by Donna Alam
Chapter Eleven
I take a final look at my reflection: black skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder fine knit sweater. City chic and very much in tone for an evening of dancing, after Niamh demanded a few twirls around the dance floor as compensation for spoiling our girly night out. She knows how much I hate dancing but took full advantage, saying I’d manage to bust a few shapes with a bit of liquid confidence. As it turns out, Kai can’t stay for dinner and is just meeting us for a drink, not that Niamh complained he’d changed the venue. I surmise it has something to do with where we’re going.
Dancing aside, my primary objective for this evening is to get Niamh and Kai to be friends, or at least friendly. Not that either party is aware of my nefarious plan. Kai knows she’s my best friend and I guess he found out she’s fiercely loyal, judging by the talking to he seemed to be on the receiving end of at the pool. Though he must’ve said something right; she did, after all, give him the key pilfered from my bag. But I still feel anxious, nervousness bubbling as lively as any cheap bottle of fizz. Blame Niamh. Though she’s promised to play nice, I don’t believe her one bit.
We enter Kai’s selected restaurant and I’m immediately blown away. Opulent doesn’t even cover it. Huge, magnificent chandeliers, white fur, blinging walls, and waterfalls adorn the place. The level of opulence rising on each of its three floors. It’s over-the-top elegance but also a little bit mad.
‘Club Cavalli. I came here once before but got turned away at the door by some snotty bint.’ Niamh sniffs disdainfully. ‘I said I’d never come again, but I suppose I can manage it for my best friend.’
I slide her a significant look. Sure, she’ll suffer the opulence. Just for me.
The maître d’ leads us across a small but empty dance floor and up several stairs to a raised platform or kind of dais. The music is quite subdued, the lights low and the restaurant moderately busy. Kai is already at the table. He stands to greet us before we reach him and my breath is quite literally taken away. He loosens the single button of his slim fitting evening suit, his black skinny tie contrasting against the white of his shirt. He could’ve easily stepped directly off the catwalk in Milan or Paris. Exquisitely handsome, all lean and elegant angles, and good enough to lick.
‘Close your gob, you’re drooling,’ Niamh mutters. My mouth snaps closed as we approach.
I’m not sure about drooling but my skin flushes with pleasure as a slow, seductive smile rises on his mouth, almost as though he can read my mind. I lean into him, laying my hand against his tie as his lips meet mine in a chaste greeting. Fuck chaste right now; I want to loosen the tie from his neck, strip him bare, make him think only of me.
‘Thank you for the croissant,’ I murmur instead.
He doesn’t answer but smiles, heart-stoppingly so. ‘A pleasure to see you again, Niamh.’ His arm now around my shoulder, he turns, still smiling, and holds out his other hand to Niamh. ‘And thanks for loaning me Kate’s key.’
‘Kai.’ Niamh’s response is barely cordial as her hand briefly meets his. ‘What?’ she says taking in my expression. ‘Are you complaining? No, I didn’t think so.’ She purses her lips.
Kai holds out our seats by their backs— low-backed zebra skin covered chairs—more madness. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to see the Mad Hatter swing by, especially looking at how some of the patrons are dressed. Signalling the waiter almost invisibly, Kai asks, ‘What would you ladies like to drink?’
‘What’ve you got there?’ Niamh asks, peering at his glass.
‘A single malt.’ He holds the glass aloft, as though studying the colour, the containing liquid reflecting the amber of his eyes.
‘Is it a whiskey with an e or without?’ She narrows her eyes at him, daring him to ask for an explanation. And I roll my eyes, not needing one: whisky is from Scotland whereas whiskey, note the e, is from the far superior motherland of Niamh. I have already been indoctrinated into the world of scotch, or to put it another way, I’ve been bored to death already. And I call it scotch just to piss her off, because scotch is Scottish, not Irish, see? Anyway, goading her now would induce a war I don’t need. No Niamh sized tantrums needed tonight.
‘With. Bushmills, twenty-one year old.’
Her eyes slide to mine. ‘I like him more already. Uisce beatha will do nicely, thank you, Kai.’ Her expression is reduced to a small smile, one of appreciation with more than a touch of surprise. Kai has passed the first test, though I doubt he realises.
‘U what?’ I ask, bewildered.
‘Usice beatha . . . aqua vita, heathen,’ she prompts almost disparagingly.
‘Water of life, heathen!’ I scoff, adding a roll of my eyes, for shits and giggles; the former hers, the latter mine. ‘Just say whiskey, we’re not all experts, and I for one can’t stand the stuff, so stop showing off.’
‘Two Bushmills, no ice.’ Kai addresses the waiter, looking to Niamh as he orders. She concurs with a nod of her head. ‘And a martini. Make it dirty,’ he adds silkily.
My stomach flips, his words an echo in my ear. A dirty martini for a dirty girl. My cheeks burn immediately. There’s no reprieve for me when he’s near and I never know when he’s going to jump from light to shade.
‘Best not have too many of those, ‘cos those shoes and drinking are a recipe for disaster. You’ll break your neck.’
I blink as I ingest Niamh’s words, distracted immediately as Kai tilts his head to one side and strokes his chin, his eyes lustrous with desire. Or maybe mirth.
‘I think Niamh could be right. Those shoes look more suited to a chair than dancing.’
Something dark and sweet unfurls in the pit of my stomach as images of a particular chair—of silks and mirrors—flash through my mind. These shoes are suited to Kai, this much I know. Well, obviously they aren’t suited for him to wear, just to his esoteric tastes.
‘Some things are worth suffering for,’ I murmur in reply, turning my heated cheeks from his gaze. I can almost feel his eyes burning into me as an urgent desire climbs through my veins.
Leaning forward, he pushes a lock of hair behind my ear, the pad of his thumb lightly caressing my cheek on withdrawal. It’s an act so intimate, so personal, it might’ve easily been a hand moving between my legs. Then Niamh clears her throat and I’m immediately uncomfortable. Kai leans back into his seat, our trio’s embryonic conversation having died and left an uneasy silence in its place. I’m frantically scanning suitable topics of conversation when Niamh casually breaks the silence.
‘So, Kai, what do you actually do for a living? Kate says you’re a lawyer, though first she said you were a teacher. Which is it?’
And so the Irish inquisition begins.
‘That was a misunderstanding, my fault. I’m a lawyer, but I mainly oversee some of the interests of the corporation, a family concern.’
‘Sounds a bit cloak and dagger. What is it you actually do, day-to-day, like? You’re not one of these guys who sit in Starbucks all day, reading a newspaper and pretending to talk to their broker when really they’re on the phone to their ma?’
‘Niamh,’ I warn, but Kai smiles, not rising to the bait.
‘It’s a valid question. I’m actually Vice President of KMS Group. More specifically I’m responsible for the construction and manufacturing sides of the business. And as for sitting in coffee shops, no need. I have my own machine.’ He smiles widely. I also happen to know he has someone to work that machine for him, but I don’t mention it to Niamh.
‘So, what have you to do with the school Kate works at?’ she continues, fixing him with a gimlet stare.
‘Truthfully? Very little. The school is my mother’s concern. It’s largely a philanthropic exercise as far as the group is concerned.’
‘But it’s a private school.’
‘It is fee paying, yes, but a high percentage of the pupils have assisted funding. There are also a number of scholarships offered that go through to university level, for both universities in the UAE and over
seas.’
‘Really?’ she asks sceptically.
‘Yes, my mother is quite passionate about education, particularly the education of girls, and as a former teacher herself, she works with the administration very closely. It’s her baby, so to speak. I just lend a hand when needed.’
Our drinks arrive and the waiter hands us each a menu.
‘So, you’re a whiskey drinker?’ Kai asks, suppressing a smile.
‘What whiskey will not cure, there’s no cure for,’ she says with more than a touch of theatre, dipping her head to study the liquid inside her glass. I’ve heard her repeat this Irish proverb before, usually when drowning her sorrows with the stuff. When she’s in a maudlin frame of mind, I refuse to try and keep up ‘cos although she has the constitution of an ox, whiskey is Niamh’s kryptonite.
‘Sláinte.’ She raises her gaze from the depths of her glass and holds it aloft in toast.
‘Health to men,’ Kai replies, raising his own glass.
Sounds a bit sexist to me, especially as he smiles widely, using his full on toe-curling smile. Meanwhile, Niamh sits silent, like she’s been stunned.
Hello, anxiety; what the eff has he said?
‘And may women live forever.’ Niamh’s words are murmured slowly, almost as though she hasn’t quite grasped what’s going on. ‘Where’d you learn that?’ she asks.
‘Dublin. I studied for a while at Trinity. I was going to try the Gaelic version, but my pronunciation is a bit off.’
‘Would ya’ get out of the garden!’ she exclaims. ‘My God, what a small world! I’m from Dublin. Where’d you stay?’
Kai has lived and studied in Dublin? I’m momentarily put out that I don’t know this, but why would I? I’m sure there’s heaps about him I’ve yet to learn. That aside, he’s hit jackpot and I’m pretty certain he knows it. He’s cracked the thorny shell that is Niamh, therein laying a seam rich with shared experiences to be mined, familiar places and characters to compare. I almost breathe a sigh of relief. So long as he doesn’t tell her Gaelic football is for pussies, I think we’re all going to get along just fine.
Sitting back, I take a long sip of my martini, then scoop out the olive bobbing like a suicidal fly.
Kai and Niamh go on to discuss various areas of Dublin, the Temple Bar pubs they’ve fallen out of, and the high jinx of student life. More drinks arrive and I’m quite happy to sit and watch, interjecting occasionally, as the two relax into sharing stories and their mutual loathing of the black stuff which is Guinness, I think.
We’re chatting over a third round of drinks as Rashid approaches the table. I still haven’t gotten used to the sudden appearances of this dark, taciturn man or fathomed the exact nature of his job. Sometime chauffeur, sometime waiter, sometime coffee facilitator? He comes to stand at Kai’s side.
‘Ah, yes. Ladies, it’s been a pleasure.’ Kai stands and holds his hand out to Niamh. ‘I really enjoyed my wander down memory lane. It’s been great to reminisce.’ Standing, she pulls him into her arms, beaming. It’s quite a sight; I don’t think he knows how honoured he is. Niamh’s affections aren’t easily won.
‘It was great to meet you properly, Kai. You go on. I’ll take good care of Kate. I might even get a dance or two out of her later.’
His response is a tight smile, though I know he doesn’t have issues with dancing himself. Someone as gifted in the bedroom as he is knows all the moves.
‘Kate?’ he questions, pulling me out of my dirty thoughts. ‘Walk me out?’
We walk to the exit hand in hand, following a silent Rashid. With the door in view, Kai slips his fingers around my wrist and beckons me into an adjoining dark corridor, pulling me against him. He kisses the juncture of my neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply.
‘I needed to see you alone,’ he breathes against my skin.
The dark corridor cocoons us, the muted sounds of the restaurant falling away. The warmth of his breath, the need in his words, causes me to shudder, longing expanding along my limbs. I wrap my arms around his neck and press my body further into his.
‘I can still smell you in my bed. It misses you.’
These stolen moments in the corridor, hushed words and unspoken promises, fill me, make my heart sing. I place my hands under his jacket, running them the length of his spine as he lowers his mouth to mine. I’m lost against him, savouring the tang of whiskey against his lips. He groans harshly, pushing one knee between my legs, pressing himself tightly against me.
‘What I wouldn’t do for five minutes alone with you,’ he rasps, pulling me closer still.
‘I’m not sure five minutes would be enough.’ I feel, rather than see, his smile.
‘Believe me, I’d make it so.’
‘I’m not sure my heart can take any more of your making it so.’
‘But you take so beautifully.’
The words are more of a vibration than a sound, a tremor which hums to my bones. It’s times like now, when my hips sink into him and my knees weaken at his touch, I’m reminded how easy it’s been to fall for him. Just a touch, one slide of his lips and I’ll follow him like his little lap dog. One carelessly whispered command and I’m whipping off my clothes.
‘Excuse me. Sir, we have only twenty minutes. The traffic . . .’ Rashid’s deep voice murmurs from beyond the shadows.
Kai exhales in frustration, burrowing his head further into my neck. ‘My time isn’t my own today.’ Lifting his head, he murmurs, ‘I’ll call you. Tomorrow.’
I press my head against his sternum, concealing my disappointment and actually consider throwing my arms around his legs to prevent him leaving, like a small, belligerent child.
‘Things to see, people to do?’ I murmur, hopefully not too acerbically as Rashid coughs somewhere outside of our cocoon.
‘Something like that,’ he replies. ‘I really have to go.’ Kissing my cheek chastely, reluctance separates our bodies. ‘Maa’salama, habibti.’
I exhale roughly, resting my head against the cool wall as he leaves, silencing the longing within. Tamping back the urge to stamp my feet in frustration, I try to gather my thoughts. As he turns the corner out of sight, I move. Niamh will be wondering where I am, plus I must look ridiculous, lounging against the wall. Or I might get mistaken for a prostitute.
Back at the table Niamh’s grin hovers like the Cheshire cat’s.
‘I’ll hand it to you—you’ve got taste.’
With a small flourish, I bow. ‘Haven’t I been trying to tell you?’
‘Apparently, the bill has been taken care of for the rest of the night, and look, the flash fecker’s ordered champagne for us.’
Sure enough, a waitress approaches the table, bottle in hand.
‘Compliments of Mr. Khalfan,’ she says as my phone chimes, alerting me to a text message as the bottle is corked. ‘Should I pour?’
‘Yes, please.’ I gesture distractedly and open my phone.
I have a text from Kai, south of my navel flexing at this words: If you must suffer, do it magnificently. Champagne & heels, fettered and lying in my bed, you are always magnificent, sweetheart. K x
‘Did you know this place is mad expensive?’ Niamh questions, pulling my attention from my phone.
‘What?’
‘This place—it’s fabulously pricey. And very snotty about who they let in. There was an article in the paper not long ago where someone’s bill came to over a hundred thousand dollars. Can you believe it? For one night! How the other half do live, eh?’ she adds with a laugh. ‘Shall we stay here for a bit? We’ve champagne and the night is but young.’ She waves her hand theatrically as the waitress turns from the table
‘Yeah, okay.’ I don’t fancy walking anywhere. These shoes aren’t meant for walking. I only wore them to get a rise out of Kai. The text is sort of a rise, I think.
The music seems to have increased below us and the lights have lowered in increments so gradually I’ve barely noticed at all. Niamh and I are relaxed and enjoying our girls�
�� night. Having polished off the champagne, we each order a cocktail when an urgent voice interrupts our conversation.
‘Sister . . . sister!’ We turn in the direction of the voice, a table or two away from ours. A lone guy sits gesticulating wildly, rudely clicking the fingers of one hand to gain the attention of a nearby waitress.
‘Visky, bring me visky!’ he yells, quite irate. The waitress approaches him reluctantly, not surprisingly, as he continues to berate her, fingers clicking still. ‘I am fingering you for five minutes and still you are not coming!’ he calls loudly.
‘In your dreams,’ the waitress murmurs as she passes our table.
Niamh and I look at each other, stunned for a moment before bursting into laughter.
‘Do they think having money makes them more attractive or something? Because that, my friend, is a proper two-bagger. A face so fugly, you’d need to put two bags on his head to do him, in case the first one falls off!’
‘Yep,’ I agree. ‘To use something from your lexicon, he’s got a head like a half-chewed toffee.’
We burst into gales of laughter, the evening just a little too much.
Chapter Twelve
‘Ow. Fuck, my head.’ I groan, trying to move it from the pillow without a great deal of success. It seems too heavy to lift, like someone filled it with sand overnight. Sharp sand, weighty and rough. A second attempt at moving proves my head is actually stuck. My hair is caught around something. I twist it painfully to find Kai’s fingers twisted in my hair. Well, that explains that, then. Sort of.
‘What are you doing here?’ I mumble, untangling the strands and snapping a few in the process.
Hand free, he rolls onto his back mumbling something that sounds like ‘look around’. So I do, or at least I try to.
‘Ow, ow, oww!’
I bring my palms to the side of my head, because, not only does it feel too heavy to be balanced on just my neck, but it also hurts with the kind of pulsating pain that sends acid splashes of black, white and yellow behind my eyes as every hair follicle feels like a pin into my skull. And my head’s sandy filling seems to have migrated to my mouth as I sit. I run a rough tongue against my teeth and the taste . . . bloody awful. More like cat-litter than sand. Used.
