I nearly choke on my soda. Hy’s is one of the premier fine-dining establishments in Oahu. “That’s so kind of you, Willem, but I’ve got a—a friend with me—”
“Bring them along,” he says breezily. “We’d love to have you both. Seven o’clock. See you then!”
Anthony inclines his head as I tuck my phone back in my bag. “Everything okay?”
I glance at him. “I hope so. You get to meet my boss tonight.”
6
Anthony
I hold the door for Lyla as we walk into Hy’s Steak House. Of all the times I’ve been to Hawaii, I’ve never been here, though I’ve passed by it several times. The food is supposed to be phenomenal, and if the service we’re receiving now as we’re taken to our table is any indication, it’s going to be a stellar night.
I don’t intend to let Lyla’s boss cover our meals, however. This place is astronomically expensive, and since he doesn’t know me, it doesn’t feel right to stick him with our tab. I’m mildly disappointed that this is happening on our last night in paradise since I’d planned to take her out myself tonight, but we don’t have to say goodbye when the trip is over, and that’s the best part of all of this.
Lyla looks incredible in a long, gauzy, bright pink dress that brings out her tan and eyes. She looks amazing, she smells amazing, and I know for a fact she tastes amazing.
“Have I told you how stunning you are in that dress?” I murmur in her ear as we follow the host to our table. “And how much I’d like to get you out of it?”
She shoots me a look over her shoulder, one that’s playfully scolding and yet full of promise. “Behave, and you will later on.”
I grin. “I’ll be good.”
A distinguished-looking older man with silver hair and a lovely older woman with platinum hair and a gentle smile stand up as we approach. Lyla’s boss looks surprised to see me, and I wonder if he assumed she’d be bringing a girlfriend instead of, well, a date.
“Anthony Jackson,” I tell him, shaking his hand firmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Thank you for the invitation.”
“Willem Green,” he replies, smiling. “How nice to meet you.”
We all sit, and a doting waiter places the ladies’ napkins in their laps before offering wine menus.
Willem and his wife, Trudy, ask us about the trip so far and what we’ve been up to. Lyla and I answer, and I fight off a grin when I feel her hand squeeze my thigh under the table. We don’t tell them everything we’ve been up to. They’re a pleasant couple and tell us about their own connection to Hawaii, how they met here, got engaged here, honeymooned here.
I can’t help but notice Lyla seems uncomfortable. It’s nothing overt, but in these few short days, I’ve become attuned to her, and I feel the shift. Something is off, but I can’t tell what. Maybe she’s bummed we’re spending our last night of vacation with her boss instead of alone. I squeeze her leg this time and give her a reassuring smile.
“How long have you two been together?” Trudy asks.
“Well . . .” Lyla smiles at me. “We just met, actually. Here.”
“When you know, you know,” I add, winking at her.
“My.” Trudy blinks and chuckles, glancing at Willem. “The island air is something, isn’t it!”
Lyla flushes, but her smile turns stiff, and I realize she’s looking at something across the room. “Jesus Christ.”
“What?” we all ask at once.
I follow her gaze. The only thing I see is a tall blond man striding toward us. Is it him? I’m confused.
The man stops at the table. He’s attractive, late twenties, dressed in designer beachwear from head to toe. “Mother. Father.”
The Greens’ son? I’m even more confused and glance at Lyla.
“You made it,” Willem says, seeming surprised. Then he shoots a guarded look at Lyla. “I, um, thought other arrangements had been made?”
“They were,” Lyla murmurs, her eyes on her plate.
“Who’re you?” the man says to me.
“Alan,” Trudy says sharply. “Have some manners. This is Lyla’s friend—”
I stand up and look Alan square in the eye, extending a hand. “Anthony Jackson. And you are?”
His upper lip curls as he looks at my hand, then at Lyla. “Her fiancé.”
If he punched me in the mouth, I couldn’t be more shocked.
Lyla shoots to her feet, glaring at him. “You know that’s not true!”
But what is true, what’s abundantly clear, is that they did have some kind of relationship.
“Maybe you’d like a moment,” Willem says hesitantly to Lyla.
“Yes.” She grabs my arm and leads me out of the dining room into the small front lobby of the restaurant.
“What the hell, Lyla?” I ask, surprised at how hurt I feel.
“He’s not my fiancé,” she insists. “I promise, Anthony.”
“Well, he’s someone,” I say, folding my arms. “So who is he? Besides the obvious.”
She hesitates, drawing a deep breath. “He . . . was my fiancé.”
I shake my head. What the fucking fuck? “Was he supposed to be on this trip or something? You brought me to meet your ex’s parents?”
“My boss,” she hastily corrects. “I brought you to meet my boss.”
“Don’t split hairs. Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged to your boss’s son?”
“Would it have mattered?”
I shrug. “Maybe not, had I known from the beginning. But it feels like you purposely omitted this. Maybe you didn’t have to open with that information when we met, but definitely when we got the dinner invite.”
“Anthony, I’m sorry,” she says. “Things are . . . messy.”
“Clearly.” I take a step back. “Look, I’ve done messy. And it ended up breaking my heart. I close all my doors before I open another one, you know what I mean? I thought you did too.”
“Anthony, please,” she says softly, reaching for me.
I want nothing more than to hold her, but the memory of the heartbreak I went through with my ex floods my mind. I can’t deal with dishonesty or anything that even remotely resembles it. “Look, you should go back in there. And maybe you need to have a chat with Alan about things because he doesn’t seem to agree that you guys are over.”
“Don’t leave,” she implores.
I shake my head. “I need to clear my brain. Then I’m going to turn in. I’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”
“Anthony—”
“Good night, Lyla.” I turn and walk away, trying to tell myself with every step it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt.
7
Anthony
Powell’s Draught
“So,” Devin Powell says, setting my pint of Sam Adam’s on the scarred, glossy wooden bar. “How was Hawaii?”