Jonah, it appears, will blame Cora for stopping our elopement and leading me back to Kellan. Or, I suppose, the concept of Kellan, because I don’t actually go to him. In fact, the excuse I made up to stop us from going to Vegas was just that—an excuse. But he had the class and grace to pretend it’s something more. “I’ll meet you back home,” he’d said, and then stalked away without even a kiss goodbye.
I spend the next few hours in Etienne’s office, drinking Elvin tea and pretending to gossip, keenly aware of the horrible pit festering in my stomach. Maccon doesn’t join us; he’s in the midst of his own relationship hell with some kind of wedding contract negotiations. Everything Etienne tells me goes through one ear and out the other. I’m surprised he doesn’t call me out on my abysmal attention.
That night, when I get home, I find Jonah standing in front of one of the big windows in his living room. He’s staring out, arms crossed, but it’s not in a defiant way. It’s more sad, thoughtful.
I don’t need to announce my presence. The pull between us does it for me. “Is everything taken care of?”
Hell no. Now it feels like everything is fifty times worse. I’d spent the better part of one of Etienne’s salacious stories wondering if I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life. So I make a small noncommittal answer and move closer.
“It’s interesting,” he notes, “that Cora knew exactly where to find us.”
“She’s uncanny, that’s for sure.” It’s not exactly a lie.
I wonder if he knows that it’s all because of Kellan.
“We should go somewhere,” I offer, wrapping my arms around him and leaning my head against his back. “Somewhere warm. Somewhere beautiful. Somewhere no one else we know is at.”
Somewhere in between here and Las Vegas.
“When?”
“Now.”
“Now?”
“Yes.” I smile against him. “Now.”
Jonah and Kellan have a house in Tahiti—well, by some standards, it’s a house, but to me, it’s perfect paradise: a wooden, stilted jewel hovering over turquoise water, accessible by a long, golden deck which juts out from the shore.
It’s possibly the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
The house is fairly open, with wide doorways and very few actual doors. Much of the windows are quite large, offering breathtaking views in every direction. Two bedrooms are on opposite sides of a sprawling living room that leads into a fairly modern, expensive looking kitchen. In the middle of the living room, below a coffee table made of driftwood, is a glass floor that looks down into the ocean. Both bedrooms house huge canopied beds, and a singular bathroom has an enormous round tub covered in abalone shell. Outside the living room, on a deck that expands a good forty feet out past the house, is a square, tiled fire pit surrounded by a number of comfortable looking Adirondack chairs.
I am stunned and giddy at the same time. “This is yours?”
He drops our bags onto the floor. “Yours, too.”
It’s a pointed statement, one that’s meant to dig. “I love it here.”
“I knew you would.”
“Jonah,” I say softly, pulling him down on the couch next to me, “please, don’t be angry. Not here. Not now.”
He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t pull away from me, either. My heart aches when I feel the breath shudder in his chest. And the cramping, so recently removed, comes back with a vengeance.
Although there is a beach nearby that is one of his favorite surfing spots, Jonah doesn’t surf during our trip. He withdraws in a way, becomes less talkative, more brooding. Like he’d been all of the last week before I agreed to elope.
We’re sitting out on the deck, in front of a fire despite the balmy weather. I’ve insisted on us sharing the same chair, so I’ve snuggled deep into his arms as I watch the flames twist and change colors in front of me. Orange to blue to purple, and then to yellow.
“Do you ever wonder,” I muse, “if we made the right choice deciding to wait to have sex until we’re married?”
His hand, which had been tracing patterns on one of my arms, stills.
“I mean,” I continue, “it’s not like we won’t be married soon. So . . .”
“Will we?” he asks quietly.
“Have sex?” I laugh. “I sure hope so.” Tonight would do nicely.
“Get married,” he clarifies.
Squeezing my eyes doesn’t hold the pain in. “Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I shift slightly in the chair. “Why are you asking this?”
“I wonder about it sometimes.”
It’s like a punch in the stomach. I mean, yeah, there’s the Connection to his brother and all, but I feel like I’ve never given Jonah any reason to doubt that my future is with him.
Even when I struggle with that fact myself.
For awhile now, Jonah’s been the solid one of our messy triangle. He’s reliable, reasonable, comforting, and trustworthy. Kellan finds ways to hurt himself to deal with the pain. I withdraw or apparently run away, like I did to Hawaii. But Jonah . . . Jonah is our rock. My faith in him has never wavered.
I may struggle with the love I feel for his brother, but I’ve never thought once that Jonah would ever not be part of my life. Because he’s Jonah. He’s my everything. Even torn as I am, I know this truth.