Chapter 39 #2
I've been planning this for a while. Well… planning might be generous. It started as one of those ideas that lived in the back of my mind, something I kept turning over when I couldn't sleep. But the moment I realised she was it for me, I stopped thinking about it and booked the place.
This weekend isn't just about us sneaking away so we can be a couple without worrying about who might see us. Although it's a massive plus.
It's more than that.
She needs to be back here.
I have no idea how she's going to react to this, so I came prepared.
Her favourite sweets are tucked into a bag, and I brought my camera too. She's been asking to take pictures of me ever since she discovered my little secret talent, and the way her eyes lit up about it… Yeah, there was no way I was leaving it behind.
I step out of the car and look towards the lodge I booked for the weekend.
It sits just beyond the dunes, close enough to the beach that she practically considered it a second home growing up. The place looks even better than I imagined—warm lights glowing through the windows, soft garlands and decorations draped around the porch.
The woman who rents the lodges out mentioned they’d be decorated for Christmas, with the holiday only a week away.
She wasn't exaggerating.
It looks perfect.
Out back there's a jacuzzi too. I already know exactly how tonight's going to go. Champagne, cold sea air, warm water, and my favourite girl tucked against me.
My eyes find themselves looking back over to Willow, still asleep in the passenger seat.
She turns twenty-one tomorrow. And I want it to be something she never forgets.
I’m also excited for her to see the room I plan on worshipping her body in.
First, I need to get her inside… and hopefully she doesn't rip my head off when she realises where we are.
I open the car door and pause for a moment, just looking at her.
Tiny freckles dust her cheeks and nose, with a few scattered across her forehead. I've always loved them. I love the pale tone of her skin, too, something she complains about sometimes because she can never tan.
I think it suits her.
Her long lashes rest against her cheeks, and for a second, I have the ridiculous urge to trace every inch of her face with my finger.
“Willow,” I croon, brushing her cheek. “We’re here.”
My other hand settles on her knee, giving it a light squeeze. She stirs at the touch, moving slightly before her eyes flutter open.
Green.
My favourite colour in the world.
The colour I want to stare at for the rest of my life.
She blinks a few times, still waking up, then stretches slowly like a cat.
“Where are we?” she asks tiredly.
Before I can answer, she leans forward slightly and looks past my shoulder. I watch her expression change as she takes in the lights, the decorated porch and the soft glow in the windows.
A smile spreads across her face.
“Who knew you could be so romantic?” she teases.
Then she turns her head, looking around properly this time, and I see the exact moment something clicks into place.
She knows.
Her eyes widen as recognition settles in.
“Elijah,” she whispers.
“Look. Before you kill me, or scream at me, or throw something at my head,” I start quickly, holding up a hand like that might somehow protect me, “I just wanted a romantic weekend with you for your birthday.”
The words start tumbling out faster the longer I talk.
“But I figured with it being your birthday, you deserved to be somewhere that actually means something to you. Somewhere you grew up.” I gesture vaguely toward the beach behind the lodge. “And maybe you might want to see your dad while we are here.”
I shrug a little, trying to keep my tone light even though my chest feels like it's about to combust.
“Not that I’m forcing you. At all. If it's too soon, we won't. This weekend's for you, Willow. Whatever you want to do, I’m in.”
Jesus. I’m rambling like a complete idiot.
Her eyes fill with tears before I can even attempt to recover, and for half a second, I brace myself for the worst.
Instead, she launches herself at me.
Her arms wrap around my neck as she buries her face into the crook of it, clinging to me like she's afraid I might disappear. I instinctively wrap mine around her, pulling her closer, my hand sliding up her back.
I wish I knew what this meant.
If mind-reading existed, life would be a hell of a lot easier right now.
I've always tried to give her space to figure things out for herself, to move at whatever pace feels right for her. But deep down, I've always believed coming back here might be good for her.
“Thank you,” she whispers against my skin.
My shoulders finally loosen at her words.
She doesn't pull away, still holding onto me, and I can feel the damp warmth of her tears against my neck.
I run soft circles across her back, letting her cry it out.
The wind has picked up along the cliff, whipping strands of her hair around us, but neither of us moves.
The moment feels too important to break.
She's tucked up against me like she belongs there, and I let myself soak in the feeling—the way she fits against my chest, and the quiet trust in how she cuddles into me.
We fit.
In every way that matters, we just fit.
After a while, she pulls back. Her cheeks are wet, her lashes clumped together, her eyes red from crying.
I swallow the ball in my throat at the sight.
“If you hate it, we can leave right now.”
She shushes me, both hands coming to cradle either side of my neck.
“I don't," she says softly. “I just… wasn't expecting to be here.”
She glances toward the beach, the palace stretching out below the cliffs.
“I never thought I'd come back,” she admits quietly.
She wipes at her cheeks, brushing away the tears.
“You look scared.”
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it, though it sounds a little rough. I take another look at her face, making sure she's really okay.
“I just didn't want to disappoint you. Or push you into something that would make you hate me.”
The thought alone makes me sick.
I couldn't bear that.
She reaches up and pushes my messy hair back from my forehead, her touch gentle.
“Nothing you could ever do would make me hate you.”
The certainty in her voice reassures me, causing all my anxious nerves to fade away.
I can’t help but wonder how I got so lucky.
How did someone like her choose someone like me?
I will never take that for granted. Ever.
“Can we go and see him?”
The question catches me off guard.
“When?”
“Now.” Her voice is quiet but firm. “If we don't go today, I might never be able to.”
I move forward and kiss her softly, just once.
“Anything you want,” I tell her. “But you might want to get changed first.”
She glances down at her pyjamas, biting her bottom lip. Lost in thought, her expression suddenly contorts into alarm.
“Oh my god, I completely forgot to give it to you.” She blurts.
Her head snaps to the side. “Did you bring my coat?”
I almost laugh. I packed practically everything she owns for this weekend, mainly because she had no idea where we were going.
Reaching into the backseat, I grab her coat and hand it over before she has a panic attack.
She digs through the pockets, fingers fumbling around until she pulls out an envelope.
My name is written across the front.
“Wow,” I say dryly. “Who’s the old one now?”
Her face twists in confusion before she rolls her eyes.
“Still you,” she shoots back automatically. Then she looks at the envelope again. “But no, this isn't from me. It's from my dad, actually.”
Now I’m the one frowning.
Her dad hated me. We haven't spoken in eighteen years.
I stare at the letter in her hands.
“Are you sure?”
She nods and hands it to me.
“Surprised me too,” she admits. “And I know it's for you because he didn't know any other Elijah’s. I brought my own letter, but I’ll open it tomorrow.”
My attention hardly registers what she says as I continue staring at my name, which is written messily across the front.
It must be serious for him to write a letter to the man who took a chance on building a family with his daughter.
Who even writes letters anymore?
The envelope feels heavier than it should in my hands.
He left a few for Willow—I know that much. That makes sense. She's his daughter. He's going to miss every other milestone in her life, every birthday, every little achievement she’ll want to tell him about. Marriage. Kids. And whatever else she accomplishes.
But me? I don't understand.
I stare down at my name, trying to figure out what the hell he could have to say to me.