Chapter 4: Feed Him with a Spoon
Elvis’s finger stilled. He stared at Olive, already asleep. He glanced at her neck, noting a faint mark. Her skin was delicate. He couldn't help but remember their wedding night, the way her soft, white body moved beneath his touch. It had been captivating.
Elvis turned and returned to the sofa. His sleep disorder worsened daily; her silver needles couldn't cure it. Still, she was skilled. He’d just napped on her.
His gaze fell on her slender form on the bed. How could she be so small and soft?
The following morning, Olive sat in the dining room, eating a pastrami sandwich with a smoothie beside her.
"Olly, I liked you the moment I saw you," Grandma Samantha teased, a smile on her face. "If Elvis ever bullies you, I'll help you beat him up!"
"Don't stop, Olly, drink more smoothie," Grandma Samantha urged.
"I will, Grandma," Olive replied, taking another sip.
"Good morning, young master," the maid announced.
Elvis descended the stairs without acknowledging them. Olive looked up. He was in a white shirt and black trousers; his every movement magnetic, alluring. Behind him, an older nanny carried a piece of white bedding; there were bloodstains on it.
She approached Olive, saying, "Congratulations, madam."
Olive was puzzled. She and Elvis hadn't done anything the previous night.
Elvis stopped beside her, his long hands in his pockets, leaning down to whisper, "I did that."
Olive breathed a sigh of relief. But Elvis continued, bending closer, "Are you still…a virgin?"
His question was blunt. Olive had never been in a relationship. Their closeness resembled lovebirds whispering secrets.
Grandma Samantha quickly covered her eyes. "I saw nothing! You guys can continue." She peeked through her fingers.
Elvis gazed at Olive's slightly reddened earlobe, his dark eyebrows raised, revealing a mature man's charm. "Your twentieth birthday is yet to arrive. You're nineteen. You've never been with a man, right?"
Olive was young; Elvis, twenty-seven, handsome, and mature. His warm breath sent shivers down her spine.
"Do you want to eat? Here," Olive offered him a bite of her pastrami. He ate slowly. She then offered him her smoothie.
The butler exclaimed, "Young mistress, that's your glass!"
Elvis had a strict cleanliness habit; he never shared. The housekeeper rushed to get him mouthwash. Olive's eyelashes fluttered. Elvis straightened, his face frowning. He took the glass and drank half.
The butler was astonished. Grandma Samantha nodded, pleased. Over seventy, she liked Olive and believed Elvis and she were meant to be.
"It looks like my great-grandson will soon be in Olive's stomach!" she squealed.
Olive hesitated, holding her smoothie. To drink from it felt like an indirect kiss.
Elvis sat beside her, concerned. "Why did you stop eating? Go on."
"Yes, Olly, finish your meal. I'll get you another glass later," Grandma Samantha added.
Olive quickly ate the rest of her sandwich and emptied her glass. "I'm full, Grandma."
Elvis stared at her, a sweet chuckle escaping his lips.
After breakfast, Grandma Samantha asked, "Olly, want to go out?
Olive nodded. "Yes, Grandma. To my parents' house."
"Right. You should visit. Elvis, take Olly, and take gifts. Our son-in-law's etiquette shouldn't be ignored," Grandma Samantha instructed.
Olive started to object, but Elvis said, "It's fine, Grandma. I'll take her."
Elvis and Olive stepped onto the lawn. He opened the car door. "Get in," he muttered.
Olive waved him off. "Grandma can't see. No need for pretense. I'll take a taxi."
Elvis frowned. "Didn't you agree to cooperate in front of Grandma? Get in, and don't make me say it again."
Olive's heart skipped a beat. He'd agreed to their deal!
Without protest, she entered the luxurious car. The Ferrari sped along; neither spoke. Olive gazed out the window. Elvis's shadow fell on the tinted glass. He drove recklessly. Olive noticed his expensive watch.
She didn't know who he truly was, only that their families had reached an agreement, and she was the sacrifice.
Half an hour later, they arrived. Olive struggled with her seatbelt.
"Let me help you," Elvis offered, leaning close. He smelled her fragrance again, a pleasant scent lingering in the air.