Summertime & Butterflies

Olivia didn’t know how to answer Harry’s remark about marrying her, so she simply didn’t. She gave him a light kiss, teasingly swatted his bottom and carried the tray of snacks to the deck, hoping the comment would disappear as quickly as it appeared.

It wasn’t as though she was opposed to marrying him – she would, absolutely – but after a few years, not a few months. Their relationship had started quickly and had continued to do so. Would it keep continuing to do so? Would they be married before Christmas, and pregnant by Valentine’s Day? The thought was almost nauseating.

“What?” Olivia asked, snapping out of her thoughts as she noticed Harry and Anne looking at her expectantly. She flushed, wondering how long she’d been in her own trance.

Harry snickered at her. “Mum asked, how many brothers and sisters do you have?” he repeated, sharing a light chuckle with his mother.

“Oh!” Olivia answered, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry… I have two sisters,” she answered. “Both older,” she added, wondering how much information Anne was looking for. Olivia always found it odd to talk about herself – did she launch into a tirade about her childhood with her sisters, share their birthdates, occupations and quirks, or was it enough to just say she had two sisters?

Anne smiled. “Ah, the two babies of the family,” she teased gently, switching her gaze between Harry and Olivia. “I’ve read about birth orders. Youngest and youngest matches are often fun-loving, creative and energetic,” she told them, the smile on her face pleasing Olivia.

“They’re also immature, spoiled and dependent,” Gemma pointed out, innocently taking a sip from her glass. “Neither wants to be the responsible one. Incredibly flighty…” she added, her eyes focusing on Olivia as she directed her final comment to her.

Olivia exhaled quietly. Gemma’s enigmatic comments were quickly getting incredibly old. It was more than obvious that Harry’s sister was not on board with their relationship, but Olivia wasn’t planning on going anywhere. It would be a lot easier if Gemma could accept it.

Harry scoffed indignantly. “Hey!” he protested. “I’m very responsible!”

Gemma laughed. “You couldn’t even cook spaghetti until, what, two years ago?” she teased him. “Dependent!”

Harry scowled. “I don’t even like spaghetti,” he argued, though Olivia knew he was lying through his teeth.

“Yes, you do,” Anne corrected, turning her attention back to Olivia. “One of your sisters lives here, right?” she asked.

Olivia nodded. She didn’t want to bore Anne with stories about her family, but talking about herself was better than stick-handling Gemma’s snide remarks. “Yeah, my brother-in-law plays for the LA Kings. Hockey team,” she added, unsure if Anne was a sports fan.

“Wow… hockey player, musician…” Gemma mused quietly. “Momma taught her girls well, didn’t she?” she added, letting out a laugh. Olivia knew the laugh was humourless, an attempt to hide the insult. If Harry didn’t catch the sneering tone of Gemma’s words, Olivia was going to buy him a safety helmet to wear.

“My mother taught us to be with men who love, respect and appreciate us,” Olivia corrected carefully. Despite Gemma’s disapproval and unnecessary gibes, Olivia didn’t want to get into a battle with her. “Their jobs have nothing to do with it,” she added, deciding against telling Gemma that her other sister and her husband lived paycheque-to-paycheque, wrangling five kids in a three bedroom rental and screening telephone calls from creditors. Surely Gemma would somehow spin the story to make it sound as though Olivia was with Harry for Jessica’s financial gain, as well as her own.

Gemma waved her hand dismissively. “Of course not,” she answered. “It’s a nice perk though, isn’t it?” She stood up before Olivia had a chance to argue. “I’ll be right back,” Gemma announced, stepping towards the door.

Olivia caught Harry’s eyes, his look telling her that he finally clued into the remarks his sister had been uttering all afternoon. “Me too,” she said, ignoring Harry’s slight head shake. If he wasn’t going to stand up to his sister, Olivia would.

She strode into the house, hot on Gemma’s heels. Ensuring the patio door was securely shut behind her – she didn’t need Anne to hear the words she wanted to say to Gemma – Olivia followed Gemma into the kitchen. “What the hell is your problem?” she demanded.

Gemma jumped slightly at the sound of Olivia’s voice and turned from the open fridge to face her. “What are you talking about?” she asked, her hands defensively finding their way to her hips.

Olivia scoffed, shaking her head. “I’m not a fucking idiot, Gemma,” she snapped. “I’ve been getting hit with your shitty comments all afternoon, and I’m fucking sick of it! So what the hell is your problem, huh?” she repeated. “So sorry that I’m in love with your brother, but you’re going to have to suck it up and deal with it, because I’m not going anywhere!”

Gemma echoed Olivia’s scoff. “Of course you’re not,” she sneered. “Why would you?” she asked, gesturing to the kitchen they were standing in. “You pulled the wool right over my brother’s eyes, and you’ve got it made in the shade now! Look at you, a fucking fat teacher from Canada, living hand over fist at my brother’s expense! You think I don’t see through your little act?”

Olivia wanted to slap the freckles right off of Gemma’s face, but she managed to restrain herself. “Act?” she spat out instead. “You think my feelings for your brother are just an act? I’m fucking head over heels for that kid, and it has nothing to do with this,” she told her, manically gesturing to the surroundings.

“Sure,” Gemma commented, her lips pursed. “And I’m sure you would feel the exact same way if Harry was a plumber or a tow-truck driver, wouldn’t you?”

“I fucking wish he was!” Olivia yelped. “Do you know how much fucking easier it would be if he was? If he wasn’t him, and he just had a normal job? Do you know how much fucking easier shit would be if he lived in some trailer down the street from me, rather than this fucking Hollywood mansion? Do you have any fucking clue how insanely hard this all is?”

“Oh please,” Gemma sighed. “Wah, wah, wah. You can’t fucking stand here and tell me you don’t like the perks. You don’t like the clothes, or the presents, or the trip to London that you don’t have to pay a dime for. Please. You love all of it.”

“I give two shits about all of it,” Olivia countered hotly, wishing she was wearing anything but the expensive blouse Harry bought her. It would make her argument seem so much more valid than it already was. “If we woke up tomorrow and all of this was gone, I wouldn’t be.”

“Sure,” Gemma repeated, infuriating Olivia. “You’re just like the rest of them. You can say whatever you want to say, but if Harry was poor? You wouldn’t have even looked at him.”

“Have you seen your brother? He’s a smoke show,” Olivia argued. “I’d have looked at him even if he was a homeless bum.” She stopped short from mentioning how he did rock the homeless bum look a year ago, and while she liked his short hair way more, he was hot then as well.

“So it’s about looks, huh?” Gemma asked, drumming her fingers against the counter. “You’re as transparent as a pane of glass!”

Olivia threw her arms up. “I can’t say anything to convince you, can I?” she asked with a roll of her eyes. “You have this preconceived notion of me in your mind, and nothing will change it! I feel sorry for you, Gemma,” she added, her voice facetiously sweet. “It must be awfully unsatisfying to have such a boring life, to have nothing to focus on but Harry’s life.”

Gemma let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t feel sorry for me, sweetheart,” she told Olivia. “I feel sorry for you. Do you think you’re the one, the girl who can woo him? The girl who can get him to settle down, and star in your own made-up version of some shitty eighties sitcom? Please. There’s a reason he hasn’t talked about you publically. There’s nothing to talk about.” She let out another chuckle. “You’re in your thirties, and you’re wasting your time with someone who will never marry you. Ever,” she added for emphasis.

“Well, he already told me he wanted to marry me, so go fuck yourself with that,” Olivia shot back, instantly wishing she kept Harry’s nonchalant comment to herself, but seeing the stunned look on Gemma’s face at her declaration made it worth it.

“And you know what, Gemma?” Olivia pressed on, Gemma’s surprise over Olivia’s marriage bombshell keeping her silent. “I’m fucking tired of this, of you disrespecting me in Harry’s house. If you can’t say anything nice to me, and accept the fact that I’m here to stay, then I think you’d better leave.”

Gemma laughed loudly. “You can’t tell me to leave,” she sneered. “This is my brother’s house. You have no claim. You really think he’d take your side over mine?” She snickered again, shaking her head. “Stupid girl.”

The urge to punch Gemma was almost overpowering, but Olivia managed to find a modicum of willpower deep inside of her and kept her hands to herself. “If he knew what you were saying to me, he would easily take my side,” Olivia countered, though truthfully, she wasn’t sure if she could wedge herself between the two Styles kids. They had an unbreakable bond, but Gemma was just awful.

Gemma rolled her eyes. “Believe whatever makes you happy,” she advised sarcastically. “You say you’re not going anywhere? Neither am I.” Gemma raised an eyebrow, as though challenging Olivia, before snickering again and flouncing back to the patio.

Olivia let out a loud sigh, frustrated that her suggestion of Gemma leaving had fallen on deaf ears. She didn’t expect to be best friends with her, but a friendly camaraderie would have been pleasant. She knew Gemma couldn’t say anything to Harry to get him to change his mind about her, but the thought that the protective big sister would try was unsettling enough.

She knew it would be considered rude to stay inside, but the idea of sitting back on the patio, leaving herself open to more of Gemma’s insults, was nauseating. She would apologise to Anne at a different time – or at least have Harry tell his mother Olivia wasn’t feeling well – but for now, there were dishes to be done.

~*~*~*~

“Love, are you… What are you doing?” Harry asked, cutting his sentence in half as he entered the kitchen.

Olivia didn’t know how long she’d been hiding out in the kitchen for, but once the dishes were done – by hand, of course, in an attempt to take her frustrations with Gemma out on Harry’s china – she realised his kitchen was organized in a completely inefficient way. She’d begun pulling dishes and glasses from the cupboards, piling them on the centre island before moving the items to their new home. It was a larger task than she’d initially thought, but at least it kept her inside.

“Oh… hi,” Olivia answered, looking down at Harry from her position on top of the counter, dishrag in hand. Dishes couldn’t be moved into dusty cupboards. “I just, uhm… got kind of busy…” she confessed, knowing how ridiculous it looked that she was rearranging Harry’s entire kitchen while his family visited.

“No shit…” Harry commented dryly, casting a gaze to the haphazard mess across the island. “This couldn’t wait?”

Olivia shrugged, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “You know what they say…” she replied in an attempt to sound breezy. “The mood strikes, gotta hone in on it! Plus, the plates make so much more sense over there,” she added with a gesture.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Okay…” he answered slowly, sounding confused. “Well… can you come down?” he asked, holding out his hand in a futile attempt to assist. “Come back outside?”

Olivia didn’t want to. She refused to spend any more time with Gemma, but she didn’t want to tell Harry that. If Gemma wanted to be catty and try to push Harry and Olivia apart, she could, but despite being the last born, Olivia was mature and wasn’t going to play Gemma’s games.

“I’m not done yet,” she pointed out, nodding towards the island. “I will after.”

The confused look didn’t leave Harry’s face. “This is going to take you all night,” he pointed out. “Just… finish it later. I can help,” Harry added. When Olivia didn’t answer, Harry let out a loud sigh. “Is this because of Gemma?” he wondered, his tone sounding tired. “Hon, she’s just protective…”

“No, she’s fucking rude,” Olivia spat out. “Sorry, but she is,” she added as an afterthought, not wanting to make a habit out of insulting her boyfriend’s sister.

“Come on,” Harry scoffed. “Don’t say that about my sister. You don’t even know her,” he reminded Olivia. “She’s… just protective…” he repeated with a shrug.

“Really?” Olivia asked, echoing Harry’s scoff. “So calling me a fat teacher from Canada is just her being protective? Telling me that my feelings for you are a fucking act, and that I’m only after you because of God damn money is her looking out for you? For fuck sake, Harry, she’s awful!”

“Stop fucking swearing so much,” Harry countered back, casting a glance towards the patio doors, as though his mother could hear Olivia’s foul language. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it all like that.”

Olivia let out a disbelieving chuckle. “Really?” she asked incredulously. “So when your sister says, verbatim, I’m living hand over fist at your expense, what the fuck does she actually mean then?” Olivia crossed her arms across her chest and stared down at Harry expectantly. “No, really, I would like to know!” she continued, her voice rising. “Maybe it’s some British slang I’m not picking up on, because I’m just a fucking Canadian, which your sister likes to throw around as though it’s an insult!”

Harry was quiet, as though he couldn’t or didn’t want to believe that Gemma was as rude as Olivia was painting her to be. “Well… what did you say to her?”

“I told her that she’s full of shit, and I fucking don’t care about your job and money, and I wished you were a poor tow-truck driver.”

Harry snickered, the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “No… I mean… what did you say to get her so riled up at you?” Harry tried again.

Olivia’s eyes widened at his words. Harry was such a moron. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” she exclaimed. “I didn’t say a thing to her! I fucking introduced myself, and that was enough to set her off! I didn’t fucking pick a fight with your bitch of a sister, Harry!”

“I know not on purpose!” Harry shot back. “But sometimes, you… you kind of have a way with words, and you might come off as… you know… like, kind of… rude? But you’re not!” he quickly added, a fruitless attempt to save face. “I mean… you know what I mean!”

“I do not,” Olivia answered coldly, despite knowing exactly what Harry was meaning. She didn’t always make the best first impression, but Gemma hadn’t even given Olivia a chance to make a poor first impression. She was in the sister’s bad books before they’d even met. “I already told you what she said about me and this stupid shirt, and you heard that comment about Mom teaching us girls well. What the fuck did I do to deserve those kind of comments?”

“I don’t know!” Harry quickly answered. “That’s why I asked!”

Olivia sighed loudly. “Fuck, you’re unreal,” she seethed. “I would never ask you to pick sides between me and her, but I didn’t think you’d be so fucking blatant with your choice.”

Harry stepped closer to Olivia, ticking his fingers across the top of her foot. “I choo-choo-choose you?” he tried, looking up at Olivia with wide eyes and a small pout across his lips. “Come on, honey… I don’t want to fight with you about my sister. I don’t want to fight with you at all. We do enough of that already…” he added wistfully.

Olivia was quiet, letting Harry’s words soak in. He was right – they did fight an awful lot. Just because his sister, or his ex-girlfriend, or the media would want to drive a wedge between the two of them didn’t mean they had to allow it. “I know…” she admitted with a sigh. “I don’t want to fight with you either! I’m just… fucking mad. At your sister, mostly…” she added. “But you say I’m rude and must have set her off? That fucking sucks to hear, Harry.”

“I didn’t say you were rude,” Harry corrected. “I said sometimes you come across as – okay.” He stopped, interrupted by a loud sigh from Olivia. “I mean, you do, but…”

“Jesus Christ, Harry!” Olivia exclaimed. “Stop fucking calling me rude!”

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologized. “Look, I’ll… I can say something to Gemma. But I… I need you to try too, okay! This isn’t me calling you rude!” he quickly added. “But just… ignore her, okay? Please? Don’t get all crazy and cussy. I know it sucks, but… she’ll come around. She will,” he added for good measure.

Olivia sighed. Being the bigger person sucked, and Olivia wasn’t very good at it. But, for Harry, she would try. She had to. “Fine,” she grumbled unconvincingly. “But you have to talk to her. You said you would, so you have to.”

“I will,” Harry promised. “Can you please get off the counter now? My neck hurts from looking up at you,” he complained good-naturedly as he tugged on her leg.

Olivia rolled her eyes. “You always say I’m a pain in your neck,” she reminded him, kneeling on the counter before placing her feet on the floor, standing in front of Harry. She suddenly felt small and sheepish standing in front of him, his extra eight inches towering over her.

“I think I say ass,” Harry corrected, snaking an arm around Olivia’s waist and letting his hand rest on her bottom as he uttered the word. “Nice, nice ass...” he cooed innocently, gently massaging his fingers against her cheek. “Nice, nice everything…” he added, letting his hand wander up her back and across her shoulder before cupping her face. “I do love you, Pain in the Ass… Pita…” he teased, turning the words into an endearing acronym.

Olivia chuckled. “You’re such a sweet talker,” she teased back. “But I do love you too, I guess…” she added, a cheeky smirk playing on her lips. She stood on her tip-toes, stretching up to find Harry’s lips with her own. “You know I don’t get off on picking fights with you, right? It’s just so easy to,” she added with a wry grin.

“Wish you did,” Harry teased, fluttering his lips against Olivia’s cheek. “I kinda like when you get off…”

Olivia rolled her eyes, resting her head against Harry’s chest and hearing the low, rhythmic beat of his heart. They were so good at fighting, and then making up and forgetting all about their disagreement as soon as their lips tangled together. But Harry’s words still nagged in Olivia’s mind – they did fight a lot. They were so infatuated with one another, they didn’t seem to realise they were making love on a shaky foundation. Would their passion cause the foundation to crumble out from under them?

Notes