I nodded and her face grew even more frenzied.
“I know you’re with him, okay? Khabib. So don’t try to deny it. I’m not here to pick a fight with you— I’m here to warn you.”
As I gaped at her, she continued.
“I just don’t want anyone else to go through what I did. Because Khabib’s a real charmer—at first. Give him a few weeks, however, and he shows his true colors.”
“I’m not sure what you…”
But it was as if the woman hadn’t heard me.
“Khabib and I, we dated for a few months. At the beginning, it was all glitz and glamour. You know, fancy restaurants, expensive gifts, all the right words. He has a way of making you feel like you and he share a special connection, like you’re the only woman in the world.”
She closed her eyes, paused, then opened them.
“I fell for him hard, but a month later I found out that I was only one of many. I found out that he’d been doing the same thing—dinners, gifts, nights back at his place—with several other girls. When I confronted him about it, he at first denied it, then laughed it off. Finally, he called me crazy and wouldn’t have anything to do with me at all.”
While she spoke, the woman’s eyes bulged more and more, until they looked like they were going to pop out of her head entirely. When she was finished, she blinked once, then turned away.
“I just wanted you to know. I know I sure would have appreciated a warning.”
Rooted to the spot, I watched her walk off. It was only in my car, halfway home, that the questions occurred to me: How had she known who I was, or that I was dating Khabib? Was what she had said true, or was she just as off-the-handle as she had looked? Was I in danger of being hurt by Khabib, too?
Back at home, I fed Oscar, then sat in the dark, staring at a blank TV screen. Was that all this was to Khabib, all I was to him—another conquest?
I closed my eyes, but all I could see was his back turning the last time. Dad. The outline of his back diminishing as he walked away, forever. Mom’s tears had dried, but not really. They were still there now in the lines on her face, in the tired way she looked at me sometimes. She’d only told me the truth a few months ago, under the influence of the drugs the hospital had given her before she’d transitioned into the wheelchair. Dad had cheated and then, when found out, left. He had never tried to contact either of us since. No, he was, as my mother had termed him, a “heartless charmer”—a fact which she had found out far too late.
And me, was I destined for the same path?
I checked my phone. The Sheikh had sent a message: What are you up to? I miss you already.
And yet, who else had he sent that message to—how many other women? On the nights I hadn’t seen him, was he still gallivanting around with L.A. starlets, taking them on boat and helicopter rides, too? Had this always been temporary for Khabib, a passing amusement? Had I been kidding myself about our “special connection” this entire time?
I didn’t answer Khabib. I turned my phone off. I didn’t go to the gym; I didn’t leave my house. I sulked in bed, going through our conversations, looks, smiles. And yet, every one cycled back to my former impression— that Khabib really cared about me. Otherwise, why would he have asked me to be his girlfriend? And yet, the woman’s insistency and that look in her eyes…who knew what Khabib had said to her, too?
When I finally did turn off the light in my room, I closed my eyes with one final resolution. Tomorrow, even if I still had no idea what I was going to do or who to believe, one thing was certain: I needed time to clear my head.
Chapter Fifteen
Khabib
The next day, Lucy took a while to respond to my text. The whole day, in fact. Finally, I called her, but was sent straight to voicemail. I left one message: “Hey Lucy, did you forget your phone at home? Just wondered if you wanted to go to a movie tonight.” Nothing.
So, I went for a run with Bruno, and went to the gym. When I got back, there was still nothing. Celeste had messaged me half a dozen times, but I ignored her and went to bed. Maybe Lucy’s phone had died; it must’ve been a fluke. Tomorrow, she’d answer, surely.
Sunday morning came and went, however, as did the afternoon and the evening. I found myself checking my phone every few minutes, to no avail. Finally, at well past midnight, I fell asleep, exhausted. After having left several messages on Lucy’s phone, I’d determined that something must have happened to her phone—or her.
The next day, I woke up early, guzzled some coffee, and sped to work. As soon as I sat down in my office chair, however, I noticed it. The office conjoined to mine was empty; Lucy wasn’t there.
A quick trip round the office revealed nothing. When I asked about Lucy, Donna stared at me as vacantly as ever.
“No, she didn’t say anything about being sick. In fact, I haven’t heard anything from her, today.”
Mahir was similarly unhelpful.
“Maybe she had a late night and slept in.”
With a shrug, I stormed back to my office and threw myself into my work with an intensity designed to distract me. By the late afternoon, there had still been no word from Lucy—on my phone, or through Donna. By now, I was worried.
Until, just as I was storming up to Donna to command her to find out what had happened to Lucy, I got a text.
I’m sorry, but I have to do this.
It was from Lucy. No explanation, just a “sorry” for whatever “this” was. It couldn’t be, that couldn’t mean—she wasn’t actually quitting work just to avoid seeing me, was she? And for what? Because I’d possibly asked her to be my girlfriend too soon? No, there was no way. That couldn’t be it.
Still, all that night, my calls and texts went unanswered. Tuesday, she wasn’t in her office either, while Donna dully informed me that “Lucy’s sick, and doesn’t know when she’ll be better.” So, there was nothing to do but wait.
Wednesday I waited. Thursday and Friday I waited. By Saturday, I was tired of waiting, leaving voicemails Lucy probably never listened to and sending texts she probably never read. By Sunday morning, I had a plan.
Please, Lucy, if you meet me, I swear I’ll leave you alone. I swear, was the text I sent her. And, a few hours later, my patience was rewarded.
Okay. Where?
Cherrytree Recreation Center, tonight at 6.
And, at 6 p.m., in front of Cherrytree Recreation Center, there she was. Lucy, looking pretty in her purple dress, though not happy. When she saw me, her face brightened and then clouded again.
“Hello, Khabib.”
I stood there for a second, wanting to guess it—what was wrong, what had caused her to act so strangely these past few days. Far-off children’s cries sounded, the wind whooshed, but I could see nothing on Lucy’s flawless face—nothing at all. I took a step forward.
“I’ve missed you.”
She avoided meeting my eyes.
“I’m sorry. I know this has been…sudden. But everything that’s been happening lately, I feel like I got caught up in a whirlwind I had no intention of being in. I just need some time.”
I took her hand.
“Do you think I meant for this to happen? For me to fall for you?”
She pulled her hand away, but I wouldn’t let her.
“Please, Khabib. Let me go.”
There was a shudder in her voice, something of a plea. I released her hand.
“Anyway, that isn’t why I asked you to come here. I was wondering if you’d like to help me with something important,” I said.
Lucy sighed.
“Khabib, I…”
“You don’t even know what it is I want you to do, yet.”
She looked at me expectantly, and I gestured at the building behind us.
“I volunteer here. Help kids in need. They’re always happy to have more volunteers. I thought you could join me. Then, afterwards, you can go on your avoiding-me-way, same as before.”
Already, she was shaking her head.
�
�I don’t know…”
Her gaze stopped over my shoulder. I turned to see what she was looking at and saw it was Abigail, staring with her dark-circled eyes through the fence.
“Okay.”
Lucy walked past me into the building without another word. To call the staff of Cherrytree Recreation Center happy to see another volunteer would have, admittedly, been a stretch. Although, to be fair, these tough women probably didn’t get happy for much, if anything. Nonetheless, after everyone had filed in, they herded a couple of children off with me and Lucy, then shuffled off to deal with their own groups of kids.
As we walked outside with our group of kids, into the small fenced-in plot of grass, Lucy turned to me.
“What exactly is this program for?”
“Troubled youths whose parents don’t want to deal with them. It’s sort of an afternoon daycare provided by the city.”
Lucy nodded, her eyes on the same little girl as before, who was shuffling along miserably.
After a few minutes of dutifully chasing the delightedly squealing other kids, Lucy and I sat on the grass beside Abigail, who was busy in the sandbox, her little hands forming what looked to be a sandcastle. As Lucy helped her, using a neon pink rake to move some sand over, she turned to me.
“So, you said these are all troubled kids?”
I nodded.
“A lot of these kids have been through a lot—not just bad parenting. That neglect translates into every part of their lives—on the schoolyard, especially. A lot of them deal with bullying on a daily basis.”
“And you help them. That’s nice of you.”
I shrugged.
“I don’t come here to consider myself a good citizen, giving back, and all that. I do it for myself.”
In spite of herself, Lucy chuckled.
“Always honest to a fault, Khabib.”
I tapped the tip of her nose.
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”
The grin encroaching on Lucy’s face froze, then she turned away. I took the pink rake and brought some sand over for Abigail, too.
“I do this because I’m helping kids like I used to be. Kids who are bullied, who have it tough. Although my experience was very different, of course, I think it’s good for them to have someone who understands—at least a little—what they’re going through. And to tell them it gets better.”
Lucy nodded, still avoiding my gaze.
“You’re right.”
The sand tower now finished, Abigail took one admiring look at it before smacking the entire thing over. Taking one look at our shocked faces, she threw her little head back and laughed. As she flounced off, Lucy shot me a curious look.
“And Abigail? Do you understand her?”
I shook my head in a very certain “no”.
“Never will I presume to comprehend the intricacies of the female mind.”
We chuckled together.
“Though, seriously, I think she’s like a lot of us. She’s worried about losing something that’s important to her, so she sabotages it before anyone else can.”
Lucy’s gaze was on the toppled-over sand structure.
“Maybe she doesn’t know what she wants. Maybe she needs time.”
“Time and space are different things.”
Lucy’s gaze met mine just as a bell went off. I stood up and offered her a hand, which she took, rising.
“Wow, time really flew. The bell’s for the first shift. We’re done with this, now.”
Lucy almost looked disappointed.
“But you and I aren’t done, done, yet.”
As we left the building, waving goodbye to our group, Lucy turned to me.
“I don’t know if I want to do anything else, Khabib.”
“And why not?”
Now, her face looked actually pained, as if she could hardly bear to look at me.
“I don’t know if I can trust you.”
“What? What have I ever done to make you not trust me?”
“Nothing, it’s just…your reputation and…the other day. A woman approached me. One you’d been seeing, before. She warned me about you.”
Anger flared in me, though I took a deep breath and nodded.
“Leona. Brunette with bugged-out blue eyes, yeah?”
Lucy nodded sadly.
“So it was true, then? What she said.”
My hands were clenched into fists. I unclenched them and shook my head.
“Yes. No. It was true about her, about lots of them. Lucy, I don’t know what to tell you, or how to explain it. What happened to me, what’s been happening to me—why I was with so many women, how I went on, uncaring for so long. I don’t know why you’re different, but you are.”
Now, I was clasping her hands, pleading to her.
“You have to believe me, Lucy. I…look—”
I took out my phone and showed it to her, the barrage of texts unanswered these past few weeks. All women I’d seen, that I was no longer seeing.
Lucy nodded, then grinned.
“I knew it.”
I poked her.
“Oh, really?”
She shrugged.
“Kinda.”
We laughed together, and then I said, “So, can we continue on to part two, then?”
She sighed.
“Khabib, you said…”
I shrugged.
“I lied.”
As her face fell, I continued, “What if I’m asking for a friend?”
Now, Lucy’s face grew suspicious.
“Oh, really?”
I nodded and assumed a serious expression.
“Bruno has been very lonely, for a long time. He needs a doggie friend.”
A pause, then Lucy burst out laughing.
“Bruno’s suffering from only having plants to talk to, eh?”
I shrugged.
“What can you do? A fat little wiener dog has his needs for companionship, and I, of course, can only satisfy some of his conversational needs. Unfortunately, I cannot relate to his enjoyment of dog treats or pastime of chasing squirrels on my balcony.”
Now, Lucy was scrutinizing me, her hands on her hips.
“You’re a sneaky devil, you know that, Khabib?”
I shrugged again.
“What can I say? I do what I do best—make deals, compromises. I’m a closer, Lucy, always remember that. I close.”
Now, her face had grown pensive.
“Yes, that’s what I’m worried about.”
By now, we had made it to my car. So, opening the door, I swept her inside.
“Well, you didn’t say no.”
And then, we were in my car, driving back to my place. At my penthouse, Lucy waited in the car.
“You can go get Bruno. I’ll wait here.”
“But I thought…”
“That I’d be tricked into coming into your apartment, all the while Bruno is nowhere to be seen? No thanks, Khabib; I’ve already seen how far my self-control got me with you.”
So, with a theatrical sigh, I left her there while I went upstairs to fetch Bruno. My fat little hot dog was on his back in the most hilarious of poses, as if he’d sensed I was going to be returning that very minute. Scooping him up, I hurried back to the elevator and returned back to the ground floor.
Inside the car, Lucy agreed to hold Bruno, who enjoyed himself immensely, rolling back and forth like a little worm on her lap.
After a few minutes, Lucy let out a peal of laughter. I turned to find her eyeing me amusedly.
“How do you get anything done with this little monster around?”
I grinned.
“Now you see why I don’t work from my well-planted home.”
She smiled.
“We’re almost there—you take a left then a right, then my apartment’s on your right.”
To my pleased look, she continued, “And yes, I’m perfectly aware just how bad an idea this probably is.”
Nothing, however, prepared us fo
r what actually happened.
We were only a few feet in her flower-wallpapered living room, when a pug that was presumably Oscar burst out into the scene, barking up a storm. Bruno, for his part, let out a string of high-pitched yelps. Lucy stepped forward, but I put a hand on her arm.
“Give them a minute.”
And so, one, nerve-wracking, snarling minute we gave them. At the end of it, Oscar licked Bruno’s nose. Both dogs fell silent. With one great flop, Bruno plopped onto his belly, then rolled on his back. A second later, Oscar did the same. We laughed, and I clasped Lucy’s hand.
“Friends forever, it looks like.”
“Guess so.”
Silence, then, “What happens now?”
I held her hand tighter.
“It’s up to you. You know what I want.”
I drew her hand to my lips and kissed it. Then, my lips found their way to hers, my hands around her waist. Her skin felt so very soft, as if every inch of it was not covered in silk, but was silk itself. As my lips found their way to her neck, then her chest, her eyes opened. I nodded and drew back.
“You’re right. We missed dinner.”
As Lucy gaped at me, I continued “What sounds good to you? How about breakfast?”
Lucy shot me an incredulous look.
“For dinner?”
I nodded.
“You never got to experience how good my breakfasts are.”
As she giggled awkwardly, I continued.
“Please, we’ll have wine, too. I’m not some kind of barbarian.”
Still laughing, Lucy waved her hand in a gesture of agreement.
So, we went to the grocery store across the street, and I got all the ingredients I needed to recreate the breakfast I’d made her that she’d never gotten to eat, plus a nice bottle of wine.
After I’d cooked and plated the breakfast-dinner meal, we sat down at her kitchen table, the intermittent snoring of Oscar and Bruno taking the place of any ‘mood’ music.
We clinked our glasses of wine together, then enjoyed our breakfast-for-dinner feast. I couldn’t stop smiling at Lucy, and she met my irreverent grin with a pensive look.
“It’s strange.”
“What?”
The Sheikh’s Forbidden Tryst Page 7
