Chapter Nineteen
Ant
This is the perfect opportunity to tell Lilavati that I haven’t been entirely honest.
It’s late, and between the lush foliage, the dimmed pool lights and the fact that only a couple of windows are lit up, it’s dark enough that I don’t expect we’ll be seen.
I lead Lilavati around the pools, over a little wooden bridge to a row of three four-poster double beds, complete with thick mattresses.
The curtains—I’m not sure if they’re for privacy or shade—have been tied back out of the way.
These beds would be a great spot for an afternoon of reading, drinking cocktails and napping.
If only our military-style schedule allowed.
Which gets me thinking.
I know we’re here for Emily’s wedding, but maybe I can convince Lilavati to wag some of the more painful events.
Like the pineapple farm. There are so many more exciting things to do on Maui.
It would be a shame to waste every minute of our trip doing things we’re not interested in with a bunch of people we don’t like.
I make a mental note to book a few things Lil might like.
It’s a risk. I could choose the wrong things, but based on Lil’s reaction to the snorkelling, I think I’ll get it mostly right.
And then there’s the chance that she won’t want to upset the family by not sticking to the agenda.
I think it’s best to go with the old ask forgiveness, not permission strategy in that regard.
Something tells me Lilavati won’t object too much.
Assuming she hasn’t thrown me out for lying to her once she finds out about my business interests.
We settle on the lounge, and Lilavati lets out a long, contented sigh. “This has been one of the best days ever. No. The absolute best.”
My heart kicks and my belly warms. To have given this woman a day she enjoyed that much is a fantastic feeling, although it’s becoming clear there’s not much competition.
“Lilavati—” I start. I’m going to tell her.
“How long—” Lil asks at the same time.
Coward that I am, I indicate she should go first.
“I was just wondering how long your sister has been living in Singapore,” Lil continues.
“About six years. Her youngest daughter was born there.”
“You must miss them. This afternoon, you said you learnt to plait hair for your nieces. Have you been able to visit them often?”
I pick up Lil’s hand and thread our fingers together.
“Yeah. We catch up a couple of times a year and take it in turns to have Christmas in Singapore or in Sydney, and last year at Mum and Dad’s farm in Tassie.”
“That sounds wonderful. I’d love to go to Singapore.”
I should be redirecting the conversation.
Telling her what I need to get off my chest, but this is a thread I’d been wondering about since Marion mentioned it at dinner.
It’s clear they’ve done a lot of travelling, but I’m getting the impression Lilavati has not.
Which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense in a regular family. I hope I’m wrong.
“I thought Marion said you’d been?”
“Mum and Warren have. Not me. They’ve always travelled on their own.” There’s a wistfulness in her tone.
“Always? Even when you were a kid?” I brace myself for the answer I suspect is coming.
“Well, I had school …”
My back teeth clench, and I have to take a moment before I ask, “How often did they leave you behind?”
“They usually took two or three trips a year. It was fine. When I was young, Grandie would come and stay, or I’d go to my Aunt Caroline’s.” Sheesh. That doesn’t sound like much of a consolation prize. An overseas trip versus bunking with Emily.
“Define young.” It comes out more as a growl than a sentence.
“Their honeymoon was the first time, I guess. I was five. It was hard at first, but once I was a teenager, I got to stay at home and the housekeeper kept an eye on me.”
The offhand way Lilavati talks about this, the acceptance in her tone, tells me in no uncertain terms how deeply she was hurt and has covered it up.
“So they never took you with them? Not even once?”
She doesn’t answer, other than a shake of her head.
She seems open to, well, opening up, and I’ve been curious since I met her parents. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” She turns on her side and props her head in her hand, gazing at me with those wide, dark chocolate eyes.
“Why do you put up with their shit? I mean, when we met, you didn’t strike me as the type to take crap from anyone. Yet the way you are with your family is … different.”
Lilavati sighs.
“A few years ago, I quietly took myself off to therapy. I say quietly because I couldn’t even tell Mum. Warren doesn’t believe in therapy. Very loudly. Anyone who goes to therapy is weak, according to him.”
I snort, unsurprised by this revelation. “My sister is a therapist,” I interject, turning onto my side and mirroring Lil’s position.
She smiles and continues. “Anyway, I now understand that sometimes I come across as, oh,”—she waves her free hand around as if searching for the word—“aggressive?” I nod. That’s pretty accurate.—“Because I felt powerless as a child.”
Which makes a lot of sense.
“And I’m guessing you don’t tell them to fuck off and mind their own business because the one who’d be upset is your mum?”
“Yep. I did stand up to Warren a couple of times when I was maybe twelve or thirteen. Prime age for girls to rebel, apparently. He didn’t respond well.
Mum was distraught, and he made it clear that if I kept it up, I’d be off to boarding school.
In retrospect, that might have been a good thing.
But at the time …” She breaks off with a deep sigh.
“Well, anyway. I learnt my lesson. These days, honestly, most of the time it’s easier to ignore it.
Things have just escalated because of this wedding.
It’ll settle down again once it’s over.”
“Fuck, Lil.” I shake my head. What a way to live your life. “Maybe it’s time to push back and claim your life.”
“Maybe …” Her eyes are dreamy, as though she’s picturing a different future for herself.
A future I can maybe help her with. Because this week, at least, she wouldn’t have to stand up all alone.
This conversation has galvanised me. The vague ideas I had earlier about organising some activities outside the mandated wedding crap are now taking shape.
I know I’m only a fake boyfriend—for now—but it’s clear nobody else is ever going to take care of Lil. So I’ll do whatever I can to make her feel special, valued and appreciated.
Which is how, after a couple of minutes of silence, I end up where I vowed I wouldn’t.
“I know we’re not supposed to, but I’d love to go for a swim,” she whispers.
“Like I said, they should’ve locked the gate.” I stand and hold my hand out to her.
“But I don’t have my swimmers on.” Like I haven’t been painfully aware all night that she isn’t even wearing a bra.
“Good. Me either. And everybody knows the rule for late-night dips is no swimmers allowed. Hence the term …”
She’s still sputtering quiet objections as I strip off every stitch of clothing. Her eyes are everywhere except on me as though she doesn’t know where to look.
“Someone could see you,” she hisses. But there’s no real objection to it. My blood is starting to heat.
“Only you can see me. Your turn.” I step quietly onto the first step of the pool, making not a single splash.
Lilavati opens her mouth as though she’s about to object. As though she thinks she should object. But I don’t think she wants to.
She hesitates. Then suddenly, her flirty little dress sails silently over her head. Her knickers slip down her slender legs. And she’s naked.
“Jesus, Lilavati.” I can’t continue because all thought has fled. But my body tells her what she needs to know. I want this. I want her.
All the reasons why I should wait, all the things I should say before we do this, are sea mist, floating away on the warm night breeze. There’s nothing but the desire flooding my veins. Desire for her, and the desire to make her feel wanted. Desire that’s reflected in her eyes.