17. Aria
I woke before dawn, the way I had every morning since arriving.
But instead of slipping out to watch the sunrise, I stayed where I was.
Sebastian's arm was heavy across my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck.
I could feel his heartbeat, slow and steady, through the thin cotton of my shirt.
His shirt, actually. I'd stolen it three days ago and he hadn't asked for it back.
Today, Mr. Kahale would make his decision.
We hadn't talked about it. Not once, in all the hours we'd spent tangled together this past week. It was a silent agreement, unspoken but understood. Whoever he chose deserved the hotel. The other would accept it. We would be okay.
I turned carefully, trying not to wake him, and studied his face in the gray pre-dawn light.
He looked younger when he slept. The sharp lines softened, the tension in his jaw released.
His dark hair was a mess against the white pillow, and there was a crease on his cheek from the sheets.
I'd done this every morning since we'd started sharing a bed.
I watched him sleep. Memorized the details.
If he won, I would be okay with it.
The thought surprised me with its truth. A week ago, losing this hotel would have felt like losing a piece of myself. But now I knew him. Knew his heart, even if he still struggled to show it. Knew he would cherish this place the way it deserved to be cherished.
The hotel would be in good hands.
His arm tightened around my waist. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused for a moment, then found mine.
He smiled. Slow and sleepy and so unlike the Sebastian I'd known in New York that it made my chest ache.
"Didn't know you were such a creep," he murmured. "Watching me sleep."
I smacked his chest. "You're the one in my room. By definition, that makes you the creep."
He pulled me closer and kissed me. Soft. Unhurried. Like we had all the time in the world, like today wasn't the day everything might change.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. "Good morning."
"Good morning."
He held my gaze for a moment longer, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he rolled away, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing in one fluid motion.
Completely naked.
I yelped and threw a pillow at him. "Put something on!"
He caught the pillow without turning around, tossing it back onto the bed. "You've seen this plenty of times. Get used to it."
"I will never get used to you walking around like that."
"Your loss." But he pulled on his pants, then his shirt, buttoning it with practiced efficiency.
He turned back to me, fully dressed now, looking every inch the billionaire businessman he was.
The transformation was jarring. Soft Sebastian was gone, replaced by the man I'd met in that principal's office a lifetime ago.
"I should go get ready," he said. "For the meeting tonight."
I nodded. "Me, too."
He crossed back to the bed, leaned down, and kissed me again. Longer this time. His hand cupped my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone.
"See you later," he said against my lips.
"See you."
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, and I was alone with the growing daylight and the weight of what was coming.
I let myself have one moment. Just one. Lying there in sheets that smelled like him, wondering what our lives would look like after today. Would we still have this? Would the bubble survive the return to reality?
We'd figure it out in New York. That's what we'd said.
I pushed the thoughts away and got out of bed.
The morning disappeared into preparation.
I showered, dressed in comfortable clothes, and spread my notes across the desk.
Called Priya to go over the research she'd compiled.
Practiced my pitch until the words felt natural, until I could recite the numbers and projections and preservation plans without looking at my notes.
By noon, I was ready.
I changed into something more impressive. A cream silk blouse, tailored navy pants, gold earrings that had belonged to my grandmother. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw someone who belonged here. Someone who deserved this hotel.
The walk to Mr. Kahale's study felt longer than usual. My heels clicked against the tile, echoing in the quiet hallway. The photographs on the walls watched me pass, all those frozen moments of the hotel's history.
The door was open. I stepped inside.
Mr. Kahale sat behind his desk, hands folded, his dark eyes finding mine immediately. He looked tired today. Older than he had when I'd first arrived.
"Miss Kealoha." He gestured to one of the chairs across from him. "Please, sit."
"Thank you."
I sat. Smoothed my pants. Folded my hands in my lap.
Sebastian wasn't here yet.
"How are you finding your last day?" Mr. Kahale asked.
"Bittersweet," I admitted. "I'll miss this place."
"It has that effect on people." His eyes crinkled slightly. "It's had that effect on me for eighty-three years."
The door opened behind me.
I didn't turn, but I felt Sebastian enter. The shift in the air, the weight of his presence. He moved past my chair and sat in the one beside me, close enough that I could smell his cologne. Fresh. He must have showered again after leaving my room.
"Mr. Dubois." Mr. Kahale nodded. "Thank you for joining us."
"Of course."
I glanced at Sebastian. He was sitting straight, hands resting on the arms of his chair, his expression carefully neutral. He caught my eye and something flickered there. Nerves, maybe. Or anticipation.
I turned back to Mr. Kahale and started running through my pitch in my head. The history. The preservation plan. The numbers Priya had compiled, the projections for sustainable growth, the commitment to maintaining the cultural heritage that made this place—
"Thank you both for taking the time to experience my hotel."
Mr. Kahale's voice cut through my thoughts. I blinked, refocusing.
"I know you've both prepared extensively for this meeting," he continued. "But I won't be needing your pitches."
The words didn't register at first. I stared at him, certain I'd misheard.
"I've already come to a decision."
Silence.
I could hear my own breathing. The distant crash of waves outside the window. The creak of Sebastian shifting in his chair beside me.
Mr. Kahale closed his eyes. His weathered hands pressed flat against the desk. He looked like a man about to deliver news he didn't want to give.
"I've chosen Mr. Dubois."
Sebastian.
I let the word settle. Waited for the sting of disappointment, the sharp bite of loss.
It came, but softer than I'd expected. A dull ache rather than a knife wound. I'd meant what I'd thought this morning. The hotel would be in good hands. Sebastian would take care of it. And we would figure out the rest together.
I turned to him and smiled. "Congratulations."
He looked at me. Something strange passed across his face. Relief, maybe. Or gratitude. He reached for my hand, squeezed it briefly, then rose to his feet, held out his hand to Mr. Kahale.
"Thank you," he said to Mr. Kahale. "I promise you won't regret—"
"Why are you thanking me?"
The words were sharp. Cold. Nothing like the warm, weathered voice I'd come to know over the past two weeks.
Sebastian stopped mid-sentence. His hand, still extended in a gesture of gratitude, hung in the air.
"I'm sorry?"
"You didn't give me much of a choice, did you?"
The room went very still.
I looked at Mr. Kahale. His face had changed. The tired kindness was gone, replaced by something hard. Bitter. He was looking at Sebastian the way you'd look at something rotting.
"I don't understand," I heard myself say.
Mr. Kahale's eyes moved to me. And there it was. Pity. Clear and unmistakable.
My stomach dropped.
"I'm only doing this because I care about my hotel," he said quietly. "Otherwise, I wouldn’t respond kindly to threats."
Threats.
The word hung in the air.
I turned to Sebastian.
He hadn't moved. His hand was still half-raised, frozen in that gesture of thanks that now looked obscene. The color had drained from his face.
"What is he talking about?"
Sebastian's mouth opened. Closed.
"Sebastian." My voice sounded strange. Far away. "What is he talking about?"
Mr. Kahale pushed back from his desk and rose slowly, his joints protesting the movement. "The paperwork will be sent to your lawyers, Mr. Dubois. I trust you'll honor at least some of what you promised."
He walked past us. Past me. His footsteps were slow, heavy with age and something else. Defeat, maybe. Or disgust.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
I sat there.
The sunlight was streaming through the windows. Warm and golden, the way it always was in this room. Outside, I could hear birds singing. The distant murmur of the ocean. All the sounds of paradise, continuing on like nothing had happened.
Threats.
I turned the word over in my mind. I tried to make it fit with the man beside me. The man who'd held me last night. Who'd kissed me this morning. Who'd looked at me like I was something precious.
"Aria."
His voice cracked on my name.
I looked at him.
He was still standing. His hand had finally dropped to his side. He looked like someone had punched him in the stomach.
"What did you do?"
He didn't answer.
"Sebastian." I stood up. My legs felt unsteady. "What did you do?"
He started pacing. Three steps toward the window. Three steps back. His hand went to his hair, gripping, pulling.
"I went to him."
The words came out rough. Broken.
"When?"
"After the first dinner. The night we—" He stopped. Swallowed hard. "Before everything."
Before everything. Before the locked room. Before the beach. Before he'd told me about Caroline and I'd told him about Jonathan. Before I'd let him into my bed. My heart.
"What did you say to him?"
He turned to face me. His eyes were wild. Desperate in a way I'd never seen.
"I thought I was going to lose."
"That's not what I asked."
"I was sure of it. You had everything. The history, the connection, the—" He made a sound. Half laugh, half groan. "I panicked."