by Holly Rayner
Morning came, soft and slow, sunlight creeping across Rafiq’s room like a lazy ocean tide. Nestled against his warm skin, everything felt like a dream. His chest rose and fell in a deep rhythm under my hand. I didn’t want to open my eyes, fearing it would all evaporate once I did.
The night had been incredible, and passionate—more passionate than any lovemaking I had ever experienced. The feel of Rafiq’s gentle hands and hungry, aching kisses still lingered on my skin. I wanted to forget the entire world existed and simply lay here in his arms forever, nestled in his warm love.
The shrill ringing of a cell phone erupted in the morning quiet, mercilessly reminding me that the world wasn’t going to be ignored, not today or any day.
Rafiq inhaled deeply as he rose up into consciousness, dragged from sleep by the sound of his phone. Immediately, the arm wrapped around my shoulder pulled me closer into his body, and instead of turning for the phone, he bent his head and pressed his lips against my hair with a soft kiss.
I smiled against his skin and kissed his shoulder. “You should probably get that,” I murmured.
With a reluctant growl, Rafiq obliged and reached one arm out to paw around on the nightstand for his smartphone. As soon as he looked at the screen, his muscles tensed up beneath me.
“Oh, shit,” he said. “My father, I completely forgot.”
“What?” I said, sitting up to look at him.
He didn’t reply. Instead, he swiped a finger across the screen and answered the incoming call. I waited with baited breath while he spoke in quiet Arabic to his father for about ten seconds, and then hung up, tossing the phone back on the nightstand.
“Mehmet’s coming to visit today before he returns home. Sorry, I completely forgot to tell you, what with all the excitement yesterday…”
“Must we get out of bed?” I said in a soft, seductive voice.
Rafiq gave me a playful glare, rolling over to pin me down and attack me with kisses while I giggled underneath him. The kisses began to turn into something more passionate, until Rafiq reluctantly slammed the brakes on.
“My father will be here within the hour,” he said. “I wish we had time for that… so, so badly.” He gave my neck a frisky, soft bite to make me squeal.
“Later,” I said with a wink, and kissed him.
We each took a quick shower and got dressed, ready to meet with Mehmet. Rafiq went to the kitchen to prepare the tea service he knew his father would be expecting, while I went back into my room and began to unpack all of the belongings I’d gathered the night before. It wasn’t that I intending to move in immediately, of course, but suddenly, getting back to my apartment didn’t seem like such an important task on my to-do list after all.
Seeing the portrait Rafiq made for me had made my heart soar all over again. I couldn’t believe he had been hiding this talent from me all this time. Wanting to look at the painting as much as possible, I decided to follow his lead.
While he was busy in the kitchen, I hung up the portrait next to his on the wall outside the spare bedroom, and stepped back to inspect my handiwork. The warm tones in my portrait of Rafiq, already on the wall, were the perfect complement to the cool, nighttime shades he had used to bring out the dark blues of my eyes and dress.
“You completed us,” I said softly.
“What was that, honey?” said Rafiq from behind me as he came in the room carrying the tea tray. “Did you say something?”
“You completed us,” I repeated, turning to him with a smile. “Did you do that on purpose?”
Rafiq wasn’t looking at me as he carefully laid out the tea service on the coffee table.
“Do what on purpose?”
“The colors you used. Look,” I pointed. “On their own, these paintings are each their own, opposite worlds. But when you put them together, they become complimentary. They’re complete together… It’s night and day.”
Rafiq followed my gaze and smiled when he saw his painting hanging on the wall. The smile only grew as he considered what I was telling him. “You’re right,” he said. “They really do complement each other. I hadn’t realized when I started painting… All I could think about was creating the perfect space to bring out the glow in your eyes. They have quite the sparkle when you smile, you know.”
From across the room, I met his eyes, and couldn’t believe the love I felt in his gaze. It filled every inch of my heart with a warmth I had never known.
The buzzing of the intercom interrupted our moment. I hurried into the spare room to finish brushing my hair and applying a bit of makeup, and Rafiq answered the doorman, who was calling up to say his father’s cars had just arrived. By the time I came back out, the elevator doors were opening, and a whole cadre of people came spilling out in a cloud of loud shoes and multilingual chatter.
Surprised, I asked Rafiq in a quiet voice, “What is this all about?”
“This is how my father typically travels,” laughed Rafiq. “He left his crew downstairs on the first visit. He said he didn’t want to intimidate you right off the bat”
“But now I’m fair game, I guess?” I joked.
Rafiq leaned in and whispered next to my ear, “Don’t worry, the accountant is the only one who bites.”
I giggled and gave his arm a pinch.
Mehmet emerged from the middle of the group, which included the same two bodyguards we had met before, plus two other men in dark blue suits, and a thin blonde woman with her hair in a sophisticated upsweep, carrying a tablet in one hand and a bag full of other phones and devices. She had one of the phones pressed to her ear, and didn’t even acknowledge us aside from asking for a quiet place to work. Rafiq directed her to his office. The bodyguards spread out on their safety sweeps, and the men in blue suits wandered toward the penthouse windows, speaking lowly to each other.
Mehmet was beaming at me as he came forward with arms spread wide. “My beautiful angel,” he said, wrapping me in a tight hug. “It’s wonderful to see you again before I leave. I’m sorry we couldn’t make a day of it, but the business world is so unpredictable.”
“Hello, father,” I said and hugged him back. “Think nothing of it, I understand.”
“Rafiq told me you had a wonderful week at the gallery,” said Mehmet. “You broke your record for selling paintings, yes?”
I smiled up at Rafiq and said, “He’s right, we did. I couldn’t have done it without him. Rafiq is excellent when it comes to the art world.”
“Nonsense,” said Rafiq immediately, putting an arm around my shoulder. “Anything I do is only stating the obvious: your work is beauty. Any guest in your gallery who can’t see that is blind and unworthy of buying it.”
I never got tired of hearing it from him, especially now that I understood why he was able to communicate his artistic tastes so well; he wasn’t just paying lip service, he was a talented artist in his own right.
“You flatter me, darling,” I said, blushing. It felt wonderful to be using the pet name sincerely, for once.
Rafiq responded by taking my hand and pulling it up to his lips for a soft kiss, his eyes staring into mine. Heat rushed through my body and I suddenly wished we were alone in the penthouse.
“Wait, what’s this?” interrupted Mehmet, breaking the spell of the moment. “Where is your ring?”
I turned with a surprise. “I’m sorry?”
“Your engagement ring.” He pointed to the hand that Rafiq was holding up, practically showcasing for anyone who wanted to look that I was no longer wearing the engagement ring he’d given me. “Has something happened to it?”
My heart froze. Last night, when I’d been angry and convinced it was my last night in the penthouse under our arrangement, I’d left the ring on the dresser in the spare bedroom. I didn’t want to accidentally take off with it and give Rafiq a reason to bother me after I’d gone.
Caught up in the whirlwind of our emotional night, I’d completely forgotten to put the ring back on before Mehmet arrived.
“
Oh, uh, I…” My mind raced for an excuse that would not blow our cover—we were so close to solving Rafiq’s problems—but all I could do was rub my hands together and stutter helplessly.
But my love came to the rescue, as he always seemed to do.
“Father,” said Rafiq in a firm voice, “I have something to tell you. Evangeline is not wearing her ring because, the truth of it is, we are not actually engaged.”
Mehmet started, and I turned to Rafiq feeling alarmed. What was he doing?
“What is this?” said Mehmet. “Has something happened? Have you decided not to get married? There is really no reason to delay this event, Rafiq; I’m sure we can arrange whatever venue your beautiful bride desires…”
“No, father, it has nothing to do with that. We were never engaged. In fact, before last night, Evie and I had never been anything more than business partners,” said Rafiq. “I tried to deceive you, father. I’m sorry. I hired Evangeline to pose as my future wife because I didn’t want to reject your legacy—but I didn’t want to follow it, either. I hired Evie to help me.”
I could only stand there in silent shock as the tension mounted between Mehmet and Rafiq, so palpable it was like a force in the air.
But Rafiq was not the man he had been before. Standing with his back straight, he faced his father with calm assurance and a steady gaze. There was nothing insecure or afraid in his eyes, not anymore. It made my heart sing to see him so confident, so sure of himself.
“This is outrageous,” said Mehmet finally. I learned in that moment that Mehmet didn’t have to yell to be intimidating. There was razor-blade sharpness in every syllable, and his dark eyes burned into his son. “I should have known that you were never going to change, Rafiq. You have always been hell-bent on defying me, even when I know what is best for you. So be it! You can have the rejection you have always craved. I am cutting you off from this day forward. You can starve and struggle your way through the world like everyone else, and ignore everything I’ve built to keep you safe. That is clearly the life you have always wanted for yourself, no matter what your mother and I sacrifice to keep you safe.”
Even though he wasn’t my father, hearing the Sheikh’s words still cut me. I could only imagine what they were doing to Rafiq. Without looking, I felt for his hand and grasped it tightly in my own, to let him know I was here and with him. He squeezed back lovingly without looking away from his father.
“You can do whatever you feel is right, father,” said Rafiq. There was no hint of fear or even bitterness in his voice. “You’re right. I have always defied you, and I’m truly sorry for the heartache I’ve caused you and mother over the years. But I didn’t understand why I was doing it; not until I saw what real courage, real bravery was. Not until Evie showed me.” He looked down at me, and then back at his father. “I’ve always tried to have it both ways—to be your legacy, and to be my own man—but I see now that I can’t.”
Mehmet made a move to interrupt, but Rafiq put up a palm to silence him, and shockingly, his father obeyed, as if he too could sense the change in his son’s demeanor.
“Father, I respect the life you’ve built for yourself and our family, but I have to be my own man. I’m going to live by my own choices, not yours. If I fail or starve, it’s going to be because of my own efforts and decisions, not because I was trying to please you. I’m not going to be held hostage by the family money and trudge through life hating myself and everything I do. Not anymore. I’m sorry I can’t be the man you want me to be, but if you put your faith in me, I know I can prove to you that I can still be a good man, and a worthy son.”
Surprising us both, Rafiq removed the black cotton shirt he had been wearing, exposing his tattoos to his father. Mehmet’s eyes widened as he realized just how much body art Rafiq had hidden from him over the years.
“These are my choices,” said Rafiq, running his hands over his skin. “These are my design, all of them. Evie only covered for me. I made these, father, and I bled for them. They all represent something I’ve been through, something that has made me a better man, and yet you shame me for them, based on what? Some old-fashioned idea of respectability? Shouldn’t it be more important to you that your son has a strong heart and his own passions? Or do you really want me to be just another cog in the machine?”
Tears stung my eyes. There was pain in Rafiq’s voice; he’d been waiting so many years to say these things to his father. Mehmet could only stare, stunned, and I realized his entourage, scattered throughout the room, was doing the same. I wondered silently if they had ever seen anyone talked to the great Mehmet Al-Zayn in such a way.
“You do what you need to do, father. You’ve earned your fortune, and it is yours to deny me.” Rafiq put his shirt back on. “But I’m going to live my life according to my own rules. I would love to have your support, but I understand if I do not.”
Mehmet blinked at his son. He looked over at me, as if I could explain any of this. His gaze drifted over to behind where Rafiq was standing, stopping when he spotted the new painting on the wall, next to the portrait of Rafiq he had already seen.
Frowning, Mehmet walked away from us and toward the painting. He stared at it as Rafiq and I slowly walked up behind him, hands still joined together.
Mehmet pointed to the signature at the bottom right corner of the portrait. “This signature… Rafiq, is this your work?”
“It is,” said Rafiq. “It was a gift for my love.” He pulled me into his side and dropped a kiss on my head.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” I said. “It’s the greatest gift anyone has ever given me. Rafiq has been hiding this talent from all of us, and if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to make him show it to the world.”
When Mehmet turned around, there were tears brimming in his big, dark eyes. He had the same dark eyes Rafiq had, and now there was no more anger in them, not anymore.
“My son,” he said, “this is extraordinary.”
The way Rafiq squeezed my shoulder told me he wasn’t expecting that response.
“You like it, truly?” he asked his father.
“I can’t remember the last time I saw you exhibit such passion, Rafiq. True passion, not the masquerade you have been living for so long.” He gestured toward the portrait. “I wish you hadn’t lied to me and deceived me about your marriage. But this, I can see now…your love for her is real. And she’s found a way to uncover the passion inside of you that I knew was still waiting.”
“Father…”
“And your technique! Your talent!” exclaimed Mehmet in sudden animation, as if now he’d started, he couldn’t stop. “Rafiq, you have improved so much since the last time I saw you create. You’ve found your style, your voice. This is a feat I was never able to accomplish.”
Rafiq’s mouth dropped open. “I’ve never heard you talk like that, father.”
“It’s the truth,” said Mehmet. “If this is a day for truths, let it be so. I’m sorry I pressed you with such intensity to try and make up for my own artistic failures, Rafiq. I saw your talent and I must have lost my mind. But…” he looked back at the painting. “At least I can say now for certain that what I saw was true. You were born an artist, my son; a true artist, just like the beautiful woman at your side.”
I blushed as Rafiq pulled me closer and looked down at me with a jubilant smile.
“I’m proud of you, Rafiq,” said Mehmet. He walked up to his son and clapped both hands on his shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. “I’m so proud of you. This is the beginning of your life, my son. Now that you understand the kind of man you want to be, nothing will stand in your way. You and Evie will make a beautiful life together, full of art and passion and beauty. That is all I ever wanted for you, son. I only wanted you to be happy.” Tears escaped from his eyes as he embraced his son with strong arms.
Shocked at first, Rafiq moved his arm from around me and hugged his father back. It was clear to me that they hadn’t shared a moment like this in a very l
ong time, and it made my heart soar.
Epilogue
One Year Later
