A/N: This chapter is rated Adult.

(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoilers, etc.)

Chapter 7: "Olivia"

The house is quiet when I walk in and I stand in the foyer, listening intently. But, no, there it is: complete and total silence. I cross over to the table, leaving my heavy briefcase and car keys on it. There's enough work in there to last a normal person a week. Instead, it's everything I need to review for tomorrow's morning meeting.

My feet are heavy on the stairs as I roll my neck, listening to the bones pop. A moment later, my fingers fight with the knot of my tie as I loosen the silk. I sigh tiredly, grateful for the quiet house and the solitude. It's something I've lacked in my life the last few weeks. As quickly as it became deserted, the house filled up again. The day after Annie and I returned from Las Vegas, Caitlin moved back in and brought Cole and Trey with her. It seems they can't afford to buy a house and no one wants to rent an apartment to an infamous jewel thief. I smirk, walking down the hall. Somewhere, there's irony.

I'm about to turn into my bedroom when I notice the open door at the end of the hall. It's the door that leads to the attic. I wander over to it, glancing at the stack of boxes propping open the door. The sounds of hushed conversation drifts down and I look up after it. Curious, I step around the boxes and walk up the stairs. The air is thick and stale, dust dancing in the thin beams of sunlight. In the corner, Caitlin and Rose are huddled together amongst the boxes, rifling through them. My daughter sighs and passes the housekeeper a framed photo as she says, "Here's a good one."

"Good one of what?" I ask.

Caitlin looks up, brushing back a flyaway wisp of blonde hair. She smiles tiredly and stands. "A photo of Nana and Poppop with us." Rose passes the frame to me as she leaves, her footsteps quiet on the wooden stairs. I look down at the smiling faces behind the glass. Thomas and Barbara stood with the children, beaming. "Remember how Nana used to call Sean and I her 'golden babies'?"

I nod. "It amused her that you and your brother were both blondes like her."

She grins, folding the flaps of the cardboard box together. "I'm going to keep that picture, if you don't mind," she says and I nod as she takes it back. "I found it while Rose and I were looking for the christening gown," she explains as she picks up a small garment bag.

The breath catches in my throat. "Your grandmother made that for you," I say softly, remembering the way Barbara's blue eyes sparkled as she watched Olivia dress our daughter in it for the first time.

"Sean wore it too, didn't he?" I nod and she smiles bashfully as she admits, "I want Trey to wear it. It'll be like having Nana and Poppop there with us."

Their absence uncomfortably pulses between us in the hot attic. I watch Caitlin's eyes fall as her fingers dance over the thick plastic material of the garment bag. "It's funny," she admits quietly as she sinks to sit on one of the steamer trunks, "but I've been thinking about them a lot lately."

I nod, but say nothing. It really isn't surprising. The long-ago deaths of her grandparents wasn't the issue, it was her mother. Olivia's absence was still a tangible loss to the children, something we could all almost reach out and touch. The less we spoke of her, the more apparent her absence seemed to be. She's taken up residence, a phantom shadow in a house she barely lived in.

It's becoming unbearable.

I clear my throat as I tuck my hands into my pockets. "They loved you very much."

She nods and looks up slowly, her throat working. "I know." With a deep sigh, she lays the garment bag across her lap and traces the edge of the picture frame. "Since having Trey, I've thought a lot about the kind of life I want him to have. Family is a big part of that."

My stomach clenches and I traverse the space between us, crouching before her. "Caity?"

"I want Trey to have what Sean and I had," she murmurs as a tear rolls down her face. She sniffles and wipes the back of her hand across her cheek. "We weren't perfect, but we were still a family. Sean and I adored Nana and Poppop and we were so excited when they came to visit. I want Trey to feel that way about you and Mom."

"Caity-"

"He needs to love you both!" she cries, her blue eyes wide. My mouth sets in a grim line as I listen to my daughter cry. "You- you-" she gasps, turning an accusatory gaze on me, "make some awful comment about Mom anytime someone mentions her." I look down as she continues, "And, whenever I speak to her, she painfully avoids talking about you." I don't know why it stings to hear her say that. "But, this all has to stop. She'll be here next week and I won't have Trey's baptism ruined!"

"It won't be ruined," I say softly as I reluctantly turn my eyes back to her. Skepticism is written all over my daughter's face and I clear my throat. "I'll be on my best behavior."

She exhales deeply, smoothing the garment bag. "Do you mean that?"

I nod and stand slowly, ignoring the way my knees pop. Caitlin's expression is so hopeful it nearly takes my breath away. There was nothing I wouldn't do for her, even if it meant playing nice when I finally came face-to-face with Olivia after all this time. "I promise," I say and she smiles as she stands.

Her arms go around me, squeezing tight as she whispers in my ear, "Thank you, Daddy." She pulls back and gazes quietly, her irises a mirror of her mother's. "I just want the day to be perfect."

I force a smile to my face and reply, "Then, it will be."

She returns the smile and hugs the garment bag and framed photo to her chest. My arm goes around her shoulders as I lead her out of the attic. Whereas I went out of my way to insult even the mention of Olivia's name, she could barely speak of mine. An odd thought dances through my mind as we walk down the staircase to the second floor. When we step into the hall, greeted by the cool embrace of the air conditioning, I turn to my daughter and ask quietly, "Does your mother know about Annie?"

Her eyes flicker to mine and a moment later, she nods. "I started to tell her, but she interrupted me and said she already knew. I think Bette must have told her," she says quietly and I cringe inwardly. I can only imagine how that conversation must have gone. "It had to have been her," she continues matter-of-factly. "Sean never would've wanted the responsibility."

I nod and wait for Caitlin to continue, but she doesn't. She sighs and looks up at me, stubbornly quiet. Suddenly, the ground shifts beneath me as I realize there's a divide between my daughter and I. A year ago, she would've gladly recounted any conversation between her and her mother if I had merely asked. But, not now. She might love both of us, but she's keeping her mother's confidence now instead of my own. It was inevitable, I suppose, though it still irritates me. Just as it irritates me that Caitlin insisted Olivia attend the baptism in the first place. An irrational thought, but a true thought. Just as this is a true one: Caitlin and Sean don't trust me where their mother is concerned.

We stand still, gazing at one and other as the silence overwhelms us. Olivia's two suicide attempts and my quick re-marriage have all but ensured the children as her protectors. They'll never betray her now, not to me of all people. Which leaves me in the dark as to how Olivia took the news of my marriage to Annie. I'd never admit it to anyone, not even Caitlin, but wondering about Olivia's reaction to the new Mrs. Richards has driven me to near distraction for days.

"-her things?"

I snap out of my thoughts and focus on my daughter. "What was that, Princess?"

"Mom's things. I saw all of the boxes in the attic. Rose said you had her put them up there a few weeks ago. Weren't you going to send them to her?"

"Of course," I say quickly, wincing at how defensive I sound. I glance back up the stairs and into the hazy warmth of the attic before I close the door firmly. "I just haven't gotten around to it."

Her eyebrow arches and she shakes her head slightly. "Come on, Daddy. We both know why you haven't let Rose ship them to Mom."

"Has your mother asked for anything?" I ask, sidestepping her keen observation. My daughter is dancing far nearer to the truth than I ever imagined she would.

"No, but-"

"Then, I'll send her the boxes when I can. Better yet, I'll have them delivered to her hotel room next week. Then, she can worry about getting them all back to London." I ignore my daughter's frown. She can glare all she wants, but nothing will change my mind. I won't put myself out for Olivia. Not anymore.

"You can't fool me," she finally whispers, watching me carefully as my blood pressure increases. "You aren't sending Mom her things because they are the last little bit of her that you have left."

"That's enough, Caitlin," I say flatly against my daughter's truthful statement. "Just enough."

"Babe? Are you upstairs?"

Annie's voice echoes up the staircase, but Caitlin doesn't budge, not even as my wife turns the corner. "Oh," she says flatly, brushing her long red hair aside, "there you are."

But, my daughter and I don't move, barely acknowledging her presence. Caitlin's eyes glitter with the recognition that she indeed hit a nerve as I clear my throat. Mercifully, she turns away, still holding the garment bag and photo to her chest. As she walks down the hall, I hear her call out, "I'll tell Mom to expect them at the hotel."

Annie presses against me, the irritating smell of her perfume consuming me as she sighs. "What was that about?" she mutters petulantly as I extricate myself from her embrace. I hear her footsteps behind me as I turn into the master bedroom. "Well?"

"Well, what?" I growl as I rip the tie from my neck. It ends up in a ball in the corner of my closet, followed a moment later by my suit coat. I'm breathing heavily, straining against an increasing pressure in my chest. In a week, Olivia will be here and the boxes will be gone, indeed purging the last strain of her physical presence in this house. My fists tighten, my knuckles cracking as I take my anger out on the buttons of my shirt.

"What about Olivia?" Annie calls out and I flinch. Hearing the name of my ex-wife on my current wife's lips is not a reality I'm comfortable with. Reluctantly, I turn and step out of the closet in time to catch Annie pacing the bedroom. She's breathing more erratically than me, her arms folded tight against her chest. "You know," she snaps, spinning around to face me, "you're going to need to order a case of vodka. That should be enough to get Olivia through the baptism. It is only a short service, right?"

She's spiraling out of control, anxiously wringing her hands as she watches me with dancing eyes. But, I don't care. I'm tired of talking about Olivia and suddenly, I can't stand the sound of her name. "Enough," I growl, crushing her against me. She gasps against my mouth as I fight the hem of her skirt. Her fingers push my shirt from my shoulders as I back her into the triple dresser. A moment later, she's perched on the edge, her legs wrapped around my waist.

Annie starts to moan my name and I kiss her hard, shutting her up. She doesn't notice though. Her arms go tighter around me as my fingers dig into her hips. She's so easy to satisfy, our teeth grinding together as the pain in my chest explodes. The dresser shakes, the attached mirror banging a tell-tale rhythm against the wall. But, the master bedroom is in a different wing of the house, separate from the bedrooms where my children and grandson sleep.

Irritation and blinding anger fuels me as I drive into her, letting her gasping breath drown out the sound of blood rushing in my ears. Intimacy falls to the wayside, as it always does with Annie, though the heat in her breath should suggest something. But, I barely notice it as her finger nails claw their way across the bare flesh of my shoulders. Maybe that's the real attraction to Annie, the only connection we share: pain is the balm to our anger.

I feel her tremble, the pitch of her voice rising. She's on the edge, her lips on my neck as I hit harder than before. Someone's panting, rising to a grunt, and I realize it's me. My body leads the way as my mind wanders, forgetting the half-naked woman in my arms as an echo fills the silence. The way Olivia's name sprang from Annie's mouth, the second syllable accentuated in anger. Like a mantra, it plays over and over again, matching the increasing strokes of my hips. It possesses me, spurring me onward as Annie's ankles dig into my rear as her back arches.

But, I'm gone, caught in the vortex as my head spins. This time next week, Olivia will be here, orbiting the same sun as me. The breath catches in my throat as I erupt, barely feeling the way Annie ravenously kisses me. Instead, I'm gasping, my heart pounding in time with the unending whisper of my ex-wife's name as I rest my head against Annie's shoulder. Like a slow burning fire, the pressure in my chest subsides, but doesn't diminish. Like the lingering presence of Olivia in this house, it takes up residence in my soul.

A/N #2: I'm sorry for the increasing gaps between chapters. I travel a lot for work, so my free time to write has considerably decreased. But, I've appreciated all the feedback and the PMs. This is a different kind of story for me (and something of a personal challenge), so I'm thrilled people are sticking with it...even though the divorce plot hasn't been super popular, lol. There's a lot more of this story still to be told, so I hope you continue to enjoy it.