Finally, he clears his throat. “If that’s what you think, you haven’t been paying attention. Or I’ve done something terribly, terribly wrong.”
His eyes meet mine, and I’m shocked to see how glassy they are. As though tears are waiting to be shed. We stand as one and step around the table until we’re face to face. No obstacle between us, other than air that vibrates with anguish and fear and hope. He doesn’t touch me, but his body heat and the familiar smell of his aftershave weaken my knees.
“What”—my voice cracks and I take another gulp of water—“do you mean?”
“How can you not have understood that I’ve spent the last week—in fact, probably every moment since we met—trying to get you to fall in love with me?” His breathing is ragged, and there’s a tremor in his voice.
Every cell in my body liquifies.
“You …” is all I can manage to pull from the watery depths of a soul that’s on the verge of unfolding.
“I love you, Lilavati.” There’s no mistaking the conviction in his tone.
I need to know I heard him right. Didn’t imagine the words into existence.
“You what?” I bite my lip to stop it from trembling.
“You heard me. I love you. I’ve loved you since you dropped that stupid bio on the table in the café. And if you haven’t felt that, understood that, then I’ve really fucked up.”
How can he believe he fucked up? This is all on me.
“I …” My eyes are leaking without permission again. And my voice refuses to work.
“I don’t want this to be a holiday romance. I don’t want this to end when we go back to Sydney. I want this. I want you. I want us.” He attempts a smile, but it’s not his usual grin. It’s tentative and bittersweet and agonised.
I want to believe in this more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But all my life, I’ve been told, shown, that loving me is too hard. That I’m too hard. Too complicated. Too much.
“But I’m suchhard work.”
Ant huffs out a sad laugh.
“You’re not hard work. You’re strong. And smart. And complex. And those are just some of the things I love about you.”
My eyes travel his face, looking for the safety of honesty. Finding it.
“Do you believe me?” Such hope in his voice.
“Yes.” Such relief in mine. I believe him. Against all the odds, this wonderful man has fallen in love with me. And helped me find the courage to love him in return.
“Do you want this?” His heart is there. In his voice. In his eyes. There for me to reach out and take.
I can’t find my voice, so I nod. I expect him to reach out for me, but he’s not quite finished.
“Just so we’re clear, I wouldn’t partner with Warren if he were the last investor in the world. I’d rather go broke.” He brings one hand up and runs a finger along my jaw. “It honestly never occurred to me to tell you about looking for an investment partner. I was too busy trying to get you to fall in love with me.”
Strong arms circle me at last, pulling me into his chest, his big hand cradling my head, fingers fierce on my scalp.
“You waited too long,” I say against his shirt. Gathering my courage, I pull back to look him in the eye. “I’ve been in love with you, I think, since the first time we went snorkelling.”
The words—words that once seemed so dangerous—float off my tongue, sparkling in the air around us. Dancing like butterflies.
He releases me only long enough to slide both his hands into my hair and grip my skull, dislodging the pins holding my wedding do in place, and pulls my face to his, foreheads touching.
“Say that again,” he whispers against my lips.
“I love you,” I repeat, feeling lighter with each syllable. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Without letting go of me, without taking his lips from mine, he walks me backwards till we hit the wall. Something snaps, and now there’s nothing slow or gentle about it. We’re all grasping hands and biting teeth.
