“You didn’t answer my question.”
I put my newly pampered feet on his and framed his face. “We are a question that hasn’t been answered yet, a hiding place that hasn’t been found yet, a battle that hasn’t been fought yet.”
I looped my arms around his waist and we walked the beach like that, with Damian carrying me on his feet. We stopped to watch three iguanas sunning themselves on a rock.
“Blondie, Bruce Lee, and Dirty Harry,” said Damian. “Bruce Lee is the little one. Blondie is the one missing part of his tail, and Dirty Harry is the mean looking one.”
“You named an iguana after me?”
“Not you, güerita. The other Blondie: Clint Eastwood, in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.”
“Ah. All your heroes, lined up in the sun.”
“Until the bad guys come.”
I hopped off his feet and we turned back. “You think my father is a bad guy,” I said. “Let me talk to him, Damian. We can fix this. He doesn’t know you’re Esteban. He hasn’t made the connection. He’ll call off the search. He’ll understand. What he did was terrible, but I know he would never maliciously set out to hurt you or MaMaLu. Everyone has a reason. You said it yourself.”
“After everything he’s done, you’re still defending him to me?” He looked at me disbelievingly.
“After everything you’ve done, I would still defend you to him. Give him a chance. He’s a decent man, Damian.”
“We’re never going to see eye to eye on that. You have your loyalties. I have mine.” Damian looked down at the waves rushing past our feet. “You know what we are, Skye?”
I watched the foam gather around our legs as the waves receded, feeling the warmth seep out of me as Damian took his hand away.
“We are sand that hasn’t been washed away yet,” he said.
A cold knot formed in my stomach. The two men that I loved the most, with all my heart, were out to destroy each other. I had a feeling that by the time it was all said and done, only one would be left standing.
FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE our strawberry fight, Damian and I spent the night together but apart. The hopelessness of our situation, the consequences of what I had done when I’d followed him back were starting to weigh on me. I had gone with my heart, with the hope that I would be able to mend things between him and my father. I had bought into the crazy conviction that love conquers all. My love for Damian certainly felt big enough and wide enough, and yet it lay crammed into the few inches that separated us, wrestling with his need for retribution.
Lovengeance.
I traced the letters on my pillow.
It kept us from speaking to each other for much of the next day. It’s not that we were sulking or punishing each other. I understood exactly how he felt, and he knew all the things that were going through my mind. We just didn’t know what to do or say to make the other feel better, so we said nothing.
I spent the morning feeding Blondie and Bruce Lee hibiscus flowers. Dirty Harry held out until I offered him a banana. Apparently, he had a sweet tooth. There was no sign of Damian. There were no mangoes in the morning. I had a feeling he was hiding out in the shack, but in the afternoon, I found a note from him, propped up on the counter.
“A truce. A date. Pick you up at sunset.”
It was folded in the shape of a giraffe, the last thing he had made for me all those years ago, on my birthday. I sat with it for a while because it was one of those moments you know you’re going to cherish the rest of your life. And there aren’t enough of those. You go through life, turning pages and turning pages, black and white words, running into each other, and then bam! Three rainbow sentences and a paper animal, and you’re rummaging through your clothes and washing your hair and changing your outfit again and again, because you’ve gone giddy and silly and sappy. Because that’s what those moments do.
“Wow. What a mess.”
I spun around and saw Damian climbing in through the bedroom window. He must have changed and showered on the boat because damn, he looked good. He was wearing a blue button-down shirt, black jacket, and jeans. Golden light framed his face as he surveyed the trail of clothes and bags scattered all over the room.
“For you, güerita.” He held out something wrapped in a banana leaf.
I took it from him, aware of the way his eyes were eating me up. I had found a figure-hugging cream dress with long sleeves and a plunging back. It complemented my newly tanned skin and offset the blond roots that were starting to show through my dark hair.
“What’s this?” I asked, unwrapping his gift. Seeing him standing before me, I was suddenly aware of not having held him all day.
“Just returning something.”
“My shoes!” I exclaimed. Gold Louboutins with spiked heels, the ones I had been wearing when he abducted me.
He knelt before me and held out his hand. I gave him one shoe, and then the other, relishing his touch as he slipped them on.