Chapter Thirty-Five
Ant
I’ve stomped out of the suite without my wallet or surfboard, which sucks, because I could really use the calm a surf brings right now.
At least I had the forethought to grab my phone, which has the keycard for the room tucked into the case.
I need to put as much distance between me and Warren Gordon as I can. Because in my current frame of mind, if I come face to face with him, I’m not sure I’ll be able to restrain myself.
I head towards the bay, then take a right and power along the clifftops up the headland where there’s a small seat positioned perfectly at the turn of the path to take in the view. A view I can’t even see for the red haze of anger and grief obscuring my vision.
I bring up my text thread with Lil, but can’t bring myself to type anything. I think we both need time for our tempers to de-escalate before we talk again.
I know I shouldn’t have implied this was Lilavati’s fault. Because it’s not. Obviously.
I’m a grown man and should know better than to speak from a place of hurt. But her lack of faith, her lack of recognition that what we’ve become to each other this week is special, gutted me.
I don’t care that Warren attacked me and my character. I couldn’t give a fat flying fuck what a man like him thinks of me. What I care about is what he’s done to Lilavati. Not just today, because that was just the cherry on top. But what he’s done her whole life.
He’s made her feel less than she is. Inferior. Lacking. Unworthy of love. And that feeling is why she believed the twisted half-truths and outright lies that came out of Warren’s mouth. That is something I’ll never forgive.
The fact that he used me—and, let’s face it, my na?veté—to hurt her is something I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for either. Because it was na?ve to think that he wouldn’t keep looking, no matter how deep he had to dig, until he found something he could use to hurt me. Hurt her.
Fuck, there’s a lot of blame to go around.
Because then there’s Marion. Based on what Lil has told me, once upon a time Marion was a loving mother.
I can only assume that years of living with Warren has worn her down.
If there hasn’t been emotional, financial and mental abuse in that relationship, I’ll eat my surfboard.
It’s no wonder Marion doesn’t stand up to him. And Lilavati is following her lead.
I honestly had no idea, nor any interest in, what Warren did for a living.
This morning’s conversation replays in my head.
Over and over. I should’ve told her about my discussions with Ben Carter.
About how I’m hoping—expecting—to hear from him any day.
But I was shocked. Hurt. I handled the conversation badly.
I wanted Lil to believe me without needing proof.
To take my side. If she’d given me the slightest inkling she was wavering, that she would take me at my word, I’d have said something.
But it was as clear as the waters of Kapalua Bay that she’d believed everything Warren said.
Warren, who has done nothing but gaslight her and erode her confidence all her life. Rather than me, who has done nothing but love her, almost since the moment we met.
The blow to my heart feels like a fatal one. Slow death by sadness and regret.
It takes me a while to calm down enough to think clearly and realise what I need to do. There’s no point in having a therapist for a sister if you don’t use her.
“Why am I just hearing about all this now?” Jocelyn demands once I’ve downloaded my story of woe.
“Oh, excuse me for wanting to have a private life,” I snap back. “I didn’t call for you to tear me a new one, Jos. I called for advice.”
Jos doesn’t falter at my sharp tone. “Well, I’d tell you lying to her in the first place wasn’t the best idea, but you already know that.”
“Thanks for the insight.”
“You can’t expect to overcome years of conditioning in a couple of weeks, Ant. She’ll realise she’s overreacted once she’s had time to calm down.”
“It hurt that she believed him.” There’s no point sugar coating it.
Jos doesn’t answer for a few beats, and when she does, her voice is soft, the way it is when one of her girls is hurting. “Of course it did. And it’s okay to tell her that.”
“I don’t want to make things worse, though.”
“Being honest won’t make things worse. You also need to be very clear—and by that, I mean use your words—about how you feel about her. And give her some grace. She’s probably going to find it difficult to believe. But that’s about her feelings about herself, not about you.”
“I guess I knew that, but it helps to hear it.”
“Give her space, but not too much. From what you’ve said, she’s probably an overthinker. Don’t give her time to create too much noise in her own head.”
That sounds exactly like what Lilavati would do.
“Thanks, Jos.”
“One last thing. Don’t hang onto the hurt.” That sounds like good advice for Lil, too.
“Love you, sis.”
“Love you too, you pest,” she signs off.
God, I’m grateful for my sister. It helps to have talked to someone who knows me, who understands me, and whose opinion I trust. Someone who is one hundred percent in my corner.
Feeling more in control of my emotions, I head back down the cliffs to the resort.
There’s little more than an hour before the guests will be heading up the hill to the wedding venue.
I have no time to waste because if Warren thinks he’s going to have the last word, he’s got another thing coming.
And once that’s done, I need to work out a way to win Lilavati back. Losing her now is not an option.
I’m still in my clammy wetsuit, covered in sand and salt.
Mindful that Jos suggested I give Lil space, and she’s likely still getting ready in our suite, I head to the resort gym and spa.
Toiletries are laid on and I have everything I need for a decent shower.
Rather than put my salty board shorts back on, I nick one of their towelling robes and sneak into the foyer via the back stairs, keeping an eye out to make sure I don’t run into the enemy.
I need somewhere private to wait until everyone is off up the hill to the wedding.
Normally, reception would refuse to give out the room number of a guest, but the concierge is a surfer and admires my boards, so he puts in a good word for me, and two minutes later, I’m knocking on Grandie’s door.
She’s all dressed and ready to go when she opens up. And it’s clear she’s heard at least part of what’s happened.
“Good Lord, young man. You certainly know how to stir the pot, don’t you?”
I sit on one of the dining chairs, careful to keep the robe pulled closed. That would be the icing on the cake if I flashed Grandie and caused her to have a heart attack.
“I hope you know that what Warren said is untrue.” No point mincing words. Grandie doesn’t.
“None of it?” she asks, with that eyebrow arch she shares with Lil.
“Well, yes, I am looking for an investor. But I’m pretty confident I’ve got one lined up. I’m expecting to hear from him any day now. And for the record, even if that wasn’t the case, Warren Gordon is the last person I would do business with.”
“Why didn’t you tell Lili this?”
“She didn’t give me the chance,” I start.
Grandie gives me ‘the look’ that all mothers and grandmothers seem to have perfected. The one that screams lie to yourself all you want, but don’t try lying to me, dumbarse.
“Okay, maybe I wanted her to believe me, not Warren. She didn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt. Just assumed everything he’d said was true. When he’s proved over and over, all her life, he’s not on her side, and I’ve done nothing but support her.”
When I put it like that, I sound a little pathetic, but there you have it.
“So you allowed pride and hurt to get in the way of your relationship. Rather like someone else we know.” Grandie raises her eyebrows, inviting me to buy a clue.
She’s right. Both Sparky and I allowed our emotions to get in the way of real communication.
“You were aware my granddaughter is sharp-tongued and quick-tempered. Are you going to let that stop you now?”
“No. No, I am not.” I stand, tightening the terry towelling belt of the robe in an attempt to look in control. “I’m going to fight for Lilavati until the bitter end because she’s worth it.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Grandie smiles and pats my shoulder as she stands.
Her phone chirps. She checks it and rolls her eyes, picks up a small purse from the table.
“If you’re thinking of turning up at the wedding, I’d put some clothes on first. I have to go.
I’m required by bridezilla’s mother. You’re welcome to wait here till the coast is clear. Twenty minutes should do it.”
“Thanks, Grandie.”
I leave Grandie’s suite fifteen minutes later in hopes of catching at least a glimpse of Lil.
As I sneak around the corner of the foyer, I see the last wedding guests, including Lilavati, boarding the luxury coach taking them to the Pineapple Chapel.
She’s too far away to be able to make out her expression, but her shoulders are slumped, her movements sluggish.
She’s all alone, but at least she’s not with her parents.
As soon as the bus disappears up the drive, I leg it to our suite.
It smells of frangipani. And of Lil.
The bathroom bin is overflowing with scrunched-up tissues, painful evidence of Lil’s heartache. The counter is littered with make-up brushes and pins and tubes and tubs. Most unlike Lilavati, who always leaves things precise and organised.
I debate whether to pack my stuff up and move to another room. Not to give up, but to give Lilavati some space in which to think this shitty situation through. I don’t want to pressure her the way Warren has always done. But Jos said not to give her enough time to catastrophise, so I’m staying.
If she wants me to move out once we’ve talked, I will. What I won’t be doing is giving up.
Regardless, I have somewhere to be first.
I’m not going to ruin Emily’s wedding. But I won’t go another hour without telling Warren how wrong he got it. Without letting him know what I think of him and the way he deliberately hurt Lil.
Then I’ll be pulling out all stops to get Lilavati back. Because there’s no point denying it.
Lilavati owns me. Body, heart and soul.