“You deserve some kinda prize,” I tell her. “And I give you my word, you’re gonna get it.”
She grins at me, moves closer, framing my face with her hands, and kisses me so intensely I nearly lose my balance. She’s riding adrenaline and anger and hope, and can’t contain herself.
“I love you so much,” she says. We’ve won the first in a series of battles. And even though we don’t know for certain where the finish line is, this one’s cause for celebration.
Kneeling in front of her, I wrap my hands around her waist and look in her eyes. “And I love you, you crazy girl.”
She grins at me, hair all wild and eyes almost crazed. “Crazy girl? I like that. I’ll be your crazy girl.” Then she breaks out into song. It’s a tune I don’t know, but I want to.
“Crazy girl, don’t you know that I love you?” she sings, belting the song with wild abandon. “I wouldn’t dream of goin’ nowhere. Silly woman, come here, let me hold you…”
My heart squeezes, watching her rejoice in our victory. I’m so damn proud of her, so damn smitten, I can’t say anything at first.
“I miss music, Cy,” she says softly, her voice cracking. “I miss instruments and soulful songs and lyrics that break your heart.”
“Me, too, baby. Me, too. We’ll get home.” And when we do, I’ll take her to concerts and symphonies, and revel in anything and everything we ever took for granted.
Home. Do I want to get home? Home for her is on one side of the country and for me, another.
“I thought you were gonna break your neck on that limb,” I finally say, shaking my head at her and changing the subject. The girl will be the death of me.
She gives me a sheepish grin. “I put a whole new meaning into going out onto a limb, eh? It’s okay, you can spank me later. I got the camera, that matters.”
I chuckle. “It does matter, and I spanked you earlier, so we’re good. See? I’m a fucking prophet. I knew you’d earn it. Didn’t I say proactive?”
“You did not know that,” she says, and we’re both laughing and she’s crying, and then Christ, my own eyes are damp, and my throat is all tight, because we did it. We found the last camera.
“I hope that one was broadcast,” she says on a sigh. “I hope they saw me flip them all off.”
I grin. “I hope so, too.”
We get to our feet and head back to the shelter.
“Now what?” she asks.
“Now we do what we always do. Get our food. Keep ourselves sane and healthy. And fucking wait.”
Dinner that night’s epic. She pulls out all the stops. I roast fish, and she makes the best soup we’ve had yet, filled with hearty chunks of cassava and vibrant green callaloo, followed by a creamy coconut concoction she works on for a full hour, with pineapple and coconut and guava. We eat until we’re full, then I lay her out and kiss her pretty mouth in thanksgiving and praise, worshipping her with my hands, my mouth, and my body. We make love until we’re both boneless and panting.
We go to the beach to watch the sunset, and I wonder if she’s feeling what I do, that this moment, this evening, is sacred. If what we hope comes true, the nights we have here are limited. And though we’ve longed to get off this island since we landed here, the thought of not having these moments with her is bittersweet.
“It’s deceptively beautiful,” she muses, sitting beside me with her legs tucked up to her chin. I don’t respond. I know exactly what she means. The setting sun casts orange and red on the turquoise water, shimmering like lights on a Christmas tree, and surrounding the water, palm trees dip their heads like ladies in a dance. Gracious. Magnificent. Elegant. The white-tipped shore kisses the ocean, and far in the distance, we see the graceful curve of a dolphin diving with the sunset backdrop.
It is deceptively beautiful, as she says. Paradise amidst stark danger and human corruption.
“Many things are, though, aren’t they?” I finally say.
She blinks and looks at me curiously. “What are?”
“Deceptively beautiful.” I look back out at the ocean and pull my own knees up to my chin.
She doesn’t respond right away, and when she speaks, her voice is pained. “Do you think I am?”
Her question surprises me. “Deceptively beautiful? Hell no.”
“No, just…” her voice trails off. “Minus the deception part.”
“Beautiful? Do you really need to ask that?” The question almost angers me, though my reaction is tempered with shock. “How do you not know you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen? Seriously?” I mean every word. She takes my breath away. I could trace the curves of her body all day and not grow tired of it. I could stare into the depths of her eyes for years and not fully grasp her. She’s beautiful and fathomless, my girl.