by Amber Bardan
I take the flowers. They’re wrapped in delicate white tissue paper. The blooms are huge, not buds, these babies are full and open and like someone spun scented velvet and layered each petal with a hundred shades of red, burgundy and even black.
“Thank you.” I can’t look up at him. Is this what we do now? Talk politely, like strangers? “I hope I wasn’t overstepping?”
I laugh. Not sure where it comes from but it bursts out of me and echoes down the hall. “Isn’t overstepping your entire thing?”
He squints. Warmth unravels through my abdomen. Squinting has always been a good look on him. “Except these days I’m trying not to.”
I clutch the flowers to my chest. “Then why did you come?”
“Because, Angel—” His sigh puffs between closed lips, and he steps closer. Breaks the barrier of comfortable space between us. “One day I hope you’ll tell our children about your first play, and I will tell them how wonderful it was to be there.”
The tissue paper tears between my squeezing fingers. I can’t look at him but there’s no looking away. Our future lies before me again. So close I could save it—I could fight for our life. God, how I want that life.
“I know I’ve broken your heart too many times to deserve forgiveness.”
My teeth clash together, I stumble back against the door.
“But I had to come here and tell you—” He pauses, as though maybe he’s the one drowning in hurt so deep it’s a battle to come up for air. “I had to tell you, that I’m so proud of you.” He pursues me against the door. But it’s those words that break me, crushing me between soft and hard places. Places like love and betrayal.
“Of what you’ve done and how strong you’ve been.” He reaches for me, fingers half curled—slightly shaking. “I always knew you would be.”
His hand closes and he draws his fist against his chest, right over his heart. “I needed you to know that I’m glad you’re happy.”
His eyes are so big now. Like maybe he’s saying things he means. As though he’s finally worked out what I asked for and he’s here to fix us.
“Even if I’m not next to you, and it breaks my heart. Even if I’m so miserable—” his fist bangs against his chest “—that I don’t know how I’m still breathing.”
I suck in my lips, but it’s too late to stop the tears burning down my face. I let my back fall against the door.
“I’m so glad you’re happy.” He steps in and rests his forehead on mine.
I cry harder, my body mocking his words.
I close my eyes, feeling the weight of his head resting on me. I breathe in his breaths, lay my palm on his chest, and count the throbbing of his heartbeats.
“I can do what you asked.” His words rush so close to my lips, I could move my chin and our mouths would brush. He draws back, staying close but straightening. “Which is why I need to go home.”
“What do you mean, which home?” I blink, and wipe my cheeks.
“Cairo.” His thumb trails down his jaw. “There’s things I have to do.”
My heart explodes. I lean off the door, searching his face, and fight the arguments on my lips.
“Things that aren’t only about the damn energy-cell.” His hand drops to his side. “I need to go back.”
I bite my lip, seeing another kind of pain on him. A pain he never had a chance to face. I understand how dangerous that can be.
“Okay,” I say, as though he’d asked my permission. Even if he didn’t, if it’s my blessing he came for, then I’ll give it.
I’ll give him whatever he needs for his chance to heal.
Even if that means he’s gone.
He nods, then bobs down and steals a kiss. Searing hot lips push into mine, capturing my breath before they’re gone.
He retreats, walking away from me one step at a time, until he turns. I watch him stride away. He steps down the stairs, and vanishes from sight.
Too many things remain unsaid. Promises I’ll never forget. I’m not sure they’re still true, but I hear what he once swore.
I’ll always come back for you...
Chapter Thirty-Two
I wipe my eyes, steady my breath, then open the door and stare down the barrel of what is more than a hundred and seventy something centimeters—a hellofalot more centimeters than I have—of seriously pissed off blonde woman. Emma’s put her stilettos back on, and stands tapping one toe on the linoleum in the center of the tiny kitchen, arms crossed, gaze shooting barbs in my general vicinity.
I close the door. I have to pity the guy who eventually wins her fiery heart. He’s in for trouble. Probably not as much as I’m in for right now.
“That’s him isn’t it?” She points at the door. “He’s the guy from the coffee shop and the elevator, isn’t he?”
I fall back against the door flowers in my arms. “Yes.”
“Yes?” She blinks, still pointing. “Yes? How can you say yes?”
There’s no point lying. Not anymore if she’s figured it out. Haithem’s invention has reached full market penetration, and I’m not spilling patent details. I just hope no one else connects the dots.
“I don’t understand. What happened?” She drops her hand. “Who’s the guy who confessed?”
I rub my lips together. “Some guy Haithem paid.”
She stares at me, her brows drawn tight and her mouth pinched. I’m about to find out how much our long friendship can stand up to.
“I need to sit.” She walks towards the living area. “Did he kidnap you?”
I put the roses on the bench then follow but linger in the archway. “Not exactly...”
Emma sinks into the sofa, and rests one hand on the arm. “You know if you’d decided to run off, and let that incredible beast bang your brains out for a few weeks, I could completely understand.” She reaches down and pulls off a shoe, keeping her gaze fixed on the carpet. “Hell, if you did I’d put on a costume and shake some pompoms, but please don’t tell me—” she toes off her other shoe, then looks up at me. The corners of her eyes narrow, “—that while we were all thinking you were dead, you were just off having a holiday with Sheik McGorgeous?”
My ribs pinch in the middle.
Emma’s never looked at me this way, no one ever has. I’ve known this was coming though.
Judgment.
“Well he’s not a sheik, he’s just Egyptian, and I’m fairly certain Mc’s are a Scottish thing.” I approach the sofa, lower myself on to the other side.
“I’m really not joking, Angelina.”
“I know, but it’s complicated.” I meet her gaze. “We didn’t have any easy choices.”
Her jaw sets. “Then why don’t you explain them to me, because I think I deserve at least that much.”
I blink, and rub my temple with a knuckle. Then, I give her an abridged, light-on-specifics version. She listens, watching me speak the whole time without ever saying a word. If there is anyone who could understand, who might not judge, it’ll be her.
I finish and silence stretches through the apartment.
“That’s really not what I expected you to tell me.” She sighs and leans back against the pillows. “So he faked his death and now you don’t know if you can trust him, huh?”
I kick of my own shoes and flop back next to her. “Yeah, that’s about the gist of it.”
Among the other harder-to-articulate stuff.
“But you really, really love him?” She glances at me without turning her head.
That might be the first easy answer I can give. “In ways I can’t find strong enough words to define.”
“Well,” she says “Letting someone who loves you think you’re dead is a pretty shitty thing to do...”
I cut her a look through slitted eyes. “Not the sam
e, Emma.”
She rolls on her elbow towards me. “Because you did it to protect your family, and he did it to protect who?”
I swallow a mouthful of sadness, and pick lint off a cushion.
“Babe, I understand needing to break away from the toxic people we love. My father’s been throwing me against walls and kicking me while I lay on the ground since I started high school...” Her voice gets husky and she clears her throat. I move my hand from the cushion to on top of hers.
“Yet, now I’m back for the weekend, I still have to fight the urge to go over there and see him. Find out if maybe today he’s sober. If maybe this time me actually cutting him out shook some sense into him...” Emma puts her free hand on top of the one I have over hers, sandwiching me there. “But I can’t. Because what my father does is hurt me, not protect me.”
We look at each other a moment. We’ve never been this honest before. “It’s not all about being protected, I want to be respected too.”
She sighs. “So you’re breaking up, or is that staying broken up?”
Her hands radiate warmth into mine.
My eyes tingle. “I’m not sure this is broken up—it’s being apart until we can figure it out.”
“So what are you going to do?”
I sniff twice. Emma puts an arm around my shoulders, and I rest my temple on hers. “Oh, Emma, I don’t know.”
September
“Bitch, just because you live alone does not mean you should do that.”
I angle my laptop screen for the best view of Emma’s judgey-Mcjudge-judge face, then tug the spoon out of the cookies-and-cream ice cream and lick it as grossly as possible.
“You mean this?” I say with my mouth full.
She rubs her forehead. “Why not put it in a bowl?”
“Because I only brought one and it’s still in the sink from dinner.” Yep, I have like three pieces of crockery and a handful of odd utensils Mum was going to throw away. Not sure why I can’t bring myself to flesh this place out a little. Honestly, I could sell one of the handbags that came from Haithem and I’d be able to deck the place out. But, I can’t bring myself to do that anymore than I can bring myself to start hanging photos around the apartment. And I’m not even into handbags. I stick the spoon back into the tub. “Besides no one else is coming over to eat my ice cream.”
She laughs, holding her hand over her mouth then rocks back. “No?”
My cheeks heat, and I put the tub down. No, the only person I want eating my ice cream, and boy does my ice cream want eating, is on the other side of the world for I don’t know how long.
“Have you heard from him?”
I glance at the pile of magazines stacked up next to the sofa. From the day he told me he was leaving, it’s been like something flipped over. Now I can’t walk past a magazine rack without searching through every single one, without buying any that even mentions him. I’m developing quite a nice little stalkerish collection. If I don’t end up a crazy cat lady, I’ll end up some freak with a shrine.
“I texted him two weeks ago.” I pull a tissue from my pocket and wipe my mouth. “Just to check he got to Cairo okay. Got an entire two-word response.”
I let out a long sigh.
Emma moves but the screen doesn’t quite catch up, making it appear as though her head teleports from one angle to another. “How are you doing?”
I snort. “I’ve been through worse.”
“Yeah, you have,” she says softly.
We stare at each other over the video chat, the steam running out on our conversation.
“Okay, I got to go get my ass ready for this date.” Emma fluffs her hair, which is in full frizz. “No guy’s going to want to shag Hagrid.”
“Because that’s an accurate comparison.” I laugh, and pick up the ice-cream tub to put away. “Talk again Monday night?”
“Sure.” She blows me a kiss. “Night.”
“Night,” I say, then lean forward and cup my free hand next to my cheek. “I’m counting on you to get some on my behalf.”
Her mouth opens wide then she laughs her adorable nose-scrunching laugh. “I don’t know who you are, but I like you even better than before,” Emma says, then her gaze drifts over the laptop. “No way...”
“What?”
“Turn on the television.” She waves her hand at the screen without looking.
I fumble in the cushions for the remote. “What is it?”
She tells me the channel. “Sheik McGorgeous is on the telly.”
I point the control. “He’s always on television now.”
“Not like this.”
The screen flicks on and I press the buttons for the correct channel. It’s a promo for a Sunday night current affairs show. Footage of a reporter walking a street some place very schmancy.
“We will take you to Cairo, for a world first exclusive with a man who’s not only changing the world as we know it, but fast becoming the planet’s most desirable bachelor.”
The screen flashes to Haithem, his wicked grin, a laugh that reaches out and seizes the contents of my chest.
“Whose-a-what-now?” Emma voice drifts from the laptop.
My jaw might just unhinge. Bachelor? He’s not a freaking bachelor. A bachelor is a schmuck on a show who dates twenty-five women at a time, while they vie for his magic roses.
“Smart, wealthy beyond belief, and more than a little easy on the eyes—but who is Haithem?”
The promo finishes, but I keep staring at the television.
“Nooooooo,” I whisper under my breath. The box is possessed. There’s a poltergeist in it. No way would Haithem go along with whatever that was.
I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t.
Unless he moved on.
Unless he took my request for a breather and ran with it all the way back to Egypt...
Unless now he was back to real life, the threat of someone murdering not tearing at his vulnerabilities, the life he wanted wasn’t actually one with me?
He could have anyone. Nothing stopped him now. I wasn’t the only person in the world he could talk to anymore.
“Angelina?” Emma’s voice cuts through the stillness my mind plunged into.
“This is why he had to rush back to Egypt?” I look back at Emma. “This is how he chooses to address the world for the first time?” I raise my hands. “As some kind of smug-ass playboy?”
I hit the buttons on the remote bringing up the guide. “When is this crap on?”
“That would be Sunday, tomorrow. Like they said in the ad.”
I shoot a scowl at the laptop.
“I thought you didn’t think the two of you could make it?” Emma asks looking at her nails.
“We have problems, that doesn’t mean it’s over.” I clamp my teeth shut.
“Exactly,” she says, then leans real close to the camera, her freckled nose coming into focus. “Which is why, my love, you really need to either shit—” her hand moves to the top of the screen “—or get off the toilet.”
The video feed goes dead.
She hung up on me.
Settles it. There’s no way I’m going to suffer the indignity of watching that damn show.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Packet Mac and cheese—that’s what this Sunday night has come to. At least it’s the good kind with tinned cheese not the powdered kind. You know you’re making great strides when you get your cheese from a tin instead of a sachet. But who am I kidding, it was on special this week, and honestly all I had left in the pantry.
I ladle a soup bowl to the brim and top it with ketchup. Not sure why I’m compelled to squirt ketchup on and make it as nasty and comforting as possible. I could add cheese Twisties as a crunchy garnish, but then I’d have to reach into
the top cupboard where I hide treats from myself, and well—screw reaching for things.
It’s enough I showered today. Damp strands of hair soak cold patches into the back of my robe. Bugger dressing as well. My robe will do just fine until I drag myself to work tomorrow.
I shuffle to the sofa and hunch over the bowl, then take a few stodgy mouthfuls and work up the nerve to pick up the remote control.
When he said he had to go home, I’m not sure what I thought he’d do. Work some of his own shit out maybe. Come back to me with his own baggage left behind.
Not preen in front of some reporter.
Not reveal himself to the world as some kind of golden playboy.
The screen lights up on my cell phone balanced on the arm of the sofa. The reminder flashes. As though I’d forget. I set the spoon into the bowl then snatch up the remote, and turn on the television.
So maybe I am going to watch the show. Might be just what I need to pull my rapidly re-expanding ass out of this funk and climb back up on the life horse. The intro has already started. Tonight’s highlights flick across the screen. I toss the remote aside. Haithem sits opposite the reporter, that wicked smile playing across his lips as she asks him what it’s like to be the world’s most desirable bachelor. I shovel more pasta into my food-hole.
Starting tomorrow I’m going to buy some vegetables and stop eating like a toddler. Until Haithem came back from the dead, the contents of my fridge actually resembled an adult. Now the only produce remaining lies somewhere in the bottom-drawer-of-doom, wrinkled and juicy. There’s cucumber slushy in a bag. I chew and swallow. Bits stick in my esophagus.
I’m going to need something to wash this down. I put aside the bowl and go get myself a cola, cracking the lid as I sit back down. Now the intro has moved to inside a house. I swear these programs are more introductions, highlights, and recaps than show. The camera closes in on Haithem’s face and pain crashes over his features.
The cola slides down the wrong way. I cough, and set the can on the coffee table next to the forgotten bowl of Mac and cheese. I rub a cool palm over my cheek. The reporter starts talking. She’s walking down the pavement in what I can only assume is an Egyptian street, talking animatedly with her hands. My ears only pick out words. Words like incredible, and remarkable. That’s what she says he is. Short yellow hair blows across her forehead and she brushes it away. They chose a pretty young reporter for this interview.
