Second Chance to Wear His Ring

by Hana Sheik

  She felt like an intruder. This glamorous world wasn’t hers, but Mansur’s. Even dressed down, he appeared comfortable with the high-end amenities and furnishings in her suite. Simply put, she didn’t belong.

  But that wasn’t what he’d asked. So she continued, “I like it. It’s perfect.”

  “But you’re uncomfortable?” he remarked, his brow curving into a brooding frown.

  “Not uncomfortable,” she lied.

  “We could change hotels.”

  His suggestion snatched at her breath. She had to remind herself to breathe when her chest ached and her lungs cried out. She was certain he didn’t care about her beyond their connection through his mother, so she couldn’t make sense of why he was going out of his way to please her.

  Maybe he wants to look good for Mama Halima.

  She didn’t know what to think, though. Because she didn’t know him. And it felt unfair to judge him prematurely.

  “No, I like it here just fine,” she said, realizing he was waiting on her response.

  “Good. I made lunch reservations for us at the hotel’s restaurant, but I hadn’t anticipated business interrupting.”

  No lunch together, then.

  “That’s fine,” she murmured. The kitchen in her suite was stocked with everything she could possibly want. She wouldn’t starve, if that was what he was worried about.

  “Instead, I was hoping we could dine here, in your suite.” He pushed his chin off his closed fist, moved his hands back to grip the armrests of his chair. “If that’s all right with you?”

  Hearing that he wanted to spend time with her was shocking. She hadn’t imagined he’d stick around with her once they arrived in Addis Ababa. In fact, a part of her had been prepared for him to say as much now. Not tell her that he hoped still to lunch with her despite the change of venue. He looked serious, though. And he was awaiting her reply.

  She gulped, her throat rippling. “All right.”

  “Good. I’ll order now, then.”

  Without a backward glance he walked away from her with his phone pressed to his ear, and her eyes tracked his back as he took the call out on the balcony. His deep, steady voice drifted to where she sat.

  She buzzed with giddy energy when he returned, sitting up straighter and widening her eyes as his stare locked onto her. Her belly cramped in a pleasant way when he offered her a small smile.

  “I just realized that I ordered for us without asking if you’d like something specifically,” he rumbled, adding, “I hope that’s okay?”

  “I trust you,” she said, face flushed.

  He stared quietly at her, and then he dipped his chin, his smile gone and his face impassive. “I hope your trust isn’t misplaced.”

  She didn’t know what to make of that.

  Taking his seat once more, Mansur hooked his ankle over his knee and leaned into the high-back armchair. There was an intent gleam in his eyes and she felt sweat forming along her brow under her headscarf. She swore her scar from the worksite accident sparked at the pressure of his stare.

  “What is it?” she croaked softly. Worry had slurped the warmth from her belly.

  “About going to the hospital...” he said, and his words sank her spirits. “I was wondering how you’d like to proceed. You did, after all, come here for a second opinion. I wouldn’t want my schedule to throw your plans.”

  “Throw?” she echoed.

  “Disrupt,” he amended. His jaw set more firmly, he continued, “I’ll be tied up after lunch. But I was going to suggest you confirm an appointment with the surgeon.”

  “Surgeon?” That would be the second time she’d parroted him in the span of a minute, if not less. Flushing from embarrassment, she stammered, “I—I don’t understand. What surgeon?”

  She dug crescents into her palms with her nails. It was just all too much. Mansur was talking a mile a minute, it felt like, and she couldn’t keep up. And she hadn’t ever thought they’d be discussing her medical plans for the amnesia—and so frankly.

  “I have a connection with one of the premier hospitals in Addis. The neurotrauma surgeon there, awaiting your approval for a consult, is at the top of her game. She’s renowned in her field.” He blinked languidly, dropping his ankle from his knee and shrugging. “But if you feel like I’ve overstepped by contacting the doctor, stop me at any time.”

  He couldn’t hide the hard shift of his jaw under his short beard. Yet he kept his emotion from leaking onto his face. With no tells to direct her, Amal had to rely on him once again. Because the offer of a consultation with a surgeon whom Mansur had pulled strings to tie down couldn’t be passed up.

  But before she accepted, there was one thing she needed to know. “When did you call the hospital?”

  “Not too long ago,” he answered, no hesitation in his tone.

  “Before you were speaking to your lawyers?”

  “After. I had time, and I wanted to ensure that at least one of us finishes what we came to accomplish in Addis Ababa.” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees now, his dark eyes probing her. “If you’re not comfortable accepting the offer, please know you won’t be hurting my feelings. You must do what’s best for you, Amal.”

  She could’ve sighed with pleasure at the way his resonant voice spoke her name. It was hard to predict what she’d feel next with Mansur. And she’d be lying if she claimed she wasn’t daunted by his mastery of her emotions.

  She couldn’t lean on him forever, though. Despite what he’d told her about being set back in his inheritance, eventually he’d head home to America. He would be gone, and she’d be alone again. She could only fully rely on herself. Not that it didn’t warm her heart that he’d gone out of his way to help her. She just had to be careful.

  With that last thought in mind, she steeled her spine and opened her mouth. “No, I’m happy that you did. I’d like to accept.”

  He held his phone out to her, saying, “I have the hospital programmed as nine. They’ll want your explicit approval to book you in for tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” she squeaked in surprise.

  “It’s either that or a few months down the road. The doctor’s schedule is filled well in advance.” He shrugged again, his piercing eyes slicing through her. “It’s your choice, ultimately.”

  She bit her lip, staring down at his phone, her hand crushing it in a death grip. Finally, she sighed and tapped nine. She didn’t wait long on the line before Reception answered and she confirmed her appointment. Swiping to cancel the call, Amal glanced up to find his eyes on her. She’d felt them appraising her the whole while.

  Once more, a skitter of pleasure skated up her spine. She resisted trembling in front of him, even as her body flushed under her layers of clothing. Suddenly the controlled temperature which had been perfect in the suite felt stiflingly hot. She adjusted her headscarf and watched his eyes tracking her every movement. Hawkish was his gaze, and she had the distinct sense that he knew exactly why she was becoming hot and bothered.

  He was attractive. And she was letting her emotions get tangled up in her appreciation of his good looks.

  Silly, she chided.

  Passing his phone to him, and ignoring how his fingers brushed along hers, Amal said, “I should get freshened up before lunch.”

  She excused herself, and Mansur let her leave without a word on his part. She sagged against the closed door of the bathroom, flattening a hand to her chest. Her thundering heart felt as though it would leap out of her chest and into her awaiting palm.

  “Stop it,” she whispered to herself.

  There was no point in working herself into a feverish state over someone who would never see her in the same light. The chances of Mansur feeling the same desire was slim to nil. She had to keep her head on her shoulders. Fantasizing about him would only muddle her feelings when he departed for A
merica. And that was an eventuality she couldn’t overlook.

  Mansur’s life wasn’t in Somaliland anymore. He belonged elsewhere, and she was a guest in his world for but a moment. She needed to accept that, swallow the bitter pill that it was, and move on.

  This was how she would protect what mattered most: her heart.

  * * *

  Manny sensed Amal approaching him from behind. He didn’t know how, exactly, only that the atmosphere had changed around him and he was compelled to turn and face her.

  Leaning his back against the balcony railing, he followed her every move as she neared him.

  She flicked her eyes down to where his hands grasped the railing. She thinned her lips. “Careful,” she warned, her face contorting with concern.

  “Nothing wrong with living a little dangerously,” he said, but he heeded her cautionary look and pushed off from the railing.

  He didn’t have a death wish. He was just a little floored at the sight of her. She looked radiant—stunning in a floor-length dress, the colorful vertical stripes of the skirt pairing well with the blouson bodice. She had on a burnt orange cardigan and a pale pink headscarf. She wore makeup, but she’d kept the colors soft and muted. A perfect palette for her outfit.

  He couldn’t help wanting the extra support of the balcony railing.

  Mansur swallowed with great difficulty, his mouth drying and his heart racing. But more troubling than his reaction was how he’d kept time in her absence. Half an hour she’d been gone, and he’d noted every minute—to his utter distress. This obsession with her was growing to be a dilemma.

  If he wasn’t careful he might do something ridiculous.

  Like fall in love with her again.

  He scowled at the possibility, even as his heart juddered faster in response. The last time his body hadn’t complied with his common sense he’d proposed to her. Seeing how that had turned out, he wasn’t eager to repeat his past mistake of being led astray by his powerful attraction to her.

  “I noticed that lunch has arrived,” she said, gesturing to the open balcony doors. She twisted her lips and frowned. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long for me.”

  “It just arrived.”

  The white lie rolled off his tongue. The truth being that their lunch had been catered shortly after she’d left him. One thing the hotel prided itself on, and what its affluent patrons paid for, was express and high-quality service. And they’d delivered, so he was content. Better yet, they’d left their lunch in several warming trays.

  Amal led the way indoors. “It’s a lot,” she commented, her eyes bugging at the numerous plates atop the long dining table. Pulling out a chair for herself, she whipped her head toward him when he grabbed the seat beside her.

  Surely, she hadn’t believed he’d seat himself on the opposite end?

  She goggled at him and he stared back at her. It didn’t take too long for her to shy away from his direct gaze. She ducked her head and grabbed at a pitcher of iced water. Filling her glass, she hesitated when he held his glass to her. She poured and snuck a glance at him from under her thick black lashes. Her eyes were even more alluring when they were lined with kohl.

  He caught himself gawking, but managed to cover his slip-up by gulping at his glass. A good thing, too, because the iced water countered the sparking heat building up in his blood.

  “What exactly did you inherit from your father?” Amal asked.

  “Farming land,” he replied, aware of how tight his voice had become. He sipped at his water, needing a pause to recollect his cool composure. “Acres of it. All fertile, too, and mostly untouched.”

  It would fetch millions with the right buyer, but he hadn’t anticipated the roadblock he faced in claiming the land.

  He gritted his teeth and spoke carefully, to avoid revealing the anger simmering below the surface. “There’s a clause I have to fulfill before the deed to the land can be signed over to me.”

  A clause that was quickly blooming to be a thorn in his side.

  Amal had her mouth full, but covered it to ask, “What’s the clause asking from you?”

  Her intrigue was natural. Anyone would’ve asked the same question. Yet hearing it from her made his whole body tighten with the stirrings of panic. He recognized the sharp teeth of anxiousness gnawing away at his insides, pulping him. Skirting the worst of it, he forced a calm he didn’t feel and decided to answer her—because there wasn’t a way around it anymore, and it wasn’t as though he was sharing anything he should fear...sharing parts of himself as he once had with her. This was platonic. Strictly so. A way to pass the time while they enjoyed another meal together.

  “The clause,” he began, enunciating carefully around his swell of nerves, “requires me to visit some family here in Addis. My father’s second family.”

  Amal lowered her hands over her plate, the fingertips clutching a piece of naan over some garlic hummus slackening and the bread plopping onto her plate forgotten. She blinked several times, opened her mouth, snapped it shut, and then just stared like he’d sprouted an extra head.

  So much for keeping it platonic. It was getting personal—and fast.

  Because you’re making it personal.

  He grudgingly admitted that he was. But it wasn’t news to her. Not really. She’d known about his father’s other family before amnesia had struck and wiped her adult memories—or so she’d told him.

  He narrowed his eyes at the lurking doubt. Doubt he snuffed out quickly, because it wouldn’t be like Amal to trick him. She’d always been forthcoming, and he sensed that part of her hadn’t been affected by the amnesia. If she said she didn’t remember, then she didn’t remember.

  “I didn’t know,” she said, her tone breathy with shock.

  Acknowledging her genuine surprise, Manny replied, “My mother never spoke of it. Your grandmother knew. She was one of the few people who did.”

  He paused, wondering if he should tell her everything or keep the past fixed firmly in the dark.

  You have nothing to hide; just tell her.

  It was true. He didn’t want her rejection making decisions for him. What better way to prove that he’d moved past his love for her than by sharing how they’d come to love each other?

  “You knew, too,” he said. “I told you a couple of years back.”

  “You came to Hargeisa?” She frowned, her brow wrinkling with consternation. “I don’t remember.”

  “No, I didn’t come home until my father passed.”

  Back then he hadn’t had time to visit over the summers between school years. All the money he’d saved from working part-time had gone into his livelihood. The full-ride college scholarship hadn’t covered all his living costs, and plane tickets hadn’t been cheap.

  “We used to speak on the phone. And sometimes, when our timing was right, we’d video-chat.”

  Amal’s face was transformed, her smile changing the gloomy cloud of unease hanging over her. “We did?” she breathed.

  Manny tensed his muscles, felt his body locking into its usual defensive mode. Her small but sunny smile wouldn’t undo him. Not that he didn’t enjoy the memory of their conversations...

  What he hadn’t told her was that some days he hadn’t been able to bear going without hearing her voice. That if he hadn’t been obliged to work he would have given anything to talk to her for a little longer. Many times his need for Amal had nearly driven him to drop his life in the States and return to the life he’d once had in Hargeisa. It would have been simpler, true. But he wouldn’t care so long as he could be close to Amal.

  But that’s changed. You’ve changed, he reminded himself.

  “I don’t remember that either,” she said, her smile vanishing as her lips trembled. The gloom came thundering back, enveloping her. She looked the portrait of sadness. “I—I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t
apologize. It wasn’t like you wanted to forget.”

  Manny pushed his plate away. He’d barely touched anything on it. The fava bean dish, so similar to Somali ful, looked unappetizing suddenly, and he knew his diminished appetite had more to do with his sour mood than the quality of the meal. Full of misery, he couldn’t stomach anything else.

  Noticing Amal hadn’t made progress in her meal either roused his sympathy for her. They’d both be eating if he hadn’t gone into the territory of their past. He’d ruined their lunch.

  He’d promised his mother he’d look out for Amal, and he was doing a shabby job of it.

  “I should be the one asking for forgiveness,” he said. “I shouldn’t have brought up my troubles.”

  The inheritance and the disruptive clause requiring Manny to meet with his father’s second wife and children was his problem—not Amal’s.

  She shook her head sharply, right after he spoke. “I’m glad you told me,” she said, her face filled with more concern. “What are you going to do? About the clause.”

  “If I want the land, I’ll have to meet them.”

  “Will you?” she asked.

  He shrugged, feeling no better after it. “I haven’t decided,” he confessed, his voice gruff with indecision. And, anyways, there was one more roadblock... “If I choose to meet my half-siblings and stepmother, I’ll have to hire a private investigator first.”

  “You don’t know where they live?”

  Amal had connected the dots on her own. Her eyes doubling in size told him enough about how she felt. She was shocked that he didn’t know where they resided. Of course she would be! Amal cared for her family, and even though it was down to only her two brothers and her father, she likely couldn’t imagine not knowing their whereabouts. For her, the idea of family being strangers was perturbing.

  He narrowed his eyes, seeing what he already knew written across her face. “I’ve never met them.”

  He’d told her once before, but saying it a second time was far harder. When he’d shared his family secret with her the first time it had been after they’d re-established their friendship. By that point they’d spoken often and, on his part, he’d felt the beginnings of love for her.