“I guess when we promised the ‘in sickness and in health’ thing we didn’t think it would ever really apply to us,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
He felt her body stiffen, then begin to relax until she was resting against him, her head tucked into his shoulder and her breath a soft caress on his throat. His arms tightened, trying to say with a physical touch what he couldn’t seem to say with words. After a few minutes, Olivia pulled away.
“What did you want to do today? Go for a drive maybe?” she asked. “We may as well make the most of it today because your physical therapist will begin home visits tomorrow.”
She smoothed her hands down her jeans, making him wonder what she was nervous about. The action had always been her “tell” when something made her uncomfortable. Had it been their embrace? Surely not. They’d always been a physically demonstrative couple. In private anyway. Memories of just how demonstrative they’d been filled his mind and teased his libido into life. Good to know not everything was faulty, he thought cynically.
But even though that part of his body appeared to be in working order, it was as though there was some kind of a barrier between him and Olivia right now.
“Xander?” she prompted, and he realized he must have looked as if he’d zoned out for a while—and probably had.
“You know, I’d like to stay home today. I tire all too damn easily for my liking. How about you show me what you’ve been working on in your studio lately?”
Her face brightened. “Sure. Come with me.”
She slid an arm around his waist—apparently more comfortable with aiding him than accepting physical comfort from him, he noted—and they walked outside and across to the small cottage on the property.
The cottage was one of the reasons they’d bought the property in the first place. He knew that it was Olivia’s dream to give up teaching and paint full-time, and if he had it in his power to help her achieve that dream, well he’d been prepared to do whatever he could to see her do it.
Stepping over the threshold and into what was originally an open-plan living/dining area but was now the main part of Olivia’s studio almost made him feel as if he were trespassing. This was very much her space, and she’d made it so right from the start.
He could understand it in some ways. In her childhood, she’d never had a space to call her own. Instead she’d been too busy caring for her siblings, supporting her father where she could, right up until she’d graduated high school and come to Auckland for her degree. Even then she’d lived in a shared-flat situation with ten students in a dilapidated old house.
“You’ve made some changes,” he commented as they stepped inside.
“Not recent—” she started, then sighed. “Oh, I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.”
“Not insensitive,” he said, looking around at the canvases she had stacked on the walls. “Don’t worry about it.”
He walked over to the paintings and gestured toward them. “Can I look?”
“Of course you can. I’m doing this harbor series for a gallery showing a bit closer to Christmas.”
“Your style has changed,” he commented. “Matured, I think.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Olivia said from behind him as he lifted one canvas and held it at arm’s length.
“It’s meant as one. You’ve always been talented, Livvy, but these...they’re something else. It’s like you’ve transformed from a very hungry caterpillar into a butterfly.”
“That’s a beautiful thing to say, thank you.”
“I mean it. No wonder you gave up teaching.”
She ducked her head, her hair—loose today—fell forward, obscuring the blush he caught a hint of as it bloomed across her cheeks.
* * *
Olivia kept her face hidden so he wouldn’t see her sudden change of expression. She’d given up teaching six weeks before Parker was born. It had nothing to do with her art. Keeping up this facade was as difficult as it was emotionally draining.
“Do you miss it? The teaching?” Xander asked, oblivious to the turmoil that occupied her mind. He gave a snort of irritation. “I feel like I should know all this. I’m sorry if we’re going over old ground.”
She lifted her head and looked him straight in the eye. “Don’t apologize, Xander. You don’t need to. You didn’t ask for this to happen—neither of us did. We both have some adjusting to do.”
Not least of which was his casual reference to Parker’s favorite book. When Xander had likened her improvement in her painting to that of a very hungry caterpillar morphing into a butterfly, she’d wondered if he recognized the reference. Wondered if, deep down inside that clever mind of his, he still could recite, verbatim, the book he’d read to Parker every night.