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“Do you want to go somewhere in the city tonight?” I ask.
“I saw that little restaurant on the cliff.”
“Then that’s where we’re going.”
She smiles, and at least for a while longer I can protect her from finding out my mother hates her with every fiber of her being.
Days and nights blend together in paradise. I love Kieran so much. My love is endless and mysterious, like the universe itself. A local band plays just for us on the terrace of the restaurant while we dance under the stars. I press my head into his chest, knowing in my soul that I love him, and I am afraid when we go home I will lose the man I’ve come to know on this trip.
“Sweetheart?”
It should be forbidden to be this in tune with somebody else. It’s a whole other level of vulnerability.
“Nothing. I’m just happy. And it’s scary.”
His full lips arch into a smile. He’s been so relaxed in the last few weeks.
It’s long past midnight when we get back to the yacht. I lie in bed, watching his chest rise and fall in steady beats, and caress his scalp.
I had no idea this kind of happiness even existed.
Sleep finds me and I give in to its unstoppable lull.
The next morning, at the breakfast table, overcome with emotions, I say, “I don’t even know what your favorite color is? Or food, or book, or band, or anything. I don’t know anythingabout your favorite things.”
I place the spoon down and look out, where water surrounds us flickering like millions of diamonds.
“You know what matters. What makes me happy, and that would be you. My favorite thing is you.”
He pops a grape in his mouth, winking at me, but I’m determined to find out more bits of him every day.
He finally gives in at my unwavering stare, which makes me ecstatic.
“Black, it’s black. And yours?”
“White. So, our favorite colors are no colors at all.”
Next, I find out his favorite book isThe Princeby Machiavelli. No surprise there.
At a dinner in a castle in Montenegro, I learn his favorite song is “My Way” by Frank Sinatra.
On a beach in Greece, I find out the meaning behind his tattoo.
“It’s the three of us, united, an equilateral triangle. No one has the upper hand. We will act accordingly to protect what we have built. And the insignia is Latin for ‘brothers for life, sworn in blood, acting by oath.’”
I trace the tattoo under his biceps. “What about that one-time favor?”
“If there is something truly important to us that we know might not be beneficial for our plans, but we still want it, each of us gets one favor.”
“And my brother wasted it on me?”
“Wasted? Sweetheart, don’t make me angry.”
“I don’t understand why he would have done this if he gets just one.”
“Because he loves you. We’d do anything for the people we love.”
I try to remember instances where I could say for sure, that my brother loves me. I trace them back to my childhood, when he would play with me, read stories to me, brush my hair, but it all ended when my mom was gone. I close my eyes and lift my face to the sky.
