“Oh, look!” I said, digging deeper into the cooler. “He gave us fresh fruit too! Watermelon, pineapple, coconut—passion fruit!”
Brando laughed so hard that the walls seemed to vibrate from its deep bass.
“Whatis the matter with you?” I said, smiling despite my tone. I took out a spoon and scooped up some pie. At this point, my stomach swelled, but there was no shame. I’d waddle out of here if it meant more of Agwe’s food.
Once my husband settled, he wiped his eyes and put out a hand, requesting a spoon of his own. I scooted the pie closer to me and he started up again.
“I only want a bite.” He opened up and I fed him off of my spoon. “And how you’re acting is—what’s the matter with me.” He copied my tone. He swallowed the bite, opening for another. I decided to be generous and give him another spoonful before I cut him off. It was the best pie I’d ever tasted.
“You are so—” he grinned so wide that it should’ve been considered a smile “—feisty. And nuts.” He added as an afterthought.
“Me?”
“Can I at least have some fruit, my queen?”
I pushed it over to him. An equal exchange for the key lime, I thought, though he didn’t seem to think so.
“Who else?” He pointed a piece of passion fruit at me. “Captain O’Malley said this place is sacred. It has the power to make you fall in love. So if I had it in mind to bring you to Fiji to break the news that I wanted a divorce, I should stay away from the falls.”
“Ha!” I said, mocking. “Too late for you then,sucker.” All right, I’d give him nuts.
“It’s long past the point of too late for me.”
“What does Captain O’Malley do?” I asked, taking a nice drink.
“He’s a treasure hunter.”
“Those people who search for long-buried treasure that may or may not be there?”
“Yeah.” He stuck a square of watermelon in his mouth and chewed for a minute. “He’s exceptional at it. He had some money to start with, to get his ventures started. Just recently he hit gold. Literally. He found Spanish gold that had been lost in 1715. Worth almost two billion, when you counted the silver, emeralds, and pearls that were also on board. It was one of eleven treasure-filled ships that were lost somewhere along the Florida coast during a hurricane.
“His story doesn’t start there, though. He told me that when he first started hunting, he found gold that equaled to around three hundred thousand dollars. And he pissed it all away, lost everything. A week later, he was out searching and came across diamonds, pearls, and rare gems. He was over a million in the good afterward. He’s got the luck o’ the Irish.”
“Funny,” I muttered. “That’s what he said about you. Well, all but the luck o’ the Irish part.”
Brando shrugged. “I doubt we’d starve if I went broke. It’s not diamonds or pearls, but fish like to bite my line.”
I held my closed fist up, he held his, and we met, the clank of our rings a beautiful sound. His eyes sobered some and he settled, his chest rising and falling in a relaxed pace. He watched me, and although him gazing at me while I ate should’ve unnerved me, I kept on. I offered him another bite, but he shook his head. “You eat.”
He dug in my bag, coming up with a bottle of coconut oil a minute later. He sat behind me. My hair was still wet from our bath in the pool beneath the falls, and it clung to my skin. He set it across one shoulder so he could have access to my back. “You’re still too skinny,” he said, running a strong finger along my pronounced bones, bumping as it made its way down.
“I’m working on it, I assure you,” I said, taking another scoop of pie.
I sensed his grin. Then his hands started to work magic on my back, the fragrant oil dancing with the fresh smell of clean water.
“Your skin is so beautiful,” he whispered. “Like translucent wings—the ones you can see straight through when the light hits them just right. That’s what your skin reminds me of.”
I pushed the pie to the side. My head fell forward, giving in to his kneading. Then he started to explore—over my shoulders, down my arms, his lips on the skin he had yet to touch. He urged me to turn and face him. He spread the oil down my neck, along my collarbone, around my—
“Your breasts are perfect,” he said. “Shaped like teardrops.” He weighed them in his hands, admiring the shape with his eyes, until his mouth came forward, still cool from the watermelon, covering my nipple.
I moaned in response to his tongue and directed his head to my other breast. “I can feel this place,” I said, eyes closed, my breath short. “It makes you fall in love—”
“If you already are—” he began, but I pulled him down, silencing him.
“—you fall even harder,” I said, finishing his thought.
He made love to me behind the waterfalls. Gentle, but as passionate as the rush of water behind us. Afterward, he rested on the towel, eyes closed, arms behind his head. White strokes of sunlight penetrated the thick ribbon of water, their effects like candlelight in a dim room once through. The world seemed to coruscate.
