The answer was clear enough, what with their presence in the backyard of a fifty-million-dollar home with purebred dogs at their feet and champagne at their fingertips.
Olivia reached for the champagne and pulled out the cork without permission. She crudely poured a glassful and sipped it before the bubbles even stopped fizzing. “So I guess this is the part where you begmenot to say anything in order to preserve your legacy.” She took another gulp.
“No.”
Olivia paused with the glass halfway from her mouth and almost choked. “It’s not?”
“No,” Astrid said. She gazed out at her yard. “I’ve lived the life I wanted.” She turned her piercing blue eyes back to Olivia. “You haven’t had that chance, at least not to the extent that you deserve, because I took it from you. I owe it to your parents, my friends, to give it back.”
Olivia blinked at her in confusion and wondered if the champagne had been spiked with a hallucinogen. “You’re not like dying, are you?” she blurted, suddenly realizing there could be an alternate explanation for her strange response.
Astrid gently laughed. “No, dear. Not yet, at least.” She sighed, sounding resigned and relieved at the same time. “What I’m saying is, I won’t stop you if you want to share their story, because it’s your story too, and you deserve to be able to tell the truth.”
The anger Olivia had felt dialed back a few notches. The tension in her jaw dissolved. She couldn’t fully believe what she’d heard.
“Really?”
“Yes. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, so I won’t ask for it, but instead, I’ll give you the truth. It’s yours to do with whatever you please.”
As little as Olivia had expected to show up to brunch and be offered a puppy, she expected even less for Astrid to give her permission to talk. If anything, she’d expected to have her silence bought.
“Um, wow,” she said, overwhelmed. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I only ask that you please give me a heads-up before you share anything so that my team can prepare for the backlash.” She folded her hands in her lap as if bracing herself for a battle.
Olivia had thought about it, honestly. She was in her right to slaughter Astrid Larsson in the press the same way her parents had been thirty years ago. But what would that achieve? An eye for an eye might feel good in the short term, but what about after the initial stab? When the dust settled, and millions of fans learned that their beloved favorite actress was a liar? What good would tarnishing Astrid’s name do for anyone but Olivia? None. And hadn’t she gotten into journalism to prevent the types of headlines that marred her childhood? Unlike her takedown of Richard Sykes, there was nuance to Astrid’s story; it wasn’t a black-and-white crime. Yes, she’d thrown her husband and friend under the bus for her own advancement, but it hadn’t started as malicious intent. Staring at the elegant, elderly woman sitting across from her, Olivia decided that people deserved to hear her side of the story too.
“What if we tell it together?” she said.
Astrid perked up in surprise. “What do you mean?”
She took another sip of champagne for courage. “I mean that people have wanted to know what happened for thirty years—fromyou. Yes, I’m part of it too, but I don’t remember any of it, not the way you can, at least. I don’t think it has to be a one-sided takedown of anyone. It can simply be…the truth.”
The look on Astrid’s face turned to one of wonder. Her eyes glossed over, and she blinked a few times. Then she softly smiled. “That right there, that kindness, is your mother.”
Olivia instantly choked up. She felt a tear pinch out of her eye. She dashed it away and tried to cover with another sip of champagne. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, dear. But please, help me eat all this.” She leaned forward and lifted a knife to cut into the strawberry tart. “And don’t hog the champagne. I love a good mimosa in the morning.”
Olivia snorted a laugh that sent bubbles tingling her nose. Never in a million years did she think she’d be sharing a champagne brunch with Astrid Larsson, and yet here she was.
Astrid slid a slice of tart onto a plate and handed it to her.
“Thank you. Did you make all this?”
“Of course not,” Astrid said with a smile. “Hanna is an excellent chef.”
The bite Olivia took was a perfect combination of flaky crust, custard, and berry. “Yes, she is.”
Astrid gave her a knowing smile and settled into her own slice. The tension that had been present between them eased into something still there but softer. It had Olivia feeling brave. That might have also partly been due to the champagne.
“Astrid, will you tell me more about my parents?”
Astrid poured her own glass of bubbles and topped it with a splash of orange juice. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, dear.”
•••
Olivia spent three hours atAstrid’s. Two of them listening to stories about her mom and dad and one of them sobering up from the mimosas so that she could drive home. In that last hour, they’d also discussed what telling the story together might look like, and the prospect had Olivia positively buzzing with anxious excitement.