Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Leilani
"You nervous?"
Remy stretches his arm around the back of my chair.
It's six days after we had that emotional discussion at my house, and I've seen Remy every day since then.
We're now at the Chamber of Commerce's annual dinner, held in a giant, silver-and-white accented ballroom at his family's resort, the Magnolia Grand.
"Let's see." I study his face and marvel at how relaxed he is.
I'm a bundle of nerves and my palms are slick with sweat.
"There's a chance we could win, I'm opening my business soon, and we just stuffed ourselves with filet mignon.
And I'm dressed up in an actual dress and heels for the first time since, well, that other Chamber meeting.
And the heels are killing me. So, yeah, I'm a little nervous. "
"You've got this. We've got this. You gonna eat that cake?"
My gaze goes to the mini chocolate Bundt cake sitting in front of me. Normally, I love chocolate and cake is my weakness. But tonight? My stomach churns with anxiety.
"No. Go ahead." I inch the plate toward Remy.
"Thanks, babe. Didn't eat enough today when I was out on the water." He tucks into the dessert. He's always ravenous after a day of fishing, I've noticed.
My nerves aren't only due to where we are, or the possibility that I might be called up to the stage to speak in front of all these people if we win the contest.
No, they're also because of the man sitting next to me, the one who's wolfing down cake like a person just released from jail.
Tonight, he's in actual, adult clothing — a dark blue suit and white button-down shirt that's open at the neck, no tie — and he's heartbreakingly handsome. The most beautiful man in the room.
And I'm definitely in love with him. No question. It's become painfully obvious. I've been thinking about this ever since we had that conversation in my house, the one where he said he'd give me plenty of warning if he wanted to be with anyone else.
Since then, he's treated me so tenderly, as if I'm breakable. His words have all been gentle and complimentary. He's brought over two more bouquets, fixed my kitchen sink, and ordered my favorite pizza.
Twice.
So, what's the issue, I keep asking myself.
Why are you creating problems where there are none, my rational side wonders.
If something seems too good to be true, it probably is.
The wary, broken part of me repeats that phrase like a mantra.
I've even written both sides down on a list. The pros and cons of Remy.
Then I burned the list and saged my house with a "clear the air" herbal bundle I'd bought at The Astral Attic.
I'm not sure it helped, because my mind is anything but clear.
Now that the mentor contest is coming to a formal end, I fear that it will also be the end of me and Remy.
Irrational, I know. Probably I should just tell him that I'm in love with him and let him sort out the rest. Voicing my boundaries aloud after years of being torn down is difficult, though.
Like swimming through muck, slow and dirty.
That I don't want to feel like I need a man like my mother always does complicates matters.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," a woman from the Chamber says from the stage at the front of the room. "Welcome to the annual dinner of the Cypress Grove Chamber of Commerce. Tonight, we'll be handing out various service awards, and giving one new business a prize of ten thousand dollars."
Everyone claps, and my stomach constricts into a tighter knot. I only half-listen for the next thirty minutes, partially because I'm trying to calm myself by breathing deeply, but also because Remy's so close that every time I inhale, I get a whiff of his cologne.
By the time the contest award is announced, I'm somehow clammy and cold, while my mouth has gone bone dry.
All this formal stuff isn't for me, and I'm second-guessing all of my decisions up to this point.
What if I'm like this in the bar with the public?
Or will I be more relaxed because it's my own space?
"And the winner is..." the woman on stage says, fumbling for an envelope, "Leilani Kostas, the owner of Mermosa."
"Oh," I whisper, as all the breath leaks from my body. I shut my eyes and shake my head in disbelief as the woman talks about how my bar and the project guided by Remy — and my business plan — were the best of the bunch.
"Innovative, irreverent, delightful. That's what the judges said about Mermosa," the woman says as a big photo of my business flashes on the screen behind her.
I hear Remy's whoop, and feel him wrapping his arms around me.
"We did it, babe. You did it. I did nothing. It was all you."
There's clapping, and yet, I don't move. It feels too strange, like I'm underwater and weighted down by a particularly heavy tail fin. One made of cement.
Am I actually good at something other than swimming and being cute?
"Babe, they want you to go up and accept the award and the check. C'mon. I'll go with you."
My face is mashed into Remy's chest, and I pull back, opening my eyes.
"Okay," I murmur.
I'm clutching his hand as he and I walk the few steps to the stage. Thank goodness we're at a table close by, otherwise I'd probably collapse on the way. Remy points to the podium and lets go of my hand.
With trembling legs, I make my way up the two steps. Why are people still applauding? Is this real?
The woman hands me an envelope and gives me a quick hug. Her gesture to the microphone indicates that I'm expected to say something to the room.
I inhale. "Thank you to the judges for this award. Wow. I never dreamed we'd win. Not with the amazing competition we had."
My gaze sweeps around the room and my stomach twists into a knot. So many people, looking right at me. Somehow, I feel more vulnerable now than when I swim in a mermaid tail in front of strangers. Weird, right?
What do I do with my hands? I lift them in the air, then drop them onto the podium.
"Wow. Um. I'm not used to this. I'm a mermaid."
The audience laughs.
"I mean, I used to be a professional mermaid.
Up at Weeki Wachee. Now, I'm a business owner, which still feels really weird to say.
Maybe I have a bit of imposter syndrome.
" Oh, geez, what am I talking about? "Ah, well.
I wanted to thank the judges and most of all, thank my mentor, Remy Hastings.
He's been a sweetheart throughout this whole process, and I couldn't have done it without him. "
I turn in Remy's direction — or at least where I last saw him, because I can't quite see anything in focus — and smile. "Thank you."
Mercifully, people begin to clap and I take this as my cue to step aside. Still quivering like a blade of grass in a hurricane, I manage to climb off the stage without falling. Remy's there to put his arm around me.
"You were amazing, Leilani. Truly. I’m so proud of you."
"Thanks. Um. Can we go to the bar? I need a moment away from here."
"Sure. Anything you want, beautiful."
We walk to the side of the room, and then to the back, where the bar is. More awards are being announced, and no one's paying attention to us. At least I hope not.
I order a gin and tonic.
"Oh, that was so difficult. I must have looked like a lunatic, stammering and sweating." I fan myself with a menu.
"No, babe. People loved it. They loved you, Leilani. Everyone loves you."
I look over at Remy, and he's giving me that earnest look of his, that adorable, little boy expression.
Everyone loves me, but him.
An excruciating hour and a half later that includes several photos with various people around town, including the hot dog cart-owning mayor (and after tossing two gin and tonics down my throat) Remy threads his fingers in mine and pulls me down the hall of the resort.
I scowl. "The parking lot's not this way."
"I have a surprise."
He leads me out a door and through a courtyard that's landscaped with massive, tropical bushes, the kind with leaves as big as pillows. With a flick of his thumb, he punches in a key code and we enter another part of the resort.
"This place is massive," I say, taking in the arched doorways and beautiful photo prints hanging on the walls.
"I guess? Doesn't seem so to me. Probably because I grew up here. Spent my days here after school as a kid, worked here during summers doing landscaping. At least until I started fishing. Then I'd take guests out on the water."
We're strolling down yet another corridor and Remy stops at a bank of elevators.
"How old were you when you started doing that?" I ask, following him into an elevator.
He punches the fifth-floor button. "Fourteen, fifteen. My brothers all mowed lawns and did other menial labor. But I was like a tour guide. Fun as anything, taking old rich dudes out on the water... Yeah, I'm glad Max bought the place and didn't sell it to a stranger. My heart's here, you know?"
The elevator door slides open. Yeah, his heart's here, on the boat, fishing. Everywhere but with me. And that's the way it'll always be.
I follow him to a door and he swipes a card key.
"I thought," he opens the door, "we'd have a little staycation tonight. I got us a suite. Check this out."
He flicks on the light and I enter, taking in the lavish space. It's almost as big as my house, and much prettier. Everything's done up in white and bright green, cozy yet clean. I peer into the second room, the bedroom, and Remy comes up from behind, sliding his hands around my waist.
"Thought it would be nice to spend the night somewhere different.
And now we have a lot to celebrate." He presses his lips to my neck, sending tingles flowing through my body.
"So freaking proud of you, babe. You killed it tonight.
Knew you would. Your bar's going to be the most popular place in town. "
His hands cup my face, gentle but certain, and I let my head tip to one side. His touch never makes me feel afraid, and I shut my eyes and try to let the moment carry me.
He moves me toward the bedroom, his hands warm and certain, and for a moment, I let myself believe everything is fine.
It doesn't feel right.
Not tonight, when I've had a little too much to drink.
Not tonight, when I've been nervous for hours and my stomach is still jumpy because of winning the contest.
Not tonight, when all he wants is to keep things the way they've been and all I want is to tell him how much I love him. What would happen if I told him? Would he laugh? Be upset?
Or would he reciprocate? Maybe...
I squirm away from his warm hands, tumbling onto the bed and into a sitting position.
My hands go to my dress, pulling it primly over my knees.
I gulp in several breaths. The times I'd tried to talk about my feelings or concerns with Brent, he'd flown into a rage.
Will Remy do the same? Crap. I'm so awful at this, at voicing my emotions.
Maybe I'm broken. Maybe I dove into a new relationship too quickly.
I'd been so sure of myself when we met that day at the boat launch...
"Remy." My voice is faint, faraway. The time has come. "I don't think I can do this."
He sits next to me, an astonished expression etched into his face. "Do what?"
"I need to be honest with you about something."
His brows lift. "What?"
"We need to stop this."
He grins that lopsided, casual grin. It's maddening. "What? Stop all what?"
It occurs to me that neither one of us is particularly good at communication. I'm scared of conflict, scarred by my previous relationship, and unsure of myself. Even winning the contest tonight has triggered anxiety and a racing heart. Some screwed-up fear of success, maybe?
And Remy? He's not exactly mature. Responsible? Yes, mostly. Charming? Absolutely. Knows what to do when the woman he's casually seeing is hyperventilating and emotionally falling apart?
Not so much. His eyes flit wildly around the room.
"No. We need to stop seeing each other. I don't want just this arrangement, and I'm trying to draw boundaries." The words spill out. "I am drawing boundaries."
"How come?" He looks around, then shrugs out of his suit jacket. He lays it in his lap and blinks at the carpet. At least he isn't vibrating with anger.
Oh, maybe he doesn't care. Maybe I've misjudged his words and actions all along and this is just a lark. I'm just another woman to him. What we have is so casual, he can't even register any discernable emotion...
I stand up, feeling claustrophobic and sweaty.
If I could somehow transport myself to the water, where I could swim free, I would.
It might be the only thing that could calm my pounding heart right now.
For a half-second, I swear I feel the springs close by, cool and dark and patient, like they know I'm cornered. Meanwhile, Remy’s staring at me.
It's too difficult to look into his amber-colored eyes, so I focus on his big hands instead.
"I'm getting too attached to you. I know we have our pact.
All our rules and regulations about staying casual.
The other day, you said that someday I'd want a boyfriend and a husband and a family.
And it's true. Someday I do want that. And I don't want to just keep this going in the meantime, pretending it's enough. I don’t want you as a placeholder.
I'd like all that stuff with you, but I know it's not what you want.
So, I'm going to spare you the trouble of breaking up with me, and spare me from further heartbreak.
I need to be honest about how I feel and what I want out of life.
Now that we're not working together, I think it's best if we go our separate ways. "
Did I just say all that out loud?
His jaw drops. A terrible, toxic silence hangs in the air. Exactly what I'd feared — he's not going to fight for me. For us. Because he doesn't feel the same way.
A thick blob forms in my throat, and I have to swallow a few times before I can talk again. "I'm going to leave now. I'm sorry about all this." I wave my hand helplessly in the air and reach for my purse. "Thank you for helping me with the project. I'll see you around town."
I run out of the suite, as fast as one can in four-inch-high heels.