Page 108 of Sexy as Sin
He had to smile. It was going to be all right. “You could kiss me.”
“Oh!” She laughed, joyous as the sun coming up over the mountains, put her arms around his waist, and did it. He held her—gently, because it had only been three weeks since she’d cracked those ribs—and kissed her back, and got that same dizzying sensation he’d felt on the first day he’d seen her, on the beach with her sparkly surfboard. Rainbows and unicorns, and all the light in the world.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he told her. “I missed you, that’s all. Can I come in?”
“Oh,” she said again, then smiled. Hugely. “Yeah, mate. You can. But... I might have some explaining to do.”
“That’s perfect,” he said, “because so do I.”
He didn’t get too far. Her apartment was a war zone, full of cardboard cartons and stacks of possessions. No more bird photos on the wall. Half-packed boxes of dishes, of pots and pans, a coffeemaker, a blender, a stand mixer, books and clothes, all on the floor. He looked around him and asked, “Are you moving? Did Azra find another place, then, now that her work visa came through?” She was still in New Zealand, but coming home within days.
“Yeah, I am. And no, about Azra. Do you want to sit down?”
“Do you?”
“No.” She laughed again, nervously this time, looked past him, and tugged at her hair, loosening the knot. “I was going to work on this speech on my way across the ocean. Twenty hours. That might’ve been long enough.”
His body was filling up like that balloon. In another minute, he was going to float away. “Don’t worry about the speech. Tell me now.”
“I’m having a wee... sale. Of my things. Because I missed you too much.” She looked at him at last. “I thought... maybe I could stop making you do all the running. Maybe I could tell you that I love you, and I miss you, and I want to...bewith you.” She heaved a ragged breath in, then let it out in something he’d swear was a sob.
She’dnevercried. Not on her way to the hospital after she’d fallen from a balloon, not when she’d thought her business might go under, not when she’d told him about her parents. But she was crying now. Her nose was turning pink, and her cheeks were blotchy. She put the back of her hand up, wiped away the tears, and tried to laugh. “If you love somebody, and you’ve both waited too long for it, you should be together, shouldn’t you? You should get some bloody guts, show some faith, andtry.”
“Yes,” he said. “You should.” He wasn’t sure he could say the rest of this. On the other hand, if she could do it, so could he. “This wasn’t what I planned. None of it leading up to today, and not what I’d planned for today, either.” He laughed. “You’re confused. Right. I’m starting over. I researched romantic locations, but all the ideas were terrible. Beach at sunset. Nope. Helicopter ride. Bad idea right now. Kayaking out to a beautiful island, landing on a deserted beach. No, thanks. Going dancing, asking the DJ to play your favorite song, then stopping it in the middle, when we’re out there on the dance floor. That was all right, except that you have cracked ribs. Hot-air balloon ride. That one was the worst.” He started to laugh for real, and she stopped crying. He thought she might have stopped breathing. “So, anyway, I thought...” He pulled the box out of his pocket. “I thought—I’d just go for it. Shoot the moon. I was going to have Dave take us for a drive, out to the house. I bought it. I thought—go with what you’re good at.”
“And you’re good at buying houses. But—mate. I just sold my best roasting pan.”
“I’ll buy you a new one. Besides, the house is going to appreciate. There’s even a guest house for Azra, so you’ll always have company.” Fortunately, she laughed. “And more importantly—you love it there, and you love ithere,and all I want to do is give you what you love. I’ll commute for a while. As long as you’ll give me whatIlove. Which would be you.” Not the most elegant phrasing he’d ever heard, but maybe she’d take it. Maybe so.
He took her hand.
This part, he’d practiced.
Willow wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, so she did neither, just stood there like a great lump, sweaty in the singlet and shorts she’d worn to sort her earthly possessions. The ones she was selling, and the chef’s tools she had to ship, because it had taken her a decade to accumulate them, and they were perfect. The knives and the sharpening stone, the cast-iron pans seasoned to a deep black, France’s best copper bowl for whipping egg whites, and more.
She had no idea what she’d do in the States. She’d have to be back and forth until Amanda was on her feet again, but this was important, too. This wasmoreimportant.
She’d start a new company, if she could, one that didn’t require her to be gone all hours, or to be tied to one location. Maybe Brett wanted an investment. Diversification was good, he always said. She could start with ice blocks, Aussie style, and promote them using images of herself surfing, or tramping in the Outback or the rainforest. She’d be a brand. She could do that. Maybe even do a cookbook. She’d start there, take the leap, andtry.
Sometimes, you were pushed out of the balloon. Other times, you had the guts to jump. She wanted to be somebody who had the guts to jump. Which meant running her business, whatever it turned out to be, from Sinful, because that was the place Brett loved best, and where she had family. And Australia sometimes, she hoped. She’d talk to him about it, and they’d work it out.
She put a hand on his chest, looked up at him, thought about her ugly-cry face and tossed the idea aside, and said, “It’s never too late to become what you always wanted to be in the first place. That’s what somebody told me. That bloke was right.”
He was nothing like the smooth, polished man in the suit. When he got down on one knee, he was the man he’d grown to become, the one she’d seen only in flashes. It was hisleftknee, though. She said, “Brett,” and tried to pull him back up. “No. Your leg.”
“Quit ruining my moment,” he said, and she had to laugh. Then he took a deep breath, flipped open the box, and said, slowly and carefully, in Arabic, “How can I live, if I touch the air and do not feel your presence? How can I exist without the hand that supports my hand?”
She couldn’t breathe. Shehadto breathe, though, because she had to answer him.
The answer came from a dream. From a warm North African night, black as velvet, and two chairs on a terrace, with hands clasping across them. From the spatter of white stars in the darkness, and the fluid cadence of a voice reading the words she loved best. “My hand will support your hand,” she said in the same language. “It is my prayer that your hand will support mine until the stars dim and the world fades from my eyes.”
“Uh...” he said. “That was the only part I memorized. I hope that was a yes. It was too long to be a no. I hope.”
She put a hand on the side of his face, then, and looked into his eyes. Gray and honest, his soul there to see. “In English, then,” she said. “My hand will support your hand. Oh, Brett. I do love you.” She was crying some more, or she was laughing, or both. “I want to love you forever. And I don’t want to live here without you. Of course I don’t. What I said was... I want the last thing I see to be your face. I want to leave the world with my hand still in yours, because it’ll be safe there, and I’ll know it.”
“No,” he said.
Her mouth opened, but nothing came out for a minute. “N-no?”
