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He had a point there. It’s so much easier to allow myself to indulge in this insane and irresponsible adventure when I’m not operating with a clear mind. However, sober or not, my mind has been lacking clarity when it comes to Chase on more than one occasion.
From the airport, we continued our journey to Lana’i, where a sleek limousine whisked us away along winding roads, providing picturesque glimpses of the island’s lush landscapes and azure waters. It was a serene and enchanting drive, especially when the sun started to set, tinging the sky with a soft kiss of violet and orange.
We arrive at the Four Seasons Resort Lana’i close to Hulopoe Beach, a temple of luxury nestled along the island’s coastline. The resort exudes an air of elegance, with its Hawaiian-inspired architecture and manicured gardens that lead to the pristine Hulopoe Beach.
The lobby is adorned with hand-painted frescoes, and the scent of tropical blooms wafts through the air. A warm aloha spirit embraces us as we check-in.
“Liking it so far?” Chase wants to know, as we make our way to our suite.
He looks outrageously handsome in his casual summer outfit. My eyes trace the contours of his form, appreciating the casual yet effortlessly stylish choice of clothing. A well-fitted white button-down shirt clings to his toned physique, and the sleeves are just short enough to reveal a wheat tattoo on his upper arm.
“Who wouldn’t,” I say, before pointing at his arm. “Is that your only tattoo?”
“It is,” he simply says, without looking at me.
“What does it mean?” I want to know.
He chuckles. “Why does every tattoo have to mean something?”
“Because people don’t tend to just randomly poke ink into their skin for nothing,” I retort.
That makes him laugh, but he shakes his head. “You’re right about that. But I’m sorry, there’s no story to tell.”
Yes, there is. But for some reason, he doesn’t want to tell me. Just like he didn’t want to tell me more about his charity and the reason behind it.
His apprehension to open up to me makes me wonder whether this was a stupid idea. When I told Max about the note and the mysterious invitation, he practically begged me to go, because he was so excited on my behalf. But he also made me swear to protect my heart.
“Have some fun. Enjoy that delicious piece of man—but watch out. We don’t know what he’s truly after,” he said, a warning finger raised in front of my face.
Then he helped me pack as if he was worried that I might chicken out at the last minute.
As I steal another glance at Chase, I appreciate once again how effortlessly attractive he appears in this light ensemble. He pairs the shirt with khaki shorts that hang just above his knees, showcasing his sun-kissed legs. The outfit is completed with comfortable yet fashionable slip-on shoes, giving him an air of relaxed elegance that’s perfect for our tropical getaway. He looks like he belongs here.
“Were you born here?” I want to know, as we turn into a lavishly decorated corridor that leads toward a large wooden door.
“What makes you think that?” he says, side-eying me with arched eyebrows.
“You really don’t like answering questions, do you?”
A smile widens across his handsome face, but instead of answering, he holds the key card in front of the knob of the large door in front of us. A green light and a clicking sound later, the door unlocks and he opens it for me to go inside before him.
“Welcome to the Ohana Suite,” he says, as I follow his gesture to go inside. “It’s one of the best they have.”
I’m immediately struck by the unparalleled luxury that envelops us. The sitting room exudes an air of sophistication, with plush furnishings and a spacious couch stretches before us, adorned with tasteful throw pillows that add a pop of color to the neutral palette of the room. A polished wooden coffee table sits at its center. In one corner, there’s a small dining area with a sleek glass-top table set for two.
Large sliding glass doors lead to the balcony, offering breathtaking views of Hulopoe Beach and the shimmering Pacific beyond.
“So, you’ve been here before?” I ask when he follows me out onto the balcony.
“A couple of times, yes,” he says, leaning against the balustrade. “Not a lot, though.”
“Some people would call a couple of times a lot,” I say. “I’ve never been to the same place twice.”
“You haven’t?” He asks back, visibly surprised. “Didn’t your family have some sort of go-to spot or something?”
I shake my head. “My mother died when I was still young and my father… well, he was working all the time. I spent most of my time with my nannies.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Guess my dad didn’t really feel like vacationing after my mother’s death.”
