Chapter 14

Amelia

The scent of the ocean mingles with the sweet, heavy aroma of plumeria as I step onto the luau grounds, a lei of yellow and white blooms draped over my shoulders. The soft petals brush against my skin, a contrast to the day's lingering heat. Someone hands me a mai tai, the glass cool and slick in my hand, condensation beading along its curved edge.

Across the giant table, festooned with tropical flowers and twinkling tiki torches, Rhonda and Spencer smile warmly at us. Their love for each other and for Cordelia and Kent is obvious. I understand why Kent says they were the ones to show him what true love really is.

William rises, his suit somehow not wilted under the island sun, and captures everyone's attention. "I want to thank each and every one of you for joining us on this magical island," he begins. "Especially those who've flown great distances." His gaze finds Cordelia, and it's as if the two are alone in their own private world. "Cordelia, you are the love of my life, my soulmate. We both are so grateful to you for helping us mark this momentous occasion."

Applause ripples through the gathering like a gentle wave as William concludes. Cordelia stands, her posture elegant, embodying the grace she's known for. "Thank you, everyone," she says. "Your presence here means the world to us."

She blows a kiss at William.

"It's unfortunate that my mother couldn't make the trip. We debated getting married in London, but the sun called to us. She's here in spirit. And my father is here. Thank you from the bottom of our heart for introducing us and for being here today," she tells him. Then she turns toward Rhonda and Spencer, her face softening. "These two—they've been here for everything. You're both a part of our family's fabric, and we're so thrilled you made the journey all the way from England to be here. I can only hope that William and I have half the incredible relationship you do," she adds, prompting a few chuckles and knowing glances around the table.

"Kent," she says, directing her gaze to her brother. "You've always been there for me. My rock, my confidant."

Kent dips his head modestly, but his eyes are lit with pride.

"You're my protector and my lifelong friend. You've seen me at my best and my worst, and you've always offered unwavering support and love. You've taught me the meaning of loyalty and the strength of family bonds. I can't imagine going through life's big moments without you by my side. Thank you for always being my anchor." She raises her glass in toast.

I raise my glass as well, then sip the mai tai, its sweetness dancing across my tongue while my mind drifts to Kent—his casual flirts throughout the day, his hand occasionally brushing mine. Clearly, he's a good guy, but it's nothing serious, I remind myself. Just a weekend escape. Still, there remains a hint of desire that refuses to be extinguished by mere reason. It's going to be a long, treacherous weekend in that regard.

As William and Cordelia retake their seats, the scent of roasted pork wafts through the balmy air, mingling with the salty tang of the ocean breeze. Servers glide between tables, setting down platters of vibrant Hawaiian fare. I pick up a piece of the Kalua pork, its crispy exterior giving way to tender, smoky meat that practically melts on my tongue. "Oh, this is divine," I murmur.

Kent chuckles beside me, his plate a colorful array of local delicacies. He's less impressed with the poi, though, and after one taste, he sticks out his tongue like a petulant child. "Tastes like wallpaper paste," he grumbles, and I have to agree—the purple paste is bland and strangely textured.

"Stick to the pig, then," I advise.

Across from us, Rhonda catches my eye, her warm gaze comforting. "Rhonda," I start, leaning forward, "how did you come to work for the Johns?"

She sets down her utensils, a hint of nostalgia softening her features. "My mother was governess to Jane, Kent and Cordelia's mother. Jane and I grew up together. We've been close our whole lives," she explains. "Spencer and I were just married, and Jane needed help when she went back to work, so she asked if we could step in."

"Wasn't it hard?" I ask, imagining the weight of such responsibility. "Starting a job like that newly married?"

"Jane encouraged me," she replies, her smile unfaltering. "She understood the importance of family—both hers and mine."

I have to admire the depth of their bond, one that has clearly weathered many years and changes. "And you and Spencer," I continue. "You have such an extraordinary marriage. What's your secret?"

Her eyes twinkle. "We talk often, never go to bed angry, and we always try to keep things fresh." Her emphasis on fresh doesn't escape Kent's ears.

He groans, feigning shock. "Please, spare me the details."

"Come on, Kent," I tease. "As a doctor—and quite the ladies' man—I'd think you'd be all for healthy relationship advice."

Kent's cheeks tint pink, but there's no real embarrassment behind it. Just the flush of someone who's been caught. He waves me off with mock indignation, but I catch the smirk he tries to hide behind his napkin.

The orange glow of the setting sun casts a warm hue over the luau, and the rhythmic beat of drums mixes with the laughter of revelers. Kent and I are halfway through our mai tais when a couple approaches our table, their hands intertwined.

Kent stands to hug the woman and shake hands with the man before turning and introducing us. "Amelia, this is Griffin Martin and his fiancée, Tori Marston. They work with me at Mercy Hospital."

"Nice to meet you both," I say, offering a smile as they sit down with us.

"Griffin is a surgeon, and his older brother, Davis, is a pediatric cardiologist," Kent continues. "Tori used to be in the emergency department, but now, she's working alongside Davis as a surgical nurse."

"Wow, that must be quite the change," I remark.

Tori nods with a bright, engaging smile. "I love it," she says.

"So, are you two taking notes for your own wedding?" I ask.

Tori laughs. "Oh, we should be. Right now, we're all over the place with ideas—beach, church, destination… It's hard to decide." Her hand flutters to her chest, where a delicate necklace rests just above her heart.

Kent and Griffin are deep in conversation about snorkeling and hiking on the Big Island, their voices growing more animated with each shared adventure. I lean back, watching fire dancers take the stage, their movements a mesmerizing mix of flames and shadows.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Tori studying me, a thoughtful expression on her face. "How serious are you about Kent?" she asks quietly, almost cautiously.

I pause. "We're having a great time together," I admit, watching Kent laugh at something Griffin has said. "But I don't think we're long-term material."

The words hang between us, mingled with the sounds of the luau, as honest as they are unexpected. But I suspect they are the truth, and what Kent and I have is as fleeting as the sunset staining the sky.

Tori, however, seems surprised. "Really? You're not seeing a future with Kent?" she whispers. "He's such a catch."

I nod, unable to refute her words. "He is," I agree. "But you know, he's had a string of women, always seems to be looking for a new experience to chase. He's not the settling-down type. And I have a very busy career."

She nods. "What do you do?"

"I work in advertising."

"That must be so glamorous."

I laugh. "You know what they say, when you see how the sausage is made, you'll never want to eat it again."

"Do you work with any companies I would know?"

"I actually work on the Mercy Hospital account."

"They have an ad agency?"

I nod. "I know. Sounds ridiculous, but it's all about getting the best doctors, great nurses, and truly phenomenal care."

"Is that how you met Kent?"

"No." I tell her about my bike accident, leaving out the grocery store incident. "How did you and Griffin meet?" I ask.

"We worked together, the tried-and-true way to meet your future spouse."

"Oh yes, that's right. But you don't anymore?"

"Nope. Not allowed by the head of the emergency department. She doesn't like the complication."

"Sounds like it all worked out then."

She looks over at Griffin and gets all starry eyed—just like Cordelia and William. It's good to see them in love, but it's hard to see the future. Statistically one of them is going to divorce. It's hard for me to see why you'd get married if you're just going to break up.

"But you and Kent seem so good together," she persists after a moment.

"Maybe for now," I say, shrugging, though there's a tug at something deeper within me. "We're both career-driven, you know? I'm dedicated to my work in advertising, and Kent lives for practicing medicine. We're just…having fun while it lasts."

"Fun," Tori echoes, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Exactly," I say, forcing brightness into my tone, pushing away any bittersweet feelings that threaten to surface. I raise my glass to her in toast. "To fun, while it lasts."

"That was Griffin before we met," Tori confides. "Different women all the time. I think he dated half the nurses at the hospital and snapped at the ones he didn't." She shakes her head. "But I wasn't about to put up with that, and he bent over backwards for me and also helped my older brother. Now, we're getting married."

Before I can respond, the guys pull us into their conversation. Tori and Griffin have been here a few days, and soon, they're telling us what we have to look forward to with our helicopter tour and exploring Kilauea.

As the evening unfolds, I savor every bite, every word, every look from Kent. This weekend might be fleeting, but for now, I'm fully immersed in the joy of the luau, the company, and the excitement of what lies ahead. When we've finished eating, I lean back, my belly full, letting the sounds of ukuleles and laughter wash over me like warm rain.

"Look at them move," I murmur to Kent, nodding toward the Hawaiian dance troupe taking center stage. Their hips sway, telling stories older than words, and it's utterly mesmerizing.

"Amelia, you should try it!" he teases, his voice tickling my ear in a way that sends shivers down my spine.

"Maybe after another mai tai—or three," I retort with a laugh that doesn't quite mask the flutter in my chest.

A man with tattoos like history across his skin ignites the night with his fire-eating display. I can almost taste the heat, feel it licking my face as he dances with danger, drawing gasps from the crowd. The flames reflect in Kent's eyes, and there's a wildness there that matches the performer's.

I'm still caught in the glow when I notice a climber scaling a palm tree with the agility of a monkey. "Kent, look!" I breathe, pointing. He follows my gaze just as two coconuts plummet into waiting hands below. In a swift move, the catcher uses a machete to cut the tops off, adds a straw, and presents them to us.

"These are for us?" Kent asks.

"Guess we're part of the show now." I accept the coconut with a smile.

We sip the sweet milk, laughing softly as the evening crescendos with a Don Ho impersonator crooning love songs. Couples drift onto the dance floor, swaying beneath the stars. Kent's hand finds mine, our fingers linking. The music beckons, but he leans close, his breath hot against my cheek. "Let's skip the dancing. I want you alone," he whispers, and my heart stumbles over itself.

"Is that so?" I manage to say, my voice steadier than I feel.

"Very much so," he confirms with a grin.

We make our excuses and leave the festivities behind, heading to the elevator. As we wait, Kent's gaze holds mine captive, and I'm suddenly acutely aware of every inch of space between us. Then, without warning, he bridges that gap, his lips claiming mine in a kiss that curls my toes and sets my entire body alight. It's a kiss meant for privacy, not for the semi-public corridor of a hotel.

"Kent," I breathe when we finally break apart, "remember, this is just a weekend."

"Doesn't mean we can't make the most of it," he replies, his voice low and seductive.

His words echo in my mind as we enter our room. The door closes with a soft click, sealing us away from the world. He approaches me, his movements deliberate, eyes locked on mine. I stand still as he undresses me, his hands worshiping my body with a reverence that steals my breath. It's all new to me, this attention from a man, this care taken to please me, not just himself.

"Beautiful," Kent murmurs, the sincerity in his voice like velvet.

I feel a warmth spread through me at his words, awakening me within.

As he leans in to kiss me, I close my eyes, savoring the sensation of his lips on mine.

His hand reaches for my bare breast, tracing its warm contour. Our bodies press against each other, and I can feel his desire. He nuzzles his way down my neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses and warm breaths that send shivers down my spine.

Every nerve is on fire with desire.

Kent gently pushes me back onto the bed, his eyes never leaving mine. His lips travel down my chest, leaving a trail of kisses that sends tiny pinpricks of fire coursing through my veins. I can feel myself growing wetter with each kiss, my body responding to his touch.

He looks up at me, and I see the hunger in his gaze. I reach down, guiding his hand towards my core, knowing that I want him even more than he wants me.

He strokes the delicate folds of my desire, savoring each sensation as if it is a rare delicacy. I arch my back slightly, inviting him to delve deeper, to explore every inch of me.

His fingers slip inside, provoking a whimper from me as he finds my center. He pistons in and out, his rhythm methodical as he worships me. I fall into his rhythm, lifting my hips to meet his touch, my breathing becoming more ragged with each thrust.

"Oh, yes," I whimper, "please, harder."

His pace quickens, his fingers twisting and stroking, as if he"s creating a masterpiece with his touch. My body tightens, the tension building within me, ready to burst.

Kent leans in closer, his breath hot against my skin. "Do you want more?" he asks, his voice low and gravelly.

"Yes, yes, please," I cry out, unable to control the urgency in my voice.

He withdraws his fingers, leaving me feeling hollow and aching for more. I watch as he positions himself between my legs, his eyes never leaving mine as he rolls a condom on and slowly enters me.

I moan in ecstasy as he hits a spot deep inside me, sending waves of pleasure radiating out from my core. He leans down, his lips capturing mine in a fervent kiss, his tongue probing my mouth in time with his thrusts. Our bodies are now one, moving in perfect sync, lost in the heated intensity of the moment.

Our eyes lock, and I see the raw desire and longing in his gaze. I reach up, clawing at his back, urging him to go deeper, to take me higher. He obeys, his thrusts becoming more erratic, the pace picking up with each passing second.

My release building, the tension coiling inside me like a spring ready to snap. I cry out his name, my body trembling as I climax, waves of pleasure crashing over me like a tidal wave. His Name. Kent. Kent. Kent.

Kent"s own release is evident on his face, his lips parted, his breath ragged. He thrusts one last time, groaning my name as he falls over the edge. We lay there, our bodies still joined, our hearts racing, our minds spinning from the intensity of the experience.

Slowly, we disentangle ourselves, lifting off each other"s bodies and collapsing onto the bed beside one another. We lay here, trying to catch our breath.

Spent and sated, I know I've never had anything better than this, and for a fleeting second, I wish this weekend could last forever. Kent's heartbeat is a steady thrum in my ear, a soothing counterpoint to the distant sound of waves that lull us in the aftermath. Our limbs are entwined, a tangle of satisfaction and warmth, and his fingers trace lazy circles on my back.

"Sometimes," he murmurs, voice thick, "I feel like I don't really know her—my mother, I mean." His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, and the confession hangs between us.

"Because of her job?" I venture quietly, understanding the yearning for something more from a parent.

"Yeah." He sighs, and there's a weight to it, the echo of the child who grew up craving attention. "She loves the prestige, the politics, but she was never really there, you know? Not like Rhonda and Spencer. They were my constants."

His admission cocoons us in intimacy, knitting our experiences together with threads of shared neglect, at least from my perspective. I haven't shared my background with him. "It sounds like they more than filled that void," I offer, and my hand finds his, fingers intertwining in solidarity.

"Definitely," he agrees. "They're wonderful."

The silence beckons me to reciprocate, to peel back my own layers. "After my dad's death, my mom sort of…unraveled," I tell him. "He was her rock, and losing him broke something inside her."

"Amelia," he whispers, a soft exhalation of empathy, and pulls me closer.

"Taking care of her became my job," I confess. The telling doesn't lighten the burden, but sharing it with Kent feels like stitching a patch onto a well-worn quilt, necessary and strengthening.

"Thank you for telling me," he says, his lips pressing into my hair, and I can feel the sincerity in the way he holds me, as if trying to shield me from the past.

We lie there, two souls stripped bare, finding solace in the other's story. My thoughts are a whirlpool, sucking me under with the realization that this man—this weekend fling—has become an anchor in ways I hadn't expected. And for all my reminders that this is temporary, a small part of me begins to root for something more permanent.

Our breaths sync, and the gentle tug of sleep becomes irresistible. As we drift off, his arms are a fortress, and mine are the vines wrapping around it. In the quiet, I allow myself one simple wish—that the dawn could hold off just a little longer.