I technically didn’t have to pay. I’d filed for bankruptcy in prison and all debts against my name were null and void.
But...I wanted to.
I needed to.
I might not have killed those girls but my silence gave Jeffrey the freedom in which to take their lives.
I also paid Justin for his time and cost of looking after Olive in his home.
He tried to give it back.
Said it was insulting.
But I wrapped his hand around the thick envelope and begged him to take it.
Money was crass and not worth nearly what he’d done for me, but I needed to even the scorecard between us. Until he had a kid of his own that O and I could babysit, I didn’t want anything outstanding between us.
I didn’t want him to feel like I didn’t appreciate what he’d done when he was as important to me as my daughter and wife-to-be.
It took another year to save enough for a new home for the three of us—four counting our regular guest, Justin.
Business was good.
Commissions were piling up.
O was my canvas every day.
She ran my page, liaised with companies, and ensured my notoriety went global.
Without her, I would never have reached the levels I had. She ruled me and my creativity with her capable, wonderful kindness.
Working with her, living with her, I was aware I’d replaced Justin in both those roles. But at no point was there animosity between any of us. Justin hung out almost on a nightly basis—unless he had a date, and then he’d vanish for a week or so, figuring out if this new girl was worthy to join our extended family.
Once O and I had saved enough to buy a home, all of us went house hunting. We started in the city, looking for large warehouses like I had before. We investigated the suburbs next, traipsing through derelict homes and abandoned corner shops that could be renovated into the next location for our business.
In the end, we went into the country, door knocking on old farms with large barns, asking local villagers if they knew of estates coming up for sale.
And we found nothing suitable.
The hunt had been fun before it became frustrating.
I wanted a large studio with its own shower and lots of storage.
O wanted lots of sunshine and big windows.
Olive wanted a huge bedroom with a painting corner and chalkboard walls.
Justin wanted a guest suite with its own sitting room so he could come stay with us for days at a time and work away from the office.
Our hopes dwindled as we struggled to find anything remotely perfect.
Until...we finally found it.
A 1600s barn that had been converted into a four-bedroom, three bathroom home with modern editions of glass and steel. The ceilings soared above us with exposed centuries-old timber. Sun streamed in from big skylights and our wish list was complete with a private studio and guest suite dotted around the hobby farm.
Olive got a conservatory and O got her sunshine. Justin got his guest wing and I got a large studio for my business.
Life was good.
Better than good.
Life was perfect.
And I was so fucking grateful.
“Hey!” I chuckled as Olive dashed past me, stealing my paintbrush.
“You’re too slow.” She waggled it, dropping ochre splashes on the polished concrete floor. I didn’t care about the paint spots, this entire place would be covered when I started working. That was the beauty of paint. It belonged on the tools and walls as much as it did on the canvas.
I chased her, grabbing her around the middle and flipping her upside down. A couple of pennies fell out of her pockets along with a blue pencil and scrunched up piece of paper.
“Put me down!”
“Do you promise not to be annoying?”
“You’re annoying.” She giggled.
“You’re the most annoying.” I spun her the right way up and plonked her onto her feet. “The most annoying of annoying.”
She stuck out her tongue, swiping the paintbrush over my cheek. “No. You are.”
“Oh, now you’re gonna get it.” I launched at her, only to miss as she barrelled around O and tucked herself against the wall.
“Nu-huh. You will!” She laughed as I bear-hugged both of them, squishing O against me and Olive against the wall. “O will protect me!”
To be able to joke like this. To be stupid like this.
Fuck.
O rolled her eyes and laughed softly. “You two need to grow up.”
“Tell him that.” Olive stuck her tongue out again. “He’s not painting. He’s just standing there with a dopey look on his face.”
O looked over her shoulder, kissing the tip of my nose. “I like that dopey look.”
“And I like you,” I murmured, placing my mouth over hers for a quick kiss.
I would never get used to that privilege, that sense of completeness. I was home. In every sense of the word. We’d found our dream house, but without O to share my heart and Olive to take care of, it would be meaningless and empty.
“Eww, you two are so gross.” Olive wriggled out, returning to the huge mural we’d started this morning as a family.
Part graffiti, part geometric, part realism.
I’d taken inspiration from O’s tattoo. The owl with its hidden animals beginning with O. This time, it was a design that incorporated all of us, and took up the entire two-story wall at the end of the studio, showcasing the art of paint and the master of shadow.
O had agreed to help paint the simple stuff—outlines and bold block colours—saying she didn’t have enough talent to do more. Olive had exceeded all my hopes of her following in my footsteps, and her talent with a brush sometimes made me sit back in serious awe.
We returned to work, colours flowing harmoniously.
O glanced at the clock, her stomach rumbling. “In another thirty minutes, I’ll put dinner on.”
“Don’t forget I have a dance lesson tonight,” Olive said. “The teacher is coming here.”
“And don’t forget I asked for a lesson for me after.” I chuckled. “Thought we could practice outside by the pond.”
O spun to face me. “You asked for a dance lesson?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
Why? Because dancing had been torn from her life like Olive had been torn from mine. I’d been lucky enough to reclaim Olive, but O...she wasn’t under false illusions that her body would always be a slightly bit broken.
I didn’t want her to go through life without soul food.
So...I’d arranged ballroom dancing for us. Salsa and jive. I sucked and my coordination was laughable, but I would embarrass myself every night if O danced with me.
Because when she danced, the music whispered through her veins, and she glowed.
Glowed like the angel I always knew she was.
“I need the exercise.”
She chuckled. “You work out every morning.” She walked into my embrace, her lips seeking mine. Her eyes said she knew exactly my intentions. “You’re so good to me, Gilbert Clark.”
“I love you, Olin Moss.”
She kissed me harder and I smiled around a secret.
I meant what I said about giving her what she needed, but I also had an ulterior motive for the dance lessons.
I was going to marry this woman.
Now my debts were settled and bank account flush, I was happy knowing I had enough to protect her for life. That I could afford to make her mine.