Olivia’s Destiny (The Olivia Carter Series, Book 3)

Chapter One

Olivia Carter

I roll my eyes for the nineteenth time, sniffing loudly, catching a look of disgust from Aunt Victoria, and just roll my eyes again as we all sit in what Gabriel would term a ‘circle of friendship’ as Uncle Preston continues to rant on and on.

Now he’s standing over us, trying to make eye contact with either Gabriel or me, but we know how to dodge this one and just stare at the ground. Come on guys, a £1200 wedding ceremony in Sedona? Is this even legal?

Gabriel is sort of shrugging his shoulders and then he mimicks Preston’s body language in agreement. You’re absolutely right, Preston. I can see what your issues with this are. I…

Oh, shut-up, Gabriel. I’m not one of your patients.

Gabriel tries to suppress an uncomfortable laugh, placing his hand over his mouth before saying, Okay.

Aunt Vic leans over, patting Gabriel on the hand, her eyes exuding sympathy and gratefulness for our putting up with Preston.

I mean, what happened with asking my permission? I suppose you knew all about this, as usual, Victoria?

Victoria’s eyes widen as she starts twisting one of her giant rings and join ours in staring at the ground. Preston, calm down. We’ll have plenty of time to organise a proper wedding. I thought it was…well, romantic. Of course, Gabriel was going to ask your permission. This was just, well…impulsive? She looks at us for some kind of support as she tries to dig herself out of trouble.

Getting married barefoot, under a damned blanket?

It was so utterly romantic. My eyes drift over to my new husband, whose whole body is tense, his brooding blue eyes scanning the room, lips starting to curl. Uh-oh, his patience is starting to wearing thin. …and I loved the blanket, in fact, I’ve got it at home…

Aunt Victoria jumps in at the right time. Olivia darling, why don’t you go and see Annie. She just about jumped out of her skin with delight when I told her you were coming over. I’m sure she’s made some treats for you down in the kitchen. She shoos me out of the room, waving her hands about frantically.

I leave the hushed voices behind me, bounding towards the kitchen where I run straight into Annie’s plump, strong arms, taking in the comforting scent of Palmer’s cocoa butter before she pushes me back saying, Miss Olivia, come see what I make you, patting down her apron proudly.

Why is he so mad that we got married, Annie?

A deep, throaty laugh comes from Annie’s belly somewhere. He crazy-mad, you right girl. He not mad about you get married, but about way you get married. And she continues to laugh as she heads towards the oven.

The kitchen fills with the warm scent of vanilla beans, caramel, and earthy cinnamon as she opens the oven door.

I walk over to the pots and pans on the stove, peeking in at the various contents, poised to poke my finger in just like I did when I was younger when no one was looking.

Olivia! A deep voice growls startling me and I quickly put my hand back down by my side again.

It’s Gabriel. Annie, that sure smells awesome.

Annie responds by barely looking at him and grunting an acknowledgement before adding, Love smells like cinnamon, spicy sweet. Then she walks off towards the large laundry room, her belly moving up and down as she laughs to herself.

You were so not going to poke your finger in one of those pots, were you, Olivia? he asks as he stands close to me, towering over me in height, strength, and power.

I roll my eyes as he leans his head down so it’s nuzzling my ear. You’re safe now. There will always be food. You don’t need to do that anymore, sweetheart.

I nod, trying to bite back the flood of emotions. It’s so hard for people to understand what it’s like to starve. That all-encompassing, gnawing hunger, which becomes so familiar that you can’t even separate yourself from it. Having to scavenge bins at night for food after my mother died was all I knew, and then readjusting to life on the Upper East Side meant that I still poked my fingers into food when no one was looking. I forgot Gabriel knew just about everything about my traumatic childhood.

As if reading my mind, Gabiel says, Old habits die hard, I know, before pulling me close into his bulky, solid chest.

Lifting my head up I ask, Why did you suggest we get married, Gabriel?

He gently tilts my head up towards him narrowing his eyes. I hold my breath as I look over the sculpted features of his face before settling on those blue eyes, the colour of an ocean.

A smile breaks across his face until it reaches his eyes making them twinkle like stars. Because it was the only way I could think of to keep you out of trouble, young lady.

I swat him away in irritation before he nuzzles my ear again whispering, Love you, always have, always will, was always going to happen anyway.

But why is everyone so annoyed at us then?

Because, little one, they have a point. You do deserve so much better. It’s because we didn’t ask permission—that’s my bad, and your family has a need to plan and organise things in a big way.

But I’d be happy with an off the rack dress… I say trailing off thinkng about Victoria going Bridezilla on me when it’s not even her wedding. And I’ve got exams.

He rubs his nose against mine, Eskimo style, Well, I’ve agreed on our behalf, that we’ll do what they want, to keep the peace. They love you so much, and they’ve been through a lot, too.

Oh no, Gabriel, do you actually understand what that means?

"Well, apart from Victoria now going on the hunt for an apartment for us, if you mean a wedding with all the old money Upper East Side, our dear friends, the Astors, Rockefellers, and Roosevelts. Yes, I get the picture."

But you hate all that, and you’d do all that?

I, little love of my life, would do anything so I could keep you close and safe. Now, Annie, stop the torture, and can we please get some of these baked goods of yours, which Olivia keeps telling me all about.

*

Armed with tupperware boxes filled with goodies from Annie’s kitchen, we leave the Carter’s. Aunt Vic, already on about six different calls, excited about her new jobs as estate agent and wedding planner. Uncle Preston slightly placated, but still frowning like a hurt schoolboy as we both step into the dark sedan waiting to take us back to my apartment at Sutton Place.

I never go to Gabriel’s. It’s sort of like an unspoken agreement because Kennedy Lattimer had lived with him there. He mostly stays with me when he’s not at the hospital, only stopping off at his to check mail or grab clothes and toiletries. Gabriel tries to take some boxes from my lap, but I don’t let him. It’s like I’m holding onto a piece of Annie through her cooking. She seems to get older every time I see her, and it hurts me somewhere deep inside. He strokes my cheek adding, It’ll be interesting to see what Victoria comes up with for our first home together. I snuggle in close to his side, a warm heat spreading through me thinking about it.

My next thought is about the medical department-sponsored end of block party this evening. I’ve managed to blow most of these off until now because everyone just drinks like they have no tomorrow, and it digs up a lot of memories for me that are better off where they are.

Tonight’s different, though, because Gabriel is one of the sponsors so he’ll check in after a few hours to make sure that no one’s going crazy on the bar bills. I’ll see what it’s like and know he’ll be there to take me home. I’ve always found it funny that Gabriel is from new money and probably has more than the Carters because of all his dad’s rehab facilities all over the world. Yet he still scours bills and receipts like he’s looking for an error. Sure enough Preston still does that, too. What is it about money, whether it’s new or old?

Back to going to a bar, it’s like I’ve never been to one before. Well, I guess I haven’t, sober.

Gabriel places one of his iPod earplugs in my ear and my head moves up and down to the beat of the music playing, the words to Bitter Sweet Symphony, by The Verve scrolling across the screen. Nice song, don’t know it. He looks at me, gauging my reaction before turning it up full blast as the car bounces along the Manhattan roads.

As the car approaches the sidewalk, my ever faithful doorman, Michael O’Shea, is already waiting for us. He opens my side of the door and relieves me of all the tupperware boxes before I can blink.

Will you be needing the car for later, Miss Olivia?

I nod begrudgingly. Ever since the whole incident in the Hamptons with Lucien, I have extra security. I had no choice in the matter with both Gabe and Preston siding with each other. We compromised with me accepting a bodyguard/driver that would keep his distance during working hours, so as not to scare all the normal people I worked with.

Seven o’clock will be fine, Michael.

Great, Miss Olivia. Michael looks relieved at not having to argue that I don’t really have a choice.

Gabriel nods curtly to Michael as we make our way inside the building.

You nervous, little lady? Gabriel asks as we wait for the lift.

About what?

Your drinks party later, except in your case, your SOFT drinks party, emphasizing the word soft.

His words hurt. The truth hurts. Once an addict, always an addict, a little voice says to me inside my head. Does Gabriel think that too?

Hey, don’t look like that. I was only teasing. I’ll go with you if you want instead of coming along later. No biggy.

My palms feel all sweaty and just about slide off the metal rail once we are in the lift. Gabriel’s eyes follow my sweaty imprints as he wrinkles his nose, leaning in for an eskimo kiss. My heart could explode with love, and I wish we could just stay here like this, but the elevator reads my mind and pings loudly.

Olivia, I’m going to the study to read. I’ll have my headphones on so come tap if you need me. Gabriel heads to the makeshift study we’ve created in the kitchen for him. I mentally make a note to tell Aunt Vic to put study down in her list of requirments for our apartment. Our apartment.

I finally settle on a backless tangerine-coloured frock that enhances my tanned skin, fastened with a brown belt, paired with sensible beige flats. Can’t decide what to do with my hair, so slick it back in a high ponytail, which tickles the back of my neck when I move around.

I whack LaLaLa by NaughtyBoy on full-blast, dancing around uninhibitedly in my room, knowing that Gabe is well out of the way in the kitchen. Dr. Nate Carmichael and I had devised a technique whereby I would stick on some loud music and dance like a crazy person to get rid of any anxiety at times like this. It was not only fun, but did a good job at getting rid of any nerves, albeit rendering me sweaty and out of breath. Stubbing my toe on the edge of the bed, I stop to rub my foot almost stumbling and nearly losing my balance in the process. Sensing someone behind me, I swirl around.

Gabriel is leaning on the doorframe staring at me. Please don’t stop on my behalf, his lips curling up in a smile.

Feeling self conscious, I cross my arms as he heads towards me and twirls me around, helping me regain balance. One of my dad’s tried and tested?

Of course, only the best.

I’m not sure I’m happy with you leaving for the party first, without me.

Why? God, doesn’t he trust me?

Because you look absolutely beautiful, and I don’t want some spotty intern or resident getting all heartbroken over you when you’re mine.

Yes, well, that just sounds a little possessive for my liking, Dr. Carmichael.

Point taken, Dr. Carter, or is it Dr. Carmichael? Perhaps I do have issues…

I reach up to him and kiss him hard before getting my forearm crutch, a necessity since my hip infection, out of the wardrobe.

As I head towards the door, the sound of the shower running fills the apartment. I look behind me and see Gabriel wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist. With his tousled, blonde hair, ripped, tanned body, it’s me that should be worried about anyone falling in love with him and not the other way around.

Chapter Two

Olivia Carter

The waitress’s lips are moving, but nothing seems to be coming out at the nightclub-like brasserie on West 13th. It’s so loud, my eyes feel like they’re going to pop right out of my head. The DJ’s every beat amplified by the tin ceilings and tiled walls. I plunge wide-eyed into the darkness, looking for any faces I can recognise.

Some guy slams into me with his happy