15. Aria
Four days left of the evaluation period. Four days left in Maui. Four days left of this suspended reality where the normal rules didn't seem to apply.
I'd stopped fighting it.
There was no point anymore. Sebastian had somehow wiggled his way through every wall I'd built, slipped past every defense, and replaced years of resentment with something I didn't want to name.
I was tired. Tired of pretending I didn't want him.
Tired of running. Tired of lying to myself about what was happening between us.
We weren't hiding it anymore. Not exactly.
We sat together at meals, our chairs close enough that our arms brushed when we reached for the bread.
We walked the grounds together, falling into step without discussing it, our fingers finding each other when we thought no one was looking.
We stood too close. Touched too often. Let Mr. Kahale see what he was going to see.
The old man watched us with shrewd eyes. I caught him studying us over dinner, his weathered face unreadable. I couldn't tell if he approved or not.
I'd stopped caring.
I cared about Sebastian. That was all that mattered right now.
Something was building between us. I could feel it every time he looked at me, every time his hand found the small of my back, every time he leaned close to murmur something only I could hear.
The tension had shifted from hostile to something else entirely.
Something that made my skin feel too tight and my blood run too hot.
I wanted to take it slow. I wanted to be smart about this.
I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold myself back.
Tonight, we were having dinner alone.
Leilani had arranged it. A private table on the beach, away from the restaurant, away from the other guests, away from Mr. Kahale's watchful gaze.
When I'd arrived, I'd found candles flickering in glass holders, a bottle of wine already breathing, white linen napkins folded into precise triangles.
The ocean murmured behind us, waves catching the last of the sunset.
Romantic. The kind of setting I would have mocked a month ago.
I didn't mock it now.
Sebastian was already seated when I arrived. He stood as I approached, pulling out my chair, and I caught the way his eyes traveled down my body. I wore a white dress tonight. Simple. Thin straps. The kind of thing that showed off my tan and moved when the breeze caught it.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Good.
He looked different in the candlelight. The sharp edges of his face softened by the flickering glow.
His gray eyes were warmer than I'd ever seen them.
He was wearing a white linen shirt, open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and pants the color of milky coffee.
His dark hair was still damp from his shower and slightly disheveled from the wind.
He looked like something out of a romance novel. The kind my mother used to hide in her nightstand, the kind I'd sneak into my room as a teenager and devour in secret.
He was looking at me like I was his destiny.
We ordered. Ate. Talked about nothing important—the food, the weather, a funny story Leilani had told him about a guest who'd gotten lost in the gardens. Easy conversation. Comfortable in a way that still surprised me.
The wine was good. I was on my second glass when I set down my fork and looked at him.
"Tell me something I don't know about you."
He raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"
"Anything. Something real." I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand. "Something you don't tell people."
He was quiet for a moment, turning his wine glass by the stem. The candles flickered between us, casting dancing shadows across the white tablecloth.
"I wanted to be a pianist."
I nearly choked on my wine. "What?"
"Don't look so surprised, Kealoha." A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "I enjoy music. I'm quite good, actually. Or I was."
"I'm sorry, I'm still—" I shook my head. "I can't imagine you as anything other than a businessman."
"I know." The smile faded. "But I was, once. I used to play for hours. Drove the household staff crazy. My mother encouraged it. She thought I had talent." He shrugged. "My father made it clear that wasn't an option. Dubois men run businesses. They don't play piano."
I watched his face as he said it. The careful blankness that settled over his features whenever he mentioned his father.
"Do you still play?"
"Sometimes. Late at night, when no one's around." He looked at me. "Your turn. Tell me something."
I hesitated.
There were things I'd never told anyone. Things I'd buried so deep I'd almost forgotten they existed. Could I trust him with them? Or would he file them away, use them against me someday when we were back in New York and this dream had ended?
I looked at his face. At the openness there, the vulnerability he'd just shown me.
I decided to take the leap.
"I almost got married once."
Sebastian's eyebrows rose.
"I was twenty-four. His name was Jonathan.
" I traced the rim of my wine glass, not quite meeting Sebastian's eyes.
"He was exactly the kind of man my parents wanted for me.
The right family, the right background, the right everything.
We'd been together for two years. The wedding was planned.
Three hundred guests. Cathedral ceremony. Reception at the Plaza."
"What happened?"
"I called it off. Three weeks before."
Silence. The waves rolled in, rolled out.
"I realized I didn't love him," I said. "I didn't even really like him.
I'd just convinced myself I should, because he fit the picture of what my life was supposed to look like.
The perfect husband for the perfect heiress.
Everyone was so pleased." I finally looked up. "Except me. I was suffocating."
Sebastian was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "And now?"
I shrugged. "Now I don't know what I want. I spent so long trying to fit into what everyone expected that I lost track of what actually mattered to me."
"I know what I want."
His voice was low. Direct.
"What?"
"You."
My heart stuttered. "What?"
"You," he repeated. His eyes dropped to my lips, then back up. His pupils had gone dark in the candlelight. "I want you, Aria."
I knew what he was thinking. God help me, I was thinking the exact same thing.
I had been thinking it for days. For longer than that, if I was honest. Since New York.
Since the first kiss. Maybe since before that, buried under all the anger and resentment, waiting for me to stop being too stubborn to see it.
The candles flickered between us. The ocean murmured its endless rhythm. The stars were coming out overhead, scattered like jewels across the darkening sky.
"Aria."
"Yes?"
He held my gaze. "I want you."
Simple. Direct. No games, no pretense, no hiding behind clever words.
I set my wine glass down. My hand was trembling slightly. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.
"Show me."
The words barely left my mouth before he was moving.
He threw bills on the table without counting them, took my hand, and pulled me to my feet. We left the candles still burning, the wine half-finished, the romantic setup abandoned as he led me away from the beach and toward the hotel.
We didn't speak. We didn't need to. His hand gripped mine, warm and certain, and I followed him through the gardens, past the pool, into the main building.
The lobby was quiet, a few guests scattered on sofas, the staff moving with their usual unhurried grace.
I caught an amused look from the woman at the front desk as we passed.
I didn't care.
The elevator doors slid shut. Sebastian's fingers laced through mine, and his thumb started doing this thing—this slow circle against my palm that made my stomach flip.
I stared at the numbers above the door. Three. Four. Five.
He was standing so close I could feel the heat coming off his body. Every time I breathed, my shoulder grazed his chest.
Six. Seven.
God, this elevator was slow.
Eight.
The doors opened.
My room was down at the end of the hall. I dug the key card out of my purse and tried to slide it through the reader, but my hands were shaking just enough that the light blinked red.
Sebastian stepped up behind me. I felt his breath on the back of my neck.
I tried again. The light turned green.
I pushed the door open and turned around, and that's when he kissed me.
His hands cupped my face and his mouth was on mine and I forgot about the door, forgot about everything except the taste of him and the way his fingers slid into my hair.
My shoulders hit the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of me. I gasped and he kissed me deeper, tilting my head back. I grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and pulled him against me because he still wasn't close enough.
His hands moved down to my waist, my hips, then lower. He caught the hem of my dress and pulled it up, the fabric bunching around my thighs. One hand pressed against my leg, his palm warm, his fingers spreading as they moved higher. Slow. Way too slow.
"Sebastian," I managed to say against his mouth. "I just… I want you. Now."
He made a sound low in his throat and his hands gripped my hips, pulling me harder against him. I could feel his hardness against my belly through our clothes.
Then we were moving and I don't even know how we got to the bed but suddenly his weight was on top of me and his mouth was on my neck and I was tearing at his shirt, trying to get it off.
When he finally pushed inside me, I gasped and dug my fingers into his shoulders. He moved and I moved with him and it was messy and desperate and perfect.
Afterward, we did it again. Slower this time. He took his time, his hands learning what made me gasp, what made my back arch off the bed, what made me say his name in a way I'd never said anyone's name before.
The third time was even slower. Lazy, almost. Like we had all the time in the world.
When we finally stopped, I was lying with my head on his chest, watching the moonlight stretch across the sheets. His fingers traced patterns on my shoulder. Neither of us said anything.
We didn't need to.
I listened to his heartbeat slow. His hand moved across my back, fingertips dragging up my spine, pausing at my shoulder blade, then sliding down over the curve of my hip and back up again. Like he was memorizing me.
I should probably say something. Break the silence. But every time I opened my mouth, nothing came out.
Finally, I managed, "That was..."
Nothing. I had absolutely nothing.
His chest moved under my cheek as he breathed out. "Yeah." His voice was rougher than usual, scraped raw. "It was."
I shifted, propping myself up on my elbow so I could see his face. The moonlight came through the window at an angle, cutting across the bed, turning everything silver and shadow.
He looked different like this. His hair was a mess. My fault; I'd had my hands in it. His mouth was softer, not pressed into that careful line he always wore. And his eyes... God, his eyes. They weren't guarded anymore. Weren't calculating or controlled or any of the things I'd gotten used to.
He just looked like a guy lying in bed after making love. Tired. Open. A little vulnerable, even.
My chest did something weird. Tightened and ached at the same time.
"What happens now?"
His hand stopped moving on my back. He looked at me for a long moment, and I watched something flicker across his face. Uncertainty, maybe. Fear, possibly. Then his jaw tightened and his arms pulled me closer against him.
"I don't know," he said. His thumb brushed along my spine. "But I'm not letting you go."
I leaned down and kissed him. Soft. Slow. Not like before, not hungry or frantic. Just my mouth on his, gentle and sure. A promise, maybe. Or a question. I wasn't entirely certain which.
His hand came up to cup my face, his thumb stroking my cheekbone. He kissed me back the same way, careful, like I was something precious he didn't want to break. When we finally pulled apart, I rested my forehead against his. Our breath mingled in the small space between us.
Tomorrow, we'd have to figure everything out. The competition. What this meant. All the very good reasons this was a terrible idea.
But tomorrow wasn't here yet.
Right now, his hand was warm on my face. His other arm was wrapped around my waist. I could feel his heartbeat against my ribs and his breath on my lips. I kissed him again. Just because I could. Just because he was here and I was here and nothing else seemed to matter.
He smiled against my mouth. I felt it more than I saw it. Then he rolled us over, settled his weight on top of me, and kissed me properly. Deeply. His hand slid into my hair and I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer.
We stayed like that for a while. Kissing slowly in the moonlight. His hands were wandering, mine doing the same. Learning each other all over again. Eventually, he slid inside me again, pushing me over the edge.
He was perfect.
This was perfect.