Harlequin Romance September 2021 Box Set

by Andrea Bolter

  Amal craned her neck all around for the new perspective of the lake. “Mansur, it’s lovely!”

  “I knew you’d like it,” he said, his own gaze sweeping the lake and the valley. “Reminds me of an oasis, or what I would think one would look like.”

  “Being here in Bishoftu has me longing for more adventure.” Amal sighed wistfully, knowing her heart would yearn for this special place once they left. “I’m going to miss it,” she said, melancholy wavering in her tone. “It’s going to have a place in my heart forever. As far as memories go, it’s one of the best I’ll have, since my amnesia has yet to gift me any of my adult memories.”

  “I’m happy you’ll remember this for a long time.”

  He’d switched to Somali. Amal understood why, as the boat operator had to understand English. How else had Mansur booked the trip out on the lake? And especially given what he went on to say.

  “It’s my way of thanking you—for being family to my mother in my absence, for coming out to view my potential inheritance, and for reminding me what I’ve missed out on by not returning home sooner.”

  Amal absorbed his words, let them rest in her heart for a moment, before she dared to ask, “Will you miss me when you go back to America?”

  “I’ll miss our conversations. It’s been nice to have someone to talk to.”

  “Just nice?” she asked.

  It was more than “nice” for her. She finally felt as if someone understood her. She had told Mansur a lot. About her father. About her fear of not regaining her memories. She’d also nearly kissed him—twice. And he’d looked like he had wanted to do the same to her.

  If she’d been braver, she might have tested out the theory one more time. Only this time actually made contact and shared her first kiss with him. But they had an audience. She peeked over at the boat operator and stifled a sigh. Ultimately, she should be happy not to be alone with Mansur. She couldn’t expect him to remain with her much longer. And, if she was being honest with herself, she wouldn’t settle for anything else.

  A long-distance relationship was a possibility. They could start chatting over the phone again, and video-calling. Eventually that would run its course, though, and she’d yearn for more. She’d want him beside her, and it wasn’t fair for him to be forced into a position to choose.

  Like he’d ever pick you over his career.

  And she didn’t want that. Not one bit! He had worked hard for what he had, and he deserved every bit of success and every dollar to his name. She wouldn’t want Mansur to make her choose either, between her job and him. Because she certainly wasn’t willing to pack up and move to America. She loved living in Hargeisa. Hadn’t dreamt of leaving Somaliland or abandoning her company.

  And amnesia hadn’t affected her desire to have a family of her own someday. She had childhood memories of longing for that very same thing. But now she felt ready for it. For love, marriage, and raising children.

  Sadly, Mansur couldn’t give her that. And she wanted all of him, so she’d best learn to live without him starting now.

  “You’re right, though. It is nice,” she said with a tiny smile.

  She looked out over the lake again and pulled out her phone, snapping photos. Ribbons of sunlight shimmered on the lake surface as the boat carved its path toward the lake’s center. Like the sunlight, Mansur wasn’t something she could hold on to. And she wouldn’t add to his plate of worries.

  With what she hoped was a clear voice, she said, “Whatever happens in Addis, remember that there’s hope and light and positivity in every experience.”

  Mansur hummed noncommittally. “Your optimism is nice, too.”

  Amal glanced at him. “What’s nice is being here with you and knowing that you’ll consider what I have to say. Just...don’t make any hasty actions. Go in with an open heart, like I did. It wasn’t as though I wanted to come to Addis Ababa in the first place. But I heard you out, and I liked what you said. It’s why I’m here.”

  “This is different—” he began sullenly, but stopped when she sucked in a shuddery breath. Pausing, he gave her a thoughtful, warmer look before he added, “I said I would try, didn’t I? And I will. But there’s history I can’t ignore.”

  Knowing it was the best she’d get for now, Amal eased off. “That’s good enough,” she remarked.

  It was a start. And she hoped that if she couldn’t have Mansur, at least he’d be open to reconnecting with his family. They didn’t both have to have tragic relationships with their fathers. He still had hope. He just had to see that he did.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “THIS SHOULD BE IT.” Amal paused in front of a florist’s shop.

  Mansur dragged his feet, dread slowing him. They were in Addis Ababa again, in the heart of its large and famed open-air marketplace. Addis Mercato was teeming with energy. Stores and stalls were all open for business. Hawkers called out loudly to garner attention to their wares.

  After following the directions that the private investigators had emailed to him, Mansur had been able to lead him and Amal to their final destination.

  And it was this quaint-looking shop.

  Above the entrance was a green-and-white-striped awning, sun-bleached of its original vibrancy and yet clinging to its welcoming charm. At least, his beautiful companion thought so. Amal’s face held an innocent glee while she waited for his slower, hesitant strides to eat up the short distance to her.

  The swooping in Manny’s stomach sharpened with every step now. And he’d just about locked every muscle and clamped down on a bile-ridden spasm from his gut when Amal said, “It’s open.”

  Of course it was. He couldn’t avoid this any longer, then.

  Get this over with. That had been the mantra he’d chanted inwardly as soon as they had parked the car and traversed into the Mercato. His chance for excuses gone, he had no choice but to accomplish what they’d come to do here. Thankfully, he had one recourse—and she was smiling at him, her hope searing blindingly into his embittered core.

  Amal.

  He was happy she’d talked him into bringing her along. She was friendly support. Someone in his corner, he hoped. And so far he hadn’t gone wrong in allowing her closer to him. Amal had shown nothing but kindness and patience when he’d revealed his indecision about meeting the family he had worked hard to pretend didn’t exist.

  One thing was for certain: after this meeting he could no longer disregard his half-siblings and stepmother.

  You win. Scowling, Manny aimed his concession to the heavens, where he imagined his father was laughing it up. He closed his eyes and swore he heard the laughter—a brushing memory of the roaring mirth that had often emanated from his father at the smallest of jokes. Funny... He couldn’t recall many memories of his father. Pleasant ones or otherwise. His father hadn’t stuck around long enough for Mansur to hold on to more than a few memories. And time had sanded away the rest.

  He opened his eyes and found Amal watching him. What would she be thinking? That he was allowing this meeting to undo him. Was she judging him? He hoped not. Last time she had, she’d left him broken-hearted.

  “We could come back,” she said softly, touching her fingertips to the back of his hand.

  Mansur relaxed. No, he was wrong. Amal wasn’t judging him. This was different than when he’d proposed to her. She wasn’t pushing him away now.

  Not yet—but she will once she realizes you can’t let go of your grudge.

  The malicious thought snaked through his mind but, clenching his jaw, feeling the ticking cheek muscle react to the swell of his agitation, he did what he did best: pretended everything was all right.

  As for this “family” of his—a quick hello should suffice in satisfying the clause that blocked him from inheriting the land.

  Nothing more, nothing less.

  “After you,” Manny said, more brusquely than he
’d have liked.

  Opening the door for Amal, he watched her hesitate, her eyes tracking his face. Her lips parted slightly, as if she thought to say something, but then, thinking against it, she looked away and walked inside. He trailed her, with weighty unease bearing down on his shoulders.

  The shop was slightly warmer than room temperature. An appropriate space for the showy, tropical flowers on display. He imagined the plants requiring cooler climes were housed in the back of the spacious retail area.

  “They’re lovely...” Amal breathed her awe, gravitating to the closest shelf of potted flowers. She pulled in close to the flowers, inhaled and sneezed delicately.

  “Careful. You might be allergic,” he warned.

  She blinked her watering eyes, sneezed once more, and laughed. “Maybe I am. But they smell so good. It’s hard not to take a sniff.”

  Manny believed he’d be able to control himself. He was already imagining walking out of the shop, messaging his lawyers, and letting them know he’d done his part in fulfilling the clause blocking his land inheritance.

  “Nervous?” Amal whispered.

  She’d drifted back to his side, and Manny looked down at her, folding his arms. “I’d like this over with, to be honest.”

  Before he could interpret her sad smile, he heard footsteps approaching.

  A tall, fair-skinned man pushed through the back door. He had a smile affixed to his youthful, clean-shaven face, and his eyes bounded from Amal to Manny. As he neared them he dried his hands on his black waist apron, where the shop name, Imperial Flowers, was emblazoned alongside a calla lily.

  “Good morning. How can I help you?” His subtly accented English was crisp and clear and polite.

  “I’m here to see Zoya Ali.”

  The friendly expression on the young man’s face broke with his confusion. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No,” he replied, watching the other man’s bafflement intensify.

  It was the truth, though. His half-sister Zoya wasn’t expecting Manny to be here for some good old-fashioned family time, courtesy of their bullheaded father.

  I’m close, though. Nearly done with this charade.

  He didn’t see it as anything else.

  “I don’t have a standing appointment, no, but she’ll want to see me,” he clarified.

  It was a total bluff. He had no clue what Zoya would think once she knew he occupied her shop.

  Frowning now, the young man darted his narrowing eyes to Amal. But he spoke to Manny when he asked, “What did you say your name was, sir?”

  “Mansur Ali. I’m her half-brother.”

  That proclamation cracked like thunder through the shop.

  The young man snapped his jaw shut, but the whites of his eyes continued to bulge with shock. “I’ll go tell her. Please wait here.”

  He swiveled and headed for the door he’d come through.

  “I don’t think he expected that,” Amal murmured.

  No, and neither will my half-sister, Manny thought grimly, shoving aside the odd trickle of concern for the woman he’d come to meet. Misplaced emotions would only further complicate this situation. All he had to remember was that this was a means to an end. If he could keep that as his focus, he’d come out of this unscathed.

  Amal neared him, her fingertips on his arm unwarranted but welcome. “You can do this,” she said, her voice unwavering, filled with stalwart confidence. She had enough for them both, and he could feel it seeping into him from the simple connection she’d made. Grateful for her presence again, he gave her the briefest of smiles as a reply.

  Their stares simultaneously veered to the shop’s back door as it swung open again, nearly crashing into the wall from the force. The willowy woman who hurried out took one look at him and froze in her spirited tracks. She gawked just like the young man. He hovered behind her closely.

  Manny could have sliced the tension in the room with a knife. It sat in the air, thick and annoying. But it came in handy. Giving him the time to size up this half-sister of his.

  Zoya was nearly as tall as he was. It made it easier for him to look her in the eyes, unearth what she could possibly be thinking now he stood before her.

  She was pretty, in a cute kind of way. Her eyes were an identical shade to his, and they shared the same narrowly tapered nose. But her skin was a pinkish beige-brown, her face was wider, and her cheeks were rounded.

  He knew she was three years younger than him, making her Amal’s age. And Manny also understood from the private investigators’ exhaustive dossier that Zoya had studied horticulture in college, and gone straight from school into opening a now thriving florist business. She was doing well, having had the lease on her marketplace location for close on five years.

  He knew about her. But he didn’t know her.

  Amal’s touch hadn’t left his arm and he concentrated on it, longing to clasp her hand under his and be reassured that she was with him through this no matter what happened. That she’d continue to be unjudgmental and generous with her sympathy.

  For someone who didn’t recall him in adulthood, she excelled at soothing the worst emotions in him.

  If they hadn’t been standing in his half-sister’s shop, Manny might have lingered over the thought that this connection he had to Amal would never disappear. No amnesia or great distance would destroy it. Some deep part of him would always care for her.

  But, not fully ready to wrestle what that meant, he concentrated on his half-sister. She was finally addressing him.

  “Mansur. Is it really you?” Zoya widened her eyes at his subtle nod.

  He tensed, preparing himself for her to throw him out angrily. After all, he was a stranger. A family member, yes, but a strange man who had burst in on her life. For all he knew she hated him and wished he didn’t exist.

  That theory crumbled when Zoya smiled widely. The smile lifted her round cheeks and revealed two dimples. His body jarred on a flashback, of his father’s grizzly bearded face, of the deep dimples that had never been hidden by his thick henna-colored facial hair, and of his wide, contagious smile. That spectral laughter still echoing in Manny’s mind from the dislodged memory chipped at his defenses. With one smile, this strange woman had awoken the ghost of his father, and now the phantoms of his past haunted him.

  Not a strange woman, but your half-sister.

  He resented the truth in that thought.

  So what? She bears some resemblance to our father. That doesn’t change anything.

  And it didn’t. Not for him. He was here to fulfill the clause in his father’s will. Just as smoothly as he’d walked into Zoya’s life he’d be walking out of it, richer by forty acres of farmland.

  “How did you find me?” Zoya clapped a hand to her mouth, blinked several times, and then, breathing deeply, lowered her hand and added shakily, “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

  Zoya stepped closer, pausing in front of him, her smile tearful but effervescent. And all Manny could think was that she hadn’t tossed him out of her shop yet. Small mercy.

  “We have to talk,” he said.

  It wasn’t what he’d planned to do. Hardly an in-and-out mission. But now that he saw her he strongly desired to have her comprehend that this was a one-time scenario. He didn’t need her, or her siblings, or her mother. He didn’t want their family.

  He had his mother, and maybe Amal again, and that was enough.

  Oblivious to what he had planned, Zoya bobbed her head. Her ready agreement was unnerving to him.

  “I was thinking the same thing. Should we grab coffee?”

  It wasn’t a question, really, though she’d phrased it as such. Reaching for the ties of her half-apron, Zoya slipped it off and folded it neatly. The young man, who looked to be about Zoya’s age, took the apron from her.

  “I’ll be back, Salim,” sh
e told him.

  The man clutched her hand, gave it a squeeze, and said, “I’ll be here when you do.” Then he stepped through the back door and left them to continue their conversation.

  Alone with Zoya now, Manny watched his half-sister’s attention flicker to Amal, her smile brightening in its wattage.

  That was his cue to introduce them—something he figured he’d have to do, but he didn’t relish. After all, this was supposed to be a no-frills meeting. He wasn’t trying to establish a relationship with Zoya or her family.

  But he couldn’t be rude, so he made the introductions.

  “This is Amal,” he said, his eyes straying from his half-sister to watch their interaction. He needn’t have worried. Amal’s sunny smile looked anything but uncomfortable.

  “Your flower shop is beautiful,” Amal said, waving to the shelves full of brightly colored flora.

  Zoya touched a hand to her heart and dipped her head in gratitude. “It comes from a place of labor and love, so it makes me happy to hear you think so, Amal. My fiancé, Salim, is a great support. He helps me run the business. Without him, it wouldn’t be nearly as beautiful as you say.”

  “You’ve both done an excellent job. You should be proud.”

  Amal’s compliments to Zoya chafed Manny. He struggled to comprehend what was happening. He didn’t want Amal to be making friends with Zoya. He wanted to wash his hands clean of this moment in the very, very near future.

  Firing daggers at her, he watched as Amal barely turned her head to regard his glowering look. A look he’d hoped would communicate his growing agitation. But Amal was riveted as Zoya pointed out some of her favorite flowers to her.

  “About that coffee...” he interjected, his gaze snapping from Amal to Zoya.

  “Will you be coming with us, too?” Zoya asked Amal. “If you haven’t tried the coffee in Addis Ababa yet, then you’re in for a treat.”

  “I’d love to taste Ethiopian coffee,” Amal said.

  Manny was glad they were finally moving out of Zoya’s shop and getting nearer to the end of this meeting. Though even as they walked through the Mercato in search of a café where Amal could taste authentic Ethiopian coffee, Manny couldn’t get rid of his prickly intuition that there was yet another obstacle ahead of him before his elusive inheritance.