by Hana Sheik
She could only come to one conclusion, and she wasn’t sure of how to react. “They found your family?” She framed it as a query. No point in making assumptions.
Mansur’s curt nod told her she was right on the money.
“But it’s not good news?” she asked softly, and studied his curling lips and furled brows. “Are they not in Addis Ababa?” She couldn’t think of what else might have caused his displeasure. “Wait—are they not in Ethiopia?”
“They’re in Addis,” he said, grumbling. “That’s not the problem. I just hadn’t expected to hear back so soon.” He sighed. “The call caught me off guard. I had hoped to prepare a little more before I heard any word from the investigators.”
Amal was silent, speechless. She had gotten the sense he was dreading the decision about meeting with his father’s second wife and family. Only she hadn’t thought he was so affected by it. It made him seem...normal, honestly. Given his wealth and immeasurable successes, she’d assumed he had everything under control. Every facet of his life. And what he couldn’t control he’d easily wrangle into submission.
He’s human.
Of course he was. She’d built him up in her mind as something other... Untouchable.
Clouds scuttled across the once-clear sky. She tried not to interpret them as an omen, even as forbidding as they looked when they passed shadows over the earth. She focused on Mansur and his troubled expression. He looked ready to split at the seams. Him! She hadn’t thought anything could shake his stalwart composure. But here he was, pacing in front of her, plainly disturbed by the call he’d received from the private investigators into his blended family in Addis Ababa.
“What will you do?”
“I haven’t made a decision yet, but I’ve asked for the report to be sent to me from the firm.” He stopped finally, swiveling to face her and folding his arms. There seemed to be a new resolution dawning in him. It was palpable in his strong, even tone. “I won’t do anything until I know what I’ll be dealing with.”
“And who you’ll be meeting,” she said, finishing his thought. She was doing that a lot lately. It felt nice, knowing they were on the same wavelength.
“You agree?” He sounded a little taken aback when he asked the question.
“It’s smart to be cautious. Never hurts to do a little research. Might even save you some grief later down the road,” said Amal.
Mansur bobbed his head slowly, returning the smile she gave him. He climbed up beside her on the hood and leaned back, stretching out. He looked at her with a silent invitation in his eyes. Amal followed his lead, lying beside him, the windshield at their backs. It was pleasant, staring up at the sky and divining images in the clouds that speckled the heavens.
“It really is peaceful here.” She sighed happily and closed her eyes. “No traffic. No noise pollution. A perfect retreat from the real world.”
“Maybe we should both look into being farmers.”
Amal snorted a laugh at his suggestion, pealing out into giggles when his sonorous laughter mingled with hers. She watched him turning onto his side, his hand propped under his head, and it compelled her into mirroring him. She found it hard to avoid looking at his mouth when he spoke.
“I was thinking about your hospital. If you’re looking for funding...” He trailed off, the offer speaking for itself.
“Why do you want to help? It’s not like you’ll be in Hargeisa again anytime soon.”
“I won’t, but I like to put my resources to good use where I can.”
“I know,” she muttered, realizing that she’d divulged more than she cared to about her snooping online. Somehow it was hard to keep secrets around Mansur. Next to impossible to smother her true feelings. Sighing, she said, “I looked you up online.”
“What did you learn?” he inquired, not appearing upset by her news.
“You donate to several charities. Also, you’re very generous with your money when it comes to helping start-up companies.”
“And...?”
“And your success and philanthropy haven’t gone unnoticed. Getting on the 40 under 40 is quite the accomplishment,” she said. “I’m shocked it hasn’t gone to your head.”
“How so?” he wondered.
“Most millionaires would be lapping up the glory in front of the media. But you’re not most millionaires.”
“Couldn’t find many pictures of me?” he guessed teasingly.
Amal pursed her lips, oscillating between whether to put the brakes on her interrogation or to continue chipping away at him.
This might be the last time you get to speak to Mansur about this. He’ll leave for America and you’ll never have this opportunity again.
Sufficiently motivated, she pressed on. “Why is that?”
“Why aren’t there many pictures of me?” He raised a shoulder, his shrug full of mystery. “I like my anonymity.”
Clearly seeing that it wasn’t enough, he sighed heavily and flopped onto his back once more, his hands interlacing over his stomach, arms bunching and flexing with his restless shifting.
“I’m not a famous actor or musician, or a revered journalist or politician. It’s true, I’m the face of a multi-billion-dollar company, but I’m also just a man who likes to work hard for his rewards. Being the CEO of Aetna hasn’t changed me beyond the fact that I’ve got more power to help the helpless and to move the company in a progressive direction. It’s exciting to work with billionaire hoteliers, shipping magnates and steel moguls, but it’s just as thrilling to set aside time to connect with local communities and the non-profit social organizations linked to them.”
He tucked his arms under his head, a faraway look in his eyes.
“Not all of those organizations get a fair shake. No one should feel left behind. No one should feel as though they come second on someone’s priority list.”
Amal thought of Mansur’s father, and she knew without a doubting bone in her body that he had to be thinking about him, too. It had her thinking about her father, too, and his last visit. About the visceral sense of abandonment that he’d left her with when he’d walked away from her again.
He hadn’t wanted her as a daughter. Not when her mother had died, nor when her grandmother had passed. She was his family when he desired money from her—that was all. It was a difficult truth to swallow, and it choked her even now, when she should be able to move on.
She rested flat on her back once more and blinked up at the sky, bottling her depression.
“Amal?” Mansur’s voice slipped into her ear, his minty breath washing over the side of her face.
She turned her head, blinking slowly to avoid crying. “Yes?”
“Thanks for coming along with me.”
Amal smiled, her lips trembling from the strenuous effort not to cry and from being so close to him and holding back. “What are friends for?”
Mansur looked away and she forced herself not to read anything into it. Especially when his hand brushed against her side and she lowered her hand to touch the back of his. She expelled the breath she hadn’t known she was holding, feeling a measure of relief pouring through her.
The moment was burst by the sound of a distant aircraft. Amal didn’t give it much thought until the noise couldn’t be ignored. The dot that was a helicopter grew bigger and bigger, until it filled the sky only a hundred feet from them, before passing over the hill and Mansur’s sports car and moving further on.
An icy pool of dread manifested itself in her insides. “Is that—?” She stopped short when it became obvious that Mansur couldn’t hear her over the aircraft’s whirring blades.
He sat up and turned to follow the chopper with narrowed eyes, a hand going to his face to protect his eyes from the dust and debris being swept up into the air.
Coughing lightly, Amal sat up too and watched the helicopter slowly sway and de
scend, settling on the road a safe stretch from them, yet within walking distance.
She panicked and looked to Mansur again. “Are we riding in that?” She couldn’t believe him. After knowing how shaky she’d been on his luxury plane, now this? She was shaking her head already, sensing what was coming. “No, no, no... I can’t.”
“We have no choice.” He leaned in to speak directly into her ear. “It’s the only way back to Addis. The quickest way, Amal. I’m sorry.”
She was crushed by his rationale. Of course, he was speaking and acting from a place of reason. And, as scary as the thought of taking the helicopter was, she had to be reasonable. In a car, their rescuer would have to drive three hours out of Addis Ababa and another three back, and by then it would be plenty dark. This way they’d be back at their hotel before the sun switched hemispheres.
“Coming?” Mansur held out a hand to her after he’d slid off the car hood.
Amal grasped it, and with his assistance soon had her feet on ground. But he didn’t release her readily, walking hand in hand with her to greet their unorthodox rescuer.
He’s a millionaire! I guess he’s not above displays of wealth and power.
Amal discovered she wasn’t upset by the outcome. And her fear didn’t feel so sharp as they neared the chopper. She looked down to their connected hands as Mansur took the lead, and realized it was because she had him with her. He wouldn’t hurt her. It didn’t matter that she didn’t fully remember him, or that he wasn’t committed to calling her a friend. Not even her worry that his mother was controlling his strings could blind her to the fact that she knew he would see to her safety.
It wasn’t like Mama Halima had told him to take Amal’s hand.
He was doing this all on his own whim.
Smiling, she glanced up to the helicopter just as the door opened and a sharply suited man launched himself out.
Amal couldn’t help but lean into Mansur, squeezing his hand and catching his attention. He slowed, and then leaned down to hear her accusation. “Is that your friend?” she asked.
He smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “That’s him.”
She gawped, recalling her jealousy and how it had been focused on a fictitious woman she’d believed to be his friend. Not a woman after all. She wondered why he hadn’t corrected her—and then she realized he’d been enjoying himself at her expense.
“Y-You didn’t correct me,” she stammered.
“I guess I didn’t.”
Swatting his arm when he laughed, she grumbled with heated cheeks, “You should have told me.”
“I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hand back. “Forgive me?”
Before she had the chance to reply, having already forgiven him, Amal noticed that they had been joined by their valiant rescuer—who was most definitely not a woman. The man hurried to them, a headset firmly on his head and his hands holding two extra pairs.
Following Mansur’s lead, she accepted a headset and adjusted it over her ears, putting the microphone near to her mouth. She jumped when the stranger’s voice came booming through the headphones, with very little background interference.
“I didn’t think I’d ever need to save you, Manny.”
His brusque laugh cracked like thunder through her headset.
“And deprive myself of the chance to see you pilot that thing? Never.”
Mansur clasped the other man’s hand. They drew in for a hug, clapped each other on the back and pulled apart, leaving nothing but her introduction.
“Amal,” Mansur said, his voice caressing her name, and his touch landing on the small of her back, unwinding tendrils of heat through her blood, “meet my friend Hakeem Ahmet, owner of the hotel we’re staying at. We worked together when my firm built it.”
That was news! Amal hadn’t known he’d had a hand in building their hotel. Now she was wondering if they’d ever spoken of that over the phone, and if she’d forgotten. Stifling the urge to question him, she smiled at Hakeem and accepted the hand he offered her.
Once the introductions were complete, Hakeem jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the helicopter. “Ready to hit the skies?”
“Ready?” Mansur asked her, his voice humming through her ears and stroking secret parts of her—her heart included.
She couldn’t find her voice, so she bobbed her head more energetically than she’d ever believed she would, considering how deathly afraid she was of riding in a helicopter.
But then Mansur pulled her close and said, “I got you.”
She looked long and deep into his eyes, believing he did have her.
And she had him for now.
For how long, though?
CHAPTER EIGHT
THEY’D NEVER MADE it to Addis Ababa.
On Mansur’s orders, Hakeem had flown them to the nearby Harar Meda Airport, also the main base of the Ethiopian Air Force. A little unnerved, and plenty confused, there Amal had learned of Mansur’s plan for the two of them. He’d had a car ready to drive them to nearby Bishoftu—a breathtaking resort town with not two, but five crater lakes highlighting the forest-rich valleys.
She couldn’t get enough of the town’s natural beauty, its charming stone buildings and the friendly, welcoming faces of the townspeople. The mellow air influenced the other tourists as well, and she didn’t encounter any of the pushy sort while exploring the resort with Mansur. Carved into the valley, the town’s roads and smaller corridors wound up and down, giving her legs plenty of exercise.
Never had she felt so revitalized. Where Addis Ababa had enlivened her, Bishoftu cleansed her soul and gave it a hearty scrub that left her feeling lighter in spirit and pleasanter in mood.
Now, three restful nights and days later, Amal mewled and gave a yawn of contentment. She stretched her body over the chaise longue on the sun-drenched balcony of her room. The luxury hotel Mansur had chosen for their stay looked out over one of the crater lakes. Her room faced the textured green bowl of a valley and its glassy lake water. Bright white patches of sunlight mirrored off the lake’s serene surface as the sun climbed higher in the sky, a testament to another peaceful day in this paradise of a town.
Amal burrowed deeper into her cushioned seat, not wanting to move anytime soon. And, with no concrete itinerary for the day, she could probably get away with it...
What she wanted to do was dive into her journal and get her morning writing in. She’d begun writing again, journaling her thoughts. In particular she had taken to writing outside, where she could enjoy the resort’s scenic vista.
Amal was reading over her daily entry when sleep blanketed her. The air held just the right temperature, and the mix of the warm embrace of sunlight and the cool passes of a breeze lulled her. Her lids drooped closed. The journal in her hands listed toward her face—and the thwap of the book smacking her forehead jerked her awake.
She scrambled up in the seat as a low, heart-racing chuckle rumbling from behind her rivaled the dull pain where the journal had made contact with her face. She burned with a blush, feeling its searing heat doubled by the golden-white sunrays beaming over the balcony patio.
She had company—and she knew exactly who it was.
Without turning, she said, “I didn’t hear you knock.”
“You gave me your extra key,” he said.
And she had—a couple days earlier. She had a key to his room, as well. Mansur had suggested the trade.
“In case we lock ourselves out. Keeping keys in separate rooms could come in handy then,” he’d said, his reasoning perfectly sound as usual.
Mansur stepped into her line of vision. He had drinks in his hands—one she presumed was hers. Ah. So that was why he’d come to her. Now she thought about it, bathing in the sun had left her with a scratchy dryness in her throat. His drinks were well-timed.
“I suppose I can forgive you for not knocking,” sh
e sassed, with a grin.
She accepted the glass from his hand and gulped half the chilled mango juice.
Noticing he was watching her, she lowered her glass and tipped her head to the side. “What is it?” she asked. Because he had a look in his eyes that said he had something to tell her.
“I thought we could walk by the lake again,” he said, though she had the sense that wasn’t what he wanted to say at all.
They’d walked all over the resort, acquainting themselves with most of Bishoftu. But Amal liked their walks by Lake Hora the best.
“I’d like to visit the flamingos.” The avian wildlife at Lake Hora was plentiful along the sloping footpath edging the green valley. “I can take more pictures for Mama Halima and everyone back at my firm. They’d like to see Bishoftu.”
He bobbed his head. Staring down at his glass, he took a hasty sip and then traced his finger along the rim, looking more lost with each passing heartbeat. Finally, he said, “I’m thinking of heading back to Addis.”
“You’ve made a decision?” she asked, drawing her legs around, feeling her bare feet kissing the natural stone tiling of the balcony.
He sat close, on the other chaise longue. His dark curly head lifted up at her movement.
Amal had to remember what it was like to breathe normally when his brooding eyes focused on her. She found her voice, though, and continued her train of thought. “Are you going to meet your family, then?”
“Not my family, really—but, yes.”
She ignored what he’d said, but respected his unspoken wish and didn’t mention them as being his “family” when she spoke next. “Is that why you’re leaving? You’ve called them and made plans to meet?”
“No, not yet.” He scowled down at his drink, grumbling, “I should leave, though—before I change my mind.”
Amal was at a loss for words. She knew the depth of anguish this decision had wrought in him. Had sensed it without him telling her and giving her a play-by-play of his turmoil. And he deserved her outpouring of silent sympathy. Yet a part of her questioned why he insisted on holding this grudge of his. His father was gone.
