Page 85 of Shattered Crown
I closed my eyes. The word sat there, waiting for me to claim it.
"Yes."
It came out hollow. Scraped raw. But it came out, and it was true. The truest thing I'd ever said. My heart had known it for a while now. Maybe since the beach. Maybe since the locked room. Maybe since that first kiss in New York, when she'd slapped me and walked away and I'd known, even then, that I would never be able to forget her.
"Not that it matters now," I said.
"Love always matters."
Mr. Kahale was gazing out at the ocean, his weathered face soft in the fading light.
"I loved my wife for forty-seven years," he said. "Lost her five years ago. I still love her. I will love her until I die." He paused. "That's the thing about love, Mr. Dubois. It doesn't stop just because it becomes inconvenient. Just because it hurts."
I stared at the waves. The sun was half-gone now, sinking into the water like it was being swallowed by the sea.
"You made a mistake," Mr. Kahale continued. "A big one. The kind that can break a relationship if you're not careful."
"I know."
"But it doesn't have to."
I turned to look at him. His dark eyes were steady on mine.
"She won't talk to me," I said.
"She's hurt. She'll push you away first, ask questions later." He shrugged, a small movement of bony shoulders. "Give her time."
"How much time?"
"As long as it takes."
He started the laborious process of getting to his feet. I moved to help him, but he waved me off with an impatient gesture.
"And Mr. Dubois?" He was standing now, leaning on his cane, looking down at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "I'm not accepting your offer."
I stared at him. "What?"
"The hotel. I'm not selling it to you."
"Then why—" The words caught in my throat. "Why did you do that? At the meeting. Why did you say you'd chosen me?"
Mr. Kahale was quiet for a moment. The last sliver of sun disappeared below the horizon, and the sky began its slow fade to purple.
"I told you at the beginning," he said finally. "I wanted to know who you are. You weren't showing me much. All those walks around the property, all those conversations, and I still couldn't see past the businessman. The mask."
He shifted his weight on the cane.
"But I had a feeling Miss Kealoha could bring out the truth in you. I saw the way you looked at her. The way you changed when she was around." A small smile crossed his face. "I wanted to seethe real you. And I knew that would only come out if you were at risk of losing her."
I couldn't speak. Couldn't move.
"I'm not finished." His voice was firm. "I also saw what I needed to see. A man who loves something more than success. More than winning. More than this hotel." He paused. "I see it now. In your face. In your grief. You love her more than any of it."
The words landed somewhere deep. Somewhere that ached.
"So here's what's going to happen." Mr. Kahale straightened his shoulders, suddenly looking less like a frail old man and more like the patriarch who'd protected this legacy for six decades. "You're going to go back to New York. You're going to fix what you broke. And then we'll talk again about this hotel."
"And if I can't fix it?"
