Chapter Thirty-Eight
Lilavati
Louise fixes my face and sees me safely onto the community shuttle bus that circuits the resorts, restaurants and clubs of Kapalua.
It’s the same driver Ant and I have seen a couple of times collecting people at the hotel.
There are passengers getting on and off all over the place, and we’re halfway back to the resort before she has time to chat.
“What are you doing going back to the hotel? I just dropped your young man off at the chapel not twenty minutes ago.”
“You what?”
“Your young man. I told him he’d probably missed the ceremony, since I saw the coach letting you all off earlier, but he said that didn’t matter to him.”
“You’re sure it was Ant?”
“Positive. I may be old, honey, but you don’t forget eyes that blue in a hurry.”
The rest of what she says is lost over the thundering of my heart. Ant hasn’t left. And he went up to the chapel. But didn’t come and find me. Why?
I pull out my phone, bring up our text exchanges and open a new message. But I have no idea what to say. The last message he sent me catches my eye.
Ant: Finished my surf. On my way back. Any chance you’ll be waiting for me naked on the lanai?
I start scrolling back through our conversations.
There haven’t been many, since we’ve been together nearly 24/7 since we arrived, but whenever we’ve been apart, he’s always checked in on how I’m doing, made sure I know where he’s at.
And what he plans to do when we’re together again.
My nipples tighten and my core muscles clench.
Ant’s true feelings are there for me to see.
Am I going to trust the evidence of my own eyes, my own body, my own heart, however difficult I find it to believe, or take what Warren said at face value?
I still don’t understand why Ant didn’t stand up for himself, although two little voices that sound a lot like Mei and Louise whisper you didn’t give him the chance.
Hopefully, I’ll get the opportunity to give him the chance soon.
And maybe the point is not to understand, but to believe anyway.
Maybe then I can take the chance and ask for what I want. One way or another, I need to know where we stand. Because Louise sees it, if I feel it, maybe it’s not so implausible that he feels about me the way I feel about him.
Back in our suite, all of Ant’s clothes are exactly where he left them. Except for the suit that was hanging on the door, freshly pressed by the resort laundry in preparation for the wedding.
Even though the shuttle driver had said she dropped him at the chapel, there was a large part of me worried I’d come back to find his belongings gone. Seeing them there loosens the band around my chest ever so slightly.
Indecision tears at me as I pace around the suite. Do I message him? Do I go back to the wedding? But then what if I miss him?
I’m standing in the middle of the lounge room, paralysed by uncertainty, when I hear the faint buzz of the access card and the door flies open.
Ant could be naked for all I know because I can’t drag my gaze from his face. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his dimple is nowhere to be seen. The misery in his blue eyes matches how I feel.
Silence stretches between us until I can’t stand it another second.
“I thought you might have left while I was at the wedding,” I say.
“Did you want me to?” Ant walks towards me slowly, as though approaching a wild animal. I can’t blame him.
“No.” I sound like a sulky teen but can’t bring myself to say anything more.
Ant throws off his jacket, yanks at his tie, pulls a chair out from the dining table and sits, shoulders hunched, elbows on knees, hands clasped. He lets out a deep breath. “I need you to answer a question for me. Will you do that? Please?” He’s clearly not confident of a hearing.
Which is fair, given how I shut him down earlier. Not letting him explain was wrong. I nod and pull out a chair on the other side of the table, the glass top stretching between us like a tightrope we need to walk.
“I couldn’t possibly have targeted you, because I had no idea who Warren was. If I were scamming you, why would I have told you about the cafés and the board business?”
I can’t think of a response.
At my silence, Ant shakes his head, disappointment clear on his face, in his body language.
“What’s really going on here, Lil? You’re a smart woman. You know what Warren said was a pack of twisted half-truths and lies. Be honest. Please. I deserve that, at least.”
I’m not sure I’ll be able to speak; my mouth is so dry. Ant must see my throat working because he leaps up, goes to the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of water. He twists the top off before handing it to me and returning to his seat.
I guzzle a few mouthfuls, and he waits in patient silence.
“I believe you. I don’t understand how it all fits together, but I believe you that you didn’t target me.” I pause, wiping at my cheeks as the tears start to roll again. “But isn’t it all irrelevant anyway?”
“Irrelevant?” Ant’s eyebrows raise. The look on his face—so earnest, so hurt—rips at my heart with sharp claws.
“This was a holiday romance. We’re going home in a couple of days. End of holiday. End of romance, right?” I’m shaking so hard I have to put the water down for fear of spilling it.
I’m giving him an out. If he wants to take it, I’ll have my answer.
Every muscle in my body clenches, hoping he doesn’t.
I know it’s cowardly. I should’ve been brave.
Lead with how I feel. But opening up, after a lifetime of keeping quiet, of accommodating others, of asking for nothing, is hard.
Believing I might be worth the fight—that Ant might think I’m worth the fight—is hard.
“That’s what you think?”
“Well, yes. I mean … that's what we agreed.” I sputter to a halt. I’ve never seen Ant look angry before. Then his face shifts. His eyes cloud.
“Is that what you want?” His voice is barely a whisper.
A shrug is all I can manage in response.
Ant is silent for a long time. Maybe hours. It feels like hours. His face is motionless and unreadable, but the fingers on his right hand flex, just once, and form a fist so tight his knuckles are white.
Finally, he clears his throat. “If that’s what you think, you haven’t been paying attention. Or I’ve done something terribly, terribly wrong.”
His eyes meet mine, and I’m shocked to see how glassy they are.
As though tears are waiting to be shed. We stand as one and step around the table until we’re face to face.
No obstacle between us, other than air that vibrates with anguish and fear and hope.
He doesn’t touch me, but his body heat and the familiar smell of his aftershave weaken my knees.
“What”—my voice cracks and I take another gulp of water—“do you mean?”
“How can you not have understood that I’ve spent the last week—in fact, probably every moment since we met—trying to get you to fall in love with me?” His breathing is ragged, and there’s a tremor in his voice.
Every cell in my body liquifies.
“You …” is all I can manage to pull from the watery depths of a soul that’s on the verge of unfolding.
“I love you, Lilavati.” There’s no mistaking the conviction in his tone.
I need to know I heard him right. Didn’t imagine the words into existence.
“You what?” I bite my lip to stop it from trembling.
“You heard me. I love you. I’ve loved you since you dropped that stupid bio on the table in the café. And if you haven’t felt that, understood that, then I’ve really fucked up.”
How can he believe he fucked up? This is all on me.
“I …” My eyes are leaking without permission again. And my voice refuses to work.
“I don’t want this to be a holiday romance. I don’t want this to end when we go back to Sydney. I want this. I want you. I want us.” He attempts a smile, but it’s not his usual grin. It’s tentative and bittersweet and agonised.
I want to believe in this more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But all my life, I’ve been told, shown, that loving me is too hard. That I’m too hard. Too complicated. Too much.
“But I’m such hard work.”
Ant huffs out a sad laugh.
“You’re not hard work. You’re strong. And smart. And complex. And those are just some of the things I love about you.”
My eyes travel his face, looking for the safety of honesty. Finding it.
“Do you believe me?” Such hope in his voice.
“Yes.” Such relief in mine. I believe him. Against all the odds, this wonderful man has fallen in love with me. And helped me find the courage to love him in return.
“Do you want this?” His heart is there. In his voice. In his eyes. There for me to reach out and take.
I can’t find my voice, so I nod. I expect him to reach out for me, but he’s not quite finished.
“Just so we’re clear, I wouldn’t partner with Warren if he were the last investor in the world.
I’d rather go broke.” He brings one hand up and runs a finger along my jaw.
“It honestly never occurred to me to tell you about looking for an investment partner. I was too busy trying to get you to fall in love with me.”
Strong arms circle me at last, pulling me into his chest, his big hand cradling my head, fingers fierce on my scalp.
“You waited too long,” I say against his shirt. Gathering my courage, I pull back to look him in the eye. “I’ve been in love with you, I think, since the first time we went snorkelling.”
The words—words that once seemed so dangerous—float off my tongue, sparkling in the air around us. Dancing like butterflies.
He releases me only long enough to slide both his hands into my hair and grip my skull, dislodging the pins holding my wedding do in place, and pulls my face to his, foreheads touching.
“Say that again,” he whispers against my lips.
“I love you,” I repeat, feeling lighter with each syllable. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Without letting go of me, without taking his lips from mine, he walks me backwards till we hit the wall. Something snaps, and now there’s nothing slow or gentle about it. We’re all grasping hands and biting teeth.
I’m trapped between the wall and the hard muscles of Ant’s chest. His belly. His thighs.
“I’m warning you, this won’t take long, Sparky. I need to fuck you senseless. Right now.”
One hand grasps the top of my jumpsuit zipper and drags it down my back, before yanking the straps off my shoulders and down my arms until it puddles around my feet. Hooking his thumb into my knickers, he pulls, and his fingers are inside me before the sheer lace hits the floor.
The wall saves us from falling as we stumble a little when he toes off his shoes while I unzip his trousers and push them down to join my clothes on the floor.
Anchoring my hips to the wall with bruising fingers, he pushes my thighs apart, falls to his knees, clamps my clit in his mouth and sucks. I grip his head, holding him tight against the juncture of my thighs. Every cell in my body detonates as a ferocious release barrels through me.
My knees buckle with relief and release.