Chapter 5: Gilded Tension

Olivia's POV 

The following week was a blur of strategically leaked "candid" shots and frantic phone calls from my label. 

Gabriel was a man of his word, which meant he was a man of very few words and very high expectations. He had dictated the terms of our first public appearance like he was brokering a peace treaty. No club. No tequila. Just a "quiet" dinner at a restaurant so exclusive it didn't even have a sign on the door. 

I sat in the back of his town car, smoothing the skirt of my dress. It was silk, the color of a bruised plum, and clung to every curve. I had traded the leather jacket for a tailored cashmere coat. I looked like a woman who knew the difference between a salad fork and a fish fork, even if I usually used neither. 

Gabriel sat next to me, his laptop open on his knees. He hadn't looked at me since I climbed in. 

"You know, usually when a man picks up a woman for a date, he tells her she looks nice," I said, leaning over to peek at his screen. "Or at least acknowledges that she’s breathing the same oxygen." 

Gabriel didn't look up from a spreadsheet that looked like a headache in digital form. "You look appropriate, Olivia. Which is exactly what we agreed upon." 

"Appropriate? I look like a dream. I look like a reason to skip a board meeting." 

"You look like a distraction," Gabriel corrected, finally snapping the laptop shut. He turned his head, his gaze sweeping over my face. He lingered on my lips, painted a deep, dark red, for a fraction of a second too long. "Which is the point. Are you ready for this? There will be three photographers stationed across the street. They have been briefed to look like they are 'stalking' us, but they are vetted." 

"I’ve been dodging the paparazzi since I had braces, Gabriel. I think I can handle a few 'vetted' lenses." 

"This isn't a movie set," Gabriel said, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register. "Jolie will be inside. She does not know we are coming. This needs to look accidental, and it needs to look real." 

The car pulled to a stop. Gabriel got out and walked around to open my door. He offered his hand. His palm was warm, his grip firm. As soon as my heels hit the pavement, the air filled with the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of shutters. I didn’t look at the cameras. I did what I did best. I looked at the man. 

I tucked my arm through his and leaned my head toward his shoulder, whispering, "Smile, Wine Boy. You’re supposed to be captivated." 

"I am practicing internal captivation," Gabriel grumbled, but he did lean down, his nose brushing my hair. 

The restaurant, L'Oiseau, was a cathedral of hushed voices and flickering candlelight. The maitre d’ bowed so low I thought he might snap. We were led toward a booth in the back, but Gabriel’s pace slowed as we passed a large round table in the center of the room. 

I felt him stiffen. I didn't need a script to know we had arrived. 

At the table sat a woman who looked like she had been painted by a Renaissance master. She was wearing ivory lace, her hair pulled back in a soft, effortless chignon. She was laughing at something a man next to her was saying, a man who looked far too smug for his own good. 

"Gabe?" Her voice was like bells. Pure, clear, and utterly surprised. 

Gabriel stopped. "Jolie. I didn't realize you were dining here tonight." 

It was a lie, and he told it perfectly. I felt a surge of professional respect. 

Jolie’s eyes shifted from Gabriel to me. The transition was seamless, but I saw the moment her brain processed who I was. The pop star. The "disaster" from the headlines. The girl in Gabriel's shirt. 

"And you must be Olivia," Jolie said, standing up. She was even more graceful on her feet. She didn't look angry; she looked confused, like she had just found a blade of grass in her caviar. "I’ve seen your... work." 

"And I’ve heard so much about your... poise," I said, flashing my best red-carpet smile. I didn't let go of Gabriel’s arm. In fact, I squeezed it tighter, feeling the hard muscle of his bicep. "Gabriel talks about you constantly. It’s almost sweet." 

Gabriel’s hand came up to cover mine on his arm. It was a possessive gesture, one we hadn't rehearsed. "We won't interrupt your dinner, Jolie. I just wanted to take Olivia somewhere quiet. She’s had a long week of filming." 

"Of course," Jolie said, her gaze flickering to Gabriel’s hand on mine. Her smile didn't falter, but her fingers tightened around her champagne flute. "I didn't realize you were a fan of... pop culture, Gabe. You’ve always been so selective." 

"Olivia is an exception to many of my rules," Gabriel said. 

The man next to Jolie, a tall guy with a trust-fund tan, let out a dry laugh. "I’ll say. My sister loves your music, Olivia. What is it the fans call themselves? The Spleens?" 

"The Livers," I corrected, my voice sharpening. "And it’s a biological metaphor for how they can't live without me. It’s very deep." 

Gabriel cleared his throat. "We’ll leave you to your meal. Enjoy the Bordeaux, Jolie. It’s a 2015. A bit immature, but I know you like things that are easy to manage." 

The dig was so subtle I almost missed it. Jolie’s eyes widened just a fraction. 

Gabriel led me away to our booth. As soon as we sat down and the menus were in our hands, I leaned across the table. 

"Ouch," I whispered. "A bit immature? You just called her date a child in wine-speak." 

Gabriel was looking at the wine list, but his eyes were dark. "He is a child. He’s a property developer who thinks he knows soil." 

"She’s beautiful, Gabriel," I said, my voice softening. "But she looks like she’s made of glass. One wrong move and she’d shatter." 

"She is stronger than she looks," Gabriel said. He finally looked at me. The tension from the encounter was still vibrating off him. "You did well. The physical contact was... convincing." 

"Just convincing? I was giving you 'star-crossed lovers' and you were giving me 'annoyed professor,'" I teased. I reached across and flicked the edge of his sleeve. "You need to loosen up. If you want her to believe you’re over her, you have to look like you’re actually enjoying yourself with me." 

"I am enjoying the silence," Gabriel said. 

"Liar. You’re enjoying the fact that she’s currently staring at the back of your head instead of talking to her date." I took a sip of water, watching him. "Tell me something real, Gabriel. No scripts. Why her? Why ten years of waiting?" 

Gabriel leaned back. The candlelight caught the sharp angles of his face. For a moment, he didn't look like a magnate. He looked like a boy. 

"Our families are intertwined," Gabriel said quietly. "When I was fifteen, my father lost a significant portion of our estate in a bad merger. I was humiliated. The other kids in our circle were vultures. Jolie was the only one who didn't change. She sat with me in the vineyards every day for a summer. She told me that a name is just a name, but the land remains." 

"So you're in love with a memory," I said. 

Gabriel’s eyes snapped back to mine. "I am in love with the person who saw me when I had nothing." 

"But you have everything now," I pointed out. "And she’s still treating you like that fifteen-year-old boy who needs his hand held. She doesn't see the man who runs the empire, Gabriel. She sees the furniture." 

I saw the hit land. His jaw tightened, and he looked away, toward the shadows of the restaurant. 

"And what about you, Olivia?" Gabriel asked, his voice low. "Why the 'Livers'? Why the constant need for fifty million people to tell you you're loved?" 

"Because when the cameras are off, it's very, very quiet," I said, the honesty slipping out before I could stop it. "And I don't like the quiet." 

We sat in silence for a long moment. It wasn’t the cold silence from the car. It was something else, a shared weight. 

Suddenly, I saw Jolie stand up from her table. She wasn't heading for the restroom. She was heading for us. 

"Incoming," I hissed. 

I didn't think. I reached across the table, grabbed Gabriel’s tie, and pulled him toward me. He didn't resist. His eyes widened as I leaned in, my lips inches from his. 

"Make it look real," I whispered. 

I didn't kiss him. I just hovered there, my breath hitching in my throat as I realized how close we actually were. He smelled like cedar and expensive wine. His hand came up, not to push me away, but to rest on the nape of my neck. His thumb brushed the sensitive skin behind my ear, sending a jolt of electricity straight down my spine. 

"Gabe?" Jolie’s voice was right behind me. It sounded shaky. 

Gabriel didn't look at her. He kept his eyes on mine. "Not now, Jolie," he said, his voice a low growl. "I’m busy." 

I felt a thrill of pure, unadulterated victory.