by Hana Sheik
And he had asked for time to process it.
Process it he had—and that was when he’d come to her, closing the seven-thousand-mile gap between them with a diamond in one hand and his heart in the other. He’d planned to offer her both—and he had. But she had shocked him with her refusal.
How could she not remember?
Did it matter, though? He knew it didn’t alter the situation they were in now, standing and facing off like strangers. He’d do better to focus his energy on what he could change. Like having her consider the options of medical treatment elsewhere.
“The doctor said I could regain my full memory.”
She folded her arms over her chest. Her new posture wasn’t offensive so much as it was defensive. Protective, even. Like that alone was enough to hold at bay the everyday problems of the world and her extraordinary problem of amnesia.
“There’s also a possibility that I could stay like this forever.”
She shrugged and lowered her arms. She shifted so that her body faced the fencing of the empty worksite. It looked more like a war zone than the start of what could be Hargeisa’s premier hospital, for rich and poor alike.
“The timeline for my recovery is uncertain,” she said softly, defeat beating at her words.
“And yet you could seek better medical care and technology elsewhere,” he said.
She snapped her bemused gaze to him.
“I know you heard my mother and I speaking,” he said.
Amal opened her mouth, closed it, and frowned. Smart of her. No point in wasting time and breath arguing about her eavesdropping. Actually, right then he appreciated it. It saved him from explaining what he’d already told his mother. That he had business in Ethiopia.
“Why not join me? You could visit with a doctor in Addis Ababa, and we could try for a second opinion.”
“‘We’?” she echoed, lifting her brows. First one, and then the other. Speculation and disbelief collided and mingled in her arresting features.
Manny understood why she might not trust him. To her, he was a stranger now. But even if she possessed full command of her memory she likely wouldn’t give him the time of day, given how they’d parted ways. A year was a long time for him to expect her to wait for an apology—and he wasn’t even certain why he should apologize.
An old, earthy grudge swelled in him. Stuffing it down, knowing that now wasn’t the time to pick and unseal scabbed wounds, he tackled her question.
Of course he’d heard it, too. He had hoped she’d missed his slip of the tongue, but he wasn’t that lucky.
“What I meant is that we would be going together,” he said lamely. “And I would be happy to show you Addis, as well. It’d be your first trip out of Somaliland, wouldn’t it?”
He knew it for a fact, and yet he waited for her answer.
“Yes, it would be—but I can’t just leave. I have work piling up.”
She hugged her arms around her middle again. Back to being defensive.
Avoiding his eyes, she murmured, “I can’t go with you, Mansur.”
“Manny,” he amended instinctually. “Can’t or won’t?”
In her surprise, she looked at him again. She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and, worrying at the soft flesh, appeared distraught. Lost. Cornered.
He hoped not by him and his offer. Though he did want her to strongly consider it.
Again Manny regarded the would-be hospital, the construction site frozen and forgotten...but not by her. Never by her, given the strong, unspoken feelings he’d sensed in her when she had been talking about her accident and how it had come to stall the construction of the hospital.
Her dedication demanded admiration from him, and he gave it to her readily. Which was why he said, “Do it for the hospital, then.”
“Pardon?”
“I said do it for your hospital. For Hargeisa, even. For the tens of thousands—no, hundreds of thousands of patients who might be saved because of your choice right now.”
Dramatic, yes. The over-the-top, boardroom-worthy pitch would have roused even his most dour-faced directors, and his board had plenty of that type. Old fogeys who clashed too often with Manny, their new, young CEO and president.
The hyperbole worked, though. Amal’s bemusement melted and a clarity brightened her eyes. She, too, stared at the site of what would be her hospital someday soon, and she smiled.
Manny’s heart thudded at the radiance of her smile and the sharpness of each heartbeat alarmed him. Clearly he’d underestimated the mystical power she continued, unknowingly, to wield over him.
Mouth dry, he said, “I know my mother orchestrated my arrival, and I know you played no part in her good-intentioned deception.”
Amal didn’t seem to notice the break in his even, confident voice. She waited silently for him to finish. Riveted was what she was. Beautiful and still and curious.
And very disrupting, he surmised.
“Word of advice: if you choose to join me in Addis, make the choice for yourself. Not for my mother’s sake, or because of what others think of you.”
“For myself?” she repeated.
“Yes, for yourself,” he emphasized. “Ultimately, you know what course of action is best for you.”
She was quiet...thoughtfully so. “It’s a tough decision.”
“It’s your decision either way.” And he promised himself he wouldn’t interfere in her choice.
Instead of choosing, though, she asked, gazing almost shyly at him, “What would you do, in my place?”
“If I thought it’d make a difference, I’d go.”
“And if I strongly believe it might not?” she whispered.
Manny didn’t know what to tell her. He suspected that no matter what he said she’d march to her own drum. So he said, “I had a choice not to be a CEO. I could’ve easily stepped aside and allowed another candidate to sweep the title.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He palmed his beard. “Because I felt I was the best for the position. I still feel that way.” He lowered his hand from his jaw and recalled how hard he’d worked to be where he was professionally. “I make sacrifices. I work day and night. And my social calendar suffers even more these days.”
He’d lost a few friends when it had become obvious to them that he couldn’t be bothered to maintain friendships. But he’d also done the same to his family.
“I haven’t seen my mom in a year,” he confessed. Not since he’d had to travel home to see how she was doing after his father’s wake and funeral.
“But you talk to her on the phone.”
Amal spoke matter-of-factly. It was amazing she couldn’t see the worst in him. He hadn’t been a good son to his mother. And when he’d heard his mother say “Hooyo” he had felt an earthshattering guilt for not calling her as often as he should have.
“I call her when I can,” he replied.
Amal smiled and nodded. “You had to make a tough decision, too.”
It was a tough call. She gets it.
Manny stuffed down the balmy calm that her empathy brought him.
He understood that he might not get an answer right then. She had a lot to consider. Even though he’d advised her to think of herself alone when making a decision, he knew how improbable that was. Amal didn’t live in a bubble or a vacuum. Besides, she’d always been more considerate than he. Sensitive to others and generous to a fault. If she had a flaw, it was that she was too good. Too kind. Too thoughtful.
Too spellbinding, he mused, finding some humor in his startling weakness for her.
He didn’t expect her to make her choice right then, and he certainly wasn’t waiting for her to pack her bags and come with him. Manny was prepared to stake his net worth on her refusing his offer. The only upside being that this time he wouldn’t be blindsided when it ca
me—unlike when he’d asked her to be his wife.
So Amal surprised him when she nodded. Firmly. Decidedly.
“All right. I’d like to go,” she said.
Like a candle wick, resolution flickered to life in her eyes, the flame gleaming more brilliantly with every passing second. Some switch had been flipped on inside her, and she was transformed by incandescent light and beauty.
By her decision to go with him.
Now he had to make certain that that light wasn’t dimmed and she didn’t regret her choice.
CHAPTER THREE
ALMOST AS SOON as they were in agreement that Amal would be joining him, Mansur looked at his vibrating phone. He sent a reply to the message-sender. When he met her eyes again, his phone tucked away, he offered news that would turn everything around and make her rethink her hasty decision to travel with him to Addis Ababa.
“It seems we’ll be leaving sooner than I intended,” he said, grim-faced.
The sudden change in him ruffled Amal.
“Sooner?” she squeaked, feeling more and more like a broken record.
She’d been parroting him since they’d left her office—but that was because he kept shocking her. First with his offer for her to go to the capital of Ethiopia with him, and now this. This about-face in their timeline.
When Amal had agreed, she’d assumed they would stay longer in Hargeisa. Long enough for her to get her work-related affairs in order and sort everything else out. She still had to tell his mother, too. And pack for the trip.
The to-do list was staggering, and her anxiety shot up at the realization of it. She was almost afraid to ask, but she had to. “How soon?”
“As soon as possible, ideally,” he said, confirming her unease. If she still planned to tag along they’d be leaving sooner rather than her much-preferred later.
“I’ll be heading back to my mother’s to gather my luggage. I suggest you join me and pack, as well,” he informed her, all business as usual.
She was beginning to sculpt a clearer picture of him, and it wasn’t favorable. And yet he’d given her this opportunity to seek a second opinion. A second fighting chance at besting her amnesia. These opposing sides to Mansur were throwing off her impression of him. Did he mean her well, or was there more to his offer than he’d revealed, along the lines of doing her a favor on his mother’s behalf?
Amal knew mother and son were close from how happy Mama Halima became whenever she mentioned Mansur. It wasn’t happiness Amal felt when she was around him, though. Far from it. More like a giddiness. A fever in her blood she couldn’t rid herself of. She’d say she was sick, but this illness required no doctor and no diagnosis. Just a simple acceptance of the fact that Mansur was a very good-looking man, and if she hadn’t been attracted to him before her amnesia, she was very much developing a crush on him now.
“What about breakfast?” she wondered softly, letting her mind linger on her attraction for him and at the same time hoping they could discuss some wiggle room in their looming departure.
He flashed her the faintest of smiles. “We’ll get to enjoy breakfast. Only not in Hargeisa.”
* * *
“As promised—breakfast,” he announced, two hours later.
Manny believed himself a man of his word. And, although he knew that his expert and well-paid flight staff wouldn’t fall short of his expectations, he puffed up with pride at their display of an in-flight meal. They hadn’t disappointed him. And he hadn’t disappointed Amal.
“It’s too much!” was her first exclamation, followed closely by, “But it looks delicious! I couldn’t let it go to waste.”
“We couldn’t let it go to waste,” he amended, lifting his fork to tackle a fluffy omelet.
Mirroring him, Amal grabbed for her utensils and surprised him with the vigor of her hunger, considering that only a few minutes ago, after their plane had leveled off and they’d reached cruising altitude, she had still appeared wan with airsickness. Now she dived into the American-style meal and even drizzled more amber maple syrup over her perfectly golden waffles. Apparently his fears for her had been for naught.
When the last piece of halal turkey bacon was plucked off the middle plate by Amal, and Manny’s fingertips brushed hers, he felt his body ignite from the simple touch while she crowed at having been quicker.
“I think that piece was the yummiest,” she gloated, laughing at the face he pulled.
“It’s my plane. I could fetch more for myself and myself only,” he said, fighting his own grin.
Amal shook her head at his light threat, an easy smile on her soft-looking mouth. “Go ahead.” She sat back in her seat, her hands folded over her stomach. “I’m full! I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“I take it you’re satisfied, then?”
Amal nodded and yawned. “But now I’m sleepy. I shouldn’t have eaten so much.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, not knowing how else to respond.
The awkward misplaced apology made her open her eyes wide. “Why do you have to be sorry? I’m the one who lost self-control. Also, I don’t regret it. It was a meal fit for royalty. A once-in-a-lifetime feast. Overeating was to be expected.” She tilted her head, her shy smile making his heart race. “I wouldn’t have gotten to enjoy it if you hadn’t talked me into this trip. So, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Her contentment pleased him more than he would have anticipated. More than he liked to admit, even to himself. Only she had ever been able to do that to him. Lower his guard. Give him these indescribable, intangible...feels.
Nostalgia brushed the periphery of his mind and crept over him, and it carried a sparking storm of nebulous feelings. He tripped a mental alarm, warning himself away from naming any specific emotion.
This is how it starts, he thought bleakly.
This was how he opened his heart again and risked his sanity.
I can’t do it.
He wouldn’t do it.
“Where’s the restroom?” Amal clasped her hands over her seatbelt, popping it off.
“This way.” Manny stood, and then froze at Amal’s protest.
“I can go alone,” she said quickly—too quickly.
She avoided his eyes, her embarrassment all too plain. What did she think he was going to do? He felt a similar flush of mortification flutter through him. This was exactly what he’d feared. Encounters like these. Misunderstandings that would get him in trouble again.
He clenched his jaw, then unclenched it to say, “It’s straight down, toward the back of the plane. The left bedroom and bathroom are roomier.”
“You have two bedrooms?” she asked, standing when he sat down and looking shaky on her legs.
Fighting the urge to offer his arm for support, he shifted in his seat and forced himself to get comfortable. Because he wasn’t budging. She didn’t want his help, and that was more than fine by him.
“Yes,” he said, realizing he hadn’t answered her. “There are two bedrooms. So if you’d like to lie down, feel free.”
She blinked.
He stared, his brows slamming down and then hiking up. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she murmured.
Her large, soulful eyes and drawn features told another story, though. A flare of annoyance fluttered through him. “Is something bothering you?”
She lowered her eyes, and for a moment he thought she wouldn’t respond, but then she said, “It’s just all of this... It’s your success, isn’t it? It’s a lot...but it says a lot, too. I can see why your mother is proud of you.” Amal lifted her chin and met his eyes. “And she has every right to be.”
Like a trigger, her words fired his ego. His head could have burst from the sudden and sharply rising pressure. His heart swelled from the rush of it.
He heard his own voice through the filter of
rushing blood roaring in his ears. “It’s not much.”
She smiled wider. “Let me be the judge of that.”
She left him with a short nod, her careful steps guiding her away from him. Manny sat there, his fingers clawing into the armrests and his body buzzing from the tidal emotions crashing in him.
Amal was dangerous to him—he knew that. She posed a threat to his renewed sense of calm. For a year he’d believed he had worked her out of his system. How wrong he’d been. In less than a day she’d unwound his security and his self-control. Worse, she had no clue what she was doing to him.
Unlike that night, he thought bitterly.
Like a stone skating over the surface of standing water, a memory from twelve months ago rippled to the fore. Before he could fight it, it dragged him under...
* * *
“Amal—wait!”
Whipping her skirt around, her abaya snapping as sharply as her flashing dark eyes, she pegged him with a full-blown scowl.
“What more could you say, Mansur? What could possibly explain how...how rude you were in there? You know it hurt your mother, and yet you didn’t do anything to change it.”
Her mouth curled with disappointment and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
His heart had to be in his throat, expanding it, and the burning sensation was making it hard to explain himself. Explain his absence from the wake. He’d missed the funeral, too, choosing instead to catch a later flight to Hargeisa and check on his mom.
Manny had seriously thought no one would notice. But she had.
Of course she had.
Amal could see his heart.
See his living, breathing anger and his undying grudge against his father.
“I’m...” He couldn’t bring himself to say sorry. He just couldn’t. Instead, he blurted, “I love you.”
She gawked at him, eyes round now, her anger temporarily subdued.
Fearful of losing this tenuous reprieve, he lowered to one knee and retrieved the ring box nestled close to his heart in an inner jacket pocket.
“I love you,” he repeated, snapping the ring box open and revealing the shining solitaire inside. It gleamed in the twilight like a fallen star in his palm. “I love you, Amal, and I never want to lose you.”
