Page 286 - The Love Hypothesis

needlessly convoluted, and you’re a living, breathing, rom-com trope

machine, and . . . God, Ol, you’re such an idiot. But a very lovable idiot,
and my idiot.” She shook her head, incredulous, but squeezed her hand on
Olive’s knee and glanced at Malcolm. “Wait. Is your thing with Rodrigues

real? Or are you two pretending to bone so a judge will give him custody of
his recently orphaned godchildren?”

“Very real.” Malcolm’s smile was smug. “We fuck like bunnies.”
“Fantastic. Well, Ol, we’ll talk about this more. A lot more. We’ll

probably only talk about the greatest fake-dating event of the twenty-first
century for millennia to come, but for now we should focus on Tom,

and . . . it changes nothing, whether you and Adam are together. I still think
he’d want to know. I’d want to know. Ol, if the situation were inverted, if
you were the one who stood to lose something and Adam had been sexually

harassed—”
“I haven’t.”

“Yes, Ol, you have.” Anh’s eyes were earnest, burning into hers, and it
occurred to Olive then, the enormity of what had happened. Of what Tom

had done.
She took a shuddering breath. “If the situation were inverted, I would

want to know. But it’s different.”
“Why is it different?”
Because I’m in love with Adam. And he’s not in love with me. Olive

massaged her temples, trying to think against the mounting headache. “I
don’t want to take something he loves away from him. Adam respects and

admires Tom, and I know Tom’s had Adam’s back in the past. Maybe he’s
better off not knowing.”

“If only there were a way to find out what Adam would prefer,”
Malcolm said.

Olive sniffled in response. “Yeah.”
“If only there were someone who knows Adam very well that we might
ask,” Malcolm said, louder this time.

“Yeah,” Anh repeated, “that would be great. But there isn’t, so—”