by Mahi Mistry
I nodded.
“Of course, babe, I want children,” he said. “But I would rather wait for a year or two when we are both settled in our own home. I don’t want to rush it.”
I agreed, humming to him as I fell back in his arms. It will be our home when I move in with him next month. Anya had already found a better house for her and Andrew, which was closer to her law firm and the school.
As we both dozed off, I kept thinking about having children and hearing their tiny giggles in our home.
“So, you mean to tell me you punched him and went to cuddle with Aretta?”
I glared at his smug grin through my sunglasses. “Yes, Liam, I went to meet Aretta but for other reasons. And I don’t cuddle.”
“Yeah, right, as if I didn’t catch you cuddling Evey last month,” he said, opening the door of the café, the scent of freshly ground coffee wafting in my nose as I followed my friend.
“She is my little sister.”
I missed her a lot because I had to leave San Diego for NYU, and then I couldn’t spend as much time with her as I would like to. But I made it up to her and my parents every time I visited them. I met Liam again at NYU. He had applied for the same swim program that me and Rio had, so it was no surprise to find him there. Soon, we talked out everything between us, and since then, we have been good friends.
We sat in the corner booth, because we didn’t need to draw attention to ourselves, and ordered breakfast.
“So, how serious is HR?” He asked, sipping on his black coffee.
“As serious as HR can get when they find their athlete punching a reporter and threatening to cut his arm.”
He grinned at me, but his grin slipped off when he looked down at the styrofoam cup. I knew something was bothering him. His shoulders were tensed, and he couldn’t look me in the eye.
“What is it?”
“Did you check up on that model?”
Sighing, I raked a hand through my hair and removed my sunglasses. “Her name is Emma. I haven’t, actually. I will call her today.”
He glared at me with his piercing grey eyes. “You could ask her to tell what happened, you know? You wouldn’t be—”
“And then what?” I clenched my jaw. “They harassed her for fuck’s sake, Liam. I will not ask her to tell the media what happened if she’s not comfortable with it. I punched him so I will deal with it.”
He stared at me for a moment, studying me, and nodded. “Okay. But how did it feel to punch that jerk?”
I grinned, “I wish I had done it before.”
We laughed and ate eggs and bacon. We both were starving after our morning swim practice, but I knew I would let Liam take the lead at this Olympic. As we talked about swimming, modelling gigs and the endorsement deals, I realized I hadn’t told him about the volunteering work I had to do.
“I have to volunteer for community service, or HR will cut off my sponsorship and endorsement deals,” I said, waiting for his reaction.
“Of course, they would, Ethan. Remember Lee? They cut him loose because of a scandal. And this is big.” I knew what he meant. “People are still talking about it even though it happened two weeks ago.”
“I know. That’s why I need your help to find me any service, so far what I have come up with doesn’t fit with swim practice. Now is not the time to miss any of them.”
I thanked the waitress when she cleared our empty plates from the table as Liam thought about it. After a moment, he grinned at me, “Did you search for any swimming related volunteer work?”
Now I knew where to look.
After breakfast with Liam, I was back in the home I had bought as soon as I came back to San Diego. It was love at first sight. It was a two-story house, with a backyard pool and a small place for a barbecue. The lower floor had a large glass door which led to the pool and backyard. I remembered when I didn’t have furniture for the house, I would sleep on the couch looking out of those glass doors. This home was my sanctuary.
I kept my car keys in the bowl and went upstairs into my room to check any emails. I also researched for any volunteer work related to swimming. I told Elliot about it, and he said that his assistant would send me the list before evening.
Ignoring Aretta’s missed call, I took a quick shower and changed into sweatpants. My eyes went straight to the locked drawer in my closet. My jaw clenched and my pulse increased even thinking about it.
I shouldn’t. But I needed it right now.
It was as if her words, her diary had invaded deep into my brain, my heart and my soul, that I knew I would forever be tainted with the memories we had spent together.
With a heavy heart, I unlock the drawer and take her diary in my hand, already feeling the weight of her words on my body. I remembered the first time I read it on the flight from San Diego to New York. I had to rush to the washroom and puke out the breakfast I had. It was not because it was disgusting; it was because I had hated myself for not being the guy she could trust to tell me all about it. Later, I had realized that it was not my fault. None of it was. It depended on her, whether to tell me about it. We were just teenagers, high on love.
Taking a deep breath, I sat on the edge of my bed, my body already feeling stiff and foreign. I opened the old leather and flipped through the pages with blurred ink smattered across a few of the pages with her tears. I felt out of my body. As if I was nothing but a floating head in the room watching someone open the diary of his ex-lover because even after six years, he was not over her.
Will I ever get over Kiara Sharma? No, I won’t. She loved me, I loved her, and it was nothing but a hurricane and storm striking together, ruining each other in the process. I did not want to forget her.
She was my saving grace, too.
Even now, as I opened the diary entry that had made me puke six years ago in an airplane, her words cut deep in my heart, bringing tears in my eyes. I blinked them away and read the last line of that entry.
I pushed you away, but you stayed and now I wished I had stayed too.
For years, I had wanted the same thing, but I knew that it wouldn’t have helped her. She would have never been strong enough to talk to me about it, any of it. I hate it that she left so suddenly, but I knew she needed it.
I needed it too.
Closing the diary, I put it in the drawer and slammed it shut. I let out a sharp exhale and closed my eyes for a few moments. Just like every time I read one of her entries, I stalked her name on the internet. A small smile lit up my face when I read one of her interviews.
She was a teacher now. I chuckled thinking about Kiara Sharma, who had hated school for half of her life, teaching students, being their English teacher and grading essays. I remembered when I had seen her book, her debut novel, in the bookstore and bought it while I was in my last year of university. I was so proud of her I had finished it in two days. No wonder it was an International bestseller.
But then I read the acknowledgements and read how she wanted to thank young Kiara for falling in love with one of the best persons in this world. I was furious reading it, but it all died down in a few minutes.
I still had that copy in the same drawer. Locked away like a box of old memories. I would visit them like a nostalgic wounded lover in dark nights and early mornings, holding on to each page as if trying to figure out how she must have felt writing it down, pouring her heart out in blank pages.
Feeling overwhelmed, I called Emma and ignored the clipped warning from Elliot when I asked for her number. She picked up on the third ring, asking who it was. She was relieved when I said my name.
“How have you been?”
Words clogged my throat, thinking about large hands forcing her down, bruising her lips, icy fingers sliding down the skin.
I cleared my throat, “Are you okay?”
Emma didn’t reply for a while. “Yeah, I am. Thank you, Ethan, but don’t worry about it.”
Her voice was too firm, but I didn’t want to push her. “Okay. If you want to pr
ess charges against him, I have a lawyer who can help you.”
I heard her laugh, “No, Ethan Kane. I am not some big shot celebrity who can press charges on Richard Jane for manhandling me. Seriously, it is okay. He wouldn’t be the first guy to do that, and certainly not the last.”
“Emma.”
“Why do you care, anyway?” She sighed. “I am glad you stepped in that night, but it’s been two weeks.”
“I care because I saw how shaken up you were.” I paused and looked at my closed closet, where the diary was locked inside a drawer. “Something similar happened to a girl I once knew.”
“Oh.” She stayed silent for a while and asked, “Did she press charges against him?”
My silence was her reply.
“I am grateful for your support, Ethan, but I just want to forget it and move on.”
“Alright, Emma. As you wish. Take care.”
I ended the call and before I could toss it on my bed, I saw my mothers were video calling me and a smile lit up my face. We ended up talking for an hour because Eveline wanted to talk to me about her school, her ballet classes, and her new friends. I listened to her and wanted nothing more but to go see them soon.
“When will you come visit us? We all miss you,” she whined, her curly blonde hair clipped back from her face.
I smiled, “Soon, sweetheart. I am planning to visit you soon after an event I have to go to.”
“Which event?” My mom piqued in.
“It’s a fundraiser for children, I want to be there.”
They wished me good luck, and I ended the call after waving them goodbye. Elliot’s assistant had sent me a list of volunteering work related to swimming. After going through it, a small grin tugged at my lips.
I finished my look by adding gold hoop earrings and leaving my neck bare. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I made sure that my hair and makeup were perfect and the red satin dress, which Jake had bought for me for this event, hugged my body perfectly. The material was soft and the full-length dress looked gorgeous with my golden skin. Straps of the dress were thin. The neck was a little deeper than I would like, but it showed a bit of my cleavage without looking too revealing with the low cut back.
It was the Friday night of the fundraising gala where I would join Jake as his date. I felt a nervous tug in my belly and ran a hand through my dark brown hair tumbling down in waves over my shoulder. I didn’t know why I was so nervous suddenly. I had agreed to go with him because of the children fighting cancer.
Taking a deep breath, I gave myself one last look in the mirror. I had subtle makeup on but a little red tint on my lips to match with the dress. My almond-shaped eyes looked hooded with the eye makeup Anya had helped me with.
Wearing my black strappy heels, I walked out of my room with a small clutch in my hand which held my phone, chapstick, a tampon, and a check for donation.
“So, how do I look?” I asked the duo sitting on the couch working on Andrew’s assignment.
Andrew’s eyes twinkled with awe. “Like a beautiful Indian Princess!”
My cheeks flushed with his honest compliment, and I ruffled his hair, thanking him. Anya stood up and gave an appreciative hum, her pale fingers brushing over my hair as she fixed them over my shoulder, smiling at me.
“I would be surprised if Jake doesn’t take you to his house instead of the fundraising gala,” she whispered with a mischievous twinkle in her dark eyes.
My fingers tightened over the clutch. “He won’t do such a thing,” I said and added. “And I wouldn’t mind if he did.”
She grinned at me and went to open the door when someone knocked. I felt the nervous churn in my belly again. I looked down at my left hand, the diamond ring glinting on my finger.
“My God,” Jake whispered, his cobalt blue eyes trailing over my body and face as he walked closer. His eyes turned a shade darker when they rested on my chest, and he gave me a secretive smile. “You look stunning, Kiara.”
I chuckled nervously when he wrapped his arms around me, his strong cologne making me feel heady. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I whispered, taking in his navy-blue suit and polished shoes.
He looked handsome with the five o’clock stubble and his high cheekbones. Cupping his neck, I pulled him closer as his eyes twinkled with adoration, looking over every inch of my face.
I kissed him, a slow peck because I knew we had an audience, and pulled away when he closed his eyes and kissed the corner of my lips. My nerves relaxed when I heard him whisper,
“What did I do to deserve you?”
“Stop for gas?”
His ocean eyes twinkled with humor when we said our goodbyes to Anya and Andrew. She yelled from the living room, “Be back before eleven, kids. And no funny business.”
I hid my grin against his shoulder when he squeezed my hand and replied to her, “I can’t promise you that, Anya Wu.”
The fundraising gala was on full buzz when we arrived in Jake’s car, cameras flashing on both of us. Jake held me close, his hand squeezing mine when we entered the hotel. The hall was humongous and decorated with beige and satin where everyone mingled with each other, servers moving around with champagne, and there were many people from the fashion industry. It looked more like a fashion event than a fundraiser as I recognized designers and models from all over the world.
“You doing good, Kiara?” Jake whispered in my ear, his arms wrapped around my waist.
I gave him a reassuring smile, and he pecked my temple. We met his agent, his friends. Even the host of this event, Mr. Stone, who was a sweet, kind man in his early sixties and wanted to help kids. I talked with Jake’s friend but slipped off, needing something to warm up my throat.
I don’t know why I am being so nervous.
Thanking the server, I gulped down the bubbly champagne, which left quite a burn in my throat. I watched Jake laugh with his colleagues and talk to them. I smiled and let him be as I ventured to hand over my donation check for the children.
I had a nice chat with the warm lady who explained to me where the money would go and how it would help aid kids fighting cancer. I asked for their office card so I could visit their office personally and see if I could volunteer or help them in any other way. She was taken aback by my answer and thanked me, even though I should be the one thanking her for supporting this alternative.
Mr. Stone arrived as I hugged sweet Olivia goodbye after talking to her.
“Among all the three hundred people, you are one of the few who came forward to donate, Ms. Sharma,” he said in his soft voice, walking beside me in his pristine suit.
I assured him, “I am sure more people will come after the dinner.”
He huffed, “You are being too optimistic. I wish that would happen, but unfortunately, most of the people are here for their popularity. At least it will get the word out.”
I agreed and my eyes drifted to the tall, bronze-skinned man with a beautiful raven-haired woman in his arm. I tilted my head to him, “Well, Khalid Al-Latif is here, so you shouldn’t worry about it. The press will do its work.”
He smiled kindly at the towering man who was busy whispering something to the lady in his arms, her cheeks flushing red. “Even as the Prince of Azmia, his paintings have made over two billion dollars for the fundraisers, so I believe it will go well.”
Khalid Al-Latif was not only the Prince of Azmia, the country that bleeds gold, but he was also the brother of Sultan of Azmia. His paintings are inspired by grief, death, and a sad notion of life which my mother always found intriguing even though he was barely twenty at that time. I had seen his artwork for the gala; every painting had a child in an abstract form, blended beautifully with sharp, contrasting colors that made your eyes hazy if you kept looking at it. I knew from the start that most of the donation would be collected because of his paintings.
Mr. Stone asked, “Would you like to dance with me?”
I grinned at him and held his hand, “Of course, Mr. Stone. I wouldn
’t dream of declining your request.”
He chuckled, the sound raspy and throaty as he led me to the middle of the floor where other couples were dancing and swaying to the soft music. We swayed together for a while, talking about the other initiatives for the children all around the world.
“Mr. Stone, may I please borrow my fiancée for a dance?” Jake appeared beside me, smiling at the old man.
“Of course, Jacob. Take care of her, she’s an angel.” He squeezed my hand when my cheeks flushed at his compliment. He patted Jake’s shoulder and walked to his husband, who was well known for his luxurious fashion brand.
Jake stepped closer, wrapping his arms around me, and raised his eyebrow. “Flirting with Mr. Stone, are we?”
I let out a soft laugh, “Don’t tell me you got jealous of him.”
He shook his head, swaying me and pressing me much closer to his body. “You should see how men are staring at you right now. I needed to step in and let them know that you are marrying me.”
My hands tightened around his. “I am one lucky woman,” I smiled up at him.
“I am a lucky man to have you,” he whispered, his eyes glinting with adoration. He kissed my knuckles softly, “I love you, Kiara Sharma.”
“And I love you, Jake O’Neal.”
Before he could reply, our dance partners changed, and he was whisked away by another woman. I smiled at him and was about to walk off the stage as I didn’t see anyone when someone held my palm, sweeping me back on the dance floor, twirling me around.
My breath hitched in my throat at the touch of his cold, firm hold when all the lights turned off. The only source of light was the huge glowing chandelier above us. I swallowed the lump in my throat at the strange sensation, my nose wafting with musky woodsy and cinnamon cologne. I couldn’t place it, but I knew there was something familiar about it.
Something familiar about this person.
With the drifting shadows of the light across his face, I marked his sharp features gazing up at him. His wavy onyx hair was slicked to perfection, but it seemed he had raked his hand through it a lot tonight, tousling it in the process. No matter, it suited his fierce face well. High cheekbones, pointed manly nose, slight stubble peppering his sharp jaw and his dark eyes glinting under the lights as he looked straight back at me.
