
Olivia knew better than to seem too excited despite how giddy she was at the prospect of being around Fitz all day. Fitz, she thought. Now that's a name I'll never forget. She answered, "That sounds alright, Daddy."
Eli nodded as he stood. "Well I'm going to town. Your mother's out in the garden if you need anything. Have Celestine save me some lunch please."
"Bye Daddy." Olivia chirped, smiling at her father as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. Eli nodded at Fitz, giving him a long, serious look before he left.
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Fitz followed Olivia to the side of the house where the laundry was hung. She made small talk about how the washing hurt her hands and how she wished their mother would consent to hiring someone to do it. Fitz took the large laundry basket from her, thinking it too heavy for someone so tiny to carry. He sat on a little wooden stool and watched as she hung shirts, handing her garments and clothespins from the basket. He absentmindedly plucked a garment from the basket, transfixed by the way the sun poured through the pleats of the skirt, rendering it sheer enough to see her shapely little legs. He doubted Eli would consent to a portrait of his "princess" doing something as common as hanging laundry but she was so graceful as she did it that Fitz couldn't stop watching.
Olivia glanced over at him and he looked down so he didn't appear to be staring. He looked down at little cotton garment he was holding and almost fell off his stool. In his hands were a pair of white bloomers with lace on the bottom and a little pink rose on the front of the waistband. He dropped the underwear, looking up quickly at Olivia to make sure she hadn't seen him handling her delicates. She was busy hanging her stockings and didn't notice him. He picked up the underwear again and handed them to her without looking at her, thinking that he was going to burn in hell for wanting to know what sort of bloomers she was wearing at that very moment, if they were lacy or ruffled or silk or chiffon. He looked away from her and went back to the basket, his ears cherry red. He picked up another garment and almost jumped out of his skin. It was a white brassiere with lace straps and a little pink rose between the cups. He handed her the bra and hoped he didn't pull any more of her unmentionables out of the basket because he would surely pass out if he did. Olivia didn't even notice that he was handling her undergarments. She was just happy for the help and impressed by his willingness to help her when he didn't have to.
"So what kind of things do you paint?" she asked, taking the white dress he was holding out to her.
"Portraits mostly," he answered, pulling out an apron that he guessed belonged to Celestine. "I've done some stained glass windows for churches, and a few murals too."
"There's a man in Baton Rouge who does nude paintings," she replied casually. Fitz's eyebrows shot up. He wondered what she knew about that sort of art. Before he could inquire, she asked, "Have you ever done any of those?"
He immediately imagined himself painting her nude, draping crimson silk sheets over her little body, maybe making her look like Renaissance art. He smiled, imagining himself pitching the idea to Eli. Fitz had never been shot but he guessed he would find out firsthand what bullets felt like if he shared the idea with Olivia's father. He answered, "In art school, we did nude studies. They were mostly charcoal drawings though."
"Were they women?" Olivia was incredibly curious. She felt like Fitz lived in a different world. She wondered if he would paint her nude, if he even thought her woman enough to be painted in such a sensual way.
"A few were," he answered. "But they were mostly men."
Olivia took the shirt from his hands and began hanging it. Fitz wasn't sure if it was the light reflecting off the blindingly white shirt or if her skin was just that luminescent. He pulled his sketchbook from his satchel and began sketching her form. He made quick work of it, not lingering on details. He left it unfinished, mostly because it was impossible to capture how much the sun loved her skin.
XXXXX
After they hung the laundry, Olivia gave him a tour of the house, pointing out the antiques, some of which were so old that they had belonged to the white man who had freed her great-great-great-great grandfather and willed him Magnolia. They climbed the stairs and she stopped hesitantly at a lavender door, inscribed in gold paint with the word Livvie. She opened the door and stepped inside. Fitz steeped in behind her and looked around curiously.
Everything was white: the dresser, the vanity, the rocking chair in the corner, the dress form next to the closed closet door, the four poster bed and its gauzy canopy. Even the hardwood floor had been whitewashed. The only pop of color in the room was the lavender bedspread. An old dollhouse sat in a corner next to a wooden rocking horse. A bookshelf took up the wall next to the bed, all the shelves full. Little figurines sat in front of the books, mostly ballerinas and a few animals. Above the bed, painted in the same gold script as the name on the door was a quote: Let her sleep, for when she wakes she will move mountains.
Fitz looked at her as she sat in the rocking chair, puzzled by something that hadn't occurred to him until he saw her little girl room. "How old are you?"
"Almost 17," Olivia answered. She looked around the room, suddenly seeing what he saw. "My daddy doesn't think I'll ever grow up."
"So I see," Fitz said, looking around with an amused smirk. He went to the bookshelf and examined the ballerina figurines, all repainted a light shade of brown that he guessed was Eli's doing. "Are you a dancer?"
"Not anymore," she answered, looking over his broad muscular back straining against his gray shirt. She guessed that one deep breath would split the shirt at the seams. "I'm too short and heavy."
She was petite and delicately boned, like a figurine. Fitz wondered where she would get such a grossly incorrect thought, and guessed it was just schoolgirls being cruel. He replied, "You're nothing of the sort. You're absolutely perfect."
"Do you really think so?" she asked in a voice that told him he needed to watch his tone before he revealed just how badly he wanted to take her in his arms and caress her soft flesh. He turned around and found her staring at him from where she sat in the rocking chair, bathed in the afternoon light pouring through the open window.
"I wish you could see how the light loves your skin," he answered. "It's absolutely breath-taking."
"Really?" Olivia was lapping up the attention like a kitten drinking from a saucer of milk.
"Really," Fitz answered as he sat on the wooden chest at the foot of her bed, his sketchbook out. He wished he had brought his colored pencils or pastel crayons to capture the caramel hue of her skin or the way her bright chocolate doe eyes stood out or the luscious pink of her lips.
Celestine appeared in her doorway hours later and broke the spell of their content silence. "Olivia it's time to practice your violin."
"Yes Celestine," Olivia replied, stealing a glance at Fitz as she stood and stretched. The silver-haired woman fixed Fitz with a hard look before walking away. Olivia gave a little yawn.
"Ready for a nap?" he asked in a teasing grin as he stood, his sketchbook under his arm.
"Only if you are," Olivia answered, surprised by the flirtatious tone of her voice. Fitz gave her a wide-eyed smile, also surprised by the young girl flirting with him. For the safety of his well-being and her innocence, he decided they needed to get away from her bed.
"You know, in my experience, sharp tongues usually come with soft bottoms," he retorted, grinning wickedly as he moved toward the door.
"Wouldn't you be delighted to know if that was true?" She threw him a wicked grin of her own as she brushed past him to get out the door. Fitz shook his head as he followed her down the stairs.
XXXXX
Fitz was surprised to find Olivia's mother, Maya, in the smaller drawing room Olivia led him to. The woman rose from her chair, smiling at the handsome artist as she shook his hand. She wore a navy dress not unlike Olivia's, and fixed him with a curious gaze. She studied every man that came around her daughter, knowing that her little girl wasn't so little anymore. Eli wasn't ready to let Olivia grow up but Maya knew Olivia would soon be in need of a husband. Fitz was nice looking, and apparently quite the artist if Eli had thought him talented enough to paint their baby girl.
Maya smirked as she watched Fitz watch Olivia remove her violin from its case. She took note of his moony eyes looking over her daughter as she shuffled her sheet music. Maya reminded Olivia of her posture and the girl straightened her thin shoulders then tucked her violin under her chin. She began to play, her eyes on the sheet music, her fingers moving gracefully.
"She's marvelous, isn't she?" Maya asked, smirking as she watched Fitz practically drool over her daughter as he sat on the piano bench.
"Exquisite," Fitz replied, his saliva thick. Olivia took note of him calling her exquisite for the second time that day. She wanted to wear his compliments like silk robes and have them slip them off to be replaced with more intimate descriptions when they were alone. Fitz watched her play gracefully, thinking there was something almost erotic about the way she stroked the violin's strings with the bow, coaxing sweet sounds from it like she was its lover.
He almost didn't hear Maya invite him to stay for dinner. He agreed eagerly, not ready to part from Olivia just yet. He was curious about every little thing about her. He volunteered to help her set the table. Olivia kept giving him secret smiles as they danced around each other in the dining room. When the table was set, she showed him to the washroom. Fitz was reluctant to step into the small room with her, and even more reluctant to put his hands under the running water with hers. But he did both, breathing in her sweet feminine scent.
He was surprised when she asked, "Are you married?"
"No ma'am," he answered. Olivia turned away from him to smile. He looked down at her as she lathered her hands with soap. He grinned at her. "Are you offering?"
"I'm sure you have much better options than me, Mr. Grant," she replied, smiling coyly.
"I'd be lucky to have even a fraction of you, Ms. Pope." He lathered his hands, his eyes never leaving hers. He only broke their eye contact a moment later when she took his hands in her much smaller ones and began washing them. She interlocked her fingers with his, her hand trembling. In a low soft voice, he requested, "Call me Fitz."
"I don't think I should." Hey eyes were the size of saucers, his intimate tone making her insides feel like jelly.
"Please Olivia," he whispered, looking at her with dark eyes. Hearing her own name from his lips was nearly her undoing.
It was a sweet whisper. "Fitz…"
He wasn't sure what possessed him to do it, but a moment later his lips were on hers, their hands still entangled under the running water. It was a short, sweet kiss that sent a jolt through both of them. Fitz knew it was wrong. Firstly, he was supposed to be on the job, and secondly, Eli Pope would surely kill him dead for fraternizing with his little girl. When he took his lips away, she looked at him with wide, dreamy eyes, a little smile on her pretty mouth. He wanted to kiss her again, but they had been gone a while and he figured Celestine would be around looking for them soon. Instead of capturing her lips again, he turned off the water and used a towel to dry her little hands then his own.
"I should go change for dinner," she said, nervous under his gaze. When she left, he splashed cold water on his face then went to the dining room, surprised to find Eli seated at the head of the table, drinking Scotch.
"Mr. Grant, my wife tells me you're joining us for dinner," he said by way of a greeting.
"Yes sir. I'm much obliged," Fitz replied as he took a seat, hoping his face wasn't red. Eli looked him over but didn't sense anything out of place with him. Olivia appeared a few minutes later, wearing a blue dress with a high neck and a surprisingly low dipping back.
They ate dinner having polite conversation. Fitz even managed to make Celestine laugh. Olivia crossed her legs under the table, her slippered foot brushing against Fitz's leg.
XXXXX
Olivia darted into her father's meeting room, a few steps ahead of Fitz and Eli. She knew they were going to talk about her and she was terribly curious. She heard footsteps in the hall and looked around quickly for a place to hide. She scurried under the table, the black tablecloth hiding her from view. Fitz was the first to enter and sat down at one end of the small square table. His knee came in contact with something solid but soft and he lifted the tablecloth to look under the table. He was surprised to find Olivia smiling at him.
"What are you doing" he asked in an anxious whisper.
She smiled as she shrugged cutely. "Sitting."
"You're—" They both heard Eli's heavy footsteps and Fitz dropped the tablecloth, cloaking Olivia in darkness. She sat on her knees, running her fingernails up and down his legs. He gently kicked her kneecap and she stopped, smiling to herself, willing to bet his ears were bright red.
"Mr. Grant, I really do appreciate you journeying out here every day. I can imagine it's a terrible imposition," Eli said as he joined Fitz at the table.
Fitz smiled. It was quite the journey to make on a daily basis, but he liked being able to see Olivia every day. "It's no trouble."
"Well, Mrs. Pope thinks it terrible of me to have you coming out here every day." Eli laughed. Fitz wanted to laugh too but Olivia's hands were under his pants legs, her fingernails skimming his shins, and he didn't dare open his mouth. "I've been instructed to offer you the carriage house if you'd like it. It's nothing fancy, mind you. But we should be able to fit a nice-sized cot and your art supplies."
Olivia's hands stopped as she waited for Fitz's answer. She wondered what changes him being so close would bring them. In the three weeks he had been painting her, he had kissed her six times, mostly brief exchanges of tongues and chaste touches stolen when they got a few minutes alone. She wanted him to say yes, but she knew she'd never get another night's peaceful rest knowing he was so close, that she could so easily slip out of the house and climb into his bed. Fitz knew he should say no, that being in such close proximity to Olivia wouldn't be anything but trouble. He was already having a hard time behaving himself. He could barely keep his lips and hands off her, even though he knew Eli would kill him if he knew. Fitz just couldn't help it. She was a flame and he was a moth. He finally said, "Thank you. That's very kind. When would you like me to move in?"
"Whenever is convenient for you," Eli answered. Under the table, Olivia was giddy. She was already imagining all the things they could do in the carriage house, all the places she wanted him to touch and wanted to touch on him.
"I suppose I could get my things this…" Olivia's cheek brushed his knee and made him forget where his sentence was going. Her warm breath flitted against the inside of his thigh and he cleared his throat, the toe of his shoe pressing on her little fingers. She moved back and he cleared his throat again. Eli frowned, wondering what was wrong with Fitz. "I'll bring my things this afternoon if that's alright."
"Sounds good," Eli replied. Olivia brushed her lips against the soft, clean-smelling cotton covering his inner thigh and Fitz groaned involuntarily, his whole face red. Eli looked at him quizzically. "Are you alright, Mr. Grant?"
"I think the milk I had this morning was a bit questionable," Fitz lied, the toe of his shoe pressing on her fingertips again. Olivia sat back, moving her hand from within his reach.
"Oh I'm terribly sorry," Eli sympathized. He stood to leave. Fitz stood as well, trying desperately to find some reason to linger in the room. He looked around and his heart leapt at the sight of the portraits lining the wall.
"Did the same person paint all these?" he asked.
Eli didn't remember. He didn't really care. Art didn't interest him. "I believe so. Feel free to inspect them. I have a meeting to get to."
"Thank you sir," Fitz replied, moving away from the table to look more closely at the portraits. Eli left the room and Fitz soon heard his heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs. Fitz went and pushed the door up, not quite closing it to avoid any suspicious appearance. He went and stood in front of the table under which Olivia was still hidden. "Olivia Carolyn Pope you get out here this instant!"
Olivia crawled from underneath the table, smiling innocently. She batted her eyelashes as she smoothed the skirt of her sleeveless yellow dress. The square neck exposed her cinnamon skin invitingly, stopping just above her cleavage. Celestine had twisted her normally loose springy curls into two French braids with yellow ribbons wound into them. Fitz looked forward to mixing colors to create the perfect shade of caramel for her skin, so everyone would be aware of what a marvelous color she was, and how the light seemed to make her golden. She brought her index finger to her lips, biting the tip coyly. "Hi."
"'Hi'?" Fitz scoffed. He looked at her with wide incredulous eyes. "You're incorrigible. Celestine should never let you out of her sight!"
"Are you made at me?" Olivia teased. Fitz fought the smile tugging at his lips. Olivia grinned prettily. "Maybe you should put me over your knee."
For a moment, he genuinely considered the idea but dismissed it quickly. Touching her was already difficult for him even if it was just his hand on her cheek. One hand on her plump backside and he's ended up rutting on her like an animal. He shook the image of her on all fours from his head, his ears burning. "That sharp tongue is going to get you in a world of trouble, Olivia."
She continued biting her index finger, smiling innocently. "I didn't mean any harm."
"Putting your head between my legs while I'm talking to your father is your idea of harmless fun?" what am I going to do with you?" he asked, smiling in spite of himself.
"What do you want to do with me?" she flirted, taking a small step toward him. Fitz swallowed hard, trying desperately to keep his member from stiffening. He needed to get away from her before he dragged her into his lap and put her virtue in very serious jeopardy. He took two large steps toward her, closing the small space between them. He grabbed her waist, swallowing hard before kissing her like he was trying every breath she'd ever taken. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her backside and she tugged gently on his curls.
XXXXX
Fitz finally decided to paint her the way he'd first seen her: sitting on the swing in a white dress. Maya chose a surprisingly modern dress, one she'd seen in New York on a brief visit. It was sleeveless with a boat neckline and the full skirt came down just below Olivia's knees. Olivia's hair was pulled in a high bun at the crown of her head. She was barefoot and sitting in the sun tanned her beautifully. Fitz had never had so much trouble keeping his hands off her.
In the months that passed as he painted her, Fitz and Olivia grew close. He told her all about California and his childhood. She took him on walks around the plantation, showing him where the slaves' quarters used to be, and the manmade lake at the back of the property. She even coaxed him into coming swimming one night, surprising him by slipping off her dress and undergarments before she dove in. Fitz brought her macaroons, her favorite snack, and made a mental note to never bring her anything to eat as he watched her lick the French vanilla crème filling off her fingertips. Olivia had never been so taken with anyone. She wanted to know everything about him: every fear he'd ever had, every dream, every woman he'd ever loved, every mouth he'd ever punched in, every morning he awoke with nothing and no one, every secret he'd ever kept, everything that swelled his heart. She had never seen anything more beautiful than him. She almost blurted out that she loved him the day she'd awoken to find him gone only to have him show up in the middle of the day with a little white kitten in his palm, a little blue ribbon around his neck. Fitz smiled at her fawning over the little fur ball, feeding it sweet milk with a baby bottle. He knew he was in love with her, that it was the best and worst thing ever, but there was nothing to be done.
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After he finished her portrait, Fitz found himself looking for reasons to stay around Magnolia. There weren't many but he took every one he could find. He was good with his hands and with Eli gone frequently, the women enjoyed having him around to odd man jobs. He fixed things, rearranged furniture, carried heavy things, but nothing he did was so essential that he should be there every day. One afternoon, he sat in the kitchen shucking corn with Olivia. They were strangely quiet, both of them knowing that his time at Magnolia was coming to an end.
"I have to go soon," he said softly, staring at her.
Olivia nearly dropped her ear of corn. She had known he would have to leave at some point, but she didn't want him to go. She set her suddenly sad eyes on him. "Why?"
"I need work," he answered. He did need work, but he felt like he might need Olivia more. Still, Eli Pope's opinion of artists was no secret and Fitz knew he would never let Olivia marry him. Fitz felt awful, knowing that she had fallen for him just as hard as he'd fallen for her, but that he could never have her. He didn't have stable money, and he wasn't a New Orleans native—he wasn't even a southerner, and Eli wasn't a negotiator. Olivia knew Fitz didn't have the most lucrative occupation, and that her father would never approve, but she didn't want him to leave. The very idea of waking up and knowing that he wasn't in the carriage house, painting watercolor wildflowers at dawn, made her throat dry and her eyes burn.
"When…" She blinked away hot tears, pausing to swallow the lump in her throat. "How much longer will you be here?"
He couldn't look at her, not when her eyes were so glassy and her face was so broken. He reached out to touch her but his hand fell short when she wiped unfallen tears from her eyes. He loved her, more than he'd ever thought he could love a woman. He answered, "Maybe a week."
"You can't go, not when I…" Her voice faded away when she saw the look on his face. He was hurting just as bad as she was, but he'd made up his mind.
"Your father isn't the kind of man who would let his only daughter marry an artist, not to mention me being white and all," he explained. "He thinks you deserve better than me, and you do. You should marry a doctor, or a lawyer, or…someone who can make your dreams come true. I can't do that, Livvie."
"Do you love me?" That was all that mattered to Olivia. The business with her father could have been smoothed out.
"Yes." He swallowed hard. "God, yes."
"Then don't leave me please," she practically begged, tears falling openly now.
"Livvie…" He didn't know what to say, how to fix things, how to make her understand. She cried and held him for dear life in the middle of the kitchen.
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Olivia sobbed unabashedly when he left, clinging to Celestine's thin shoulders. Celestine almost wanted the blue-eyed devil to stay, just to un-break her Livvie's heart. Olivia sat on the front porch and watched him walk away, his shoulders hunched like he was carrying the world. His chest hurt and he was sure he'd die before he made it to town.
With Fitz gone, the house fell deathly silent from Olivia's sadness. She wilted like a flower in the summer sun. She didn't practice her violin or sing in the morning. She barely talked. Maya prayed Olivia would get over him. She prayed even harder that the blue-eyed painter would come back. She had seen them together. They breathed in sync. Eli didn't know what to do for his baby girl. He had never seen her brown eyes so dull or her face go so long without a smile. He hoped every day that she recovered from her heartbreak over the loss of the painter, that she realized it was for the best that they weren't together. As far as Eli knew, nothing had happened inappropriate had happened between them, but the man had gotten under Olivia's skin. Now she was hollow or broken and it hurt Eli's soul that he couldn't put her back together.
Olivia slept late and no one mentioned it. She barely ate but no one pressed. She often lay for hours on the cot he'd left behind. She stared at his portrait of her, trying to find some piece of him in it. She wondered if he was thinking of her, if he was hurting the way she was.
Some might say Fitz was worse. He hadn't painted anything good in months. He couldn't smile, not without thinking of Olivia. He hardly slept because he always dreamt of her face. He made decent money in Mississippi, not able to stay in Louisiana, even though his heart was always there. He took up carpentry and small repairs for stable money, but nothing gave him joy anymore—not painting, not fixing, not living. Something had to change.
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Fitz sighed. The train was taking forever. He shifted in his seat, wondering how much longer the journey would be. He had been riding for three days so it couldn't have been much longer. At some point he drifted off into a fitful, impatient sleep only to be jerked awake hours later by the train stopping. He peered out the window then gathered his few belongings and got off. He was thankful his easel hadn't been crushed in the baggage car and that all his tools were accounted for. Even laden with all his worldly possessions he found himself running.
When he reached the gates, he dropped everything, sprinting up the walkway. He had woken four days before with more certainty than he'd ever had about anything. He needed to go back where he belonged. He shouted her name, louder than he thought he could shout anything. She was sure she was dreaming, that he couldn't be back. She raced to the window, looked out. There he was, racing toward the front steps. Maya hurried from the garden, not believing her ears or eyes, and Celestine paused preparing breakfast.
She looked up at the sky through the kitchen window and whispered, "Thank you."
Eli emerged from his study just in time to see Olivia racing barefoot down the stairs, her white nightgown flapping behind her. Olivia ran through the open front door, not even noticing Maya and Celestine on the porch. When Fitz saw her, his body caught a second wind and he seemed to fly to her.
"You came back!" she shouted when he snatched her off her feet. She hugged him like he was the only thing rooting her to the ground, praying he wasn't dreaming.
"I couldn't stay away," he replied, holding onto her much the same way she was holding onto him. He was probably hurting her, probably bruising her little waist from his bear hug but she didn't notice. She hoped he never let her go.
On the porch, Maya looked at her husband. "You have to tell him yes when he asks."
Eli looked at Celestine, hoping the old woman was on his side. He wanted his Livvie happy, but he didn't want her to throw her life away on a girlhood crush. Celestine looked away from Olivia and Fitz, who were kissing without awareness of their surroundings, and set her old wise eyes on Eli. "You have to tell him yes, Eli. She's liable to take off with him if you don't."
Fitz wasn't horrible, and certainly there were things Eli could do for him to ensure his little girl's comfort, but she was so young and he was terribly conflicted. Fitz was nearing 30. Olivia had yet to turn 17. To say that he and Olivia were in different places was an understatement. But looking at his baby girl look at the painter, Eli knew there was nothing to be done. He decided to help his future son-in-law set up a little carpenter shop and make sure it stayed afloat so his princess would always be taken care of.
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The wedding was as festive and extravagant as Eli could afford. Olivia brought tears to every eye present when she appeared in a white lace gown fit for a royal wedding. In the middle of the aisle she found things moving far too slowly. She stopped, kissed her father's cheek, then sprinted down the aisle into Fitz's open arms. He picked her up, twirling her around in her poufy-skirted dress.
When the preacher asked him if he took her as his wife, he answered so quickly that everyone laughed. Olivia answered just as quickly. She lifted her veil before it was time because she needed to see his eyes and his smile. The preacher pronounced them man and wife, and Fitz stared down at Olivia in disbelief that she was truly his.
"Are you gonna kiss me or not?" she asked when he continued to stare at her. Fitz laughed and pulled her into a kiss. When they pulled away, Fitz leaned his forehead against hers, smiling at her like he'd slept with a hanger in her mouth. She would always be love's great martyr and he would be the flattered fool wondering how he'd been so lucky to get her.
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