Chapter 59: Give Me a Kiss

Olive, betrayed in her youth and robbed of those she loved, now cherished those around her, including North and Mrs. Samantha. Happily carrying a pile of snacks, she took the old woman's hand.

"Okay, Grandma, let's go watch TV and eat these snacks."

Elvis arrived unusually early. The maid opened the villa's door. He changed his shoes and entered the living room, immediately spotting Olive on the sofa.

She wore a lavender suspender skirt, neatly covering her knees, and a creamy white plush cardigan. Her two beautiful white legs were curled to one side. A half-eaten snack was in her left hand; a piece of dried sweet potato in her right. Her eyes were glued to the television.

Mrs. Samantha, on the opposite sofa, lifted her head and saw Elvis.

"Elvis, you're home so early! It's barely six."

"Grandma, I missed you," Elvis teased, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

Mrs. Samantha popped a potato chip into her mouth.

"Stop teasing, dear. You're here because you missed Olive, aren't you?"

Elvis looked at Olive. She turned, staring at him.

"You're back," she murmured softly.

"Yup. I am," Elvis nodded.

"Oh, okay," Olive seemed lost for words. She looked away, dipped her hand into the dried sweet potato, and took a handful.

Elvis walked over and knelt before her.

"May I have some?" he asked.

Olive looked down at him.

"It's dried sweet potato; Grandma bought it. Would you like some?"

Elvis knew it was dried sweet potato; he could smell it. He wasn't usually interested in snacks, but hers seemed appealing. He furrowed his brows.

"I'll try it."

His eyes lingered on the sweet potato in her hand. He clearly wanted to taste it, but not directly. He wanted her to feed him.

Olive understood. She stuffed some sweet potato in her mouth, then pushed the snack bag toward him.

"There you go"

Elvis's eyes darkened. Mrs. Samantha placed the remaining snacks on the small table, then stood and went into the dining room.

"Olive, dinner's ready," she announced from the kitchen.

Olive started to get up, but Elvis placed the snack bag on the tiled floor, clasped her back, and lifted her into his arms. He smiled and murmured,

"What's the matter? You won't even feed me a snack?"

Olive pressed her hands against his chest and struggled.

"What are you doing? Let go! Someone's watching. Grandma said dinner's ready."

Indeed, the maid in the living room witnessed the scene. She quickly went to the kitchen, smiling.

Elvis didn't release her. He lowered his head, leaning toward her face.

"Then give me a kiss first."

"No!" Olive protested, pushing him away. She stood and hurried into the dining room.

Elvis chuckled, removing his tie. He sensed she wanted him to carry her to the bedroom as he had the previous day—to pull back the sheets, seat her on his lap, and kiss her fiercely.

He heard Olive's voice.

"Grandma, I won't be home for dinner. A friend is arriving in L.A. today; I'm going to the airport to pick her up."

"Okay, dear. I'll have the driver take you. If your friend wishes, she can stay here for a few days," the old woman replied readily.

"Okay, Grandma. I'll let her know."

Elvis approached.

"I'll take you to the airport."

"No need," Olive began to refuse.

Elvis looked at her. Olive knew better than to let her grandmother know they weren't on good terms.

"Oh, no problem. Thank you," she hastily added.

They left the kitchen. The butler, Mr. Henry, mumbled,

"Madam, I find their relationship rather unusual."

Mrs. Samantha picked up her spoon and glanced at him.

"Attend to your duties."

Mr. Henry returned to his work.

Olive got into the Rolls-Royce Phantom, settling in the passenger seat. The car glided smoothly into the bustling traffic. Olive turned, gazing out the window. L.A. was beautiful at dawn.

Elvis's voice sounded, "Are you angry about the million-dollar matter?"

"No, I'm not. You earned your money. I didn't contribute, so I have no right to interfere."

"Would you believe me if I said nothing happened between Pamela and me, that I've only met her a few times?"

Olive turned to look at Elvis, who was driving.

"Mr. Augustine, are you saying Pamela isn't attractive? Or is this some kind of joke?"

Elvis's eyes grew dark, his voice deepening.

"Mrs. Augustine, you can be angry and tease me, but don't be absurd. You know who I find attractive, and who I want to be intimate with."

Olive turned back to the window, silent. Silence filled the car.

Elvis continued, "Pamela once saved me. I promised her three things: to send her abroad, to invest in Hart's Medical"

Olive tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, pouting her red lips.

"So, she just asks, and you grant her wishes? I wouldn't be surprised if her third request is for you to marry her. Would you, if she asked?"

Elvis looked at her calm, beautiful face.

"I'm already married to Olive. How could I marry her? Or are you trying to push me toward another woman?"