Page 35 of The Wrong Fiancée

Elika looked at me for a moment, and surprise and relief were in her eyes. "That would be great, thanks."

"I don't want that bitch's fiancé with us," Noe quipped, not even looking at me.

If it was anyone else, I'd have said don't dare call my fiancée a bitch, but I didn't think Noe would care; in fact, I think she may have said it to provoke me.

"He's my friend first," Elika crooned.

"Whatever. Just remember, if you sleep with him, Ginny will never let you hear the end of it. She's still probably going on about how Sam had an affair with Mama. Like our mother would allow that asshole anywhere near her."

Elika didn't reply and just got Noe ready for an outing.

We followed the path down to the beach, a gentle slope winding through clusters of vibrant hibiscus, their fragrance blending with the salty tang of the ocean breeze. The scene was postcard-perfect, but I barely noticed it. Noe’s words echoed in my mind, sharp and relentless. She tore into Elika with the kind of bitterness that turned every interaction into a fight. And yet, Elika faced it alone—calm, steady, and endlessly patient, as if she’d long since accepted this as her burden to bear.

I didn't like Noe. I felt compassion, yes, but it only went so far.

Getting Noe out of the wheelchair and onto the sand wasn't easy, but Elika handled it with practiced care. She guided Noe's movements gently, directing her body with calm instructions.

Thankfully, Noe didn't protest when I stepped in and lifted her carefully, making sure her legs didn't drag awkwardly. Noe's body was thin, almost frail, but there was tension in her arms like she was trying to hold on to some invisible lifeline. I felt the weight of her—not just physically, but the heaviness she and Elika had been carrying all these years.

When we finally got her to the water's edge, Elika kneeled down beside her sister. She took Noe's hands and guiding them to the cool waves as they lapped at the shore. I stood back, giving them space. The sky was a perfect shade of blue, the ocean calm, stretching out endlessly in front of us. It was peaceful and serene—everything Noe seemed to be missing in her life.

The water reached Noe's toes, and for a moment, something shifted. The harshness in her face softened, her lips trembling as her eyes filled with tears. It was like the ocean had broken through something in her, cracked open the bitterness she'd been clinging to.

"I'm sorry," Noe whispered, her voice breaking as she stared down at her toes that curled in the water. "I'm so sorry for being like this, Eli. I just…I hate this. I hate being like this."

Elika didn't hesitate. She wrapped her arms around her sister, holding her tight. "I know, Noe," she murmured softly. "I know. You don't ever have to apologize to me. We're family."

It was one of the most raw, heartbreaking things I'd ever seen. There was no anger, no bitterness, just Elika shouldering her sister's pain like it was hers to carry, her patience like a quiet force of nature. For a few minutes, they sat together as Noe sobbed quietly in Elika's arms.

When we got back to Ka Pono, Noe's familiar scowl had returned. She snapped at Elika about how the sand had gotten in her shoes and how uncomfortable the whole experience had been. It was like nothing had changed, and the harsh words started all over again.

I saw the exhaustion in Elika's eyes. She was so young when she became Noe's caretaker. Twenty-two. Barely an adult, suddenly thrust into a role that no one could have prepared for.And four years later she was still doing everything she could for a sister who treated her like the enemy. The patience she had—it was humbling. And it made me realize just how wrong I'd been about her.

I measured people based on their education, their careers, and their place in the world. It wasn't something I liked to admit, but it was a fact. Elika hadn't checked all the boxes back then—she wasn't polished or part of the intellectual circles I ran in. Felicity was. Felicity was the choice that made sense on paper.

But watching Elika with Noe, seeing how she handled herself with grace and strength despite all her challenges, made me realize how shallow I'd been. I spent so long looking for the perfect résumé, the perfect pedigree, when what really mattered was humanity, patience, and compassion.

Elika glanced at me as we made our way back to the car, wiping a tear from her cheek when she thought I wasn't looking. And for the first time, I saw her for who she really was. Not the girl I'd had a fling with years ago. Not the maid in a resort uniform. But a woman who had more strength and resilience than anyone I knew.

"Can I ask you an inappropriate question?" I glanced at her as I drove us back to the resort.

"Sure. I may not answer, though."

"Why do you come to see her every week when she's…ah…."

"So difficult?" she supplied.

"Yeah."

Elika didn't say anything for a long while. I didn't press her. It had been an emotional morning and afternoon forme, so I could only imagine how draining it was for her. And after I dropped her off, I could go to my bungalow, get a drink, and then go for dinner with my fiancée, while Elika was going to work at the Lava Lua tiki lounge.

"Noe and I were never close," she finally spoke. "After our mother passed away, she and Daddy became a unit, and I…wasn't part of it. They were bitter about how our lives were not as good as Uncle Sam's. It was toxic at home. Daddy drank and Noe egged him on until he actually found some smarmy lawyer to sue Uncle Sam and contest his father's will. He took mortgages on the house to pay for the lawyer, and all of it was a waste. The time, the energy, the money. By the time I left home, Noe was running a salon, making good money. Daddy had paid for her to go to hospitality school and…."

She stopped talking all of a sudden, as if tired.

"But he didn't pay for your schooling?"

"There was no money," she said softly. "I sometimes feel that money is all our lives are about—I have to work so I have enough to pay for Ka Pono, and I had to work so I had enough to pay for school. I will continue to have to work to be able to feed and house myself. It's like Van Gogh'sThe Potato Eaters—all of us hunched over, scraping by, barely getting enough to survive, and no matter how hard we work, it never feels like it's enough."

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