by Leylah Attar
I knew all of him now.
I opened my eyes at the peak and the intensity of the moment shot through both of us. I abandoned myself to the whirl of sensation, my heart bursting with all the raw, tender, fierce things exchanged in that one look.
“Güerita.” He surrendered with a long, shuddering moan.
I wrapped my arms around him. He kissed the top of my head and pulled me closer. He wasn’t done touching me. His fingers moved up and down my back in long, languid strokes.
“You grew boobs,” he said. “Really, really nice boobs.”
“You grew hair.” I traced the silky hair on his arms. “And a really, really big um . . .”
“A big what, Skye? Let me hear you say it.”
“A really, really big personality.”
“The thing about really, really big ‘personalities’ is that they really, really need a lot of attention. And just so you know, I’m always careful. This is the first time I’ve gone—”
“Sombrero-less?” I laughed. “I know you’d never do anything to put me at risk.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you love me.” There. The words were out and I couldn’t take them back. Let him deny what I’d seen in his eyes, what I knew was the truth.
Damian tensed, as if holding something in check. I held my breath, waiting for the mask to slip back on. My heart was going to break to the murmur of the ocean and the night wind rustling through palm trees. The lump in my throat grew to the size of a giant coconut.
“It’s true,” he said. “I’ve always loved you. Even when I hated you.”
Oh God oh God oh God oh God.
“Loved? Past tense?” I was pushing it, but my heart took a perilous leap.
“Loved. Love. What does it matter?” He pulled me into the cradle of his arms. “Love don’t die.”
“Are you feeding me one of your movie lines, Damian?”
“It’s a song.” He laughed. “My tastes have expanded.” His mouth covered my nipple, sending a warm shiver through me.
“Wait.” I pulled his head back up. “There’s something you should know.”
“I know.” His hands skimmed my waist possessively. “You love me, too.”
“Was I that obvious?”
“Skye.” He smiled. “You unleashed a fucking strawberry storm on me.”
Damian reattached the mosquito net over the bed and we stood back, surveying my handiwork.
“She can’t cook, but she can sew,” he said.
“Damn right, I can sew. I learned from the best.”
“So stitching all those flowers onto MaMaLu’s scarves paid off?”
“It’s called embroidery, and yes. She taught me well.”
“I don’t know.” Damian tugged at the patched up mesh. “I think we need to put it to the test.”
“Are you suggesting an afternoon romp, because—”
I didn’t get too far. Damian had me under the netting before I could protest. Not that I would. Or could. Because Damian in love was a thing of beauty—intoxicating, addictive, demanding, attentive, and always, always hungry.
Days passed like that, a whirling dance of sensation and passion and discovery. Nights too. I started taking the birth control pills that were still in the handbag that Damian had stashed away. I’d missed a couple of weeks, but it couldn’t be helped.
Every morning, Damian went to pick mangoes for me, with strict instructions to not cook while he was gone. I made the bed, returning MaMaLu’s Lucky Strike box back under his pillow. Sometimes I sat with it, thumbing through the contents, trying to catch a whiff of her, but all I smelled was stale tobacco.
When Damian returned, we would sit on the verandah and have breakfast. We sat on the same chair, with me on his lap, although there were three others that were just as comfortable. I played with his hair. He let me, even though we both knew he hated it. He put sand in my belly button. I let him, even though I hated it. But that’s what made it special, allowing each other those small, personal liberties that only come with true intimacy.
We had picnics on the beach. Damian roasted peanuts in the sand and sprinkled them with salt water. We ate them warm, with red bananas and ice cream beans—foot long pods packed with lima bean-sized seeds that were covered with a juicy white pulp. They tasted like wet cotton candy, but when left exposed to the air for a while, they took on a distinct vanilla flavor.
We snorkeled over the reef tops, mesmerized by an underwater ballet, as schools of vivid fish darted in and out of living corals and anemones. Soft gorgonian fans and giant sponges glowed over the sun-dappled ocean floor. Blue tangs and angelfish and spotted eagle rays glided past us. Where the seabed was covered in grass, we swam with turtles, with flippers that spread like wings.
Afterward, we lay on the beach, letting the sun warm our skin. Damian decided to shield me from harmful UV rays. With his body. I thought sex on the beach was a great idea. Until the wind started blowing sand in our faces and in-between our bodies. Sex on the beach was too gritty for my taste.
“Such a princess.” Damian laughed when I broke our kiss to spit out a grain of sand.
We rinsed off in the water and swam to the boat.
“Here,” I said, leading him to the bed where I’d spent so many nights hating him.
“No. Not here.” Damian didn’t want to be reminded of that time.
“Yes. Right here. Because you need to get over it. I’ve forgiven you, but you still haven’t forgiven yourself.”
“Skye—”
I shut him up with a kiss, because everything he needed to know was in the way my lips moved against his, the way my tongue melded with his, lingering and savoring the way he felt, the way he tasted. I felt him melt, slowly, undeniably, because it didn’t matter where we were—here, on the boat, where he’d kidnapped me, or on the beach, or on the moon—because there is no space too dark or too vast or too irredeemable that can’t be filled with love.
Damian worshiped me on that bed. For every cut and bruise he’d inflicted, there was the salve of his kisses; for every restraint was a chain of caresses. He was surprisingly, touchingly restrained although his desire throbbed, hard and palpable between us. The more Damian gave, the more his passion soared, until we were lost in a sea of sensations: the thrill of his hands on my thighs, the way our hip bones grazed against each other, the slide of skin against palm.
He buried his throat in my face and whispered sweet confessions in my hair: how he felt, when he felt, what he felt. My legs clung to him, my fingers tracing the tendons of his back, wanting to hold him closer, and closer still. My hand trailed down to the space between our bellies and I guided him to me.
“Take me. Take me now,” I whispered.
I exalted in his possession, writhing as our bodies found a tempo that bound us together. We were pressed against each other, flesh-to-flesh, so close that I could feel Damian’s heart pounding through his chest. He was rotating his pelvis clockwise then counterclockwise, then quick, shallow thrusts. I pulled on a fistful of his hair and kissed him, open mouthed, wild with need. He bucked, grabbed my ass with both hands, and drove deep into me. My thoughts fragmented; I gasped in sweet agony as fiery sensations ripped through me. Damian clutched my body, a tormented groan escaping him as he gave in to his release.
I snuggled up to him, my head fitting perfectly in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. “You think we’ll have any more issues with this room now?”
“Skye?”
“What?”
“I can’t think right now.”
There was a saltwater pool on the beach, carved into a rocky ledge. Two channels flushed the pool with passing waves, allowing fish to pass through. Damian built a stone wall that allowed the fish in at high tide, but trapped them when the water receded. The fish weren’t as big as when he went fishing, and they had a gazillion bones, but neither one of us cared because it allowed us to spend more time together.
“So tell me about the guy you were seeing in
San Diego.” He was massaging my feet with a mix of sand and coconut oil—his homemade spa treatment for me.
“Nick?”
“Whoever you were out to dinner with that night.”
“Were you spying on me?”
“I was.”
“Creep,” I said. “Nick’s a nice guy. I dated him for four months, but we never took it to the next level. We were never ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’.” I should have felt more remorse for not thinking about Nick, but whatever I felt for him had paled in comparison to this.
“And what are we?” asked Damian, recapping the jar of coconut oil and helping me up.
We walked into the water, and I let the waves wash away the sand, leaving my feet silky smooth.
“Not bad,” I said. “You might be on to something with this island exfoliation treatment of yours.”
“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.
“So what’s the occasion?” I asked.
“I just want to make up for the fact that you missed your birthday this year,” he said. “Also, I just want to make up.”
“You drugged me on my birthday. I don’t even remember what happened that day.”
“I know. I’m so sorry. And I can’t stand it when we’re not talking.”
I was such an ass, but I couldn’t hold a thing against him when he was kissing my neck like that, leaving behind the sweetest, softest string of apologies.
“I’m sorry, too. About yester—”
“Let’s not.” He shushed me. Let’s not apologize for the things we can’t help feeling, the loyalties that are tearing us apart. My mother. Your father. The whole world waiting to see how this will unfold. “Just you and me tonight, okay?”
I nodded and followed him out to the verandah, where he’d set up the table. With one chair.
We ate in silence, no longer taking anything for granted: the way his neck tilted to make room for my nose, how I finished one mouthful to his three, how he ate the parts with the most bones and left the rest of the fish for me, how I smothered everything in gravy and he liked it plain. It was an evening we didn’t want to end. The sand glistened with the warmth of the sunset and the water lapped up in soft, golden waves.
“Dessert?” he asked when we were done.
“Don’t tell me you baked a cake.”
“I have something better in mind.” He led me to the beach, smiling because I refused to take off my newly reclaimed heels.
I followed him to a pile of hot rocks in the sand. The fire had been doused, but the rocks sizzled when Damian sprinkled water on them.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready.” I smiled.
He uncovered a basket full of black, wrinkly bananas.
“Please tell me you’re not going to make me eat rotten bananas.”
“Hey, I ate your ceviche. Besides, these are not bananas. It’s plantain, and it’s the sweetest at this stage, when the skin has turned all black.” He peeled one, cut it in half lengthwise, and threw it on the stone. When it started to caramelize, Damian poured tequila over it. I squealed as it ignited in a glor
ious blue-tinged flambé.
“Want some now?” He pried the plantain off the rock and put it on a plate.
I looked at the wrinkly peel and back at the plate. Damian shrugged and popped a piece into his mouth. He lay back, elbows out, fingers interlaced under his head, looking at me. I took a tentative bite. It was warm and sweet and gooey, and so, so good.
“Better than cake?” he asked.
“What’s cake?” I smiled and stretched out next to him.
We alternated between dessert and trying to guess where the next star would appear, as the blue velvet of night unfolded over us.
“Tomorrow,” said Damian.
“What about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s the day I visit MaMaLu.”
“You think it’s safe?” My arms tightened around him.
“They’re looking for Damian, not Esteban. Esteban disappeared a long time ago, and there’s nothing to connect him to me, nothing to trace MaMaLu back to me. I don’t think they’ll be staking out the gravesite of a woman no one remembers.”
“I remember,” I said. “You remember.”
He laced his fingers through mine and we listened to the song of the waves. “Why does it feel like we are the only two people in the world right now?”
“Because right now, we are.” I slipped my arms inside his jacket and around his back.
“Do you know what I remember?” he asked. “I remember thinking that MaMaLu’s lullaby was about a beautiful little piece of sky, something that dispelled all the darkness. Then we came to Casa Paloma, and I felt like it was about you. Cielito lindo.”
“And I always thought she was singing about you. I imagined mountains, dark and black, just like your eyes.” I kissed Damian’s eyes and his eyelashes, his straight brows, the row of scars from his stitches.
“I’m going with you tomorrow,” I said, sliding the jacket off his shoulders.
“I know.” He flung it aside.
MaMaLu bound us together. The fact that Damian was willing to share her with me, in death as he had when she was alive, made me love him all the more.
“No wind today.” I unbuttoned his shirt and trailed my hand down his hard, smooth belly, to the trail of male hair that disappeared under his pants. “No sand.” I ran my tongue over it.