Second Chance to Wear His Ring

by Hana Sheik

  She stared from the ring to him, her shock morphing into nothingness as she herded her emotions behind a steely expression.

  “Will you stay?” she asked quietly.

  When he didn’t respond, she reached for the ring box and closed it, leaving it in his hand. Unaccepting of his token of love.

  “Your mother needs you,” she said then, “and you won’t stay for her.”

  Finally, Manny gritted, “I have a business to oversee, Amal.”

  He couldn’t throw away his life in America. He’d built too much there. Hargeisa, beautiful as it was, held too much pain for him. And now his father was buried here, too.

  “I can’t,” he said again, imploring her to understand, to be reasonable with him.

  “I know.”

  She nodded, smiling with a sadness that sank his heart to his stomach. No. It obliterated it, that sorrowful smile of hers.

  “It seems we’re too different. I can’t change you, and I don’t want to hold you here. Trap you into being with me when I know you’ll only resent me for it.”

  Manny launched to his feet when she turned to walk away from him again. “Wait!” he panted, breathless from his heartbreak.

  Pathetically, he held the ring box out to her. He had to ask. He nearly bit his tongue off in dreaded anticipation. But he had to know for his peace of mind and his heart.

  “Is that a no, then?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

  “It is,” Amal said softly. “Goodbye, Mansur.”

  She left him standing there, his arm thrust out, his fist squeezing over the small box that seemed to hold his whole world inside.

  * * *

  Manny surfaced from the memory breathless and perspiring. His chest was tight. His eyes wide and stinging. In that moment, he embodied sheer panic.

  The only positive was the fact that he had no audience. Amal hadn’t returned yet. That she hadn’t witnessed his uncharacteristic meltdown soothed him greatly.

  They were nearly upon Addis. It wouldn’t be long before the pilot announced their landing...before Manny’s real trial started.

  Staring at Amal’s vacant seat, he accepted that it wouldn’t be easy. There was incontestable chemistry between them. And he had residual feelings for her that he hadn’t laid to rest.

  Now he had the opportunity to do that. To define their relationship in a way he could live with. Once and for all. Even if that meant losing her forever—again.

  * * *

  Amal returned, still astounded by the glamour of the aircraft’s amenities, and discovered Mansur had cleared all evidence of their breakfast.

  He held a tablet in his hands, his finger flipping pages of the document he was reading. She hovered nearby, slowing to a stop, curious to watch him while he didn’t yet suspect her presence.

  It bothered her that she couldn’t recall him. She burned with frustration and the longing to demystify the enigma that he was. She might have asked him straight up, but a strange niggling sensation cautioned her against it. Strange because she didn’t know what kind of man he was.

  He’s generous.

  Or she supposed he was. He’d allowed her to join him in Addis Ababa, and he was correct about her chances at receiving better medical care there.

  He wouldn’t have helped if his mother hadn’t intervened.

  True, Mama Halima must have gotten through to him. Perhaps that was what was bugging her? Causing this restlessness to uncoil in her roiling stomach? It was either that or her breakfast wasn’t sitting well with her. She didn’t think all that good food was the problem so, grudgingly, she conceded that it was her lingering distrust in his motivation to invite her.

  She didn’t know him. Didn’t remember him.

  But she could start changing that now. They were alone. She had his attention until they landed, so long as he wasn’t too busy working, and it couldn’t hurt to re-establish a relationship with him even if he wouldn’t be with her for too long.

  She approached him, feeling like she’d played voyeur and spied on him long enough.

  He looked up at her passing. “Find everything all right?”

  Mansur lowered the tablet to his lap and gave her his full attention. The intensity that had been focused on whatever work he was doing was now bearing down on her.

  She resisted fanning her heated cheeks.

  “I did. Not that I almost didn’t get lost. The plane’s much bigger than I imagined.”

  She fidgeted in her seat, convincing herself she was getting comfortable. The truth was she couldn’t squelch her attraction to him. It took everything in her to meet his eyes and wipe clear any evidence of the turmoil inside her. She fought against the instinct to look away. Prey had to feel much like she was, when facing down its predators. And Mansur was big game. Apex. At the top of the social and economic food chain.

  “Am I interrupting you?”

  She glanced at his tablet, the screen darkened after lack of activity. There wouldn’t be any point in talking to him if he had work on his mind. She knew what that could be like. Being consumed with the passion of your career. She hated disruptions when she felt most inspired. And Mansur had appeared absorbed in whatever he’d been doing before she’d returned.

  “It’s work, but nothing I can’t do later.” He drew out the retractable table and placed his tablet atop it, facedown. “You have something on your mind?”

  His perception surprised her. Was she that obvious?

  “What business do you have in Addis?” she blurted, curiosity running away with her. She’d held it in for long enough.

  He rubbed his beard, his hand molding to his jaw as he stroked thoughtfully. “My father left me an inheritance and I’ve been placed in a position to claim it.”

  What he said captured her interest, because it wasn’t the kind of business she’d anticipated. And then there was his flat delivery of the information to consider...

  His late father had to be a sore topic.

  A year after his father’s death had to feel like nothing.

  Amal knew and understood. Any thoughts of her beloved grandmother, even with her memory loss, never failed to stir up melancholy in her. Death and grief and loss in some form or another were all difficult subject matters. Especially when her twenty-nine years had been steeped in it.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, her eyes stinging a little already.

  “Thanks,” he said coolly.

  Mansur thinned his lips and hardened his jaw. A muscle leaped in his left cheek from the tension that dripped off him. There was a question in his dark, probing eyes.

  She had no doubt that the tables would be turned, and they were. Promptly.

  “Do you remember him?” he asked, one brow raised sharply.

  “Your father? No. But I’m aware that he passed away. And even though it’s been a year, I’m sorry for it.” She watched for signs of sadness. They didn’t exist. Manny either held his cards so close to his chest that he’d perfected detachment or—and much more worrying—he truly wasn’t concerned in the slightest.

  The latter provoked a chill in her. Even the notion that he could be so cold-blooded perturbed her immensely.

  Changing tack, she asked, “How long are you planning to stay in Addis Ababa?”

  “If I’m lucky, it won’t be long,” he replied.

  Amal’s heart sank at his response. What had she expected, though? He was there to do business. In fact, he might not even have invited her if he hadn’t had to stop by Addis in the first place. It was a stark reminder that she wasn’t his priority.

  More like a chore, she thought glumly, recalling how Mama Halima had pleaded on her behalf with Mansur.

  “What’s it like living in America?” she asked. She wanted to forget that she was his obligation, and that he was being a dutiful son to his mother and no
thing more.

  “It’s nothing special,” he said.

  Amal tipped her head to the side. “It’s different than life in Hargeisa, isn’t it?”

  “Of course—but that’s a given.”

  At first, she truly believed he would leave it there. But then Mansur cleared his throat and continued.

  “Pittsburgh is a good city. I don’t explore it as much as I should, but when I manage to get out of my office I find there’s never a lack of something to do.”

  Amal gripped her armrests as the plane shuddered against some turbulence. Gritting her teeth, she implored, “Describe it to me, this city of yours.”

  Again, she’d expected him to stonewall her. But he shocked her with his reply.

  “Skyscrapers that appear to touch the heavens on the streets of Downtown. Bridges and rivers as far as the eye can see. It’s a historic and diverse city full of music, art, sports and soul. And the food...” he said with a small but warm smile. “You’d have to taste it yourself, but I’d say it can’t be beat.”

  Amal closed her eyes as the plane swayed violently again. She pictured his city instead, hoping she wouldn’t upchuck the tasty breakfast as her stomach swooped with her rising fear. She wouldn’t have stepped on this jet if she had known how scary it was to be tens of thousands of feet above ground. They were helpless against the turbulent winds and pressure up here.

  “Are you all right?” Mansur’s silkily deep voice asked.

  “Just a little queasy,” she confessed. It was her first time flying. She hoped he’d cut her some slack if she did wind up vomiting in his ritzy plane.

  “Would you like a sick bag?” he asked, concern roughening the timbre of his voice.

  “Maybe that’d be a good idea.”

  And while he had someone fetch it for her he calmly told her more about his beloved American home. “Moving to Pittsburgh was difficult at first. I’d grown used to studying and living in Boston. But I don’t regret the move now that I’ve called it my home city for nearly a decade.”

  “Do you have many friends?” she asked, once a flight attendant had tapped her arm and delivered the sick bag. She opened her eyes and found Mansur studying her.

  “Those sacrifices we spoke of...well, I’ve lost some friends along the way.”

  His candor humbled her. Very softly, she said, “I was surprised when not many people visited me in the hospital. I’ve learned that not all my friends cared enough to check on me.”

  She would’ve hung her head, embarrassed, if Mansur hadn’t spoken up again.

  “They weren’t your friends if they weren’t by your side.”

  “No, I suppose they weren’t,” she agreed, smiling when he nodded.

  He picked up his tablet and began working again as they lapsed into a natural quietness. After some time, he glanced up and announced, “We should be landing soon.”

  Amal followed his cue and buckled her seatbelt, renewing her taut grip on the armrests of her chair.

  Not too long after, the pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom to inform them of their descent.

  Amal practically swallowed her tongue as she felt the plane dip. Lower, lower. Down, down, and down.

  They were descending at a pace she began to feel. Soon they’d be on the ground in Addis Ababa. And, as much as this last leg of the flight rattled her, it wasn’t as unnerving as wondering what the Ethiopian capital held in store for her and Mansur.

  What else might she learn about the temptingly handsome tycoon who had invited her on this adventure?

  That last thought challenged her most of all.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “SO, THIS IS ADDIS...” Amal whispered the words to herself.

  Alone in the cavernous hotel suite, and astonished at the luxury all around her, she walked through double doors out to the balcony. She soaked in the fresh air, not knowing she’d needed it until that moment. The city noise was nowhere as shatteringly loud when she looked down from her eighteenth-floor view.

  She grasped the cool balcony railing, a sudden spell of lightheadedness rocking her. She’d really done it—traveled for the first time, braved flying in Mansur’s jet—and it had been worth testing the boundaries of her strength and the limitations of her fear.

  Amal turned her face up and slightly angled it toward an easterly wind. The sweet kiss of cool air was a pleasant change from the heat of day.

  The sweltering near-summer temperature in Addis Ababa was similar to that of downtown Hargeisa—where her architectural firm was located and where the beige grainy sands were all she could taste in her mouth some days, so she experienced a smidgen of the terrible drought that sometimes struck.

  A shortage of rainfall there decimated smaller and poorer dwellings. And everyone suffered the disaster of extreme heat and crop destruction—from farmers to merchants, beggars to businessmen, some worse than others. It was a time when hospitalization increased. And she’d looked on helplessly, dreaming of her hospital, wondering if its completion and opening would overturn many unnecessary sicknesses and deaths.

  Why did she have to hit her head? She’d had the project approved by the corrupt local government at last, but instead of withstanding their continued disapproval of the hospital’s construction she’d bared her throat and they had torn at her jugular. No, at her very heart!

  Her amnesia had ruined everything.

  Some days she didn’t know how she could ever make peace with her ravaged memory. Those days were beginning to become more and more a staple of her life.

  “Don’t cry,” she muttered, feeling a familiar heat lashing at her eyes and the tears falling anyways.

  She clung to the guilt of having let down the countless faceless patients who would have benefited from her forgotten hospital. And then she envisioned Mansur, his words to her resounding in her head.

  “Do it for your hospital. For Hargeisa, even. For the tens of thousands—no, hundreds of thousands of patients who might be saved.”

  Thinking of him was enough to make her wipe at her wet cheeks and blink back any remaining tears. She knew without a doubting bone in her body that if he’d been in her shoes right then, he wouldn’t bother with crying. Mansur possessed the traits she desired for herself. Stout confidence. A healthy ego. Visionary results.

  She knew all this from observing him in the flesh. And also because she’d scoured the details of him in the one place accessible to her and most of the world: the Internet. The Wi-Fi at the hotel had hooked her phone up to the online sleuthing she’d wanted to do all along.

  He’d told her of Pittsburgh on the plane, and he had even hinted at losing some friends to his career success, but Amal yearned to learn more about him. And she shied away from asking him for fear that he’d see her as being nosy.

  So she had settled for the Internet, but her search had proved to be fruitless. His professional accomplishments were all she’d been able to find. Barely any mention of his personal life. Oh, there was the occasional shot of him on a charity gala red carpet, or at the podium of some business symposium. But no hint of any slips and cracks in his professional mien. And no suggestion of a woman in his life.

  In the end, her efforts to sleuth were stymied by Mansur’s lack of a virtual footprint.

  A doorbell chiming indoors placed her firmly in the present. She followed the musical chime to the entrance and opened the door.

  Mansur pushed away from leaning on the doorframe. His hair was wet, darker from his shower. Gone was his suit. He wore black slacks and a fitted white T-shirt. His red sneakers were the brightest thing on him.

  “May I come in?” he asked, his voice rumbling but polite.

  She stepped aside, gesturing wordlessly for his entry. He passed her and led the way to the living area. Claiming a leather armchair with an ornate wood frame, he crossed his ankles and drummed his fingers atop the
armrests. There was a lurking frustration in his gaze.

  He smothered it as he blinked and said, “I’m sorry I left you alone for as long as I did.”

  “It’s fine. You had business to oversee,” she replied.

  And he had, by the sounds of it when he’d answered the call that had ultimately pulled him away. He had seen her to her suite and gone next door to his. Knowing the challenges of running and managing a company, she understood why he’d disappeared for a couple hours.

  “I hope it wasn’t anything too urgent.”

  He stilled his fingers, frowning. “Unfortunately, it was.”

  She sat across from him, realizing that it was awkward standing beside the sofa that faced his armchair. It sounded like he had something to say and being seated for it would be nice, especially as her curiosity had weakened her knees.

  Softly, she wondered, “Oh? What happened?”

  Amal believed she’d nailed a casual tone, but his arched brows knocked her confidence.

  “My lawyers discovered a hiccup in my father’s will,” he reported, “and an unforeseen one. I’d hoped I would be lucky and be done quickly here, but my luck’s soured. I’ll be staying on longer.”

  “For how long?” she asked.

  “I can’t be certain, but longer than I planned for.”

  She clasped her hands in her lap, forcing a stillness she didn’t feel into her overly strung body. “It makes you unhappy to stay longer?”

  “Yes, it does. I hadn’t scheduled for it. So I’ll have to do some adjusting. That takes time and sometimes—if I’m truly unlucky—it costs money, too.” He lifted a hand and curled his fist under his chin, his elbow perched on the armrest. Cocking his head, he studied her quietly and then asked, “Is the room to your liking?”

  She couldn’t complain, if that was what he was wondering. “It’s exquisite. Excessive, but luxurious.” She took a break from looking at him to survey their surrounds. “I’d be lying if I said I was feeling at home. I feel like I shouldn’t be here.”