by Holly Rayner
Rafiq woke up first, somewhere around midnight, and gently shook me awake. Realizing we had fallen asleep in each other’s arms on the porch couch , we chuckled sheepishly as we moved back into the penthouse and relocated to our separate beds for the rest of the night. Despite the luxurious warmth of the bed in my spare room, it felt utterly lacking without Rafiq’s arms around me, and I fell asleep wishing he was still with me.
The next morning, the romantic haze had washed away and my heart was filled with worry. My day with Rafiq had to have been a fluke. Sure, he had been on fantastic form at the gallery, and every moment afterward, but how could I trust it? Every time he did something incredible, it seemed like some sort of jackass move wasn’t far behind it. After all, he had admitted that he wasn’t brave enough to face the truth of his life. I had known instinctively, right from our first meeting, that Rafiq was hiding from something with all his partying. Now I knew it for sure.
The feelings I had for this version of Rafiq were doomed to destroy my heart the second he called up his hard-partying buddies and scantily clad girls for another night of debauchery. Even imagining the scenario made my heart hurt, and I knew then I had gone too far; I’d let myself get too close to him.
Rookie mistake, I thought, scolding myself. He was a rich, eligible bachelor who liked the night life. He liked it so much, he was willing to deceive his father in order to keep it and his fortune, instead of simply giving up his partying ways. Even though I truly believed him when he said he enjoyed my art, it didn’t change who Rafiq really was, or how he lived his life. And it wasn’t the life for me. I’d cleaned up all the beer cans and party mess I wanted to clean up for a good long while.
My thoughts washed over me like a dark flood that cast away all the relief I had felt the night before in Rafiq’s arms. It left me feeling sour and upset, and yearning for the comfort of the gallery, where at least life made a little bit more sense than the wonderland I had gotten myself into.
I was grateful my bedroom had its own connecting bathroom when I heard Rafiq stirring outside in the penthouse living room. I took my time getting ready, including taking a very long, hot shower. Part of me wasn’t ready to face Rafiq yet. My feelings were still raging, fighting each other for dominance.
But he was ready to face me, I discovered, when I finally came out of my bedroom. In fact, he was excited to see me. When I emerged, rubbing my wet hair with a towel, I saw his face light up from where he sat on the living room couch, perusing through some paperwork.
“Good morning!” he said. “How did you sleep?”
I gave him half-smile, deciding to play it as cool as I could. “Better, once I was in a real bed,” I joked. “My neck’s a little cricked, though.”
“Mine too,” he said, rubbing his hand across the back of his strong neck. “Do you want me to massage it for you?”
Heat flushed my skin. “No, no,” I said quickly, but I must have been too quick, or too sharp, and Rafiq looked wounded at my rejection of him. “I’m already running late.”
“Late for what?”
“For the gallery,” I laughed. “Most people work every day during the week, Rafiq, remember?”
Rafiq got up from the couch and put the papers down on the table. As he came over to me, he said, “Well, actually, I had something else in mind for us to do today.”
My emotions flared. Why did he have to be so sweet and thoughtful now, when all I wanted to do was back off from this? Was this some kind of game for him?
But even as I thought it, I knew it was wrong. Rafiq was arrogant and selfish, but he wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t trying to make things hard for me.
“Oh?” I finally answered, folding my arms in front of me. Determined as I was to head to the gallery regardless of what he had to say, he had stoked my curiosity. “And what did you have in mind?”
“Have you ever been to the aquarium?”
“Sure, once or twice,” I shrugged nonchalantly.
“Well it just happens that I’m the largest donor to their funds,” he said with a proud smile. “I called and arranged for us to have a private tour, and lunch cooked by the chef who runs their upscale dinner restaurant.”
A little stunned, I laughed and said, “Rafiq…”
“After, I want to take you to the Franklin Gallery of Modern Art on Vine Street. They just started an exhibition of Cai Guo-Qiang, and I have it on good authority the artist will be making a surprise appearance.”
“Rafiq…”
“And then we can wrap up with dinner at La Mer. I’ve already reserved us a table, since you seemed to really enjoy the seafood at lunch the other day. That is, after I’ve taken you shopping at Hanneman’s, of course. A lady could always use a new dress,” he said sardonically.
“Rafiq,” I said, loudly enough this time that he finally stopped talking.
“What?” he said. Confusion spread over his handsome features. “It doesn’t have to be a dress. It can be whatever you want.”
I had to laugh at him. There was something almost childlike in how excited he was to take me out today, but I couldn’t trust it.
Not with fresh memories of hot blonde women in tight dresses ambling about his apartment. Not when he had barely gone a single night without partying or going out to a club. He was probably just trying to find some relief from the stress he was feeling about his father’s visit by being sweet with me. This wasn’t real, I kept telling myself. None of this was real—no matter how badly I wanted it to be.
“I have to go to the gallery,” I said. “I’m sorry. Maybe we can do those things another time, okay?”
Crestfallen, Rafiq blinked a few times, and shifted on his feet. “Oh. Did you not like my ideas?”
“No, it’s not that,” I said, sad that I had clearly hurt his feelings. “It’s very sweet of you to offer, I just… I still have to take care of my life. I like being here with you, but this is temporary, remember? I can’t just abandon my work.”
He shook his head sadly. “Right. This is all temporary, of course.”
“Are you upset?”
I shouldn’t have asked, but in spite of myself, I cared. I didn’t want to upset him.
He shook his head again. “No. It’s fine, I understand.” He waved a hand and walked away from me.
“Rafiq,” I called after him, as the distance between us increased.
“Really, it’s fine,” he said. The closed-lipped smile on his face was a lie. “You’re right, you need to take care of your life. I’ll be here when you get back.” He disappeared into the kitchen before I could reply.
Now feeling hurt myself, I left the penthouse and took a taxi back to my gallery.
THIRTEEN
