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, wasdo 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.”
