Chapter 4: Mrs Booker’s Seat

Olivia’s POV

I don’t have any expectations sitting in front of my vanity, a dainty pearl earring being clasped onto my ears by one of the housekeepers. She steps back after a few seconds, her hand folded in front of her, her head staring at the ground.

I have always thought of housekeepers as staples in a home, but being in France for four years has made me see life in a whole different perspective. I watch her from the mirror, wondering if in the past, I have ever been unbearable to her.

The door pushes open just as I am about to say something and my mother walks in. She looks radiant in her red sequined dress, paired with golden heels and matching jewelry. I take my eyes off her and busy myself with a little more blush.

“Oliva,” she whispers with awe dripping from her tone as she waves the housekeeper away. “Oh my God! You look so stunning.”

I ignore her, getting out of the chair and waltzing towards my nightstand. My phone lights up with messages from the girls and I pick it up.

“Don’t tell me you are still upset about earlier,” she murmurs, attempting to come closer but thinking twice about it. “Honey, your father would have still been in the hands of those people by now if…”

I drown her voice out, hitting the group chat open. It is the usual. Angela has been screaming since I told her what happened, and Mandy on the other hand just cannot believe it. They think I shouldn’t have traveled.

I think so too.

“Olivia?”

I look back up at her. “You were saying?”

“Don’t do this,” she mutters softly, shaking her head. “Don’t be selfish. Every single thing your father has done has always been for you and this family. He is in this mess because he wanted to give us the life we craved.”

“Craved?” It is funny that the person standing in front of me now feels like a stranger, having lived with her my whole life. “So, now, you put this on me? This is the reason I left, Mom. The fact that you and Dad flip this around on me every single time. I am appreciative of the life you gave me. The both of you. But this…it isn’t worth it.”

My mom comes closer. “Whatever you feel child, bottle it up and go out there with a smile on your face. Mr. Booker knows fake when he sees it a mile away, and we need this to work. For your father. His son has had a shitty public image for a while now, and this marriage will make it all go away. We just need them to see that he is now a responsible and happy husband.”

Something breaks in me. “You are getting me married off to a failure?” I whisper, shaking my head. “I can’t believe you are doing this to me, Mom. You lied to me.”

“Olivia…”

“You used my love for you against me over and over again, yet I keep falling for it. You and Dad must have had a good laugh hearing me panic on the phone after that call. You must have placed bets on how long it will take me to run back home.”

“Olivia…”

“Get out of my room, Mom.”

Her head jerks back, as if my hand whipped her across the face. Twenty-four hours ago, I would have cared. But not anymore.

“You know what?” I murmur, grabbing my beaded purse from the bed. “I don’t have the right to send you out. Afterall, it is your home. I am the stranger here. The soon to be Mrs. Booker.” The name leaves a bitter taste on my tongue.

“So why don’t you have fun here, while I go meet the person you and Dad have so graciously arranged for me to get married to? Are you expecting babies next year?”

I don’t wait for her response. The look of horror on her face is enough satisfaction. I walk out the door, not minding that I catch the housekeeper scurrying away after eavesdropping.

Nothing matters to me anymore.

Laughter floats in from the dining area when I reach the base of the stairs. Managing a smile on my face, I cross the remaining distance, and make it a point to ignore the seat beside my father. I walk around the table and take the one next to the man I am getting married to.

The only other young person in the room.

“My apologies for just joining.” I say smoothly, acting the role. “You know how it gets. Women getting ready for an event and taking a godawful amount of time.”

Mr Booker laughs, his surprisingly handsome gait filling the room. It makes me think of someone else. Someone miles away from me.

“You raised a great woman, Mr. Osvaldo,” he beams.

My father’s shoulders go up and all of me wants to ruin this moment for him. But he is right about one thing. I do not want to see him in jail.

“Thank you, Booker,” my father responds. “Her mother and I know how important it is to have a well-mannered child and I think it all just leading up to today was.”

My husband-to-be scoffs beside me, his fork digging into the pasta. We cannot all be fans of this arrangement, I guess.

“Teddy,” Mr. Booker continues. “That is Olivia, the person you will be getting married to tomorrow. Isn’t she lovely?”

To my surprise, he looks at me, an amused expression in his eyes. “Sure, Dad,” he blurts. “If this is what you call lovely.”

“I’m sorry I’m late,” a loud voice calls from the door. She waltzes over, her perfume reaching me even before her. She is in a short dress that has to be too tight for comfort and her hair is all over her face in stunning, elaborate curls.

“Hello, Mr Booker.”

His face turns into a scowl as he regards her, but I doubt she notices as she walks over to me. The smile on her face doesn’t diminish when she splays her perfectly manicured nails on Teddy’s shoulders.

“Sorry, wifey, but you are in my spot.”