Behind the Curtain

by BETH KERY

  “It looks like all the blood just dropped out of your head,” he said, standing.

  She realized she gripped tightly at the corner of the table.

  “No, I’m fine,” she mumbled. She gave Tahi a wild glance. “Do you want to take a little walk?”

  “Sure,” Tahi said, setting down her tea abruptly and standing. They headed for the beach.

  “What’s with those girls?” Laila heard Zarif say through the screen door.

  “It’s Mamma Sophia,” Laila’s mother said with a sigh. “You have no idea how much Laila has been worried about her.”

  Laila strained to overhear more, but Tahi was pulling her across the terrace. She heard Zarif say something about Zara before the sound of the surf silenced the conversation.

  “What are you going to do?” Tahi asked her tensely once they put some distance between themselves and the cottages.

  Laila stared out at the white sand and the shimmering periwinkle-blue water, seeing nothing but Asher’s face.

  “I don’t know,” she said. She’d never been so scared.

  Chapter Sixteen

  At eleven forty-five that night, Laila rose from her bed. She silently and methodically stuffed some pillows beneath the bedclothes to make it look like she was still in the bed. For several seconds, she lingered by the side of Mamma Sophia’s sleeping form, assuring herself that her grandmother was breathing and peaceful.

  Then she snuck out of the room.

  Her heart pounded faster tonight than any time when she’d escaped from the sleeping porch. There was a good chance her parents would hear her tread in the hallway. One misplaced step on a squeaky floorboard would betray her. What she was doing tonight was a far greater risk than she’d ever taken before. She didn’t dare to even breathe until she’d made it through the house. When she finally made it out the door and down the terrace steps, she felt dizzy. She paused, bending over and gasping for air.

  A moment later, she raced up the white, moonlit dune toward the road. Toward Asher. They’d agreed by text to meet. Three quarters of the way up the dune, she paused and glanced backward at the cottages. A light in the communal parking area told her that Zara’s car was missing.

  She’s with Eric.

  Both she and her cousin were rebels tonight.

  Her cousin Zarif’s car was missing too. Had he decided to go back to Detroit?

  “Laila.”

  Asher’s hushed call jerked her out of her thoughts. She resumed jogging up the dune.

  It felt like her heart was going to burst out of her chest by the time she reached the summit of the dune and the road. It gave another leap when she saw his tall form leave the shadows and step into the moonlight. He wore jeans and a dark-colored T-shirt that showed off his cut, muscular torso. A shiver passed through her when she saw his lean, hungry expression as he stared at her. For the past several days and nights, she’d been so chaotic emotionally, so scattered, so uncertain about what she should do . . . about what was right, about what was true for her.

  But in that moment, Asher struck her as almost savage in his focus. He had enough single-minded intent for both of them . . . for a thousand people.

  For a few seconds, she just stood there, panting, a little in awe of him. He came toward her and reached out with one hand, caressing her cheek. He cupped her shoulder and leaned down, capturing her mouth in a quick, blistering kiss.

  “Let’s go,” he breathed next to her mouth, nodding toward his parked roadster.

  She just followed him, made speechless by the heat of his kiss.

  • • •

  Asher could hear explosions and gunfire emanating from the television set in the family room when they entered the beach house. Rudy and Jimmy were watching a movie. Chances were, they hadn’t even heard Asher leave to pick up Laila, let alone realized he was returning. He led Laila up the stairs to his bedroom. They’d barely spoken since they’d met up on the dune road. A strained silence had reigned between them. She’d texted him about her mother’s proclamation that they were leaving in the morning for Detroit. He’d sensed her panic. He’d insisted that they meet tonight, and she’d agreed. But he still had no idea what she was thinking about the fact that her parents expected her to leave tomorrow. He was scared to ask her.

  But he would.

  A few seconds later, he shut the door and turned, taking her into his arms.

  She wore a sleeveless blouse and her hair was down around her shoulders. He pressed his face against her neck, inhaling the subtle floral scent from her hair and skin. He trailed his hands down her slender, lithe arms.

  Laila.

  He couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing her again. Touching her.

  He wouldn’t accept it.

  “Your father came back from Detroit tonight?” he asked her, lifting his head.

  She looked up at him and nodded. Her eyes looked huge, and her face seemed paler than usual. He cupped the side of her head, his thumb brushing against the silky skin of her cheek.

  “I’m going to come over and meet them—your mom and dad—in the morning.”

  “No, Asher. That would never work.”

  “I don’t want to keep sneaking around like this.”

  She shook her head rapidly. “You don’t understand. That would be the worst thing you could do. Especially with Mamma Sophia’s heart attack and everything. My mom is already worried sick.”

  He cupped her head more firmly. “I’m not going to just let you go,” he stated unequivocally.

  “It’s not that simple, Asher.”

  “It is, Laila. You’re an adult. You have the right to see whomever you want. Your mom and dad would be upset if we told them we wanted to see each other, just like my parents were when I told them about my job. But they’d come to accept it. Eventually. You have a choice in this, Laila. This isn’t about them. It’s about you. Us.”

  “Don’t,” she blurted out, her eyes going wild. “Don’t make me do that. Don’t make me choose. It’s . . . it’s cruel.” She twisted out of his arms and fled across the room, pausing in front of the dormer window. It felt like she’d just slapped him.

  It took him two seconds to realize she’d felt exactly the same way about what he’d said.

  He inhaled, trying to calm his choppy emotions, and went to her. She stood with her back to him, her head lowered. He couldn’t decide where her misery ended and his began. He put his hands on her upper arms. When he tried to turn her, she resisted at first.

  “They are me, Asher. Don’t you get that? I can’t discount my family like you do your parents,” she said bitterly.

  He stiffened. “Wow. That was a low blow.”

  Regret tightened her face.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for saying that. It was mean. Horrible. I know it,” she said in a strangled voice. “I’m sorry I can’t explain myself right to you. I’m sorry if it means I’m still too young to stand up for myself, or that I’m not brave enough, or that I’m weak.” She reached up and took his face in her hands. “I love you,” she said fiercely, her eyes shimmering with tears. “I don’t know what’s right, but I don’t want to give up on us. But I don’t want to hurt my family either. Can’t you understand that?”

  “I’m trying,” he said. “But I don’t see how you can have both without bending.”

  “You’re not bending me,” she said so loudly, he started. Her face suddenly collapsed. “God, Asher, you’re breaking me.”

  The way she looked in that moment nearly brought him to his knees. She was like a cornered animal, and there was no way out of facing the truth. He was one of the people cornering her. Torturing her.

  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” he muttered, pulling her to him. He pressed his mouth to her temple, running his hand through her soft hair, his palm at her back absorbing her trembling. He was an asshole for pus
hing and prodding at something so sweet. So precious. “I’m so sorry. Shhh,” he pleaded softly. “Laila—”

  And then—he wasn’t sure how it happened, if she’d craned up for him, or if he’d swept down for her—their mouths fused. All their volatility and blind uncertainty found a channel in that kiss. It hit him like an explosion. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he realized he probably could have stopped himself if Laila hadn’t reciprocated completely. But she seemed every bit as wild as he was. They fell onto the bed, Asher coming down over her. Laila clutched at him like she thought she was drowning.

  And he knew this wasn’t just lust. It was love, and need . . . and the desperation that comes from fear, because a brutal loss was drawing near.

  • • •

  Afterward, they lay there, holding each other fast. They hadn’t even taken off most of their clothes before they’d made love. He regretted that now, sliding his hand beneath her dress and caressing the supple curve of her hip. He pressed his mouth against the silky skin of her belly and felt his airway tighten, like there was a hand at his throat.

  “I’ll fly back in a few weeks,” he said, trying to sound calm. “To Detroit.”

  He felt her fingers in his hair. “It’ll be even harder for me to see you in Detroit than it is here.”

  He lifted his head, hearing the flat, hopeless quality of her voice.

  “Don’t give up, Laila.”

  He saw her throat convulse and thought maybe that invisible, choking hand had transferred to her. He pressed his mouth to her neck, her small moan of misery vibrating into his lips. Her arms surrounded him, beckoning him to her. He rose up over her, seeking her mouth. The sound of several car doors slamming—three or four in quick succession?—reached his ears. His head jerked around.

  “What was that?”

  “I don’t know,” Laila whispered.

  He rolled off the bed. Jerking up his jeans and underwear, he hurried over to the window and drew back the curtain. Four tall men were walking in the driveway toward the house. They didn’t speak. Something about their somber intent and rapid, long strides sent an alarm going off in his head.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  “Asher?” Laila called from behind him. “Who is it?”

  He turned to her. The grim reality of the situation had settled on him like a lead jacket, grounding him in the inescapable moment.

  “I’ve never seen your family before, but I’m guessing it’s them. Or at least four of the guys in the family.” He waved toward the window. She rushed across the room. She peered cautiously out the window, and then stepped back, her face frozen in shock.

  “It is them. My father, my uncles and Zarif, my cousin,” she whispered, disbelief making her voice sound hollow. “How in the world—”

  He grabbed her shoulders. She glanced up at him, startled.

  “Tell me one thing, and be honest, Laila. I’ll know if you’re lying. Are they going to hurt you?”

  Her blank stare told him she wasn’t computing his meaning. “I won’t let them see you, if they’re going to hurt you in any way,” he clarified. The muted sound of knocking on the front doors reached their ears. He shook her softly. Her glazed eyes sharpened on him. “Are you going to be safe?” he demanded.

  “Of course I am. My father would never hurt me in any way, no matter how furious he is.” Her lips trembled, as if she’d just heard what she’d said about her father’s fury.

  The knocking below them grew louder . . . more insistent.

  He cursed bitterly, seeing no way out of the situation but to face it head-on. He finished buttoning his jeans and led Laila over to the bed to retrieve her underwear.

  “What are we going to do?” she whispered after she’d scurried into the panties he handed her.

  He smoothed her hair, then took her hand in his. “We’re going down to meet them.”

  • • •

  Laila couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t understand how Asher seemed so calm as he led her down the stairs.

  “Who the hell is that?” someone said.

  Laila realized it was Rudy, standing in the entryway and peering through the cut-glass windows on the double front doors. Someone on the other side pounded extra loud, making Rudy start back in alarm.

  “Open up. Now!”

  “Laila.”

  Laila started at the sound of her father’s bellow.

  “Stand back, Rudy. It’s Laila’s family,” Asher said. He flipped several light switches in the foyer. Rudy stepped away from the door, looking confused. Laila could tell by his surprised glance at her that he hadn’t even realized she was in the house.

  “Asher.” It was Jimmy, just entering the foyer. “Don’t you think—”

  But Asher flipped the lock. She felt Asher push her behind him before he swung open the door.

  It was surreal, seeing her father’s, uncles’ and Zarif’s tense faces illuminated by the entryway lights.

  “Baba, what are you doing here?” Laila asked in a strangled voice, peering around Asher’s wide shoulders. Her father’s gaze jumped from Laila to Rudy and Jimmy standing behind them. It landed on Asher. His jaw clenched tight.

  “You ask me what I’m doing at this place in the middle of the night, when I thought my daughter was sleeping soundly in her bed?” her father asked bitterly. Laila cringed at the wild hurt she saw in his eyes. “I didn’t believe it was true, until this minute. Not even when Zarif woke me up and told me that he’d followed Zara to some bar, and the man she’d been with claimed that you’d been sneaking out at night, as well. Coming here.” He pointed aggressively at Asher. “To be with this one. But here I find you. Step aside,” he ordered Asher.

  “Mr. Barek, if you could just calm down, this isn’t—”

  But Baba stepped across the threshold aggressively, reaching around Asher for Laila. Asher moved to block him. Zarif lunged, grabbing Asher’s shirt and jerking him in the opposite direction of Laila. Asher slammed into the door frame and bounced off it. Laila’s dad’s hand closed around her upper arm.

  “Baba—Asher . . . no!” She shouted the last because Zarif shoved Asher again, then stepped into him, blocking him from Laila. When Asher started to move toward Laila again, her cousin restrained him. Rudy stepped between them, pushing back on Zarif.

  “Get off him,” Rudy seethed.

  “Let’s go, Laila,” her father said, pulling on her arm and urging her through the opened door. Her uncle Reda reached for her. Both of them pulled her down the steps, one of them on each side. For a second, she couldn’t see what was happening behind her. She heard scuffling and cursing, and then the sound of a thump and a grunt of pain. She twisted her chin over her shoulder.

  “Asher,” she screamed. She strained in her father’s and Reda’s grip, desperate to go back. Rudy held his hand over his eye and was wincing in pain. Asher’s face looked tight with anger and helplessness.

  “Just go, Laila,” Asher yelled. “Just go with them, for now.”

  “What do you mean, for now, you son of a bitch?” Zarif shouted. He grabbed Asher’s shirt and drew back his fist.

  “No, Zarif,” her uncle Taha shouted.

  “Zarif, don’t—”

  “Laila, stop it,” her father said angrily, because she was straining in their hold now, trying to get back to Asher. It was like she was seeing the whole catastrophe in slow motion, like a dream she couldn’t wake up from. Zarif’s punch landed on Asher’s jaw. Asher’s chin swung around, but his feet remained planted firmly on the ground. He turned back slowly. Laila called his name in rising anguish, seeing the glint of fury in his eyes as he focused on Zarif. Zarif threw another punch, but this time, Asher grabbed her cousin’s fist, halting him in midair.

  His other fist sank into Zarif’s abdomen.

  “No,” she shouted hoarsely. Helplessness hit her in a drowning wave
. She caught the horrible, fleeting image of her uncle Taha bending over a slumped Zarif. Her cousin seemed too hurt or stunned to stand on his own.

  Then her dad and Reda were hustling her toward the car. Even though it felt like she was flailing underwater, she strained to see over her shoulder. She thought she saw Jimmy and Rudy pulling Asher inside the house.

  She fell more than sat in the dim backseat, and her father was coming down next to her.

  “You shouldn’t have done that, Baba,” she exclaimed bitterly. “You shouldn’t have come here and hurt Asher. You don’t even know him!”

  Her breath caught when she took in her father’s rigid profile. He sat very still. He looked like her father, whom she loved dearly, but bizarrely like a stranger too.

  “He wasn’t the only one who has been hurt by this, Laila,” her father said without looking at her.

  Her mouth snapped shut. It dawned on her with dread that he was right.

  And the hurt was just beginning.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next morning, the sun was overcast with dull gray clouds. Her father pulled his car into the turnabout in front of the beach house, braked and twisted his wrist in the ignition. For a moment, he and Laila just sat there with the silence billowing around them. She saw movement and turned to see one of the front doors opening. Asher stepped out onto the front steps. She’d called him a half hour ago and told him they were coming. He wore jeans, a button-down ivory shirt and a tense expression.

  “I think I should go in with you,” her father said.

  “I’ll be fine, Baba,” she said, her tone weary. Her throat hurt. Her eyes felt dry. It hurt even to blink.

  There had been a lot of yelling—from both her parents and herself upon her return last night. There had been no rest for any of them. There’d been a lot of tears too, and then the tears had dried up. Then Mamma Sophia had fallen as she’d tried to get out of bed, and they’d had to take her to the emergency room. It had been a night straight out of a nightmare. Laila’s insides felt abraded . . . scraped raw.