Chapter 15

Kent

My consciousness flickers, teasing the edges of a dream that's far more vivid than any I've ever had. But it's not a dream. Amelia is here, her mouth working magic on my morning wood, drawing a moan from deep within me. Sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow on her shoulders, and my fingers thread through her hair as if they have a will of their own. Her hot, wet mouth claims me and pushes me closer and closer to the edge. "I'm going to come."

She doesn't stop, and the dam breaks.

"Good morning," she murmurs against my skin as I recover, her voice husky with desire.

"Morning doesn't cover it," I gasp, my mind blown by the intensity of sensation. She's incredible—no, beyond incredible. There's a part of me, primal and hungry, that wants to flip her over and ravish her until we're both spent and panting. But the clock on the bedside table flashes a reminder of our plans, the numbers counting down to a view of paradise from the skies.

"Helicopter," I manage to say, though it feels like I'm speaking in tongues, my words tangled with pleasure.

"Right." Amelia laughs, a sound that tickles my heart. "Kilauea won't wait."

"Five more minutes?" I bargain weakly, even as she slides up my body to kiss me, a promise for later.

"Kent, the volcano." Her eyes dance with amusement, reflecting the room's golden light.

"Okay, okay," I relent, rolling out of bed.

A quick shower for both of us, and we're down to the lobby for our ride to the helicopter tour.

We drive in comfortable silence to the helipad, the anticipation of adventure settling between us like another companion. When the blades begin to spin, the helicopter's roar drowns out all other sounds. We lift off, and my hand finds hers, squeezing gently as we rise above the island.

"Look at that," Amelia shouts over the headset, pointing to the seething caldron of Kilauea. It's a beast of nature, untamed and mesmerizing. The lava churns, an endless cycle of creation and destruction, and I can almost feel its power.

"Never seen anything like it," I yell back, and it's true. The lava flows in streams of fiery gold, meeting the ocean in a hiss of steam and might. My eyes are wide, my pulse racing.

"Look below!" Amelia taps my arm, directing my gaze to neat rows of green. Coffee and macadamia nut trees quilt the landscape, their orderly beauty a stark contrast to the chaos of the volcano, and it strikes me how life is a balance of such contradictions.

"Gorgeous," I say, but I'm not just talking about the view.

"Everything is," she agrees, but her eyes are on me, and I realize that this moment—soaring above an island with a woman who can surprise and thrill me—is something extraordinary. Something worth savoring.

"Amelia," I say, once we're on solid ground again, the rush of the flight still tingling in my limbs. "This morning, now… You make everything spectacular."

She smiles, and it's like watching the sun rise. "And we're just getting started," she promises.

We race back to the hotel and change for the wedding. The bus to take us to Punalu?u black sand beach is leaving from the lobby shortly, and if we miss it, Cordelia will be quite upset.

"We need to go," Amelia urges. "It takes you longer to get ready than it does me!"

I wrap her in my arms. "That's because I have to work at it harder."

She laughs, and we head back downstairs to the lobby. The group gathered is bigger than the rehearsal dinner last night, and there are lots of my friends from work, since Cordelia and I are both at Mercy.

Griffin's brother Davis Martin, a pediatric cardiologist, and his wife, Paisley, who is a world-renowned artist, walk up to us.

"I'm so glad they did the wedding here," Paisley says. "We left our boys with Davis' parents, and this is like a second honeymoon."

Davis and Paisley look at one another, and their love seems on par with Rhonda and Spencer's.

"Have you had the chance to get off the property?" I ask.

"No. We slept in this morning," Davis says. "But we're staying a few days so we can explore."

"I highly recommend the helicopter tour over Volcano National Park and Kilauea. We loved it."

The wedding planner moves us onto the buses, and Paisley and Amelia start chatting about what to see and do.

"I like her." Davis dips his head toward Amelia.

I smile. "She's pretty great."

"Must be serious if you brought her to your sister's wedding."

Is it serious? My mind spins as I consider the implication. "It's still new. We're just getting to know one another."

Davis smiles at me. He thinks I'm a goner—over the edge and in love—but Amelia and I are just having fun. She's told me that herself.

By the time we arrive at the beach, the sun is a slow-dropping fireball, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink as it kisses the horizon goodbye. Tiki torches line the path to the white folding chairs that contrast with the black sand. The gentle lapping of waves accompanies us as we walk down to the ceremony site, our feet sinking into the warm sand, bare and connected to the Earth.

"Look at you," I whisper to Amelia, taking in our matching attire as we find seats. She's in a dress that catches the sunset's glow, vibrant and alive like the tropical flowers around us. And me, well, I'm feeling surprisingly dapper in my khaki pants and Hawaiian shirt, the fabric light against my skin.

"Look at us," she corrects with a grin, and her hand finds mine, squeezing tight.

The hushed murmur of guests turns to silence as Cordelia steps into view. My breath catches at the sight of her, the fitted silk of her dress reflecting the last rays of sun like liquid gold. Her shoulders are bare, her skin kissed by the day's warmth, and William… Damn, he looks like the luckiest man on Earth standing beside her.

"Stunning," I murmur, not really to Amelia, not really to myself, but because some things demand to be acknowledged.

"Absolutely," Amelia agrees softly, her gaze locked on the couple.

We stand, an intimate congregation of family and friends, as the minister begins. The ceremony is wrapped in the magic of the island, with hula dancers swaying gracefully to one side. Their hips move with a fluidity that seems almost otherworldly, mesmerizing us all.

William's vows are simple, heartfelt, and when Cordelia responds, her voice quivers with emotion. I find myself lost in the moment, in the sincerity of their promises. And for the first time, marriage doesn't seem like such a far-off concept. At least in this moment, I understand why William and Cordelia are making this vow.

"By the power vested in me…" the minister's voice wafts through the air, and then comes those words: "I now pronounce you husband and wife."

William leans in, his hands cupping Cordelia's face tenderly. He tips her back, and they kiss, a perfect seal to their vows. A cheer erupts, the sound mingling with the last light of day. Soft Hawaiian singing rises, enveloping us in a celebration of new beginnings.

"Beautiful," I say, though no one hears over the applause. Amelia leans against me, her head on my shoulder, and I wrap an arm around her, pulling her close.

"Every ending is just a new beginning, isn't it?" she muses, echoing my thoughts.

"Seems so," I agree, watching my sister and her new husband, thinking about fresh starts, about what it means to build something lasting and real.

The sky darkens, and stars begin to twinkle above. Every ordinary moment has the potential to become extraordinary, every routine day holds the promise of adventure. And as I stand here, barefoot in the sand, I realize that I'm ready for whatever comes next, as long as Amelia's by my side.

I've always played it safe, especially with love. I've treated it like a strategic game, carefully planning each move, avoiding risks. But when Amelia entered my world, a breeze scattered my careful arrangements, introducing an entirely new way of playing the game. She's different from anyone I've ever known, challenging my every preconceived notion about love and relationships.

I'm beginning to understand that love isn't about finding someone who fits neatly into the spaces of my life. It's about creating a new space entirely. Amelia doesn't just fill a void in my life; she expands my world, making room for joy, laughter, and partnership through the challenges that come our way.

This feeling is new, invigorating, and a bit terrifying, but it feels absolutely right.

I'm still reeling a bit from this new insight as we board the bus and return for the reception on the hotel's patio and private beach. Even without the sun, the air is warm, and the scent of the ocean mingles with the tantalizing aroma of mahi-mahi as it's laid before us, glistening under the soft glow of fairy lights strung above.

"Looks delicious," Amelia notes, her eyes wide with appreciation. Her hand finds mine under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Absolutely," I reply, but my focus shifts as I catch sight of my father across the table. He sits with a stern look as tension radiates off of him. It occurs to me that he doesn't feel comfortable having fun. Please don't let me turn into him.

"Gorgeous ceremony," Amelia ventures, attempting to thaw the ice that seems to have settled when he joined us at the table.

Father nods curtly, his lips pressed into a thin line, which tells me he's not in the mood for small talk. "Indeed," he responds, his voice cold. It's like speaking to a wall, and I know I won't be getting anything more out of him tonight. It's been this way my whole life.

"What a fantastic day, wasn't it? I mean, the contrast between Cordelia's white dress and the black sand, and now this stunning layout of food before us." Amelia has not gotten this memo and keeps her tone lighthearted, aiming to bridge the gap I've given up on crossing.

"Functional," he remarks dryly.

She gives me a look, and I shake my head slightly; there's no use.

We eat mostly in silence, the conversation stilted, until the call to the dance floor loosens the stiffness in our shoulders.

"Come on," Amelia says, standing and tugging at my hand with a smile that could outshine the moon. "Let's forget about everything else."

And so, we dance, the rhythm of the music weaving its way through us, lifting away the weight of that uncomfortable dinner. The world narrows to the two of us, spinning in our little bubble of joy.

"Kent! Amelia!" Cordelia's voice rings out as she and William make their way through the crowd to us. She's radiant.

"Hey, Cordy," I say, pulling her into a hug. "You look incredible."

"Thank you." She beams, then turns to Amelia. "Thanks for being here. Kent has told me so much about you, but he didn't tell me how you two met."

Amelia chuckles, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Believe it or not, your brother here had me kicked out of a grocery store."

"Kicked out?" Cordelia gasps, her laughter bubbling up.

"Yep," Amelia continues. "He thought I was cutting in line."

"Kent, how could you?" Cordelia teases, swatting at my arm.

"Hey, I was…distracted." I defend myself with a grin, feeling a blush creep up my neck.

"By the array of breakfast cereals?" Amelia teases, giving me an out.

"Something like that," I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. "I was, uh, looking at a dating site, actually."

"Kent!" Cordelia exclaims, scandalized but still laughing. "In public? You're incorrigible!"

"Guilty," I confess, and all four of us share a moment of pure, unadulterated mirth.

As the laughter dies down, I look at Amelia, and my heart swells. She is unlike anyone I've ever known.

When the reception finally dies down, we head upstairs. The door to our hotel room clicks shut behind us, a soft whoosh of air-conditioned chill greeting our skin like a gentle sigh. Amelia's hand finds mine in the dim light, her fingers a comfortable weight in my palm as we both kick off our shoes. The day has been a whirlwind of emotions against a backdrop of both celebration and occasional underlying tension.

"Today was something else, huh?" I try to keep my voice light, but there's an edge to it that betrays my deeper thoughts.

"Definitely memorable," she replies, sinking onto the edge of the bed, the fabric of her dress whispering secrets to the floor. She pats the space beside her, and I sit down, feeling the mattress dip with our combined weight.

"Everyone was upset about my mother not being here." My words hang between us.

"I'm sorry you felt that way. You think it was because of her work?" Amelia's voice is gentle, coaxing, not pushing.

"I think she's just not interested in a life outside of her friends." I rake a hand through my hair with a quiet chuckle. "I try to talk to her once a month, and she gives me updates on the family business. But it's more… I guess you'd describe it as transactional. And as for my father, I'm not sure my parents have spoken since the Brexit vote. It's been years of silence stretching across oceans. They're living on separate continents, for crying out loud."

"Kent…"

"Amelia, I don't want that. That's not what I want." The confession spills out, raw and earnest. My gaze locks with hers, searching for understanding, for reassurance. "I've always thought I didn't want to get married because I didn't want a marriage like theirs. But now, I think… I just want something different. I don't have to be alone."

She reaches out, her hands cradling my face, thumbs brushing away the beginnings of worry lines. "I know, Kent. I get it. Rhonda and Spencer have what you want."

It's like a lightning bolt hits me. She's right. I never realized that before. How is that possible? Rhonda and Spencer are my de facto parents. They raised Cordelia and me with love and acceptance. That's what I want. I just never believed it was possible.

Amelia's touch is grounding, a lifeline tethering me to the present, to this moment with her. There's a softness in her eyes that fills the spaces inside me hollowed out by doubt. I lean into her embrace, resting my forehead against hers, absorbing the warmth of her skin, the steady rhythm of her breathing.

"Thank you," I murmur, the words barely audible.

We hold one another as the sounds of the ocean drift through the balcony doors. After a few moments, it soothes me, and in her arms, I find a contentment that seeps into my bones.