"So?"
"So at that point, you were enemies. You'd spent years hating each other. He's a businessman, Aria. He saw he was losing and he played the only card he had." She paused. "Can you really blame him for acting like a businessman before he had any reason to act like anything else?"
I didn't like how logical she sounded. I didn't like the doubt creeping into my certainty.
"It doesn't matter when he did it," I said. "What matters is that he didn't tell me. He let me fall for him while that threat was hanging over everything. He let me believe we had something real."
"Okay." Nalani nodded. "That's fair. But at some point, you're going to have to decide whether you can live with never knowing."
"Never knowing what?"
"His side. Why he really did it. Whether any of it was real." She met my eyes. "You can hate him forever. That's your right. But you'll always wonder."
"She doesn't have to wonder about anything," Priya cut in. "He showed her who he was. She doesn't owe him the chance to explain."
"I'm not saying she owes him anything. I'm saying she owes it to herself to have all the information before she closes this door forever."
They looked at me. Both of them. Waiting.
I didn't have an answer.
The words sat with me long after they left. Long after I'd cleaned up the takeout containers and washed the wine glasses and climbed into bed to stare at the ceiling.
Can you live with never knowing?
I wasn't sure I could. I also wasn't sure I could sit across from Sebastian and listen to his excuses without either crying or hitting him. Maybe both.
But Nalani was right about one thing.
I would always wonder.
I turned onto my side, pulled the blanket up to my chin, and stared at the wall until sleep finally came.
20SEBASTIAN
I spent a week planning.
Seven days of phone calls and negotiations and sleepless nights. Seven days of ironing out every detail with Mr. Kahale, making sure the paperwork was perfect, making sure I hadn't left any loose ends that could unravel at the worst possible moment.
Now I sat in my study, staring at the manila envelope on my desk, and realized I had absolutely no idea what to do next.
The envelope contained the deed to the Kahale Grande. Signed over to Aria Kealoha. All I had to do was give it to her, explain what I'd done, and hope she didn't throw it back in my face.
But that wasn't enough. Not after what I'd put her through.
I needed something bigger. Something that would show her I understood the magnitude of what I'd broken. Something that would prove I was willing to fight for her, to humble myself, to become the kind of man who deserved a second chance.
I drummed my fingers against the desk. Stared at the ceiling. Stood up, paced to the window, paced back.
Maybe I could donate to her foundation. A substantial amount, enough to fund one of her programs for years. That would show I cared about the things she cared about.
No. Too impersonal. Too much like throwing money at a problem, which was exactly what she'd accused me of doing my entire life.
Maybe I could write her a letter. A long, heartfelt email explaining everything. I could take my time, choose my words carefully, make sure I said exactly what I meant without stumbling over myself the way I always did when she was standing in front of me.
No. Too cowardly. After everything, she deserved to hear the words from my mouth, not read them on a screen.
Maybe I could show up at the foundation with flowers. Classic. Romantic. The kind of thing people did in movies when they wanted to win someone back.
