CHAPTER 10 CONFESSION

When they got to the car, Oliver opened the limousine door for Grace, offering her his hand as she stepped up and in. The Asp took her luggage and loaded it in the luggage rack and Oliver climbed in, shutting the door behind them. With the Asp again seated behind the wheel of the car, Oliver picked up the car intercom – really, just a vulcanized rubber tube with brass fittings – and spoke to his driver through it: "We are ready to go, if you please.. Thank you." After reconnecting the device to its cradle, he sat back next to Grace. He quickly looked at her, she was staring straight ahead, obviously nervous about the oddness of the situation. He realized: there was no reason to be awkward. This was silly. They were very well acquainted, - well, platonically, professionally - knew each other's cues, and likes, dislikes. They had worked together for over three years and had seen the seasons, holidays, meals, common colds, birthdays and countless business meetings together. Aside from everything else they were feeling, they held solid, mutual respect for one another. Both of them felt the highest regard for the other in regard to intellect, their collaborative work, their individual areas of expertise, their work ethic and drive. They were a force. They had no choice but to respect each other.

She suddenly turned to look at him. He gave her a tentative smile, unsure of how she was taking this rather odd-feeling turn of events. She studied his face, looking at every inch, her eyes landing on his. She held his gaze, breaking her trance with a small smile and a tilt of her head, she finally said:

"Forgive me for asking, but why have you personally picked me up like this? Are you sure that everything is alright? Your being here has me a little concerned…." She dropped her gaze, realizing that last part may have come off as harsh…she said: "This is, well, unexpected…um, I didn't expect to see you here." She turned and looked at him once more.

He was looking at her as she was speaking; he waited for her to finish. Taking time to find the right words, he took pause. He looked at his hands – as if there were some dialogues written there – looked at her again. He began:

"Miss Farrell…" he paused, his mind telling him how silly it was to call her that when he was about to pour out his soul to her. " I wanted to get you from the train myself because I wanted to talk to you as soon as possible." He looked into her eyes as he told her this. "I felt that…it…I …I couldn't wait.. I'm sorry if I am being selfish…I am honestly not trying to be….at all.." He stopped for a moment, collecting his thoughts and trying to calm himself. He was still shaking. "Over this weekend, I've come to realize something important. Well, I realized that you …are important…to me…. well, more than that…much more…" He dropped his eyes, his breathing slowed down. He wanted this to be right. He chose his words very carefully. He started, looking at her as he spoke, his voice lowered so that it was truly only between them. "I wanted to talk to you, specifically about a couple of things…. I hope you don't mind." He looked at his folded hands again, then back to her. She shifted her eyes to her lap and said very softly:

"No, I. . don't …not at all." She looked back up to his face, waiting for him to continue. Wanting him to continue.

He said: "I would like to know if it would be okay with you. . . if I were to start calling you by your first name." He paused to look at her face. ". . I would like to start calling you. . . Grace.. " His face had an expression of vulnerability, his eyes questioning her. He was really a very sweet and sensitive soul, being brave and taking a risk for love. Oliver really was gallant – in every sense of the word. He was an incredibly powerful person, and not just because of his wealth. He was wealthy because he was very smart, very driven and had a will forged in steel. He was powerful because he honed that will into a sword, and he knew intuitively how to wield it. Oliver Havens was a very gifted man in many ways. He was as intelligent as Grace, they were very well matched intellectually, ideologically and ethically, philosophically, physically – among so many other commonalities they had. Nobody who looked at them would spot it at first sight, but Grace and Oliver were cut from the same cloth in many ways.

She looked at him, blinked a few times, letting what he had said to her register. She said:

"You wanted to know if that would be okay…." She trailed off, her voice caught in her throat.

He reached out to her and put a finger on her wrist, finding her pulse point. He said: "And, that you would also. . . . . call me Oliver. . .if…that is something you would be comfortable about doing." Inside, he cringed at his words. He realized how damned formal that just sounded. He didn't move, he held his breath, waiting for her reaction.

She stared at his finger on her wrist, feeling the warmth of his body through it. She could also feel how close together they were sitting. He heard her sniff, her eyes were filled with tears, and as she blinked, he saw one run down her cheek. He saw this, and immediately reacted: "I'm so sorry. I've upset you. I am such a fool. I didn't mean to make you cry." He took out a spotless white handkerchief and handed it to her. "I'm sorry." She looked at him and smiled. "Don't be sorry. You are not a fool. . . . This is not out of sadness.." She composed herself to meet his gaze. She reached out and carefully replaced his finger on her wrist, right where it had previously been: on her pulse point. She looked at his finger, then at him and said: "I like that." With her own finger, she very slowly traced an imaginary line from his fingertip to the back of his hand. He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it several times, very slowly, as he looked at her. He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. She was overcome with emotion and surprise at how powerfully intoxicating this was – that feeling of his lips, his hands, his finger on her wrist. She was frozen in time watching her muse put his lips on her skin. She inhaled sharply just as she had done when she had fallen asleep in his office that night.

Between kisses, he asked her gently: "May I call you Grace?" He looked at her, wanting her to want that, too.

Still under the spell of what was happening, she mouthed "yes" to him, followed by "I should think so….".

He smiled, exhaling in relief, and said, "Call me Oliver, please…..from now on…Grace…." Still locked into his gaze, she studied his face and especially his lips, once again, she found that her voice had left her, she quickly nodded and mouthed very softly: "Oliver." Saying his name felt like she was coming home. He took her hands, sandwiching them between his own.

Her voice, though faint, returned to her as she softly asked: "You said that you wanted to talk about a couple of things. Was calling me by my first name why you came here tonight?" She left it at that, letting him take in her words. With her hands in his, he gently kissed one of them as he said: "Grace, I have come to realize that…" he looked at her now "that I…miss you when you are gone." He smiled at her…watching how she reacted, "I am no good without you. I think about you all the time. I cannot stop thinking about you. You are always on my mind. Grace, I know this is a lot." He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, he said quietly while he locked his eyes with hers: "I have come to realize that …." He stopped, took a deep breath and said: "Grace, I love you. I am in love…with you." He said it. It was out. He felt a wave of anxiety leave his body as he uttered his brave words. She stared at their hands. Intertwined. Again, what universe? Could this really be happening? Did he read my mind? She was so touched and so relieved and overflowing with emotion. She was processing his words. She took her time so that his words echoed in her head. She pulled her hands away, put both of her hands on his face, pulling him in closer. His hands automatically went to cover hers as she touched his cheeks. Their foreheads touched, she took a breath, not letting go of him. Blinking back her tears of love and joy and relief, she said: "You have no idea how much ….. . I love you. . . Oliver." With that she clung to him with her arms around his neck, clinging very tightly to him. He spoke softly into her ear, his face next to hers: "Oh my love.." She sobbed softly into his shoulder, her tears were joyful and the result of years of pent up love. She inhaled his scent properly, her body against him. She had not expected this at all. She said, as she settled her tears: "Thank God." He knew what she meant, and he followed with "Thank God indeed." Saying it softly to her. He had her completely enveloped in his arms, kissing her hair and holding her tightly. In his arms at last, so close to him, he never wanted to let her go. She finally pulled back from him to look at him. He touched her face, he gently wiped her tears. He looked at her, glowing with love and the joy of their moment. He said to her: "I have dreamed about this for a long time…you have always been my dreams…" He reached out to her and gently touched her face, her chin. She looked at him, trembling in anticipation. She asked him: "What else did you want to talk to me about?"

He slowly pulled her closer to him, putting his hands gently on her shoulders, he faced her - his lips inches from hers. He said simply: "This." He leaned forward and kissed her lips, gently pulling her closer, his hands finding the back of her head and her waist. She wrapped her arms around him as if he were a lifeline. He was hers. She was his. Their first kiss was sensual, long overdue, and the equivalent to letting a genie out of a bottle. There was no going back. After they kissed, they both looked at each other's face, she with tears, he was absolutely thunder struck. Before he could pull her in for another kiss, she had kissed him first, putting her lips on his, his hands warm against her, her hands on his shoulders and brushing against his neck. As she kissed him, she pushed him further into the seat of the limo, he actually made the sound "oh!" as she did. She couldn't help it or stop herself if she tried. She had wanted to kiss him like that for years. They stayed like this for several minutes, their kisses so new and so intoxicating to them both – they could barely breathe. Oliver could not help that he had a – situation, um, to navigate, his sexual energy fed with each kiss. She was his muse, his love – the focus of his lust for years. He was a man after all. He kept himself in check, though, and knew that this was a natural thing, not a disaster. She was just as charged and just as healthy and aware of her sexuality – especially when she thought about him. They both felt the electricity between them. Unspoken, they both got themselves together and under control. They both knew it was there, but like the powerful magic their lust contained, they knew it was equally sacred, especially to a love like theirs. Oliver had naturally thought of her in many, many, oh so many sexual scenarios in the last six months. He thought she was a delicate and feminine goddess, and stunning beauty. He liked her smile, her dimples, he liked how she walked. He could barely keep his eyes off her as she left a room, watching her walk and getting utterly lost looking at her curves. "Oh my God…no work getting done today…with that distraction…" he would say to himself. She was a goddess to him. He had always thought that about Grace. She had fantasies about him, too…they were human beings with human feelings. They liked each other. A lot. They had no choice in the matter. Now that they finally knew how the other felt, there was a tenderness born between them, made partly from the tentativeness of the unknown, the new love, the learning about each other. Their declaration may have been a brand-new seedling, but their love had roots and leaves and flowers. Neither one of them noticed that their limo had been circling Central Park, and that they could have already been at the estate a good 20 minutes earlier. Eddie was driving them around on purpose, like the loyal friend and accommodating employee that he was. He was more than happy to be their enabler. He liked them both, and he also recognized the benefit of having Grace be the wife of Oliver Warbucks. Nobody but Grace was cut out for him. She was his match. His equal. She really loved HIM. Her heart was in it. She was the only one able to pull him out of his isolation, his whirlwind travels, and to settle his ass down. Eddie let out a small laugh, smiling to himself while rounding the park. Again.

Oliver looked into her eyes, their blue color and light so brilliant, even in the dim of his limo. "Grace…is this real?" She gently and lovingly kissed him again before answering: "I think so…we are awake, right?. .let me check.." She kissed him passionately, pushing her body against his, making him to lean back in the seat, his hands on her waist and finding the small of her back. He was overcome with passion: "My God, Grace. I love you so much." They stayed like that, her head on his shoulder, his head next to hers. He kissed her as he held her in his arms. He said seriously to her: "Grace, I have to be honest…I have loved you for a long time." She stared at him, her eyes in wonder, the realization that she wasn't alone in her angst or anguish, the crush, the love, the crush of love..he had felt it, too. She pulled back again to look into his eyes, she smiled as she said quietly: "Oliver, I think I fell in love with you that night at the gala...I have loved you for a long time, too…..Oliver." She kissed him again and said: "You have always been …my..love." She paused, looking at him, loving the shape of his lips, how he kissed her. He kissed her right there again. He was able to make her feel ways she had never felt with any man. Her whole youth of dating wealthy strangers who were shopping her like a stock horse was a cruel joke to her now. She realized that THIS was love. She had the real thing. She knew it, there was no doubt for her. There was no one else and never would be. It was Oliver the whole time – his love was there waiting as if it were a treasure to be discovered. It was her only treasure in the world. She wanted only him. When she was in Bryn Mawr previously that weekend, she was almost convinced that she was going to run away – again – uproot herself, change jobs, take a pay cut – because her fear of heartbreak made her panic. Now, she was gazing into the eyes of the man who had been her every waking thought, her last thought of the day, the focus of her daydreams. To be fair, if you work closely with a person you are secretly in love with, it is only a natural human reaction to daydream about them. Humans and their brains and hearts – never, ever has anyone said how sensible they can be. Thus, her sketched image of him was drawn from love and from the sheer need to look at him, to see his beauty, his aura - so that every now and then, if he were out of town and she missed him, she could look at her drawing of him, privately, letting her guard down and letting her thoughts wander to him…it was one of the ways that she coped. Now, in his limo, she felt almost as if she were experiencing the entire situation through someone else's eyes. Grace from before was a different person than who Grace was now.

She said to him "You are the only one who will do. I know the real you, Oliver. That is who I want…only you." He moved his hand to her wrist, lightly stroking her pulse point with his thumb. He followed with: "Grace, I want nobody but you. Ever." They stared into each other's eyes, not breaking the spell for several minutes. For the rest of the ride to the estate, she was in his arms, her head on his chest, her arms around his waist. He kissed the top of her head. She snuggled into him, inhaling him, pressing her hand against his chest and stomach, her fingers touching the buttons on his vest, grazing his watch chain.

Suddenly the limousine was turning into the gates of the estate. "Grace, we're home." Oliver said to her.

She looked up at him and said: "Yes, we are. We are finally home." Her meaning was not lost on him. He squeezed and kissed her hand before he opened the door to the limo. Stepping out of the car, the Asp very discreetly got her luggage and disappeared into the house. Oliver gave her his hand as she stepped out of the limo. Now that they were home, at the estate, they both came to the realization that they would have to agree about how to proceed. Oliver did not want gossip, or anything negative associated with their newly revealed love. He said: "I wonder if we could see each other…later…after you've had a moment to get settled in. I realize that this" – he waved his hand between them indicating their newly-joined presence, their new love – "probably upset your plans for tonight. I know you like to decompress after the train from Philadelphia. . ."

She smiled at him, looking from his face, down to his chest, lowering her head, she spoke very softly to him: "I want to see you later. I have no plans but you."

He lifted her gaze to him, his right hand cupping her cheek gently, he leaned in very slowly until they were mere centimeters apart. He breathed to her: "Come to me when you are ready." And he kissed her, pulling ever so slightly on her bottom lip as they parted. His kiss made her very much aware of her body, her sensuality and her desires. He said: "I am dizzy with love."

She said: "I am too, Oliver. . . . .I have never been so…" she looked at him, and very softly said "in love." They kissed again, and she squeezed his hand one last time before walking ahead of him into the house and into the great hall. Punjab appeared suddenly and gave no indication of anything out of the ordinary, though, he intuitively knew that they had a pivotal moment, and he had just seen his boss kiss her in the carport.