The Holiday (4 page)

"About his wishes in regards
to his surf competition."

She wanted to point out that
Aaron had no wishes for the competition, because it hadn't existed before he'd
drowned, but that was just cruel.

"I know I've been running
it, and I think I've been selfish," Mary said. "He'd have wanted you
to be more in charge of the event."

"
No
." She shook her head vehemently even though her
not-quite-mother-in-law couldn't see it. "Aaron would have been
thrilled
that you were running it."

"That's sweet of you to say,
Leilani, but I've been very hands on and that doesn't seem fair. You should be
as much a part of this as I am. You were his wife, after all."

No I wasn't
, she wanted to scream. She dropped her head to the steering
wheel, trying to breathe as the walls closed in. And then words she hadn't
expected expelled from her mouth. "Mary, I'm going to London."

There was a startled pause on
both their ends. Then Aaron's mother said, "What do you mean?"

"I'm going to London,"
she repeated, trying it on for size. It felt good, and the walls retracted,
giving her space, just like her father said it would. Her shoulders eased and
relaxed back into her seat.

"I don't understand." Mary's
voice raised an octave, the way it used to whenever Aaron did something he
wasn't supposed to. "When do you leave?"

"The day after
tomorrow," she lied. But a day was all she needed. Sam would run the
gallery, and they could hire one of her cousins to help run it. She already had
a passport. All she needed to do was throw some clothes in a bag.

Mary gasped. "What? When did
you decide this? You never mentioned it."

"I have the opportunity to
curate a show in London. It's a great opportunity." To get away, she added
in her head. "The offer came suddenly, and the gallery owner there needs
me right away."

"What would Aaron say about
this?"

She stiffened at disapproval in
his mother's voice but she replied with all the lightness she could muster.
"I'd like to think Aaron would want me to be happy in my career."

"He'd never have gone to
London."

"No, he wouldn't have."
She pressed a hand to her forehead.

"And he wouldn't have
approved you leaving without helping with the surf competition."

That was true. He'd always tried
to drag her into his surfing, to hell with what she wanted with her life.

It angered her all over again,
and the resentment rose in her like a dark tide. Feeling spiteful, she said,
"Maybe if Aaron had been more interested in me and my life, he'd still be
here to take part in it."

The second she said it, even
before Mary's gasp, she wished she could retract the words. She closed her eyes
and tried to breathe. "I'm sorry, Mary. I didn't—"

"You don't have to explain
anything," Aaron's mother said curtly. "I guess I was right not asking
you to be more active with this."

"Mary—"

"Enjoy your trip."

It sounded like she was telling
her to have a good walk off a cliff. Leilani winced and started to backpedal,
but Aaron's mom had already hung up.

She stared at nothing, wondering
what to do.

Her phone rang again, and this
time it was Mel.

She blinked. A sign? She picked
it up. "I was just thinking about you."

"About coming to work with
me, I hope," the now-familiar husky British voice said.

"I've barely thought of
anything else."

"Good. Tell me you'll do
it."

"Yes, I will." She
exhaled, trying to dispel the butterflies from her stomach. Hopefully she was
making the right decision. In her mind's eye, she saw her father nodding in
approval, and her shoulders relaxed.

"Brilliant," Mel said enthusiastically.
"I'll book you a ticket. Is the day after tomorrow sufficient time to make
your arrangements?"

She chuckled, remembering what
she told Mary. Apparently she'd spoken this into reality. "Yes, the day
after tomorrow is fine, but you don't need to take care of my travel."

"Nonsense. In any case, my
assistant will handle it. She'll email your itinerary."

"You take no prisoners do
you, Mel?"

"What good are prisoners? I
much prefer devoted slaves, love," she said lightly. "I'm quite
excited you're coming. This is going to be fabulous."

"Yes, it is," Leilani
agreed, and it was the first thing she'd been absolutely sure about in longer
than she could remember.

Eighteen hours of flying plus a
two-hour layover gave Leilani a lot of time to think, and she thought about one
thing: sex.

She squirmed in her first class
seat, crossing her legs as if the flutter she felt between her legs could
escape. She thought about all the sexy underwear Sam had made her pack—underwear
she'd never used because Aaron hadn't been interested in that sort of thing.
She was wearing a pair now. Just the feel of the unfamiliar lace rasping
against her skin made her feel ready.

Ready for passion.

Would Colin be interested?

She hoped so. She told herself
for the hundredth time that even if he wasn't, someone else would be. London
was full of attractive men.

But every time she thought that,
she came back to Colin. He was the one she wanted, as inexplicable as that was.
She just had to find out if he was seeing someone and, if not, convince him he
wanted to pleasure her in every way known to man.

No problem, right?

Except for the reserve the
British were so well known for. She understood it—she was half Japanese
after all, and the Japanese gave the British a run for their money when it came
to reserve. She hoped Colin wouldn't be so old-fashioned that he wouldn't want
to crawl into bed with her.

Bracing herself for landing, she
told herself not to think about it, but she couldn't help herself. She kept
picturing him undressing her like she was a present, running his hands all over
her and murmuring to her in his sexy British voice.

She recrossed her legs in the
other direction.

The plane landed smoothly at
Heathrow. Jangly with anticipation, she picked up her purse, thanked the flight
attendant, and disembarked. Immigration control took longer than she'd have
liked, as impatient as she was to start her adventure. Picking up her luggage
from baggage claims, she breezed through customs and into the arrivals area.

Mel had told her there'd be
someone there to pick her up. She didn't figure it'd be Colin—that'd be
too much to hope for—but she was disappointed nonetheless when she saw
the black-suited man holding up a sign with her name on it.

Oh well. Pulling her bag behind
her, she walked up to him. "I'm Leilani Wakida."

He tipped his cap at her.
"Pleasure, miss. Jasper's my name. Miss Mel's driver. I'll take
those."

She handed over her luggage and
followed him to where a sleek Bentley waited.

Mel certainly did things
properly. Leilani eased through the door Jasper held open and sank into the
plush leather. A moment later they were racing through London traffic.

Jasper looked in the rearview
mirror. "This your first time in London, miss?"

"Yes."

"No city like London in the
world. Seeped in history, it is. No other country has a story like ours."

She smiled. Hawaiians felt the
same way. Her own family came to the islands more recently. She was the first
generation born there. Her father had come from Japan and her mother had been a
mainlander attending college when she met Tomio.

"London's divided into six
main areas," Jasper continued. "Miss Mel lives in Chelsea, on
Wellington Square, just off King's Road. Chelsea's been home to many famous
people. Anne of Cleves. Oscar Wilde. Mark Twain. Bob Marley."

"Whistler and John Singer
Sargent lived in Chelsea too." At Jasper's astonished glance, she smiled.
"I did a little research on my way here."

"Well done, you."
Grinning, he tipped his hat to her. "Then you know it was London's bohemian
quarter, at least until the 70s when it all moved north into Notting Hill and
Camden Town."

"And I know it's been famous
for its shopping."

Jasper chuckled. "One of the
allures for Miss Mel, let me tell you. She can't resist King's Road. I've never
met another woman with the stamina she has for shopping. I believe that's one
of the reasons she bought the house she did, its close proximity to the shops."

"You've been with Mel for a
long time?"

"Since she left home. Quite
a ruckus, that was." He glanced back at her. "Her parents are quite
traditional."

"And Mel isn't."

"Miss Mel is
independent," was all Jasper said. "Don't rightly understand the fuss
about her living in Chelsea. King's Road is hardly dodgy. It was Charles II's
private road to Kew, you know."

"I'd read that." She
gave a silent thanks to her parents, who'd always unconditionally supported her
in everything she'd wanted to do. They didn't even call her crazy when she
wanted to open the gallery. The only difficult part of leaving Maui had been
saying goodbye to her mom and dad.

She must have dozed off because
the next thing she knew, there was a gentle hand on her shoulder, prodding her
awake.

"Terribly sorry, miss, but
we're here."

She smiled into Jasper's
apologetic face. "I shouldn't sleep long anyway, not if I want to adjust
to the time."

"Don't worry. Miss Mel will
make sure you get set straight. She won't have it any other way."

"I doubt she would."
They shared a knowing look and then he went to get her luggage.

Leilani got out of the car and
looked at the pristine white building in front of her. At first it looked like
one structure, but then she realized it was a row of houses, so closely
situated they looked connected.

"Miss Mel's is the one with
the red door," Jasper said, closing the trunk.

It had no front yard—just a
handful of steps up to the front door. On either side, and on the tiny balconies
on each floor above it, there were manicured plants, bursting in fuchsia
blooms. Leilani counted the number of stories. "Which floor is her apartment
on?"

"It's all hers. Her home
isn't split into flats."

Leilani blinked as she followed
him. Fatigue had to be making her slow, because she thought he said Mel owned
the entire building. "But there are four stories."

"Five, counting the lower
ground floor." He guided her to the door and rang the bell.

"Mel lives here all by
herself?" she asked, thinking of her one-bedroom cottage at home.

"She likes space," he
said as the door opened.

"There you are." A
handsome man smiled warmly at them. With the bit of gray at his temples and the
laugh lines around his eyes, Leilani guessed he was in his early forties. He
looked pleasant.

And then she saw he wore a French
maid's apron, dress shoes with dark socks, and tighty-whities.

Her tired smile faltered, but his
encompassed her, charming her with his two crooked front teeth even if he was
in his underwear.

"You must be Leilani, and
I'm completely captivated. I'm George, of course." He clasped her hand in
both of his and drew her inside, his gaze like a laser focused on her eyes.
"You are indeed as stunning as Mel said. You don't have a chap waiting for
you at home, do you?"

"I'm a"—she
caught herself before she said
widow
—"confirmed
bachelorette."

He blinked enviously long eyelashes.
"Can I be so indelicate as to ask if you like men?"

She couldn't help grinning
despite the strangeness of the conversation and her jetlag. "I do like
men."

"Whew." He wiped a hand
across his brow like he was flinging off sweat. Then he tugged her down the
hall. "Mel's waiting for you in the study, and my lamb is waiting for me
in the kitchen. I'll show you the way."

"My bags—"

"Jasper will take care of
it. He's a good bloke."

She glanced back at the driver,
who was already climbing the stairs with her things. She shrugged. He wouldn't
have left her with George if he were a lunatic. Maybe his outfit was a British
fad.

"Mel is in the reception
room." George waved. "This way."

So she ended up following a man
in white briefs up the stairs to the second floor.

She wouldn't have guessed it from
outside, but even though it was narrow, there was still a light airiness to the
house. It was a strange but perfect mix of antique and modern, with
ostentatious chandeliers and sleek furniture. On the walls there were amazing
pieces of modern art, some of which she recognized.

She gaped at one by an artist she
admired. She knew for a fact that it was valued at a couple hundred thousand.

"Our Mel has impeccable taste,"
George said, waiting for her to catch up.

"And the means to back it up,
apparently," she muttered, hurryingly after him.

They entered what looked like a
living room on the second floor. Melanie lounged on a settee, her phone in her
hands, furiously texting.

"Sweetpea, you have a
guest," George called out in a singsong voice as he led Leilani in.

Mel looked up, her face
brightening. She tossed her phone aside and stood with open arms. She came
forward and kissed the air around Leilani's cheeks. "There you are.
Welcome to
my
island."

"Thank you so much for
arranging everything."

"Pish." Mel waved her
hand. "Sit, you must be completely knackered. Can George fetch you a
cocktail?"

"George has to attend to
dinner," he said as he walked from the room. "Mel will fetch you a
cocktail."

"Such a cheeky bugger.
Literally tonight." Mel grinned at his backside, pasty white even compared
to the briefs. Then she turned to Leilani. "Martini? Vodka tonic? Wine?"