Chapter Twenty-Six
Lilavati
Ihaven’t ridden a horse since Mum and Warren caved in to my begging and sent me to Pony Camp when I was twelve.
Which they only did because it coincided with a trip to Hong Kong they wanted to make, and it got me out of the way.
Evidence, I was never allowed to go again.
My clothes smelt of horse when I returned.
Ant has taken care of everything. Not only do we have a car to take us to the ranch, but when we arrive, I discover he’s organised a private tour. Just us and a guide.
A riding helmet is settled on my head, boots in my size are found, and I’m boosted onto a gorgeous caramel horse with a cream mane and tail.
We set off through some of the most spectacular countryside I’ve ever seen.
Magnificent jungles, crashing waterfalls, hills with sweeping views of rocky beaches and glittering water.
The scent of damp earth, lush tropical flowers and sun-warmed horse rides the ocean breeze.
A combination I wish I could bottle and take home with me.
The guide makes himself scarce when we stop for lunch at a picnic spot that’s been set up at a breathtaking lookout.
There’s champagne on ice, lobster tails and a fresh fruit platter, all arranged on a blanket complete with pillows and an umbrella to protect us from the midday sun. Nothing has been forgotten.
“So, you still haven’t told me what you and Grandie talked about last night.” I pop a piece of the sweetest pineapple I’ve ever tasted into my mouth. I’m getting a bit addicted to this fruit.
“I’m afraid that’s between me and Grandie.” Ant runs a finger over my chin to catch the dripping juice, causing me palpitations by licking it clean before continuing. “Suffice to say, we reached a mutual understanding.”
“Hmm. And suddenly you’re calling her Grandie?”
“She asked me to.”
When I shoot him a sceptical look, he shrugs. “What can I say? I’m charming and I charmed her.”
There’s more to this than he’s saying, but for the first time in years, I’m too relaxed to argue, or to call him out on it. “Alright. Keep your secrets. As long as she didn’t say anything offensive.”
I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her.
“Nothing offensive at all. In fact, she was lovely. We got along great.”
Now I know he’s lying. Nobody has ever accused my grandmother of being lovely. But again, relaxed.
Ant lies back and, ignoring the available cushions, I prop my head on his chest as he wraps an arm around me and we lapse into comfortable silence.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Ant says just as I’m about to doze off. “I got something for you.”
He digs around in his pocket and pulls out a fat, green, plaster of Paris turtle fridge magnet with ‘Kapalua Bay’ in cursive around the bottom of the shell.
I recognise it as one they sell in the resort gift shop.
It somehow manages to be very ugly and beautiful at the same time.
And it’s the perfect memento of our time in Hawaii.
“A fridge magnet?” I’m touched.
“I noticed you didn’t have any. That’s not normal, Sparky.”
He’s right. I don’t have any fridge magnets. Warren doesn’t believe a fridge should be cluttered with ‘trash’ as he calls it. Including pictures drawn by children. And I’ve never thought to buy one for my own fridge. I duck my head and blink away the tears that have flooded my eyes.
“Thank you for rectifying that for me,” I whisper.
“The first in a large collection, hopefully. Anyway, this trip to the pineapple farm tomorrow,” he redirects as though he knows I’m in danger of breaking down over a silly fridge magnet.
I groan. “On a scale of one to ten, how much do you want to go?” He sifts his fingers through my hair and spreads it out across his chest and belly, lightly massaging where it’s been flattened by the riding helmet.
“I don’t think that’s a scale I can work with. If it was, say, negative one hundred to ten, I could give you an estimate.”
Ant’s chest shakes. “What if the scale was root canal to fucking on this blanket right now?”
“Root canal. Twice.” I shoot back. “But we’re not having sex on this blanket. The guide is probably ten feet away. He’ll hear us even if he doesn’t see us.”
“Meh. Not sure I care, but whatever.” Long fingers work their way under my T-shirt and stroke the skin of my belly, raising goosebumps, as if to prove his point. The way he touches me is delicious, even when it’s not about sex. Or maybe it’s always about sex. Either way, I love it.
I nudge his leg with my foot. “If we don’t go on the pineapple farm tour, we’ll get into terrible trouble.”
“Will we get detention? Because I could work with that. Twenty-four hours alone with you in our room. As long as we could use the lanai.”
“What is it with you and outdoor sex?”
“Have you ever done it?” Ant twists to peer down at me.
“No,” I hiss. Although I’m not sure whether it’s a scandalised hiss or a disappointed hiss. Both, maybe.
“We’ll have to take care of that, then.” Oh, the promises he makes. Warmth trickles through me, settling low in my belly.
“The pineapple farm?” We’ve strayed a little from our original topic.
Ant misinterprets my question. Deliberately, I suspect. “Christ, no. Those things are spiky.”
I give him another shove. “No, I mean we were talking about the pineapple farm.”
“Oh, right. Yes. I was thinking, rather than a farming lesson, you might enjoy a snorkelling trip to Molokini Crater. Or we could do the waterfalls at Hana. Or sunrise at the volcano. Or a helicopter ride. Whatever you wish.”
If I told him my wish, my honest wish, I wonder what he’d say.
When Ant and I are together, it feels right.
Perfect even. But we agreed this is a holiday fling.
We have fun. We flirt. The chemistry is nuclear.
There’s plenty of fizz, but what about long-term compatibility?
None of that is the basis for a lasting relationship.
There’s no way we’d work in the real world.
There’s an enormous difference between being physically attracted to someone and wanting more. Wanting a relationship.
Fake. Fizz. Flirt. Fuck. Fling. Future.
All that said, Ant sees me. The parts of me most people have no idea exist. And that’s not nothing.
So what if he isn’t ambitious? He has a job.
He works hard. Who the hell am I to say he should be chasing a dream.
Working towards big goals. Maybe knowing who you really are and being happy are big enough goals?
“Lil?” Ant puts a finger under my chin and looks into my eyes.
“I don’t know. Let me think about it,” I answer. But what very nearly came out, despite all the obstacles and reasons it’s a bad idea, was do you think there’s any way we could make a relationship work?
“This is not like you, Lili,” Mum hisses, steering me away from the people gathered in the bar for cocktails before dinner at the resort restaurant, into a corner where Warren is lying in wait.
It’s funny, when most parents are angry with their children, the full name comes out.
A Kate becomes Katherine. Ant probably becomes Antony.
Not with me. I can’t remember the last time my mother called me Lilavati.
I hadn’t thought about it before, but it makes me a little sad.
The name she chose for me, for whatever reason, has been lost. And it’s taken Ant calling me Lilavati for me to appreciate it.
“What’s not like me?” I ask, watching Ant talking and laughing with my grandmother at the bar while he waits for our drinks. I know full well what she means, though.
“Sneaking off when you should be spending time with the family. Caroline and Ross have gone to a lot of trouble, not to mention expense, to organise a wonderful week of activities for us all to enjoy, and it’s disrespectful of you not to attend,” Warren snaps.
“Lilavati has taken holiday time from a demanding and important job to be here. Surely, she’s entitled to spend a couple of days relaxing and pleasing herself?
” A glass of champagne appears over my shoulder.
I hadn’t even realised Ant was there. Behind me.
Supporting me. Turns out knees really do go weak.
Warren gives Ant a dirty look. Mum looks like she wants to disappear.
“We were having a private conversation with our daughter.”
“Then perhaps it should be had in private, rather than here where everyone can hear you scolding her like a naughty child.” While it’s said quietly, and in a polite tone, it’s the most confrontational thing I’ve ever heard Ant say.
My heart swells at the way he’s standing solidly in my corner.
Supporting me when he knows I find it difficult.
“How dare you speak to me like that?” Warren hisses.
“And how dare you ambush a grown woman and try to guilt her into playing nice with a cousin who doesn’t appear to give two shits about her and hasn’t even seen fit to include her in the bridal party.”
Mum looks scandalised, and if Warren’s head doesn’t explode it will be a miracle.
“He’s quite right, Warren.” Grandie appears beside me.
“Emily hasn’t been the least bit bothered by Lili’s absence.
And since this is her holiday, she should be able to spend it as she wants.
” It’s my turn for a head explosion. I really need to find out what Ant and Grandie discussed because that was entirely from left field.
Warren sputters, shocked at this unexpected stance from Grandie.
“I hear you’re going snorkelling in a crater tomorrow.” My grandmother turns to me. “How exciting. I wish I’d been able to come to Maui when I was young and in love.”
“Love?” Warren barks as though the very idea is ridiculous. “You’re deluded.”
And away he stalks, with my mother trailing miserably in his wake.