Page 14 of The Love Thief

CHAPTER NINE The Big Island

That night, I tossed and turned in bed, unable to stop thinking about everything the palm reader had told me. It sure felt to me like God had made some mistakes. For the umpteenth time, my mind drifted back to what a mistake I had made by so blindly trusting Barry.

Only a month after Barry and I returned from Budapest, he had surprised me with a four-day whirlwind trip to the Big Island of Hawaii—complete with a detailed packing list of what I should bring: sexy lingerie, bikinis, a hat, SPF, a few cute sundresses, and a notebook.

I asked him what the notebook was for, and he gave me a mysterious smile and said he was sure I would want to take some notes along the way.

We’d landed in Hilo and then taken a short drive to the beautiful tropical Balinese-themed home he’d rented for us in the Puna district, which I discovered was home to a colorful community of artists, writers, farmers, and free spirits.

The house was surrounded by a plethora of papaya, banana, and mango trees, as well as plumeria, orchids, and other exotic flowers.

Standing in the garden, I felt as if I were wrapped in the arms of Mother Nature’s abundant lusciousness.

The bright, rich colors, the sweet perfume of the flowers, and the gentle, sensual touch of the sea breeze were beyond delicious.

The master bedroom was round with a wooden vaulted ceiling. The king-size bed was on a raised platform—and, once in bed, I could see that the 280-degree ocean view was spectacular. It was clear to me why this was a favorite place for Barry. Everything about it was yummy.

Barry arranged for a local chef, Bhakti, a beautiful Hawaiian woman with full hips and long wavy black hair, to prepare a romantic dinner for the two of us in the garden next to the koi pond.

She was a delight and explained where each organic ingredient came from, including the delicate opah fish that her husband had caught that afternoon.

Dessert was a delicate Hawaiian version of an English trifle, which was light, creamy, and filled with a variety of fruity tastes that were new to me.

Barry was quick to tell me that he knew I was going to love the dessert and that one of the surprises he had in store would occur the next morning, and it involved an exotic fruit tutorial.

He and Bhakti exchanged a quick look as he winked at her, and then he brazenly suggested we head to the bedroom for a second “dessert.”

Around 10 A.M. the next morning, Bhakti arrived with fruit-filled platters containing whole and cut dragon fruit, rambutan, cherimoya, lilikoi, rollinia, starfruit, and good ol’ papaya, too.

The platters were skillfully decorated with local blossoms, and she had placed several gorgeous arrangements of local flowers around the open-concept kitchen.

It was a true visual feast for the eyes and a treat for the tummy.

Barry came out to the kitchen, handed me my journal and a pen, and then posed us for a variety of selfies in the kitchen, bursting with color, light, and sweetness.

Exotic Fruit 101 class was now in session.

Bhakti and I spent the morning tasting and sampling the bountiful collection of fruit as she demonstrated myriad ways to create exotic cocktails, sauces, and desserts.

I grew fond of the strange and wonderful dragon fruit that looks like an alien egg from outer space and tastes a little bit like kiwi. My favorite preparation of the day was the Orange Dragon Fruit Cocktail, which was super easy to make (and gave me a lovely little buzz):

ORANGE DRAGON FRUIT COCKTAIL

dragon fruit

orange juice

honey

rum

Slice the top off a dragon fruit and set aside.

Using a spoon, carefully scoop out the flesh of the fruit and put it into a blender. Be extra careful not to damage the exterior of the fruit.

Blend dragon fruit, orange juice, and honey until smooth. Fill a shaker and use a 1.5-ounce shot glass to measure 1 part rum and 3 parts of the dragon fruit puree per cocktail. Shake well with ice and then pour back into the shells and enjoy.

Barry had been excited to take me to Kehena Beach, a black sand lava beach across the road from our romantic hideaway.

I was wearing my cutest, skimpiest bikini and matching sarong and a pair of delicate jewel-encrusted sandals with paper-thin soles.

Had I been thinking straight, I would have worn sneakers to walk on the uneven and sharp-edged lava rocks that led to the black sand beach.

Too bad Barry hadn’t bothered to send me the Excel spreadsheet on what kind of shoes to pack for this adventure, I thought a bit resentfully.

It became apparent that I was struggling and would end up ruining my sandals and almost cutting my feet, so Barry, ever attentive and creative, doubled up the beach towel and laid it on top of the rocks so I could take a few painless steps.

He repeated this gallant process many, many times until he finally decided to pick me up and carry me the rest of the way.

On that day, he truly became my Prince Charming, and I even felt a bit guilty for judging him so quickly.

Moment by moment, I was falling deeper in love with Barry.

I had never had anyone spend so much time focused on me and my happiness by creating memorable and meaningful experiences.

It felt as if I was the center of his universe.

He knew my wants, needs, and desires even better than I knew myself.

He orchestrated the most perfect experiences.

If only I had known that his wealth and entire existence were based on a total lie.