by Hana Sheik
Amal started forward and Manny mirrored her.
“What you said in there, about your father saying you look like your mother...” He trailed off and gave her the opportunity to decide whether she wanted to share anymore or leave it there.
Amal being better than him, though, smiled—albeit with a sad tinge—and nodded. “It’s true. He used to say it a lot when I was younger.” Her throat rippled with emotion and her voice was softened by it. “When my mother was alive.”
“You remember?”
He’d asked her something similar when she had revealed her personal motivation to build a hospital in Hargeisa. Amal had told him that her childhood memories were returning at a hopeful pace. It was many of her adult memories that remained a blur.
All the better for him, he’d thought at first. Now, though, after spending five days with her, and realizing that he still held a torch for this fierce-spirited and gorgeous woman, Manny acknowledged that her memory loss of his failed marriage proposal wasn’t as comforting to him any longer.
“My memories are patchy, of course,” Amal was saying.
She mesmerized him, and so his mind blanked as he listened to her.
She sighed again, softly, her voice catching. “It was hard to endure the comparison later.”
After her mother had died, she meant.
“Naturally,” he rumbled.
“And then he said it again when he visited me after I came home from the hospital.”
Manny’s body and thoughts were at a disconnect, because he reached for her and stopped them both.
“Mansur...?”
His name fluttered from her mouth, her eyes round and the streetlight not masking her curiosity. At least the sadness was gone in her surprise. But he wanted to ensure it stayed gone. She’d been downcast for longer than he should’ve permitted. He loved her easy smiles and her contagious joy for the simplest things.
He loved her.
“He shouldn’t have said it.”
She shrugged. “It was difficult to hear it, but I don’t remember her clearly. I have pictures, but he knew her. He loved my mother. And maybe at some point he even cared for me and my brothers, because he didn’t have to worry about the heartache that comes with losing a loved one.” Amal grasped his hand over her wrist and squeezed. “We can’t help who we look like.”
“Still, he shouldn’t have said it,” Manny growled, and Amal dropped her hand, letting him hold her.
Before he knew it she was stepping into him, her free arm wrapping around his shoulder as she sprang up onto her tiptoes. He leaned down into her hug. Clutching Amal felt so good. She made the world come to a standstill for his sake. With a groan, he sank his nose into her headscarf, the hijab smelling of the sweet musk of her favored oud.
She melted into him. He felt her go almost boneless and meld their bodies into the perfect fit. The happy mewl she made so close to his ear was not of his imagining.
It took Herculean strength to draw back from her initiated embrace. Staring down into her dark eyes, Manny was at a loss for words. All that blared through his mind was the urge to confess his love to her.
I love you. I love you. I love you, Amal.
She looked at him with intent, too. Could she possibly be feeling the same way? Could they somehow make this work like they hadn’t a year ago? Did she care for him, too? Did she love him?
Amal blinked and her smile returned. “Could we talk more at the hotel? I don’t want this to end.”
No, he didn’t either.
She slipped her hand into his when he loosened his grasp on her wrist and got them walking again.
Manny followed her with a lighter heart and a hope for their love that came rushing back to him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AMAL STARED AT her hand, playing over how it had felt holding Mansur’s—how right everything had been—as they’d walked hand in hand back to his car and driven to their hotel. Now they were in his suite together, and he was in the kitchen preparing tea.
They weren’t ending the night quite yet. She was more than happy to spend longer with him. To salvage what she’d ruined for him tonight.
The dinner had been disastrous.
She hadn’t walked away from it feeling good about orchestrating the whole thing. All she’d done was make Mansur feel worse, and his feeling bad made her hurt awfully.
But as he strode out of the kitchen, carrying a tray with a tea set, he looked less like he had the world crushing his shoulders.
Amal sat up and smiled. “You should have called me to help you.”
“You’re in my suite. That makes you the guest.”
Mansur settled the tray atop the coffee table and sat beside her on the two-seater sofa.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to order dessert? I can’t help but feel I’ve deprived you of it tonight.”
Her heart felt extraordinarily full at his words. After messing up as she had tonight, how could he still be so nice to her?
“I’m sorry,” she blurted, watching him pour tea and creamer and add sugar to their cups.
Amal accepted the cup and saucer he offered her, but she stared at him, waiting for his response.
After he’d sipped at his tea, he lowered his cup and looked at her with guarded eyes. “I chose to go. I’m an adult, Amal. Perfectly capable of making my own decisions. I could’ve easily refused.”
But he hadn’t, and that meant a lot to her. The fact that he hadn’t slammed the door on his half-sisters and stepmother gave her an inkling of hope that one day he would be willing to embrace them as family. In her eyes, tonight had spoken for his character. He wasn’t holding a grudge; he was wounded by his lack of a relationship with his father.
She understood where he was coming from.
Her father hadn’t cared to be in her life or her brothers’. His father had taken on a second family and, somewhere along the way, lost that irreplaceable parental bond with the son from his first marriage.
Amal drank her tea, slipping deeper into her thoughts. They would’ve mired her in sinking sand if Mansur hadn’t spoken up.
“I should be the one apologizing,” he said. His voice was deep and even. Though not cool and devoid of emotion entirely. Something heated flashed through his surprising statement.
Snapping her head up, Amal stammered, “Wh-Why would you have to apologize?”
Her cheeks warmed the longer he watched her quietly. She shook her head, countering the blush that crept from her face to her neck. He had nothing to be sorry for. The blame was entirely her own.
“My manners weren’t exactly something to write home about,” he said.
She closed her mouth, finding no comforting words. It was true. He had been abrupt near the end of their dinner. Probably at his wits’ end, though, so she’d excused and forgiven him.
As he looked like he had more to say, Amal turned to face him, their legs closer, their bodies less than an arm’s length apart. All she had to do to touch him was have the courage to reach out.
Her hands clenched tighter around her fragile and prettily painted teacup. Now wasn’t the time to ogle him. With a great measure of control, she concentrated on his words and not his wonderfully handsome face. It was the hardest thing she had to do tonight.
“It was difficult, I have to admit. Restraining myself from walking out the minute I set foot in the restaurant. The second I sat down.” He drained his teacup and placed it on the tray, his eyes fixed there as he continued. “Obviously, I didn’t want to be there. Even less so after Zoya’s mother said I looked like him.”
Zoya’s mother had made the comment harmlessly. She hadn’t considered that her stepson might not have had the best of relationships with his father. It was tragic, really, on both sides. For Mansur to have to hear it, and for Zoya and her family to be blamed for it.
“Do you know, when I became CEO I called my father? The call didn’t go through, though. Wrong number. He must have changed it.”
He leaned forward, forearms resting on his legs, hands clasped together, and one of his legs bouncing in his agitation. He probably didn’t even realize what he was doing. What he was revealing to her with his actions.
“You were the first to know, and my mother had learned of the news of my promotion, too. But I hadn’t called her; you’d told her. I called him, though.” He took a cleansing but noisy breath through his nose. “I don’t know why I did, but I did.” He shook his head and scoffed. “My point is, I don’t want anything from Zoya Ali or her family.”
Amal didn’t have to hear anymore. She understood, loud and clear. He didn’t want this other family he’d found in Addis Ababa. Just like he’d learned not to want or expect anything from his father. Mansur had proved that by building his career, making his name, working for his fortune. He could take care of himself. He had his own back. And he’d taken care of his mother far better than his father ever had.
And hadn’t she done something similar? She’d worked hard to provide a good life for her grandmother when she’d been alive, and now for her brothers. Putting Bashir through his schooling and seeing Abdulkadir thrive in his own business meant the whole world to her. They were her family.
“It’s likely they feel the same. I’m just an intruder. Someone they feel obliged to be kind to,” he said, his voice dull and unfeeling. “And I’m not one to impose where I’m not wanted.”
When he finally looked at her it was with that wary reserve she’d grown accustomed to seeing whenever they discussed his father. Amal saw it for what it was now. Fear. She froze at the sight of it. Even blinked. Because she wasn’t certain she’d read him correctly. But, no, it was still there.
He’s scared.
Amal didn’t understand. Was he scared of her? Why?
Why would he be afraid of me?
Mansur, of all people...afraid of her?
The longer she swam in the bottomless pools of his brown eyes, the more emotions she saw. Unadulterated panic and bashful regret that he’d said too much. The fear that she’d push him away after he spoke unfiltered and from the heart.
As if I ever could.
Without thinking on it too much, Amal brought her hand to his arm. Mansur tensed under her palm, and yet he didn’t brush her touch away. Taking it to be a positive sign, she inched closer, leaning in and giving his arm the lightest squeeze.
“I used to wait on my father, too. I don’t remember too much right now, but I get the sense that I’ve been waiting on him for most my life, and it still feels like I’m in queue sometimes.”
“Hope...” he grumbled.
She smiled, understanding. “Yeah, hope. I think one day I’ll give up on it, but it’s always there.”
“Maybe now’s the time to make a pact. To keep each other from hoping again.”
“No, I don’t want to give up on hope. And neither should you.”
Amal slid her hand to his. He reached his fingers for her and took her hand. Their palms kissed, their fingers interlocked, and Mansur stared down at their joined hands.
When he opened his mouth next, he sounded less bleak. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Amal.”
* * *
I’m in love with you. Again.
The words were right there. Along with the truth of their past.
Looking up at her was a mistake. Manny lost his train of thought. He lost his nerve.
A blush warmed his face, and his body was filled with a contrast of emotions, both positive and negative. Joy that she hadn’t been chased off by what he’d said of his father. Anxiousness to move on and reveal his love. Hope that she’d want him after he unveiled his failure of a marriage proposal to her. And distress over what her reaction might be once she knew his true feelings for her.
“Tell me,” she urged softly, her hand gentle in his.
I loved you, and I haven’t stopped loving you.
Her warm brown eyes promised him all the trust and confidence in the world.
But I messed up, and you rejected me, and I don’t think I’ll ever be good enough for you.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d fallen short of expectations. With his father, though, he should’ve known. He should have stopped trying. Should have maintained the wall he’d built, brick by brick, after discovering his father had married a second woman and had other children. Zoya and her sisters. He never should have wanted more from his father. But he had. And, if he were being brutally honest with himself, a part of him was still that stupid little boy who was waiting on his dad.
With Amal, though, it wasn’t too late. Manny still had a chance.
Still, he’d tucked away this frightening love for her. Had nearly convinced himself that he wouldn’t give his heart to her or anyone else. Wouldn’t repeat his mistake. And yet here he was, painfully tempted to tell her. Seconds and heartbeats from claiming his love for her again.
“Back in Hargeisa, you wondered who was watching out for me in America...”
He forced himself not to break eye contact with her. Vulnerability wasn’t his style. But Amal had made him want to risk it after his father had chosen to divide his attention and love between two wives and two families.
“I remember,” she said with a small grin. “I haven’t hit my head again.”
No, she hadn’t. His gaze alighted on the side of her head. He’d first spied the scar when her headscarf had slipped in the hospital. It had been a brief moment. An infinitesimally small fraction of time. But the sight of it had made him ache as if it were his own wound.
It was a miracle that he hadn’t realized he was in love with her in that very moment. When he had struggled to set her pain apart from his own. They were one. Always had been, for him, and always would be no matter what happened from this point forward.
Sucking in a fortifying breath, he exhaled with a subtle shudder and said, “And I told you no one. I wasn’t lying.”
He’d pushed everyone away. Other than when he had to attend a social event for business, as the new face of the company, Manny made it a point to block his schedule from intrusions. As for dating...he’d stopped in college, when his romances had floundered because he’d placed his career ahead of the few women he had dated. Then Amal had come into his life again. And for the first time in a long while he’d allowed someone in.
“I made a choice.” He tightened his hold on her hand, afraid that she would slip away from him. “I decided to be alone. I didn’t want anyone by my side. But you changed that.”
You changed me.
Manny swallowed. His voice was hoarser when he said, “You called one day to check on me. It wasn’t expected.” He smiled wistfully at the memory. “Actually, I was in the middle of crushing our competition in the market, and I’d caught the eye of our chairman for the soon-to-be vacated position of CEO. The board wanted a change. I’d made splashes in the industry. I had my head in the game...”
And then he hadn’t. Amal had called, and he’d got wrapped up with hearing her sweet voice. Her concern for him had astounded Manny. Besides his mother, he hadn’t thought anyone else worried about him.
He’d fallen in love with her slowly. Eventually Amal had told him she loved him first. Then he’d gone to see her with a ring and his heart, hoping she’d accept both.
The rest is history, he thought mournfully.
Only it wasn’t. Not for him. It felt very real
right now, holding her hand, looking into her eyes, feeling squeamish in his building anticipation of the truth.
“We talked every day. You supported me. I had someone in my corner. Someone I cared very deeply about.”
He flicked his gaze to where she’d raised her hand to her temple and her scar. Manny released her other hand and brushed her fingers aside to see the scar for himself. She shouldn’t feel like she had to hide it from him. He’d take her anyway. Because he loved her, and he wouldn’t ever live in a reality where he didn’t feel his heart would burst with longing for her.
“Does it really not hurt?” he asked. He recalled she’d said it had not, but it didn’t dampen his concern for her.
“No, though it tingles and throbs sometimes. It’s healed nicely enough.”
Her soft sigh puffed out and warmed his hand as he cupped her cheek. Amal leaned into his palm, and his heart thudded harder when she closed her eyes and smiled freely and happily at him.
“I hate that you don’t remember...”
She fluttered her eyes open. “Since I came to Addis I’m feeling the urge to have to recall everything less.”
Relief poured through him. “You’re happier?”
“I am,” she agreed.
She’d decided for him. Manny knew what path he was going to take—nerves be damned. It didn’t matter whether she wanted him or not. He just had to let her know.
Standing abruptly, watching her mouth form a surprised O, he asked in a husky, urgent tone, “Wait here for me?”
At her smallest of nods, he left her for his bedroom.
* * *
Amal couldn’t remain sitting.
She was up and moving when Mansur returned.
He looked more alert than he had all night. Except for when he’d appeared like a caged animal in the restaurant with his half-sisters and stepmother.
Almost immediately she noted that he was holding something in one of his fists.
“Amal, I said I had something to tell you, but I should have said I have something to show you.”
