CHAPTER 16 UNTIED
Grace made up her mind to write her letter to the university. Dean Kenworthy might actually be sad to see her go and not take their full time offer. A lot of
her students would, too, but as Grace was well aware, students moved on and on, too. She was okay with her decision. She was relieved to be able to get her
weekly life simplified. She had only a couple of weeks left at the university, her classes were taking finals in seventeen days. She would wrap up the summer
semester and clean out her office. Oliver would literally not let her move any of it herself. They talked it over and decided that at the same time, she would
get her personal things moved from the studio back to the estate. He decided, however, to keep the studio. For them. It would be their little city hideaway. His
guilt at having all of these disruptions put upon her made him worry constantly. She would have to reassure him, having him remember exactly how their
situation came about. It was mutual, he hadn't 'made' her do anything. The whole teaching at New York University situation came about because of her habit
of fleeing from personal things that made her uncomfortable. She was curious. She had every opportunity to say 'no'. She did enjoy teaching – she really
loved math and enjoyed the process of teaching and seeing people learn. That was the moment she waited for: that moment of breakthrough. She knew she
could always go back to teaching if she ever needed to. She kept her skills up to speed and she got to use them a lot in her work at the estate. The planning
alone was all statistics in his various industries. She would compose a professional letter of decline to the university.
Grace thought about what Oliver had said to her that evening. He had asked her if she could "break away for the whole day". Grace thought about this to
herself: "Why the whole day? What had he planned?" She was mystified. Thrilled. She almost wanted to call him later when he would be home to tease it out
of him about what he was up to. She smiled to herself thinking about how Oliver was this sweet and thoughtful man that she alone knew in this way. He was
incredibly playful once the façade of tough guy came down, his love of thoughtful or romantic surprise was endearing to her. Back in the 'before time', she had
seen his playful side when they shared chocolates or some kind of treat as they worked. He let little sections of his protective wall come down for her. A smile
here and there, a small laugh. A shared love for a cup of tea late in the afternoon, talking about a work task, then straying into a snippet of something
personal. She would comment: "I really like this English tea." He would follow with: "Oh, I do, too. I love a good cup of tea. You can take the Englishman out
of England…" He would laugh at himself, and she would stare and take him in, a smile on her face. He would catch her gaze. It was like a small and powerful
wave of adrenaline that would rush into his entire body at once. She felt it, too. The very early days were peppered with moments of curious recognition of
that attraction, very small moments of eyes meeting. A brow furrowed in question followed by a smile and an exhale. It was in this way that they fell more
deeply in love. They had bonded in a sort of friendship and mutual respect, especially when she had called him out about being difficult early on. She had a
competence level and work ethic that even he had to keep up with. She always seemed to be two steps ahead of him. If he needed a file, she would point to
it, already on his desk because she had included it in his morning stack of paperwork. He had really been humbled by her, and he had nothing but respect and
a few new feelings had crept through about that time, too: admiration, anticipation, and then: adoration. He started to look forward to her being in the office.
He liked her presence. He was always aware of how pretty she was, and he also knew she was a triple, (or quadruple), threat in many ways and means. She
was talented and smart and a complete surprise to him. This started from the moment William Gayle told him she could drive the trucks in her father's fleet.
He was always a little in awe of her varied interests and skills. He never really let his brain accept that she could operate any car or truck until he saw her hop
in the driver's seat of the Dusenburg, moving it effortlessly to a spot near the house, best achieved if the car were backed into the spot. She made it look
easy. She got out of the car casually, shutting the door carefully, patting the hood as she walked past it. As he watched this, he thought: "God only knows
what this woman is capable of." He was forever floored by her casual abilities, no – prowess - in worlds where women were shunned. She did everything that
way, he noticed. She was capable of literally anything. That grew into how he felt about her now: the sun rose and set upon Grace. Now, as they saw each
other alone, he wasn't always driven to shower her with over-the-top material things, in fact, that was everything she wasn't: materialistic. To Grace, being
heard and seen by him was being loved. Being loved is what she wanted. Being loved by him. She just wanted him. He did hear her and he did see her,
always making a point to make their time count. He would always remember something she mentioned wanting or needing for her studio and he would make
it happen. Whatever she needed, he made sure that she did not do without. He looked very sweet and domestic as he would bring a bag of groceries up from
his car for her, for them. He was thrilled when she used a kettle he bought her for making them tea one rainy afternoon. He would say: "I know exactly how
you like your tea.", smiling at her. She would return: "I like my tea very sweet." And she would put down her cup and wait for his arms and his kiss to
envelope her. Aside from the domestic or mundane, he would also sometimes surprise her with being completely romantic. He would still write her love notes,
he would bring flowers, candles and champagne, and something to throw in a very low oven for them, declaring their evening 'in'. He would he put on the
radio to something sweet and slow, turn around and request her hand. He would kiss her hand as he pulled her into his arms. They would dance like this as
often as they could. She would insist upon loosening his tie, pulling it off as she kissed him. She had taken possession of one of his lavender-colored ties.
After much consideration and a trip to Bonwit Teller with her mother, Grace bought a suit to match it. She landed on a tailored white blouse and lavender suit.
She wore his tie loosely, like a delicate ascot next to the collar of her white shirt. The first time he saw it on her, he did a double take. He had met with her
one evening after her classes. As he had gotten closer to her for a kiss, he recognized the tie. He was surprised and puzzled, not quite trusting his eyes. He
had lightly picked up the end of the fabric she had been wearing, he knew that he had seen that material and pattern and color. It looked exactly like one of
his many bowties. He looked at the way it was cut. It was a bowtie. He was almost positive that it was one of his own. With a smile of cognition on his face,
he had asked her: "Is that….is that…my tie?" She had laughed at him having finally recognized it, and she had said, laughing: "Do you mean this tie? The one
I have on?" He said: "Yes, my dear, that very one. Is that one of my ties?" He pressed closer to her, inspecting his tie closely. He was laughing now. She
looked at him, trying in vain to suppress a grin, and said: "Why, yes, it is. Well, it used to be. It is mine now, though." He laughed at this, saying: "So, you've
just taken it upon yourself to liberate my tie? My oh my, Miss Farrell." He had his hands gently on her elbows as she faced him. "By the way, it looks lovely on
you." He had kissed her after this, she laughed at his reaction to her commandeering one of his ties. She did so selfishly – as she said to him – because she
"knew it had his scent on it and it was 'irresistible' to her. She teasingly told him that if he didn't want her taking his ties and wearing them, she told him
playfully that "you should not be so delicious, then. I can't help myself," she laughed. "This is all your fault, Oliver." She would say this to him with her fingers
already on the tie he was wearing…" He would say "oh, no, no you do not, Miss, you will not take my tie off…." Both of them laughing, she kissed him mid
sentence …"add it to your collection…Lord knows how many of my things you have…." She would laugh, so would he. And he would kiss her to distract her
and she would continue untangling careful knots to tease him. Now, the running joke with them was that she only shopped for ties for him if she could wear
them, too. He would sometimes see her in passing at the estate, and he would stop her to ask a question, acting like he was very serious, and he would ask
her: "Will this tie match anything of yours? I wanted to check with you first." She would look at his tie, suppress a laugh, try to be serious. All the while, he
would stare her down, not breaking character, until one of them laughed. As for his stolen lavender tie, the fact was that she had removed it from his collar
one evening so that she could unbutton his shirt to kiss his neck, his tie having ended up on her sofa. He had never even noticed that it was missing and she
had found it the next morning. It had been hers ever since, she had worn it deliberately to see if he noticed it. She had never offered it back, he had never
asked for it, and she would wear it as often as she could. He was secretly thrilled, more than a little flattered, and off kilter in a very good way by things that
she did like this. He found it very sexy and very cute. The first time she had worn it in the estate office, he had nearly spilled his tea as she casually handed
him a contract draft with a knowing grin at him. He had never had a woman treat him like a prize, wanting little keepsakes to wear or remind her of him. She
had made it quite clear to him that beside his looks, demeanor, mind, and his everything – as she once told him - that his scent was huge part of her
attraction without actually telling him in words. Her chemical reaction to his scent, his energy, his very presence was nothing she controlled. Her loving him
was way beyond anything she could have dreamed up. Her emotional connection to his scent was real. "How does nobody else pick up on this?" she would
ponder this as she was drawn to him from across the room, finding it difficult to resist the urge to kiss him. Right there. In front of everyone. She had to walk
away sometimes, retreat to her office. He was completely unaware of just how much he affected her. During their alone time, she would sometimes surprise
him with a flower of her own upon meeting him, tucking a red or pink carnation in his lapel, kissing him as she smoothed his jacket. Often on his desk the
following Monday, that same flower would be on his desk in a little glass of water that he had provided it. She would see it, he would watch her eyes, and they
would share a moment – remembering all of the love, the flower a symbol and meaning so much between them. She was thrilled at the sight of him, she
loved his everything, having little things to remind her of him did help her cope. She loved that she wore his tie and it was their secret. However, there was
another person who was completely in on their secret because she knew every aspect of Mr. Warbucks' wardrobe. She smiled to Miss Farrell in the hallway
outside of the kitchen one Monday morning. Nothing out of the ordinary. Thinking to herself as Miss Farrell briefed the staff on some goings-on, Mrs. Greer
took note of her "lavender suit and white blouse and . . .a man's bowtie…as an ascot…lavender….very nice….oh..that tie..I know that tie…!" She paused…
thinking. When had she last seen that tie?: two weeks prior as he left the estate on a Friday night. "That is his tie if I am standing here!" Mrs. Greer thought.
At this realization, she smiled, letting herself in on the secret but keeping tight lipped about it. She was well aware of them, had been for a long time, and was
secretly thrilled for them both. "Miss Farrell sure changed the cut of his jib", Mrs. Greer thought to herself with a laugh. Oliver was the kind of man to whom a
lavender tie was a bold color choice, stylish and attractive. He was completely secure in his masculinity and his sexuality. As far as he was concerned, color
was fashion and being fashionable was his public persona, and his personal pride and joy. Oliver loved nice clothing, and he spared no expense on his
wardrobe. He never once thought that he would ever in his life have a girlfriend who would mischievously take, (find and keep), his tie like that and then find
a way to wear it flawlessly. "Oh, she got me good.. ha!" He still shook his head and laughed about her doing this. Little did he know what his future held with
his Grace. There were moments that he still stopped in his tracks to ponder whether or not it was all real or all a dream. He had to pinch himself. He had seen
the innocent, random delivery man or some kind of skilled tradesman, even some of the businessmen that came to the estate try to get her number. They
would try to chat her up, wanting to get a number so they could get a date. Oliver had seen her be polite but obtuse toward them, absolutely not 'getting
them' as some of them would say. He actually felt sorry for them, knowing they would go down in flames. These interactions made him chuckle whenever he
would catch one. She would say to a man who clearly asked for her number: "If you want to reach the estate, I am more than happy to give you the estate's
official number. That is the only number I have." They would usually get the message that she was not flirting and was not interested. A larger portion of the
male visitors to the estate just assumed that she was so above them that she MUST be spoken for…why even try? Men. She liked them fine, but she had no
interest whatsoever in anyone but Oliver. He would catch her alone later and jokingly say to her: "I see that you are breaking hearts today, Miss Farrell. I pity
those poor men - you being you, Miss Farrell, a Goddess... just breaking hearts walking into a room." He would get very close to her, breathe her in and then
say: "We should get back to work, then, yes?" grinning at her. She, with hands on her hips would say; "Mr. Warbucks, you stopped me to talk, yes? By the
way, there is only one heart I don't want to break…..and that person needs to get back to work…instead of… " He looked around them, they were in the
hallway outside of the suites of offices, making sure they were alone. He put his hands on her cheeks and kissed her in the middle of her sentence, pulling her
into him. Her hands went to his forearms, eventually finding his waist. He finished the kiss by hugging her tightly, saying softly into her ear: "You are
irresistible. I don't care if we ARE at the estate…" He kissed her again, her eyes closed as she melted into his arms.
By the time they saw each other on Fridays, Grace was at the end of a week of school, and the estate. She was always so pleasantly surprised and thrilled by
his thoughtfulness. He never let her go hungry, and he knew that by the time they met for their standing Friday nights, she was ravenous. He either brought
her dinner and cooked for her, or he took her out. She was able to let herself be who she really was with him: an affectionate, funny and slightly mischievous
woman who loved her sleep, her work, her world and absolutely in the center of it all, she adored Oliver. He was in every aspect of her world, and he was
constantly making her wonder what else this lovely man had up his sleeves. She thought to herself about how she would be able to return to work at the
estate full time, stop the madness of the two jobs, two living quarters, travel and disruption. Grace was exhausted and ready to get back to a livable schedule
and life.
That Friday night, as Oliver pulled his car away from her building's curb, Grace did her best to get to bed and not call Oliver. The thought of him made her
smile, she laughed to herself at how he was so innocent and funny. The ties made her laugh. She could not wait to wear his undershirts to bed with him
someday. She was already way ahead of him and had thought about that kind of stuff for quite some time, even before the tie. She was falling for him a little
more each day. He was truly gallant, polite, a gentleman. His very first act toward her on earth was to hold a door for her. His second act was to stand in front
of her physically to protect her, and then, as 'bad boy' as it gets, he stood up for her to the face of her drunken ex. Grace had always seen that side of him,
she reckoned, from her first impression of him. She had always sort of regarded him as sophisticated and someone who was not only a friend, but someone
upon the very first meeting had intervened quietly and forcefully, protecting her. That first impression of him was powerful. She had always regarded him as a
quiet hero. Or, should she say: she regarded him as a hero, quietly. That status she regarded him with was always in that back of her consciousness, she
quietly adored him long before she ever let herself acknowledge that she was falling in love with him, or more accurately, had already fallen. Now, she could
not imagine life without Oliver. She wanted to talk to him all the time. She wanted to see his beautiful eyes. She wanted to hear his voice, his laugh, she
wanted to hold his hand and lean on his shoulder. She wanted to inhale him. She could hardly wait. The next morning seemed like an eternity to wait. She set
her alarm, opened a book she was reading, and promptly fell asleep.