Contessa by Otto Lori L

Author:Otto, Lori L. [Otto, Lori L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Goodreads: 17159259
Publisher: Lori L. Otto
Published: 2012-12-20T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

The house is unusually quiet as I get ready in the morning. I can feel the tension surrounding me, and I can’t imagine how this weekend with my family is going to be.

“Livvy,” my dad calls from the top of the basement stairs.

“Yeah?” I make my way out of my room, taking a deep breath. “What’s up?” I ask him.

“These roses were on your car,” he says, holding a few flowers and a card out to me. I run up the stairs quickly when I notice he’s making no effort to bring them down.

“They’re camellias,” I correct him. He shrugs his shoulders in response. “Thanks.” I take them and turn away, descending the stairs quietly.

“What, now he’s mocking me?” he asks.

I turn around, gripping the handrail tightly. “Hardly, Dad. He’s not that type of person. Stop trying to make him out to be some horrible guy. He’s not.”

He nods. “Can you be ready in five minutes?”

“I’m going with Mom,” I tell him, returning to my room.

“She left with your brother an hour ago. She wanted to beat the traffic heading out of the city.”

“Great,” I mumble.

“Five minutes?”

“Yep,” I say just loud enough for him to hear. My stomach tightens with anxiety. This weekend just got a whole lot worse. I hadn’t anticipated a two-hour car ride alone with my father. I had been plotting my apology to my mother all morning. I hadn’t prepared anything for Dad.

Sitting down on the bed, I quickly scan the card Jon left.

“Olivia,

“Do me a favor this weekend: if you’re standing near another guy, please stay away from the mistletoe.

“Have a Merry Christmas.

“Love, Jon”

I laugh out loud, holding the card close to my heart. I look down at my hand and admire the ring on my finger, remembering the moment he gave it to me. I try to forget how that moment was ruined not a minute later, but it’s hard to do. It just makes me angry again.

Realizing I’m not finished packing, I grab the nearest bag, which happens to be the bag I had given to Jon last night. I toss the rest of my things haphazardly inside, and tuck the card and three of the flowers–a pink one, a white one and a red one–into the side pocket. Slinging the messenger bag and my own large duffel on my shoulders, I hit the lights and make my way upstairs. Only a handful of presents remain under the tree, the rest already packed away in one of the two cars we’re taking to the lake house.

“Did you eat anything?” my dad asks, his coffee in hand.

“Not hungry.”

“I don’t want to make any stops.”

“That’s fine.”

He gets his keys out and holds the door open for me, locking it securely behind us.

After an hour of talk radio, I can’t stand the tension anymore.

“Are you not going to talk to me all weekend?” I ask him.

“If I had any idea of something I could say to you that would make us all better again, I would have said it long ago.

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