A Love Like the Sun

Chapter 35 A First Show of Faith

There are only two hours before Year of the Lotus starts, so Bernie has an assistant pick me up from the airport. With no time to waste, we head straight to a boutique. I’m exhausted from the flight, a light headache refusing to leave me. But this is a big day, and I won’t let my body, or my mind, ruin it. I allow myself to be excited. I’ve only ever bought clothing at big department stores and online. I’ve never shopped for a dress at a boutique in my life.

When we arrive, Bernie’s assistant tells the workers to let me try on whatever my heart desires, that I should feel radiant no matter the cost. I think I’ll have to try on ten dresses to feel that way, but I’m wrong. I know as soon as I see it. The dress is romantic. A deep-V neckline with lace flowers and the most intricate beadwork going up the bodice. It flows from the waist in the softest tulle I’ve ever touched, and it’s sage green, down to the smallest embroidered flower. When I slip it on, I feel like a fairy goddess ready to dance in the woods.

“Is this too much?” I ask Bernie’s assistant. “Is it the right kind of formal?”

She smiles and pins some pearls in my hair. “Bernie said radiant and that you are.”

As soon as we pull up to the botanical garden, Bernie is waiting for me outside with dozens of paparazzi surrounding him, red carpet–style. When I called yesterday, he didn’t hesitate to tell me he’d help get me here on time, and that he’d keep it a surprise from Issac. I’m happy to see him but shaking at the sight of the press. Praying I don’t sweat out of my makeup, hoping that I still smell good, wondering what Issac will feel when he sees me. Luckily, Bernie is like a bulldog as he leads me through the crowd, avoiding everyone in concise movements, not bothering to stop for a single question or picture. I hear my name from everywhere. Laniah Thompson! Ms. Thompson, you are stunning! Dozens of cameras click, but the sounds are muffled compared to the erratic beating of my heart.

The entrance to the garden is gorgeous, floor-to-ceiling glass doors that open to a large hall with hundreds of vine plants hanging from the ceiling and leading to the main room.

I begin to panic while wondering if this was a good idea.

But as soon as I walk in, Issac notices. The magnetic force between us pulls from a distance. Even with all the overarching plants and flowers and people surrounding him, I know just how difficult it is for him to hold on to his drink. When the shock settles, his shoulders fall, and the way he smiles tells me I’m the only one in the room right now.

“Come on,” Bernie says, and I didn’t realize I was planted in the doorway, blocking the way, too stunned to move because of the look on Issac’s face. As I glance around, people are admiring me with curious expressions, smiling. I let out a breath and Bernie whispers, “This is what happens when you arrive made for the spotlight.”

My cheeks warm, and I’m relieved when he gently pulls me along because my feet are failing to move on their own. Issac meets us halfway, in the center of this room, and gives Bernie an approving nod.

“Remember there are people watching,” Bernie says, squeezing Issac’s arm before disappearing into the garden.

Issac is wearing black trousers and a cream-colored dinner jacket that has five buttons adorning the sleeves with a crisp white dress shirt underneath to complement the perfectly simple lapels. Something about seeing him in formal wear makes my throat thick with desire, which is made worse by the way his gaze sweeps slowly up my body. From where the dress pools around my feet to the bare skin of collarbone. When he finally makes it to my face, I watch his teeth graze his bottom lip, and I have a tough time swallowing.

“A good surprise?” I ask.

He runs a hand from the bridge of his nose down to his chin, grips the hair there like he’s trying to gather himself. “Did you pick that color for me?”

The question is direct, intimate. I’m sure he can see more color in my cheeks. “I did,” I admit, smoothing down a soft layer of tulle and hoping he can’t see the way my hands are shaking. “It’s not from your designer, and we didn’t get to match the way we wanted to, but do you like it?”

His eyes flick closed before he pulls me in for a hug. I catalog the scent of his cologne, hoping he chooses to wear this one often. He must enjoy my perfume as well because he breathes in near my neck, hums out a sound I wish I could record and replay whenever I want to ache.

“I’m glad you aren’t wearing something from my designer,” he murmurs against my hair. “Though I think you might need help getting out of this dress tonight.”

My body thrums with unbidden feeling. I tilt my head back to look into his eyes. Thick vines hang above him, and the light of the moon comes through the glass ceiling, giving him an ethereal glow. A thought comes that maybe there’s another universe in which we could be in love without ever hurting each other.

“Is that so?” I finally say.

Issac grins. “Yeah, because of all the buttons at the back of the dress. Get your mind out the gutter, best friend.” I pinch his stomach, and he says, “Sorry. I’m acting like a fool but I’m so happy you’re here. Are you?”

“Maybe a little,” I tease.

He steps back and spins me in a circle. We both laugh as my dress rises. “How about now?”

“Possibly a little more. Maybe a whole lot. Ask me again at the end of the night.”

“You’re as annoying as you are stunning.” Then louder to the people staring at us: “Do you see this goddess?”

My face flushes. I swat his chest playfully and drop my gaze. “Stop that.”

He touches my chin, says, “No. Let them see you like I see you.”

“Alright,” I breathe out, aware that every bone in my body is buzzing. When exactly did I become so weak for this man? Of all men? This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

But he smiles and takes my hand, laces our fingers like we’re meant to be linked. “I only have a few minutes before presenting the other artists and unveiling our work, but I want to show you off.”

Issac introduces me to a range of people: celebrities, philanthropists, even ecologists, who keep us talking for longer than we intended. I don’t dim my light in the face of their curiosity, and it’s not just being on Issac’s arm that gives me confidence. It’s here, in this space, surrounded by plant life, earth, and glass, air coming through the large overhead open windows. It feels like somewhere I belong. The sounds of four trickling water fountains add to the ambiance of the space. There’s a large koi pond lined by stones that sits in the center of tropical trees that nearly touch the ceiling. Red, pink, and yellow flowers thread and climb lattice archways, breathtakingly large mirrors decorated with moss and roses are placed perfectly throughout the room. And I’m impressed by Issac, who chose brown draping to hide the artwork so it doesn’t disrupt but adds to the atmosphere, and trays made from recycled wood for the servers to glide through the space with. It’s all careful, meticulous detail.

Issac kisses my cheek, and I’m proud watching him command the crowd, talking about the art organizations in each artist’s city that Year of the Lotus is raising money for. The drapings are dropped, and people gasp at the artwork revealed underneath. There are a total of twelve artists and many pieces, ranging from sculptures to paintings to photographs. We move in small groups to admire each one, and I’m proud of Issac for seeking out artists who are early in their career and are going to benefit massively from this kind of exposure. But as a crowd gathers in awe around Issac’s work, which is a large painting of a woman looking off frame with dreamy eyes and flowers made from stained glass coating her skin, I realize I’ve seen this piece before. It’s of his mother, titled after her, and my heart pangs with hurt and happiness. I want to pull him to my chest, tell him how proud I am of him offering the world a deeper glimpse into himself this way, even if it might be painful, and that she would be proud too. Then, realization slowly sets in that this is a different piece. Issac wasn’t ready to unveil Secret Sun after all. Maybe he decided he wouldn’t do it without me.

The thought makes me warm. I’m smiling to myself while admiring a sculpture nearby when I look for Issac in the room. He’s always easy to find, but I wasn’t expecting who I’d find him with. Melinda is standing with him in front of a photograph of a man lying in the middle of the street. My stomach squeezes. I didn’t realize she’d be here. She looks radiant in a tight yellow dress. It’s backless, and her slender body makes the simplicity breathtaking. They turn to face each other and laugh. Then I watch as Issac pulls out his phone to show her something. The conversation seems to get serious, Melinda grabs his wrist, gives it a little squeeze. Issac smiles at her and puts his phone away. They’re entrenched and unaware of others staring at them, including me. Issac nods, touches her arm, and drifts off into the crowd.

That’s the moment Melinda catches me spying. Her lips part, a curious expression on her face before I turn away, accidentally stumbling on my dress and bumping into someone. I apologize profusely and pray the cameras didn’t catch that clumsy panic.

The corner I find is secluded, a space behind dense trees and exotic plants. I sit on a wooden bench and take breaths, needing to count to a hundred. Maybe a thousand. Trying not to be embarrassed over what happened, and trying to decide how bad it is that I’m certainly jealous over Issac with another woman when I shouldn’t be.

A woman who is suddenly standing above me.

“Can I sit with you?” Melinda asks. The universe is cruel. I slide over, and we watch the fountain water bubble to our left before she speaks again. “I wanted to come to you, woman to woman, even though I don’t have to, and explain what you saw happening with me and Issac.”

“It’s okay,” I rush to say, “you don’t have to explain anything. It’s not my business.”

She smiles a little. “I’m going to. Is that alright with you?”

When I nod, she continues.

“The truth is, I wanted to see something with Issac, and I think he wanted to see something with me too. But while dating, we realized we were reaching for something that just wasn’t there. He was never going to be everything I wanted. Deep down, I knew that from the beginning, but I couldn’t pass up the chance that maybe he could be.”

“Why do you think he wasn’t? Was it just his tough time with commitment?”

Melinda’s eyes narrow, suspicious over my line of questioning. “I think he seems committed to plenty, including being the utmost gentleman while taking me on dates. His decision to hold off on labels and get into a real relationship when he finds the right person makes sense to me. I can’t even say it’s not what attracted me in the first place.” Her smile fades, something wistful in her eyes. “I hoped the right person could be me, but it wasn’t possible because it was always you.”

As soon as she says it I raise my brows, wondering if she’s being self-deprecating, but she looks at me the way my mother would, as if to tell me without words that I’m being dense.

“I think he’s wanted to be with you his whole life, Laniah. It just took him time to accept it for whatever reason. And from the surprised look on your face, I don’t think he’s told you exactly how he feels yet.”

For all the faking, I couldn’t fake this. “He…I…”

She shakes her head, laughs, and says, “Don’t worry. It hit me late too. At first, I wondered if his team suggested the two of you date for good press or something. Happens more than you know around this town. But then I saw the pictures of the two of you at Shida’s party and I felt something like relief. His feelings for you are clear as day in them, and everything made more sense. On our dates, I’d ask for stories about his childhood, and you were the star in each one. There was something so endearing about the way I could hear the love for you in his chest. It made me want to be loved by him too. But he never looked at me the way he looked simply mentioning your name. I was sad for a bit. Dating for love isn’t fun, even for someone like me, who is constantly offered life on a literal silver platter. But Issac wasn’t for me, and with or without dating me, it was only a matter of time before he realized he already had everything he wanted in you.”

I bite down on my lip with the urge to taste blood, to ground myself in it while I process what she’s saying, wondering who else thought Issac and I were pretending. Wondering if it might make her try to fight for him if she knew that we still are. But…what if what she’s saying about his feelings is true?

“Has he…said any of this to you?” I ask.

“No, and I haven’t asked because, frankly, I’m not his therapist,” she says. “Though she may have helped him figure you out. Either way, I’m just happy he stopped living in denial and isn’t in the business of stealing someone else’s soulmate. Because neither am I.”

The words don’t land right away, they’re suspended somewhere above us, tapping against the glass ceiling, circling the cascading lights. When they make it down to me, I’m speechless. I was still reeling over the thought that she believes Issac’s always wanted to be with me, but his soulmate? I shut my eyes tight, grip the edge of the bench. When I open them again, Melinda is standing above me, surely aware of how fast my heart is racing.

The words she deserves are tangled in my brain. I open my mouth, close it, clear my throat, and try again.

“Your soulmate is going to be one lucky person,” is all I have to offer her in the end.

“Oh, I know that,” she says, running her fingers through her waist-length hair. “And just so you know, Issac’s doing artwork for a contact of mine who owns a high-end store. Earlier, he was showing me ideas he has for it. We’re nothing more than friends, at best, in case any insecurities ever sneak up. Anyway…let me get back before my team comes looking for me. But if it’s not an overstep, sometimes men are difficult, maybe he’s waiting for you to admit you’re in love with him first.”

A flash of warmth cuts across my chest and stays long after she leaves. My reactions made it obvious to her that Issac and I haven’t discussed our feelings; we’re lucky she’s the picture of grace. And then, there’s everything else. I can admit to being a little jealous, but in love? With Issac? Him, in love with me?

What is he projecting to the world that I don’t see?

My body moves before my mind can process why entertaining any feelings, heart ones or hormonal, is a bad idea regardless, but I need to see him. Need to prove Melinda wrong somehow. Issac’s talking to the press when I walk over. My urges outweigh any fear of their hungry stares.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says, wrapping his arm around my waist. Someone asks him a question I’m too transfixed to pick up on, but he sees the serious look on my face and stares into my eyes while responding to them. “I can’t imagine another person I’d want to share this journey with. She’s constantly inspiring me, pushing me to be brave.”

It’s those words that cloud my judgment. Suddenly, no one else is here. Just us: two plants that belong to the same botanical garden. And I get up on my tiptoes, wrap a hand around his neck, and press my lips to his. He gasps softly, stiff in surprise for the shortest time before he leans in to deepen the kiss. The chemical reaction is quick, my lips sensitive while soaking in the feel of him moving his mouth against mine. We savor each other with soft, sweet kisses. But when Issac places his hand on my lower back, urging me closer, something bursts and overflows in my body. I open my mouth, wanting for his tongue, but the sounds of cameras clicking pulls us apart.

Shit. No one has seen us kiss yet. This was our first real one, in front of hundreds of people, millions with the cameras. Heat works its way up my neck. Issac’s pupils are dilated, he’s stunned for a few seconds too long, and panic rises in my chest. But then he snaps out of it and kisses my forehead before turning back toward someone with a microphone. He smiles, says a few things about how amazing the night has gone, projects to come, promising to unveil Secret Sun soon, and I’m surprised to hear any of it over the rapid beat of my heart. Will his fans see clips and have theories? Someone will surely notice how hard I’m working to breathe and know that kiss wasn’t supposed to happen. Incredible as it was.

Finally, Issac puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me through the crowd toward the private entrance of the greenhouse. When we enter a dimly lit hallway, I watch as he starts to pace.

Seconds pass before he asks, “What the hell was that?”

My stomach sinks. I try to play it cool but stumble over my words. “People kiss.”

“Laniah, we”—he gestures between us—“don’t do that. We had a rule. It was actually your rule. We’ve been pretending enough. We can’t pretend with this.”

“You kissed me first,” I say, trying to be pointed but probably sounding like a child.

There’s something in his eyes as he searches mine. I don’t know what to make of it. Even with his tone, it’s hard to tell if he’s upset, stunned, or if I ruined something between us. But then, the corners of his lips twitch a little. “So does this mean kissing is something we do now? Is that what you want?”

I can’t tell if he’s offering up his heart or body or both, so I tell him I’m not sure.

“Well, I know what I want,” he says simply.

The sure and certain look on his face sends a shiver up my spine, a flash of warmth between my legs. “Don’t tell me,” I demand while trying to tear my eyes away from his lips. “We should talk about this after the exhibition. This is your big night, and I’m ruining it.”

After a moment, he smiles and says, “I’d argue you’re making it better, but fine. We can talk about our very human feelings later.”

“You’re so kind, sir,” I joke, but I’m thankful for his ability to lighten the mood. Especially when my mind, heart, and body are at war over what human feelings I’m truly having.

“I know,” he says. “But I can’t promise I’ll be nice once I get you home.”