Chapter Fourteen
Lilavati
It wasn’t by accident that I booked the tickets for Hawaii at the last minute. Spending a week with my parents, grandmother and the Emily Brigade is going to be hard enough. Being stuck on the same flight as them would be too much. I need to get on the plane, plug in my earbuds and zone out.
Ant is already waiting for me underneath the departures board when I arrive at Sydney Airport.
He’s wearing boardshorts and has a battered backpack slung over one shoulder, an enormous lumpy-looking duffel bag at his feet, and yes, a surfboard in a padded bag bearing a logo with the letters brB is propped against the nearby carry-on scales.
Ant has been as busy with work as me. I guess he’s been taking extra shifts to make up for the time off. So we haven’t seen each other for over a week. I’m surprised by the burst of pleasure the sight of his smiling face causes. His handsome, smiling face. And his very fit body.
He looks exactly like a surfer going on a relaxing holiday in Hawaii should look. I, on the other hand, look like a stressed-out mess.
My suitcase is, I already know, nudging the maximum limit, thanks to a delivery of dresses, shoes and ‘cute little beach café suitable’ outfits my mother had delivered yesterday.
I worked until after twelve last night and have had precisely four hours’ sleep.
Ant takes all this in with one sweeping glance.
“Relax, Honeybee, we’re on holiday,” he says with a whoop, and to my surprise, drops his backpack, lifts me into his arms and spins me around.
It’s the most physical contact we’ve had since that day he pulled me onto his lap, and I don’t think I’m dizzy from the spinning when he slowly slides me down the rock-hard muscles of his chest and abs till my feet connect with the floor.
We’ve been upgraded—courtesy of Warren, I assume—to business class, so the queue to check our bags is non-existent.
“I hope they take good care of your board. Aren’t they very delicate?” I ask as Ant covers his surfboard with fragile stickers.
“It’ll be right,” he says, giving the board a pat as it disappears up the conveyor belt. “The guys in Hawaii know what they’re doing with surfboards. As long as it leaves Sydney in one piece, there won’t be a problem. And it’s insured.”
I didn’t think about getting extra insurance for his board.
“Was that very expensive? I can cover it.” I don’t want him to be out of pocket for doing me a favour. He already refused to let me pay for his visa.
“Nah, it’s all good, Sparky.”
We sail through passport control so we have plenty of time to spare for a drink in the business class lounge before heading to our gate.
Despite his decidedly un-business-like attire, the attendants at the desk flirt with Ant and virtually ignore me.
He returns serve, but also never removes his hand from the small of my back.
This is the first time we’ve been somewhere other than the hospital cafeteria or my parents’ place.
And honestly, he couldn’t be more solicitous if I were his actual girlfriend.
He shouldered my carry-on without question, guided me to a table in the lounge, went straight to the bar and ordered us a drink.
I’ve had real boyfriends who didn’t pay me this much attention.
Which is a sad observation about my love life to date.
Clinking his beer against my champagne glass, Ant makes a toast.
“To car park encounters, fake dating and destination weddings.”
I’m pleasantly surprised when I lift my glass and drink. It’s the good stuff. I take another gulp.
“I’m not sure how much time you’re going to get to go surfing while we’re there.” This champagne is going down far too easily.
“I’ll make the time, don’t worry. One of the best surfing spots in the world is just up the road from where we’re staying.
” He must see something in my expression because he leans over and kisses me on the temple.
Warmth spreads down my cheekbone. “And I won’t leave you hanging.
I’ll grab a surf at dawn and be back in time for whatever tortures, I mean festivities, Emily has planned for us. ”
That’s another thing I’m not used to. Someone who not only reads me accurately but is willing to adjust their wants and needs to fit in with mine.
Damn Mei and the ideas she’s put in my head.
I really, really need to keep the fake thing front and centre of my mind, along with all the reasons we aren’t suited. Because if I don’t, I’m in danger of doing or saying something that could end in tears.
As long-haul flights go, a business class trip to Hawaii is almost painless. Since it’s an overnight flight, the attendants convert our seats to beds shortly after dinner, and we settle down for what I’m hoping will be close to a full night’s sleep. Only it doesn’t work out that way.
I can’t sleep.
Even over the dull roar of the engines, I can hear Ant’s even breathing. Over the stale aroma of canned air, I can smell his warm sea breeze scent. If I stretch out my hand, I could touch the firm, bare skin of his arm. There’s not going to be any sleeping through that.
I toss and I turn. And toss some more.
Until I feel something brush my wrist.
Ant’s fingers slide across my palm, and he takes my hand in a warm, firm grip. Without a word, he’s stretched across the space between us to hold my hand.
And as though that hand is leading me into sleep, I drift off.
We touch down in Honolulu just as a pink and lavender dawn breaks over the island, and get straight on the short connecting flight to Maui with minutes to spare.
Maui Airport is open plan, and even though it’s still early, the air is hot and humid.
It’s also fragrant with frangipani and the distant smell of the sea.
Our bags bump down the conveyor belt, but Ant’s surfboard is carried out under the arm of a burly Hawaiian in the colourful shirt and shorts uniform of the airline.
“Thanks, man.” Ant takes the board.
“Couldn’t put this precious on a conveyor belt.” The guy winks. “The Hawaiian champion uses these.”
“So I hear.” Ant grins.
I’m about to ask what all that was about when Ant spots a guy carrying a sign with my name on it.
“That looks like it might be our ride.”
Before I know it, we’re climbing into the air-conditioned comfort of a big black four-wheel drive that will take us to our resort, which is about an hour up the coast from the airport.
I’ve never been to Hawaii before, and I’m glued to the window as we speed past an ocean the same blue as Ant’s eyes.
Past beaches peppered with black rocky outcrops and lined with swaying palm trees.
Thick vegetation is flowering everywhere.
Lush green, vibrant reds and pinks, yellows and whites. It’s a sensory feast.
By the time we turn in between two stacked stone pillars and glide down the short driveway that snakes through riotous gardens and emerald green grass, I’m feeling a little light-headed from the unaccustomed travel, but I’m already in love with Hawaii.
The car pulls to a stop under a massive circular portico with a colonnaded walkway, flanked on either side by ponds full of enormous orange koi and pristine white waterlilies.
“Welcome to Kapalua Bay.” A lei of purple orchids is placed around our necks by a woman with a wide, smiling face and a crown of flowers.
Our luggage is unloaded, and we’re shepherded along the path into an open-air atrium with a soaring wooden roof and a view across stepped gardens, pools and grass to the sea.
As arranged, we have a suite, and although it’s only one bedroom, it’s enormous and luxurious.
A full kitchen, complete with a granite benchtop, sits at the rear of the suite, leading to a six-seater glass dining table.
A beautifully furnished lounge room has doors standing open to a deep balcony overlooking the pools and the ocean beyond, allowing the frangipani- and ocean-scented breeze to flutter the sheer white curtains.
The bedroom also has doors to the balcony, along with a full-size ensuite bathroom and a walk-in robe the size of my guest bedroom at home.
There’s even a second bathroom on the other side of the apartment.
The porter deposits most of the luggage in the robe, although Ant takes his duffel and discreetly hands him a note. For the first time since I drove him home from dinner that night, we’re entirely alone.
“The balcony is huge!” I’m looking for something innocuous to say.
“The lanai,” Ant counters.
“Lanai?”
“That’s what it’s called in Hawaii. A lanai.” He stretches out on the sofa, which luckily is long enough to accommodate his height. “This is very nice. I’m guessing I’ll be sleeping here?”
If I were brave and bold and the right kind of woman, I might say hell no. You’ll be sleeping with me in that massive bed with a view of the sea. But that’s not who I am.
“I guess so,” I mutter instead.
“For now.” He grins, folding his hands behind his head and closing his eyes as though he hasn’t a care in the world. And I guess he doesn’t. “Do we have anything on the agenda for today, or are we free to do our own thing?”
It’s still only midmorning, Hawaii time.
“Sadly, we’ve arrived too late to join the trip the whole party took to the lavender farm. They won’t be back till late this afternoon.” Just in time for dinner at a local restaurant.
Ant sits up, another smile lighting up his face. “You mean we’ve got the whole day to ourselves? Get into that dressing room, woman. I want you out here in your swimmers in five minutes.”
“You don’t want a shower? Or a nap? Or something to eat?”
“We’ll be washing off the airplane stink and jet lag in the pristine waters of Kapalua Bay, Sparky. And afterwards, we can order room service and nap on the lanai. Chop, chop.” He leaps off the sofa, clapping his hands.
It’s impossible to resist him. With an attempt at an annoyed frown, to keep him on his toes, I close the bedroom door behind me.
I throw open my suitcase and change into one of the new bikinis Mei had delivered to the hospital this week, along with instructions to use them for good or evil, and a sarong.
I don’t miss the look he runs up and down my body when I come back into the living room to find him in fresh board shorts and a rashie, which clings to his chest and arms in ways I really don’t need to see. He hands me a mesh bag.
“What’s this?”
“A full-face snorkel mask and fins. There be turtles in that there bay.” He waves his arm towards the glittering sea. “And we might just be lucky enough to catch them. If not, it’s good practice for later.”
“There’s what?” My pitch rises in excitement.
“Turtles.” Ant opens his arms wide, indicating their likely size, I’m guessing.
I can’t keep my feet from doing a little happy dance. “Do you really think we’ll see one?”
Ant laughs. “Would I lie to you?”
I’m out the door before he’s even finished speaking.
The walk to the bay takes us through gardens lush with frangipani and hibiscus, past pools with cascading waterfalls, surrounded by sun lounges and beds with canopies and curtains, and across a swathe of thick grass, leading onto the sun-warmed sand.
The beach attendants give us towels and set up sunbeds for us at the quieter end of the small beach.
Ant stretches, drawing my attention to his body.
As though I need the encouragement. His shoulders are wide, his abs ridged, and his skin is firm and tanned, with the dusting of golden hairs on his arms catching the sun.
Self-consciously, I slip my sarong off my hips and fold it neatly on my sun lounge. When I look up, expecting some teasing quip, I find Ant’s eyes sliding from my shoulders to my feet and back again. He clears his throat before he speaks.
“We might need to do something with all that hair. Could you turn around?” I obey and lean into his big hands as they smooth across my scalp and start working on the length of my hair.
“What are you doing?”
“Plaiting it so it won’t get in your way. Do you have an elastic?”
I point to my beach bag, and Ant reaches inside one-handed, coming out with a thick black band.
“Where did you learn to plait hair?” I’m incredulous.
“Did you miss the part where I said I have a sister and three nieces? Plaiting hair is an essential skill for an uncle.” There’s pride in his voice as he finishes his task and runs his hand down the length of the plait. “There.”
On the surface, Ant is what I’d describe as a blokey bloke. He’s all outdoorsy and sporty and masculine. That he’d learn to plait hair for his nieces is adorable. And I shouldn’t be surprised. Because blokey bloke or not, there’s a deep vein of gooey running through him.