Page 57 of Shattered Crown
She paused near the herb garden, where an older man in groundskeeper's clothes was pruning a hedge. I was too far away to hear their conversation, but I could see her face—open, warm, genuinely interested in whatever he was saying. She laughed at something, her head tipping back, and the groundskeeper's weathered face split into a grin.
They talked for ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. When she finally moved on, the old man was still smiling, watching her go with an expression that bordered on paternal affection.
I'd spoken to that same groundskeeper this morning. Asked him about the gardens, the irrigation system, and how long he'd been working here. He'd given me polite, professional answers. Name, job title, thirty-four years of employment. Nothing more.
Aria asked questions and got stories. I asked questions and got data.
She disappeared into the main building, and I forced myself to look away.
It was infuriating.
It was also, I had to admit, impressive.
She had a way with people. She'd always had a way with people—that warmth that drew them in, that openness that made them trust her. I'd watched it at society events for years, watched men and women gravitate toward her like she was the sun and they were all just planets in her orbit.
I'd told myself it was manipulation. A calculated charm offensive, designed to make people underestimate her while she maneuvered behind their backs.
But watching her here, in this place that clearly meant something to her, I wasn't so sure anymore.
Maybe some people were just born knowing how to connect. And maybe I was born without that particular gift.
The dinner that night was held in the hotel's main restaurant.
I'd changed into a charcoal suit, no tie, trying to strike a balance between formal and approachable. The restaurant was stunning—open-air like everything else here, with carved wooden pillars and woven ceiling panels and a view of the ocean that probably cost extra on the room rate. Torches flickered around the perimeter, casting dancing shadows across the white tablecloths.
Mr. Kahale was already seated when I arrived, at a large round table near the center of the room. His niece Leilani sat beside him, looking amused as always. And across from them, in a chair that left an empty seat directly beside her?—
Aria.
She was wearing something gold. A dress that caught the torchlight and threw it back, that draped across her shoulders and left them bare, that made her skin glow like honey in thewarm light. Her hair was up, exposing the curve of her neck, and small gold earrings glinted at her ears.
I stopped walking for a half-second. I made myself keep moving.
"Mr. Dubois." Mr. Kahale gestured to the empty chair. "Please, join us."
The chair beside Aria. Of course.
I sat, close enough that I caught the scent of her perfume—something floral and warm, plumeria maybe, or jasmine. She glanced at me briefly, her expression perfectly neutral.
"Sebastian."
"Aria."
Mr. Kahale looked at us with obvious amusement, his dark eyes missing nothing. "I thought it would be good for us all to dine together," he said. "Get to know one another better. After all, whoever takes over this hotel will be spending quite a bit of time in my company over the transition period. We should see if we can tolerate each other."
A waiter appeared with menus. Wine was poured. I focused on the menu, on the torchlight, on anything except the woman sitting close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off her bare shoulder.
"This restaurant," Mr. Kahale said, gesturing around the room, "is technically separate from the hotel. It belongs to my brother, Kai. My father had gifted it to him, when he decided he wanted to be a chef instead of a hotelier." A fond smile crossed his weathered face. "He was always the rebellious one."
"It's beautiful," Aria said. "The integration with the hotel feels seamless."
"That was intentional. Kai and I argued about it for months. He wanted modern renovations, I wanted something that honored the property's history. Especially since it's on the ground floor, as you can see. We compromised." Mr. Kahale'ssmile faded slightly. "He's agreed to leave the decision about selling to me. Whoever buys the hotel will have the opportunity to purchase the restaurant as well. I won't separate them."
I filed that information away. A package deal. "Your brother must trust you a great deal," I said.
"He trusts that I want what's best for this place. For our family's legacy." Mr. Kahale's eyes found mine, sharp and assessing. "That's all any of us can hope for, isn't it? To leave something behind that matters?"
The appetizers arrived. Some kind of fish tartare, beautifully presented, with crispy taro chips and a drizzle of something bright and citrusy. I ate without tasting, my attention split between the conversation and the woman beside me.
