Chapter Twenty-Four
I’ve traveled to every continent, but I don’t think I’ve ever been somewhere as beautiful as this tiny island in the middle of the vast ocean.
The moon reflects a million overlapping crescents across the rippling surface of the water; the ocean projects deep, cerulean blue up to a night sky so heavily blanketed with stars it’s hard to believe it’s the same sky overhead back home. The beach is sugar-soft, silver in the moonlight, and completely empty, with everyone on the island back at the party.
The path from the tent led us here, and this stretch of beach leads to the wooden path, and the wooden path leads to our bridge, which leads to the bungalow, the bed, and all the possibilities of what comes next flashing like wildfire in my overheated brain. Finally, I can translate everything aflame in my thoughts and it’s all just the complex sequence of wanting someone in a hundred different ways.
But this view pulls us both up short and we stop, hand in hand, to take it all in.
“Do you ever feel completely insignificant?” Anna asks, staring out at the water.
“All the time.”
“But,” she adds, a smile in her voice, “in a good way.”
“I knew what you meant.” I tug a little on her hand, urging her to sit down, right here on the beach.
But she resists. “West… this isn’t a costume from a trunk. Vivi bought this with your card.”
“I don’t care.”
“Okay, but I do. If you don’t want me to return it, all of this is coming home with me, and I’m selling it on Poshmark or the RealReal.”
Pain splits my next breath. “Of course. You can do whatever you want with it. But that dress specifically?” I shake my head. “It would be a tragedy if you didn’t keep it and put it on every now and then. It’s made for your body.”
“Yeah?” She sends her hands down her sides and smiles down at me. “I’ve never owned anything like it in my entire life.”
“Then please don’t sell that one. Enjoy it. We can’t take any of it with us when we die.” I give her a pleading look. “But however you want to do it, please sit with me.”
She considers the sand and then jogs behind me, disappearing for a minute, and returning with a wide, flat palm frond. Setting it down, she carefully lowers herself.
“You don’t think the leaf is dirtier than the sand?”
“Isn’t sand literally dirt?”
I shake my head, laughing, and look out at the water. Anna threads her arm through mine, leaning her head on my shoulder. “Is there anything you own that you cherish? Or does the ability to buy anything make everything lose its value?”
Taking a deep breath, I think about the question. “I know this might surprise you, but I don’t live like this at home. I own a house, but it’s not marble floors and chandeliers. It’s pretty basic.”
“No helicopter pad? No butler?”
“Sorry to disappoint. I was never that into stuff,” I admit, and then catch the sound of it, a dickish, superior side of myself I dislike. “I traveled with my grandparents more than Alex did; he didn’t like the change in his routine and he was an incredibly difficult child if his schedule was disrupted, so every summer until I was about fifteen, when my grandfather died, I would go on all these amazing adventures with Granny and Grandpa. On safari in Tanzania, on a boat in the Greek islands. Japan, New Zealand, Tonga, Peru.”
“Wow,” she says on an awed exhale.
“I always assumed I was so grounded—like rooted in reality or had a perspective on the world my siblings didn’t have because I’d seen so much of it and didn’t ever really want things. Looking back, I was insufferable. I’m sure I made Alex feel like a materialistic idiot. Because, of course, the punch line is that I had more privileges than any of them. I didn’t only have money—I had love, I had access, I had our father’s esteem. I had the knowledge that I could walk into any room in the world and get exactly what I wanted.” I look down at the sand between my feet, realizing I’ve rambled off topic. “The things I own that mean the most to me are my grandfather’s watch and my grandmother’s wedding ring. But I think the better answer to your question is that the second part is true: when you can afford anything, nothing is interesting anymore, and there’s something really depressing about that.”
She takes a deep breath, and I hear the question she doesn’t ask: And yet you want more money?
“What about you?” I ask before she can take us down another road. “What’s your most cherished possession?”
“Probably my kitchen drawer that’s full of packets of red pepper flakes and Parmesan cheese.”
I laugh. “Jesus Christ, okay, never mind.”
She bumps my shoulder with hers. “Why not that drawer, though? I mean, it makes me so happy that I know I can always find a pack of cheese for whatever I’m eating. I guess I could say one of my paintings, but in an ideal world, I’d sell them all off. My AirPods? I loved those. But they were stolen out of my car the night before you came to my door, and look, I’m still breathing.”
“Exactly. It’s just stuff.”
“So then what loss would devastate you?” she asks.
This one here on the island, I think immediately. Losing the battle that loses the war.
But I can’t say that aloud, even if she already suspects it’s true. And when I try to think of a better answer… I can’t. I am suddenly, devastatingly aware that I have made this battle with my father the most important personal event in my life.
After I’ve been quiet a long time, Anna leans forward into my field of vision. “I’m sorry. I went way too serious. Should we talk about red pepper flakes and Parmesan again?”
I laugh, leaning forward to kiss her. “Yeah, maybe. Although I’m not sure what more needs to be said about packets of shitty pizza parlor cheese.”
“Well, in fact I do have a Parmesan cheese story,” she says. “And it relates to you.”
“I can say with confidence that no one has ever said that to me before.”
“The night after you moved out of our apartment, Vivi came over. We ordered some Enzo’s and camped out in the living room. A giant veggie pie, real sloppy. But they forgot the cheese packets—a tragedy—so Vivi went digging into our fridge, where luckily, I had that enormous Kraft Parmesan can.”
I laugh, remembering. “That can was unreal. You wouldn’t be able to get through that much cheese in three lifetimes.”
“Oh, but I’d try.” She rests her head on my shoulder again. “Anyway, when we cleaned up later—”
“Wait, you cleaned up?”
“Har,” she says, lifting her head and smacking my arm. “Viv was in the living room and called out to me, like, ‘Hey Anna, I’m going to throw the can of Parmesan to you to put away.’?”
“I feel dread.”
“So she launches it across the living room and her throw is really great. I mean, professional quarterback great. It sails perfectly over the countertop and into the kitchen—”
“I still feel dread.”
“—but she didn’t close the can first. So, Parmesan cheese is just, like, spraying in these wide arcs over and over out of this canister and throughout the entire apartment. It was like a traveling pinwheel of cheese dust.” She lifts her arm that isn’t hooked through mine and gestures all around. “Cheap cheese, everywhere.”
“Horrible. This is the worst story I’ve ever heard.”
“We had to go to her parents’ house to get a vacuum because I didn’t have one after you left, and it didn’t matter how much we went over the rug, it still smelled so bad.”
“I bet it still smells like dirty socks in there even three years later.”
She laughs. “I bet you’re right.” Anna sighs, resting her head on my shoulder once more.
We sit in silence for a while, just listening to the gentle lapping of waves on the shore.
“You know what sounds amazing right now?” Anna whispers.
“Pizza,” I say.
“Pizza,” she agrees.
ANNA AND I TIPTOElike bandits from the southwest tip of the island near the bungalows, past Jules Verne, and past the pool complex using the flashlight of my phone to see our path. No mammals live on the island, but the trees are full of waning birdcalls and the odd flapping of wings. Droplets fall from leaf to leaf before landing with a plink on the damp earth. Branches creak and insects click, chirp, and trill; the siren-like call of cicadas pierces the humid air.
The sea greets us as we emerge from the thick foliage of the trail to the northeastern point of the island, where swimming is ill-advised but the most raw, breathtaking views can be found. There’s a small black sand beach in a cove, protected by craggy obsidian cliffs. The tide comes in sideways, breaking foamy and violent and bringing the powerful undertow to a deceptively gentle finish on the shore. Green vines drip from the rock faces, hiding small grottoes and waterfalls. Even in dim light, the vegetation is so lush that it seems to glow.
“How did you even know this was here?” Anna asks, looking at the only structure on this side of the island, a circular teak pavilion, its pitched roof rising out of the darkness. Attached to the back side of it is a small industrial kitchen.
“Dad and I were running over here the other morning. He pointed it out and said this is the beach where they’ll have the ceremony, and the building here is where they’ll have the wedding reception if it rains.”
The door, like every other one on the island, is unlocked, and we slip inside. Darkness swallows us up and I pull my phone from my pocket, turning on the flashlight again. Even through the walls we can hear the ever-present sound of the ocean.
The small banquet room is empty; tables and chairs are stacked neatly against the walls. On the opposite side from where we entered is a span of glass doors that slide open to reveal the views that, right now, just look like blackness outside. But I know from seeing it in daylight that there’s a wide covered patio and, beyond that, the startling black sand beach of the northern tip of Pulau Jingga.
I reach back for Anna’s hand, guiding her after me. “This way.”
“Are we going to get in trouble?” she whispers.
“My mother’s been given free rein of this building. It’s where all the wedding supplies and decor and gifts are being held.”
“Then shouldn’t we turn on the big lights?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
The kitchen is spotless and stark; our footsteps echo on the tile floor. To the left, there’s a long wall of gas ranges, and in front of us is a stretch of stainless-steel prep counters with a sink at the end of each. At the back of the room are two large walk-in refrigerators and a walk-in freezer. We could certainly order room service and have anything we wanted delivered to our bungalow, but if I’m starting to feel claustrophobic among all the excess, I’m guessing Anna has to be feeling it, too.
“Imagine we get locked in one of those,” Anna says, “and they find us days later, wearing salami and cheese to stay warm.”
“Someone should study your brain,” I say, tugging the freezer door open. A light goes on automatically, illuminating the organized shelves lining three walls.
We take stock of our options, scanning the shelves before striking gold: a tall stack of frozen pizzas. Carefully, we slide a large pepperoni pie from the pile.
Back in the kitchen, Anna hops up on a counter while I crouch to turn an oven on to preheat.
“How did you know how to do that?” she asks.
I stand, brushing off my hands. “How did I know how to turn on an oven?”
She laughs. “A fancy oven. A big-kitchen oven.”
“I was a line cook for a while,” I tell her. “In a hotel restaurant.”
“West Weston, you what!”
“In college,” I tell her, nodding. “I told you I had no money. My girlfriend at the time got me a job at the Claremont Hotel. I would help make the little canapés for wedding receptions, and she was one of the waitstaff who would walk around and offer them on a tray.”
“Romantique,” she says, grinning. She’s pulled her silky gown up past her knees and her legs kick forward and back.
I walk over to her, stepping between her tanned thighs. “We used to take the leftovers home, and to this day I can’t look at a stuffed mushroom or bacon-wrapped shrimp without feeling queasy.”
She laughs, reaching forward to push my tux jacket open and set her hands on my waist. “Tell me more about what you were like in college.”
I lean forward, kissing her once. “You did know me in my youth.”
“Yes, but graduate school.” She kisses me. “And I mostly saw your backside as you left the apartment. Not a bad view, even then.”
I kiss her again. “Hmm, let’s see. College Liam was pretty shy, still into computers,” I say, and then catch myself, “until he wasn’t. He didn’t really party, loved hiking and sailing on the bay….”
“And did you have this girlfriend for all of undergrad?”
“The first three years.”
“Wow, that’s a long time.”
“It was.”
“Where is she now?”
I shrug, kissing Anna’s jaw, her throat. She smells like sugared oranges. I want to sink my teeth into her neck. Being this close to her, smelling her, feeling her… I’m suddenly so hard, I feel lightheaded. “Probably back in Italy.”
“Is she—?”
“Hey, Green?” I murmur, dragging my lips over her collarbone. “I don’t really feel like talking about Chiara right now.”
“Chiara is a pretty na—” She halts at my glare and covers her mouth with both hands, mumbling, “Sorry,” from behind them.
I slide my hands under the hem of her dress, coaxing it higher up her thighs. The satin is heavy and lush and moves over her skin like water. Her legs are strong, skin warm as if she was just in the sun. But when I reach her hips, there’s nothing else there.
Straightening, I look up at her face. Fire licks down my spine. “You’re not wearing underwear.”
“Everything gave me a panty line and I hate thongs.”
There’s a quiet beep behind me, the oven alerting us that it’s preheated, and I pull my hands from her dress and turn to quickly slide the pizza onto the rack. When I return to her, I immediately get back to where I was, spreading her legs to step between them.
She sends her arms around my neck, pulling me close. “Hug me,” she says, pressing her mouth to my neck. “I didn’t like being mad at you earlier.”
I wrap my arms around her waist, holding her close. “I didn’t like it, either.”
When she shifts, she presses herself against my cock. With a quiet moan, Anna drags her teeth up my neck to my earlobe and I slide my hands over her back, bare in the plunging dress.
“This dress makes me crazy,” I say, kissing along her shoulder. “It’s what sent me across the room earlier. Seeing Jamie touch your back set me off.”
“I know.” She tilts her head, giving me better access to her neck as I kiss my way up to her jaw, to her mouth, where I suck at that full, perfect bottom lip. When I release her, she whispers, “I’m not saying I didn’t sort of like it.”
“Yeah?” I trail my fingers up her spine, reaching the strap of the dress and drawing it off one shoulder, kissing the skin there. “What did you like about it?”
“Well, Dr. Weston, I think that version of you would fuck me into the floor.”
At these words, heat flashes beneath my skin, my hand curls into a fist around the strap of her dress, and I sink my teeth into the sweetness where her shoulder meets her neck. “Is that what you want?”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes…” I flick my tongue over her collarbone, and she moans quietly. “What about now?”
“Right now, I really want to get to know your body,” she says, running her hands up my sides, over my chest, up my neck, where she cups my face, bringing it to hers. She kisses me, slow and lush and sweet. “I want you to learn mine, too.”
I pull back to look at her. What she said is so simple, so obvious really for two people who are careening headlong into being intimate, but it feels so rare to hear it. I bend, half groaning, half laughing, into her shoulder. But I’m distracted by the warm bare curve, her sharp inhale when I kiss her skin, and the way she pulls me closer, pressing her chest to mine. A rogue thought takes hold: What kind of bra could she possibly have on? “Are you wearing any undergarments at all?”
“Yeah,” she says, and my soul leaves my body when she pulls the dress down over one breast. It’s covered in a skin-toned silicone cup. “These.” She reaches up, carefully peeling it off, and, with a delighted laugh, slaps it to my tuxedo jacket, cackling when it adheres.
And this, right here, is where I don’t know what to do. I don’t know whether I’m supposed to laugh at Anna Green, ravage her, or marry her all over again—but this time for real.