Lies and Weddings(12)
“So you’re an ice sculptor?” Eden asked.
“I usually work in stone, but this is my side gig. My buddy Francisco hooked me up. In fact, speak of the devil…” Kiana pointed out to the sea. Eden could make out a figure backlit against the sun, snorkeling in a shallow reef down the beach.
“Francisco!” Kiana shouted. “See anything good?”
The man surfaced, looked in their direction, and removed his snorkeling mask. Much to Eden’s surprise, it was Rufus.
“Eden!!” Rufus shouted excitedly as he emerged from the waves, stretching his arms out in welcome as water dripped from his shoulder-length hair down his bare chest in rivulets. “You’re about to get very wet,” he warned as he went in for a big bear hug. “I’ve missed you!” Rufus said, squeezing Eden tight.
“I’m soaked,” Eden giggled. “What are you doing over here?”
“Been waiting all morning for you to wake up, sleepyhead!”
“You’re lucky I got up this early. It’s…what? Eight p.m. in England.”
“Excuses, excuses!” Rufus teased.
Kiana observed their familiar banter with interest. “So you’re the Eden Francisco keeps talking about! I might have guessed from your accent. You both sound exactly alike!”
“We do?” Eden said.
“Yes, Francisco sounds like Harry Styles, while you’re more Kate Middleton.”[*1]
“That’s a bit alarming,” Eden laughed.
“To Hawaiians, we all sound like we’re on Downton Abbey,” Rufus teased, before explaining to Eden, “Kiana and I met at school in London, but she’s actually from right here.”
“Really?”
“Yep. My family’s in Waimea. This gig was a free ticket to see them.”
“Kiana’s a much better artist than I’ll ever be.”
Kiana smiled. “Don’t believe a word Francisco says. His work is going to be in museums before long and I’ll still be chain-sawing ice at bougie weddings.”
“Rubbish!” Rufus exclaimed.
“Speaking of ice, I gotta run to a meeting with the snotty wedding decorators. They’re stressing out about my sculptures ‘ruining their sightlines,’?” Kiana said.
“Tell them all to shove it. Eden, coffee at my place?” Rufus asked.
“I should put on some proper clothes first,” Eden said, realizing she was still in her sleeping clothes—an old pair of cotton jersey shorts and a skinny tee.
“Why? Are you going to the Wolseley? Look how I’m dressed.” Rufus gestured to his tattered board shorts and bare feet as they cut through a wooded path that led from the beach to a road that to Eden seemed straight out of a dream. Tall coconut palms, fragrant hibiscus bushes, and mango trees lined the winding lane of relaxed old bungalows and wooden beach cottages next door to the occasional sprawling mansion. Rufus reached up into one of the low-hanging branches as they walked past and plucked two ripe mangoes. “For breakfast.” He grinned.
“This is paradise! How in the world did I end up here?”
“Me, of course. I conspired to get you that room in the bungalow!”
“So, I’m missing out on a five-star resort because of you?” Eden scolded.
“Puako Beach Road is one of the only places left on the entire island that still has these original cottages from the sixties right on the beach,” Rufus explained. “It’s a real neighborhood, as opposed to some poncy resort. You love hunting down the local hangouts whenever you travel, so I thought you’d prefer it over here.”
“I love it! But hey, Tom Ripley, why on earth does Kiana call you ‘Francisco’?”
“It’s my alias, my artist name—Francisco Ives.”
“Clever.”
“I’m trying not to use ‘Viscount St. Ives’ in London—my name walks into every room before I can.”
Eden nodded, knowing how conflicted Rufus was about the title that had been assigned to him at birth.
“Here we are,” Rufus announced as they approached a simple white A-frame house with a bleached wooden deck.
“At long last, the infamous surf cabin!” Eden said.
“I built it entirely of salvaged wood,” Rufus said proudly. Arriving at the front door, they saw a garment bag along with several other bags hanging on the handle with a note attached. Rufus glanced at the note and handed it to Eden. “This one’s a keeper.”
Eden peered at the note, which was hastily scrawled on Countess of Greshamsbury stationery: The countess would like you to wear this beige linen Margaret Howell suit tonight. She says to please tuck the shirt in and wear the outfit with the Duret belt and the George Cleverley loafers provided. PLEASE DO NOT SUBSTITUTE WITH YOUR OWN SHOES. And please use the mouthwash provided. And please shave. And please clean under your fingernails and trim your nose hairs. PEOPLE WILL NOTICE!
“It’s as if I’m not housebroken,” Rufus scoffed.
“Your mum’s just a perfectionist.”
“More like extreme OCD. I feel sorry for the lackey that had to write this,” Rufus groused as he crumpled up the note. He unlocked the front door and waved his arm with a flourish, inviting Eden inside. Eden entered to find an airy loftlike space cleverly divided into different areas by bamboo screens. A battered leather couch[*2] took up the front area, while a platform bed in the back corner faced a wall of sliding glass pocket doors. On the adjacent corner, next to a small galley kitchen, was a round metal bistro table flanked by a pair of classic Eames chairs. A line of surfboards against the main wall was the only decoration.