Chapter 40: Killian

One would think,with the influx of bodies crowding and mouths moving, that Killian wouldn't be able to hear Maia from across the pool. Yet, as he'd come to discover, it was as if Maia's mic pack—which, she wasn't even wearing—was hooked up to a headset only he had access to. He wondered how that might work when they left the manor. Would he scroll through her social media and imagine he knew exactly what she'd said for each moment she captured and posted? Would he wake in the middle of the night with dreams of every conversation she'd had that day?

Man, he hoped not.

If they weren't destined to be together, that sounded miserable.

But that was the thing, though. Killian had heard a million times the refrain about believing people when they tell you who they are and he still couldn't bring himself to kill the part of him that believed he and Maia were meant to be.

He'd tried and he was proud that he had tried but he would be calling his therapist when this was all over to ask why he'd gone completely heel-over-head for someone so unattainable.

Really, he'd thought they'd turned the tides that night on the sunbeds, and then once more when they'd been thrown together again in their room.

Apparently, these reporters were entertaining the same delusions as Killian because they kept asking him what was next for him and Maia. What was he meant to say? Was he supposed to give them hope and trap Maia into a relationship where she'd have to play the villain if she ever wanted to escape?

Was he supposed to tell them that he wished it had been different but that there was no future for the two of them in the cards? No, that would surely result in less-than-savory feedback hitting Maia once she got her devices back.

So he, the charmer, was left with nothing to give these nice people other than some paltry we'll sees. Maybe they'd write it off as him being distracted. He was, after all, listening in on every little word Maia told her own reporters across the way.

She'd just given one of them the basest rundown of how she'd ended up on the show when they asked, "Your and Killian's story has been rather tumultuous. Do you think things will slow down once you get back to the outside world?"

Maia snorted quite prettily. "I'm sure it'll be peaceful when there aren't any weirdos in our ears telling us how to spend our time and where to sleep."

Was that how she saw it all, then? Killian supposed she'd never pretended otherwise.

"Sure," the reporter laughed. "But what about your relationship?"

"Mr. Todd?"

When he blinked his own reporter back into focus, he got the sense that this wasn't the first time they'd said his name. He flushed, knowing he was going to have to ask them to repeat whatever they'd said another time.

"I'm sorry. You caught me eavesdropping," he confessed.

The reporter smirked. "Five straight weeks and you still can't get enough of her, huh?"

"I don't know that even forever would be enough."

"Very romantic."

"It's in my blood."

"Ah, yes." The reporter tipped their head back like they were remembering something crucial. "You operate a wedding venue, is that right?"

But they'd already lost him again because Maia's inquisitor had asked something with his name and Killian was starving for the answer. An answer he didn't get to hear because his reporter had snapped their fingers near his ear.

"Tell you what," they bargained, "you answer two more questions for me and then I'll pretend to ask you some bullshit to buy you some time to listen in. You don't even?—"

"Deal," Killian agreed before he could finish.

The reporter grinned. "So you operate a wedding venue, one that's been in your family for a few generations. Surely, you spent your youth imagining your own wedding. Tell me, did you ever imagine yourself marrying someone like Maia?"

If he were more clever, Killian might give lightning answers to uphold his end of the bargain quicker. But he found himself eager to speak about his favorite topic.

"I don't think I could dream her up if I tried. I'm sure I imagined someone beautiful—which she is—and witty—which she is—and a good number of other boxes that I'm certain she's ticked. But the details of her are so special and so Maia that I'd be a fool to try to craft them on my own."

"That's a romantic answer," they commented.

"I'm a romantic guy."

"Which brings me to my next question."

Killian shifted on the balls of his feet. "Hit me."

"Are you in love with Maia?"

He'd seen this line of questioning coming. Had prepared a complimentary answer that made everything seem more casual than he felt. Because, despite everything he believed about the two of them, he still respected her. And he would respect her, this time, even if her choice was to walk away.

But that reckless, hopelessly hopeful side of him thought this needed to be said.

"I don't know that five weeks is really enough to say that I'm in love with her," he answered. "There's so much about each other that we just haven't been given the opportunity to learn. Like, how she walks in the world and how she deals with conflict that has nothing to do with me. But I can say that what I've seen in this manor and the girl I've gotten to know is one that is so worthy of love. She is worthy of someone choosing her and worthy of someone sticking around. She's worthy of someone on her team. And I can only hope she finds it in her to let me be that someone because I'm well on my way to being able to give it all to her."

"That's well put, Mr. Todd," the reporter said with a nod, gesturing with their microphone to the people around that were wiping tears from the corners of their eyes. "Would you like to give her conversation a listen now?"

"That's your third question," Killian chided, but smiled when he turned toward the pool. Towards her. "But the answer's yes."

She stood with her hands at her sides. A model's pose. Attractive and attracting but somehow also uninviting. He imagined it was torture for her, having all these cameras and these devices shoved into her face, demanding answers. Yes, she was used to being seen and was no stranger to photo or video but she didn't often have people forcing her to divulge what was going on inside her head.

Killian wondered if he should save her from it in the same breath that he worried this might make her retreat.

"Tell me, Ms. Henson," the reporter demanded, "what were your views on romance and relationships when you first got to the manor?"

Her response had that practiced, lifeless quality to it that Killian was certain she'd used in every video diary they'd been subjected to. "I thought they were a scam," she said. "I thought they were feelings people pretended to experience so they could feel like their lives were a little more grand. I thought it was a goal for people to strive toward when they had nothing else going on in their lives. I thought they were for the unenlightened because I thought that every relationship in this world was doomed to end in some fashion. And then, at the end of the day, those that subscribed to it would be left sad and alone and worse off than when they started."

Well, they certainly weren't going to air that little monologue, though Killian was glad to know, with finality now, that that was where she stood. What a pretty little padlock for his coffin of hope.

But he kept watching.

The crowd around Maia shuddered and the reporter voiced what Killian was sure they'd all been thinking. "How depressing."

"Yes," Maia agreed. "And I'm sure you agree that, if that was the type of relationship you'd been shown, you wouldn't be eager to enter into one, either."

"No, I suppose I wouldn't. But has your stance been altered at all? By the show? By the couples around you? By one man in particular?"

Maia's neck twitched and Killian wondered if she was looking for him. As aware of his eyes or his proximity as he was of hers.

"It has," Maia admitted softly—perhaps the first time she'd ever spoken softly in her life.

Killian heard, though. He stopped taking in air so he could hear the rest.

The reporter pushed when Killian couldn't. "And what caused the change?"

"I met a man who believed in sparks."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means he has an outlook on life that I don't think any other person could replicate. His belief in love is so unwavering, so unaffected. He claims he's seen it end the way I've seen it end but he's never seen it end when there's been a spark. Call me fucking crazy, but it's easier to believe that sparks are real when, every time you're with someone, it feels like fireworks are exploding against your skin."

"But you've been resistant," the interviewer pointed out. "Why?"

Maia rolled her shoulders back. "At the risk of overdoing the metaphor, I was afraid of catching on fire."

"So you wanted to deny this…spark?"

"I guess so, yes."

"And—the spark—does it translate to love?"

Like she'd been ramping to this the entire time, Maia was exactly herself when she said, "I think it could."

Killian was almost convinced that those fireworks she'd been speaking of had come to life, crackling and bursting between them. Or maybe that was just his body begging him to take another breath. Reminding him that this was what he'd wanted and he had a whole new reason to breathe.

The reporter asked one more question and Killian thought it might have been the most important. "Just so we're both clear. This man that you've felt sparks with, it's…" They trailed off, letting Maia fill in the blank.

Did they know he needed that? That he needed to hear her say his name aloud so he'd know she hadn't just agreed to be easy. That was silly anyway, though. When had Maia ever been easy?

He cheered, though, when she answered, "Killian."

Loudly. He cheered loudly.

Maia spun, her arctic eyes narrowing as they found him across the pool. "Have you been listening this entire time?"

"Yes," he called back. And then, to prove it, he said, "You're sparking for me."

"Don't phrase it like that."

"Then tell me how to phrase it, honey."

"I'm…" She gave a dramatic little gag like it pained her to speak it aloud. "I'm falling for you, Killian."

More cheers and more sparks. Killian spun to embrace the reporter that had given him the gift of witnessing this moment. "Stay right there," he ordered her, even knowing how much she hated to be told what to do.

Then, he broke the rules and dove into the pool. The makeshift fountain had him choking on water when he surfaced but, still, he pushed his way towards the girl who was self-admittedly falling for him. Just like he predicted, Maia did not follow his directive and jumped into the pool, as well.

"You're going to ruin your pretty dress," he told her.

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't pay for it."

That had him laughing when he kissed her.

He pulled them to the base of the fountain, under the arc of the water for whatever privacy it could offer them.

He had to know, so he asked, "Did you mean what you said?"

Her response was a nod and a cold, wet hand on his jaw. "You jumped into a pool for me."

"You jumped in a pool for me."

"I figured I owed you some sort of grand gesture."

"Yeah?" Killian raised one of his eyebrows. "I think there's usually groveling involved, too. You know, if you're really going to do it right."

"If you ever see me groveling, something is very, very wrong."

"I don't know…I seem to recall you on your knees just the other night."

"Don't ruin the moment, Todd. I'm trying to be sappy for you."

"Then kiss me like you're falling for me."

She did.