12. Sebastian #2
The candlelight played across her cheekbones, casting soft shadows beneath her eyes. Her dress shifted when she moved, the gold fabric catching and releasing the light. She lifted her wine glass, took a sip, and when she set it down, a single drop clung to her lower lip.
She licked it away.
My mind flashed to another dinner, another glass of wine, another drop escaping the corner of her mouth. The taste of her on my finger. The way her eyes had gone dark when I'd brought it to my lips.
I reached for my own wine. Drank deeper than I should have.
This was harder than competing with her.
At least when we were fighting, I knew what to do with the energy.
The arguments gave it somewhere to go, burned it off in sharp words and sharper glances.
This enforced civility left me nowhere to put it.
The tension just built and built, pressure with no release valve.
By dessert, I was wound so tight I could barely breathe.
Mr. Kahale was telling a story about a hurricane that had hit the island in 1992, how the staff had banded together to protect the property, how they'd weathered three days without power and emerged stronger for it.
Aria hung on every word. Asked follow-up questions. Shared a story of her own about her father rebuilding after a disaster at one of his early properties.
They were connecting. Bonding over shared experiences, shared values, shared understanding of what it meant to build something that mattered.
I had nothing to contribute.
I watched the old man's face as he talked to Aria, the way his eyes softened, the way he leaned toward her, the way he smiled at her jokes and nodded at her observations. He liked her. More than liked her—he saw something in her, some quality that resonated with everything he cared about.
When he looked at me, his expression was polite. Professional.
He saw a businessman. A shark in a suit, circling his life's work, waiting for the chance to tear it apart.
I was going to lose this hotel. I knew deep in my bones that if I didn’t do something soon, Aria would walk away as the winner.
Dessert plates were cleared. Coffee was offered and accepted. Mr. Kahale pushed back his chair with a satisfied sigh.
"Thank you both for a lovely evening." He rose, and Aria moved to help him, though he waved her off with an impatient gesture. "These old bones need rest. I'll see you tomorrow."
Aria and I were left alone at the table.
She finished the last of her coffee, set the cup down, and stood, gathering her small clutch purse.
"Well," she said, her voice light, pleasant, utterly maddening. "That was a productive evening. Mr. Kahale seems quite taken with the hotel's history. The stories about his grandfather building the original structure were particularly moving."
She was gloating.
"Indeed," I managed.
"I suppose tomorrow will be more of the same." She smoothed her dress, that gold fabric shimmering over her curves. "Though I imagine it must be difficult, trying to connect with something you've never experienced. Family legacy, cultural roots, that sort of thing."
Her eyes met mine, and behind the pleasant smile, I saw the truth. She knew she was winning. She knew I was floundering. And she was enjoying every second of it.
"Goodnight, Sebastian."
She walked away, her heels clicking against the stone floor, her hips swaying with each step.
I sat alone at the table, surrounded by empty chairs and guttering candles, and made a decision.
I found Mr. Kahale in the lobby, saying goodnight to a staff member. Leilani had already disappeared, and the old man was alone, leaning slightly on a carved wooden cane I hadn't noticed before.
He looked up at my approach, surprise flickering across his weathered features.
"Mr. Dubois. I thought you'd retired for the evening."
"I wanted to speak with you. Privately."
He studied me for a long moment, those dark eyes sharp despite his age. Then he nodded slowly.
"Walk with me."
We moved out onto the terrace overlooking the ocean. Mr. Kahale stopped at the railing, gazing out at the darkness.
"You have something to say," he said. "So say it."
"I want to make you an offer."
"I told you, I'm not interested in…"
"Whatever my father offered you twenty years ago," I cut in, "I'll double it."
Silence.
Mr. Kahale turned to look at me, his expression unreadable.
"This isn't about money, Mr. Dubois."
"Everything is about money."
"Is it?" He tilted his head, studying me like I was a specimen under glass. "Is that truly what you believe?"
“It doesn’t matter what I believe," I continued. "I can modernize without destroying. I can bring resources that will keep this hotel running for another four generations while honoring what you've built."
"And if I still refuse?"
The words came out before I could stop them.
"Then I'll go directly to your brother."
Mr. Kahale went very still.
"I'll offer him a sum of money he can't refuse," I said, the plan crystallizing as I spoke.
"I'll buy the restaurant out from under you.
And then I'll turn it into exactly what you're afraid of—clubs, loud music, none of the tradition.
A modern disaster that will drive away the guests who come here for peace and culture and authenticity. "
The old man's face had gone pale in the moonlight.
"Kai would never sell."
"Everyone has a price." I straightened my shoulders. "I’m sure your brother would be more than willing to take my offer. He must be bitter about the hotel going to you, no? And all he got was a measly restaurant.” Mr. Kahala remained eerily silent.
“I’ll offer him enough money to open his own place somewhere else, free from your shadow, and see how quickly his principles crumble. "
Mr Kahala just watched me. He still didn’t speak.
"I want an answer by the end of these two weeks," I said. "Think about it."
I turned to leave.
"Mr. Dubois."
I stopped, but didn't turn around.
"I was wrong earlier, when I said the sins of the fathers need not be visited upon the children."
I waited.
"I should judge you for the sins of your father. Because you are exactly like him."