Chapter Seventeen
Ant
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as I turn to find Lilavati framed in the bedroom door.
I’m not given to poetic thought, but hell if she doesn’t look like some kind of sea sprite in that pale green silky dress that shows off her delicate collarbones, clings to her breasts and hips, and swirls around her slender knees.
Here’s yet another side of her I’ve not seen. I like it as much as I like the committed doctor, the snarky fake girlfriend, the enchanted snorkeller. This woman is bewitching me with all her personas.
“Wow,” is all I can manage.
“Do I look okay?” she asks, swishing back and forth slightly. Her tone is hesitant, but there’s a gleam in her eye that says she knows she looks better than okay, and that I’ve been struck dumb by her.
I have to clear my throat—twice—before answering.
“Okay is not the word I would use.”
An unexpectedly flirty expression crosses her face.
“Oh? What word would you use?”
“Stunning. Spectacular. Magnificent. Gorgeous. Exquisite. Should I go on?”
I don’t even realise I’ve crossed the room to stand in front of her till I smell her perfume, light and fresh and intoxicating.
“I think I get the picture.” She laughs.
I hold out my hand, and I know we both feel the tingle of electricity as she takes it. An echo of what we experienced when we almost kissed in the water of Kapalua Bay. If I let my mind wander that way, I’ll be tearing that pretty dress right off her, so I change tack.
“According to the itinerary, we can either walk or there are golf carts waiting in the driveway for us.”
She rolls her eyes and scrunches her nose, looking like the Lilavati I’ve come to know.
“Walk. Even if I have to take these stupid shoes off to do it.”
I grin. “That’s my girl.” I slip the room key into my shirt pocket. “I fear you might not be entirely on brand in that dress.”
Lilavati groans. “I was trying not to think about that. What’s the theme again?”
“Wedding colours. Apparently, she’s going with dusty pink with a hint of gold.” Sounds ghastly to me.
“Shit.” Lil takes a single step back towards the bedroom, but I block her path.
“If you dare think about changing that dress, I might cry.”
She’s clearly torn, so I up the ante. “And aren’t we trying to get under their skin?”
Her expression shifts from hesitant to determined before she laughs and turns again towards the door.
“Well, we can’t have you in tears on the first day of our fake dating holiday.”
We exit the suite and wait for the lift to take us to the garden level.
The pathway to the restaurant meanders past the bay where we swam this morning, and Lil returns to chattering about the turtle, while I think about how far our relationship has come and how I have to tell her I’m not what she thinks.
I originally came into this fake dating thing with a picture of Lilavati as a strong, feisty woman.
And she is. But she’s also soft and vulnerable and damaged in a way that makes my blood boil if I think about it too long.
And all that combines to make me want something I’ve never wanted with anyone else. But I need to take care with her heart.
I can’t start a physical relationship with her without telling her the truth about myself.
She’s just so damn tempting. I’ve never felt the kind of chemistry I have with Lilavati with any other woman.
Telling her might change all that. But not telling her is wrong. I just need to find the right time.
“What do you think?” I can tell by the way she asks that I’ve missed something.
“Hmm, sorry?” All thoughts of what I need to tell her dissolve when I see the look on her face.
“I suggested that if we get up early tomorrow, we might be able to fit in a quick snorkel before breakfast and the activity for the day.”
“You really loved it, didn’t you?” She’s still sparkling from the experience. I only hope what she felt when I held her was at least a small part of her enjoyment.
“It was amazing. And if I’m going to spend the rest of the day tomorrow shopping and lunching with the Emily Brigade, I’ll need something to put me in a good mood first.”
“Yeah, golf with Warren isn’t top of my to-do list either. But an early snorkel sounds good.”
We’ve reached the point at the end of the bay where the restaurant sits.
Palm trees rustle in the evening breeze, silhouetted against the orange and magenta of a spectacular sunset as we climb the steps to the terrace.
Dozens of tiki torches light up the outdoor dining area, where long tables have been set up around an open space.
Servers circulate, offering us champagne and canapes from trays as we hover on the periphery.
The hand I had been holding on the walk here tenses.
Lil is no longer as relaxed as she was, but I guess that’s to be expected.
I pull her into the shadows behind a large potted palm from where we can see everyone.
“Okay, I know your mum and Warren, and I’m guessing that’s Grandie. Presumably, the woman in white with the gold sash is Emily?”
Lilavati nods and points to a man who, even from a distance, screams dull, despite the white and gold sash he’s wearing. “That’s the groom, Julian.”
“And where is this brother everyone is so keen to set you up with?”
“I have no idea. I’ve never met him.” We both scan the crowd.
“There.” I point to someone who, sadly for him, looks a lot like Julian and is wearing a ‘Best Man to the Best of Men’ sash. “I’d bet that’s him.”
Lil makes a face like she’s tasted something nasty.
“My thoughts exactly,” I say, even though she didn’t speak. I’m about to suggest we find a drink when we’re spotted lurking behind the palm.
“Lili. Ant.” Her mother’s voice is overly excited. “You’re here, at last.” Her eyes run down Lil’s dress.
“That’s not the dress I said you should wear,” she whispers to Lil as she wedges herself between us, forcing me to let go of Lilavati’s hand.
“That’s my fault, Marion. I begged Lilavati to wear this one. It’s my favourite colour on her.” I throw Lil an adoring look to underscore my point.
“But it doesn’t match the theme,” Marion frets with a tiny headshake, lips pursed in concern. “Well, it’s too late now, I suppose.”
“Thank you,” Lil mouths from behind her mother’s shoulder as Marion takes our arms and drags us through the crowd of overdressed women and puffed-up men.
“Ant, you must meet Lili’s grandmother,” Marion confides before stopping in front of a woman who looks like an identikit picture of her that’s been aged for police identification purposes.
Same haircut. Same style. Even the same perfume, if my nose doesn’t deceive me.
“Mother, this is Lili’s …” Marion looks momentarily disconcerted. “Lili’s partner, Ant.”
I hold out my hand. “Lovely to meet you, Grandie. I’ve been instructed to call you that. I hope you don’t mind.” I realise, belatedly, that nobody has actually told me Grandie’s name.
“Well, I suppose that depends on what your intentions are, young man.” Her eyes run me up and down. They’re so sharp that I look down at myself to make sure she hasn’t nicked me. “For the time being, you can call me Mrs Cooper.”
Ouch. Not that I wasn’t warned, but it took her no time at all to fire the first shot, and in a voice like frozen steel.
I thought long and hard about what to pack for this week.
There’s an awful lot of linen shirts and pants, cotton shorts and golf gear in my bag.
As well as a suit for the wedding and plenty of beachwear.
Tonight, I went for a sky-blue linen shirt that matches my eyes, beige chinos and a brand-new pair of pretentious loafers I bought for the occasion.
Simple clothes, but if Mrs Cooper knows anything about fashion, she’ll know they’re good quality.
Lil kisses her cheek. “Please be nice, Grandie,” she whispers.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mrs Cooper. I hope you had an enjoyable day at the lavender farm?” Actually, I don’t care what kind of time any of them had. My day with Lilavati was perfect.
“It was very hot and humid,” she responds with a dismissive sniff. I’m not sure what she was expecting the weather in Hawaii to be like, but in my experience, it’s either hot and humid or very hot and humid.
Fortunately, someone taps their glass, and we’re all invited to be seated.
I don’t know who did the seating plan, but I’m grateful they didn’t put us at the top of the table next to Mrs Cooper, Marion and Warren.
On the other hand, it’s an obvious snub to Lilavati to be down the end of the family table, sandwiched between the second cousins and the few teens and tweens in attendance.
When we started this fake dating thing, the rules were clear.
At least from Lil’s point of view. No PDAs.
But I feel like the rules are shifting a little, even though we haven’t had the opportunity to discuss it.
And the expanse of smooth golden skin—still pinked by the sun—exposed by Lil’s halter neck dress is just too much of a temptation to resist.
With my arm draped along the back of her chair, I can’t resist running my fingers gently across her shoulder.
Up and down her slender bicep. Lightly over her collarbone.
I play with the few stray locks of hair that have escaped her bun.
And she doesn’t object. She leans into my touch.
Drops her hand on my thigh. Presses her shoulder against mine.
My blood is on a fast simmer, and I need to be careful.
The last thing I want is for Marion or Mrs Cooper to see me sporting a boner.
There’s also the need to ‘fess up’ hovering in the back of my mind.
Lilavati would never forgive me if we took this to the next level and she found out I’d been lying to her.
As the dessert plates are cleared, a group of Hawaiian women in spectacular traditional dress assemble in the open space. A drumbeat starts. Hips flick. It’s beautiful and graceful and sexy as hell. Although not as sexy as the rapt expression on Lil’s face as she watches the performance.
“Dance with me.” I stand and hold out my hand when the floor is cleared and the band starts up. She places her hand in mine without hesitation, and I lead her onto the floor where two or three older couples are already swaying to the music.
“Has it been terribly painful?” she asks, looking up at me with a relaxed smile as I wrap an arm around her back and spin us.
“Not at all. I’m actually having a great time.” And it’s not a lie. Our gazes cling. A question is asked and answered without a word being said.
Now. I have to tell her now.
“You know, making coffee and surfboards can be pretty lucrative …” I start.
“Lili!” a voice screeches, and we jerk to a halt.
For fuck’s sake. What is it with all the interruptions?
We turn and see the bride barrelling towards us, arms out in the fakest welcome I’ve ever seen.
“This must be your new boyfriend. I’m Emily.
So happy to meet you.” With no further warning, Lil is elbowed out of the way, and I’m pulled tight against a generous—and I suspect cosmetically enhanced—bust.
The famous Emily.
I’ve learnt over the years not to rely on others for opinions of people.
I’ve also learnt that first impressions are usually right.
My first impression of Emily is the polar opposite of what Marion had said about her.
Which comes as no surprise. Insincere doesn’t begin to cover how I’d describe her.
I look at Lilavati over the top of the blonde head pressed to my chest. She looks like she could spit nails. I widen my eyes, grimace and hold up my hands. Which brings a smile to Lil’s face.
“Aunt Marion said you were handsome, but I wasn’t expecting you to be quite this handsome,” she squeaks as I disengage myself from what feels like the clutches of an octopus.
A guy of average height with a receding hairline, weak jaw and very expensive suit—who wears a suit in Hawaii?
—stands behind her. Lil’s description of the kind of man her family wants her to marry was spot on. I hold out my hand to him.
“Ant Stevens. You must be Julian.” His handshake is as weak as his profile. Not to mention clammy.
Emily doesn’t let him get a word in. Stepping between us, she clutches my arm and turns me away from both Lil and Julian, leaving them standing side by side in the middle of the dance floor.
“You don’t mind if I cut in, do you, Lili?”