Page 33 of Always

Hannah really had thought of everything. Anika found swimsuits, several sets of underwear, a few outfits in appropriately breezy and lightweight fabrics, a set of cotton pajamas, and two lovely evening dresses. One was made of a white, gauzy, floaty sort of material, the other of a thin green silk with a botanical print. Anika laid out the latter and headed for the shower.

Once she had washed off all the ocean salt, she dried off and slipped into the dress. It was one-shouldered, fitted at the waist and loosely flowing around the legs, with a slit on one side. The rich emerald color looked lovely against her skin now that she had gotten a little color from an afternoon in the Aruba sun. She didn’t have to do much to her hair—it had waved up nicely from the humidity. But she did apply some makeup, even going so far as to line her eyes with a smoky kohl.

Marco was waiting in the living area, already dressed in gray slacks and a white linen shirt. He didn’t seem bothered in the least by the heat—he was probably used to it.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he said.

“Thanks,” Anika said.

She felt oddly shy around him. They had been alone before, a few times now, but generally in public places like restaurants, galleries, and so forth.

Marco seemed to sense her nervousness. He gave her space, let her get her bearings in the lovely, airy room which smelled of honeysuckle and freesia.

He took her for dinner at a little restaurant right on the water. She could see the waves crashing on the dark, empty beach from their table. They ate under the golden light of dozens of tiny lanterns strung over their heads. The waiter brought fresh lobster and crab legs, grilled grouper, and a decadent chocolate mousse for dessert.

Marco talked about some of the best museums he had visited, his favorite works of art that one had to see in person to appreciate. Anika was no philistine—she had been to the Musée d’Orsay and the Louvre, The Prado, the Rijksmuseum and the Vasa, the British museum and even the Galleria dell’Accademia in Florence, which Marco of course held in particular regard. She was quite ready to debate him when he tried to place Michelangelo above Rodin in the pantheon of sculptors, or when he denigrated the Dutch masters as rigid and gloomy.

Anika could have happily stayed on this subject for hours, but she did notice that when she made a passing comment in relation to Bennet Knight (“My father has some Warhols outside his office, I’m sure you’ve seen them), Marco quickly steered the conversation away again. She didn’t mind if he wanted to make this a true vacation, with no talk of work, but she did feel a slight discomfort in the way that Marco seemed to be erecting a wall around which she wasn’t supposed to see.

In her first and most formative relationship with James, their bond had been characterized by complete openness. There was nothing they couldn’t say to one another. To her, love had always meant a full and complete knowledge of the other person. And though she found herself charmed by Marco, there were moments when she perceived distance between them that made her wonder if she could really fully love him.

“What are you thinking about?” Marco asked her, as she grew quiet.

“Nothing!” Anika said, shaking her head. “I was just thinking how beautiful it is here.”

Now that it was a little cooler, the breeze blowing off the water felt like a caressing hand against her skin. She could see the stars over the dark water, the strings of lights around the palm trees on the beach.

Marco placed his hand over hers and looked into her eyes.

“In New York, I thought that you made the city look dingy by comparison to yourself. But now that we’re here, I realize that no place I take you could possibly compare to you, Anika.”

She flushed and looked down at the linen tablecloth. She didn’t quite know how to respond.

“Thank you,” she said, “for bringing me.”

Marco lifted her hand and pressed it gently to his lips.

“I want to take you all over the world. I think I’m falling in love with you, Anika.”

“Marco! Be serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious. I told you, I came to New York to make a new life for myself. To become the man I wanted to be. I had already begun that change, and then when I met you, I realized that you were the perfect partner for that man. You’re intelligent, you’re kind, and most of all, you have integrity. You’ve lived in the same world that I have, with the same people—the sort of circumstances that try to make you shallow and vapid and obsessed with everything material and empty. But none of it has a hold on you. You float above it like an angel.”

“I’m not perfect,” Anika said. “Don’t put me on a pedestal.”

“I don’t,” Marco said. “I won’t. But you are perfect, Anika, perfect for me.”

He leaned across the table again to press his full lips against hers. They were warm and slightly salty from the ocean air.

He took her back to their suite. As soon as he opened the door, she could see that he had made arrangements in their absence. Candles were lit all around, soft music played. The doors to the balcony were open to let in the starlight and the ocean breeze.

Anika walked toward the balcony to see if there was any moon, but before she had taken more than a step or two, Marco put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around.

“I’ve been waiting for this for too long,” he said.

He kissed her again, harder than he had at the restaurant. He pushed her tongue between her lips, wrapping his hand in her hair so he could tilt her head back. He trailed his lips down the length of her long, slender throat and back up to her mouth again, crushing her against his body.

With his other hand, the one not wrapped tight in her hair, he pulled at the single strap of her dress. The material tore, and the bodice of the dress fell down to her waist, leaving her breasts bare.

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