Between the Covers

by Louisa Masters

  Malik sighed. He’d never doubted that Léo was glad to have him in France, not even when they were six years old and barely knew each other, but he hadn’t realized his cousin felt so much guilt about it. “There is nothing to forgive. You forget that it was my own nature that got me sent to France. Even if you had been a shy, nervous child who never got in trouble”—they both smirked at the very idea—“it would not have held me back. And yes, it… it hurt that my own father was not able to… to love me as he did my brothers and sisters”—Malik forced the words he’d never spoken through a throat that felt too small—“but I have never regretted being raised in France. If we hadn’t grown up together, I would be a different person also.” He took a deep breath. This was it. This was the opening he needed. “But you are right that I feel some guilt. My father, for whatever reason, allowed me an incredible opportunity, and all he asked in return was that I return home and put my education to use to support the family. And I defied that, for no reason except that I wanted to. I spent years purposely doing things that I knew would attract tabloid attention, even though I knew how much he would hate that. And we fought constantly because I wanted to maintain a dilettante lifestyle. I regret now that I was so immature. Part of me does feel relief that we will no longer fight all the time, but if I had just stepped up to meet his expectations, I could have had that relief sooner—and without his death.”

  Léo was frowning. “He wanted to dictate your life,” he pointed out. “As an adult, you have the right to decide where to live and how to fill your time, especially when it is neither illegal nor harmful.”

  Malik spread his hands. “Perhaps. But would it have hurt me to give in occasionally? My brothers and brother-in-law work in the family company, and Khalid is the only one who truly works hard. Perhaps if I had allowed him a nominal victory there, my life would not have been so different.” He looked away, unable to meet Léo’s incredulous stare.

  “Would you have been happy like that? Making a commitment that you didn’t fulfill? No,” Léo answered his own question. “You wouldn’t have been able to do that. Instead you would have worked just as hard as Khalid does—just as hard as Gabriel does,” he added, reminding Malik that his own situation was very similar, “and hated every moment of it. Try to imagine yourself confined to an office and a schedule, Malik. Working day in and day out solely on your father’s business. You would be miserable. How could any loving parent expect—demand—that of you?”

  Before he could stop himself, Malik said, “Your father demands it of you.” Then he closed his eyes, because arguing with Léo was not what he wanted—and he knew it wasn’t really true.

  Silence. Malik opened his eyes to see his cousin studying him thoughtfully.

  “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “Uncle Charles still nags you about taking a role in the company, but we all know he’d keel over in shock if you actually agreed—and then tell you not to be ridiculous.” For all Charles Artois’s bluster about Léo’s life, he was inordinately proud and perhaps secretly envious of his younger son.

  “Malik,” Léo said softly, ignoring him, “what have you done?”

  Malik sucked in a deep breath. “I need to meet my responsibilities,” he declared.

  “You said that before. What responsibilities are you referring to? Because I have never known you to shirk any.”

  “It’s too late for my father to see me fulfill his wishes for me, but in respect for him, I need to do it anyway.”

  Léo’s jaw dropped. Malik forged on.

  “I’m taking my place in the company.”

  “Are you insane? No, wait”—Léo held up a hand—“I apologize. That was uncalled for. But Malik, have you thought this through?”

  Malik nodded. “I have. I have been wasting my education and contacts, Léo. All my father ever wanted from me was for me to proudly represent the family, and I defied him. The least I can do now is put my immaturity behind me.”

  It was Léo’s turn to close his eyes. When he opened them, they bored into Malik like lasers. “Are you listening to yourself? Really think about what you’re saying.”

  “I’m not like you,” Malik protested. “You’re using your natural talents and your education. You’re a brilliant financial manager, and you’ve ensured that none of us will ever want for anything, ever. I do nothing, Léo. I had an education that millions dream of handed to me, and I’m wasting it.”

  “Shut up,” Léo roared, leaping to his feet. “Stop saying that! You are not wasting your education or your life. You’re a successful author, for the love of God!”

  The words struck like an arrow, but Malik ignored the pang of pain and shook his head. “You know my father would never have accepted that.” He saw in Léo’s face the exact moment he understood.

  “You’re giving it up? I thought you meant to work in the company and write as well, and I wondered at your sanity, but… you love writing. How can you just…?”

  Malik met his cousin’s gaze squarely. “I need to fulfill my responsibilities.”

  Léo nodded. “Okay. This is a very stressful time. I think we should leave this discussion for now, and perhaps come back to it when we have paid Uncle his due respect. Don’t… don’t do anything irrevocable for now. Perhaps wait until you have discussed it with Dani.”

  Malik flinched.

  Léo dropped back into the chair as though his knees had failed.

  The silence drew out as Malik tried to find the words to explain.

  Finally Léo said, “Let’s not talk about this anymore. You have a lot on your mind. I’m sure that once the funeral is over and you’ve had time to process, you’ll be thinking more clearly.”

  Malik ignored the implication that he was out of his mind.

  “But you need to call Dani,” Léo warned. “She’s worried about you. Whatever you decide later, you need to reassure her now.”

  He nodded. Léo was right.

  He’d call her tomorrow.

  Malik stared at his phone. He’d been staring at it for what felt like forever but could only have been a few minutes.

  It had been four days since his father had died, since Léo and Ben had arrived, since his cousin had told him he was insane. His father had been laid to rest, the mourning rites had been completed, and Léo and Ben were barely speaking to him.

  It was all his own fault. He was handling everything poorly.

  He’d spoken to Dani each day, but acting was not his forte, and she’d known there was something he was keeping from her. Despite that, she’d been nothing but supportive—she’d sent him the texts he loved so much and had answered his calls on the first ring, no matter what time he called. If he needed to stay longer with his mother, she’d said, she could get in touch with his agent and editor and get him an extension on his deadline. Or she could do that anyway, and that way if he decided to visit more often, he would have some flexibility in his schedule.

  That had been yesterday, and he’d known then that he couldn’t continue. Couldn’t let her keep thinking that he was worthy of her love, of her caring.

  “I’m not coming back,” he’d blurted, without anything to soften the blow. “I mean… I’m staying to take up a position in the family company. It was what my father always wanted.”

  Dani hesitated, clearly taken aback. “Okay,” she’d said slowly. “I imagine that’s going to slow your writing down a lot. I can tell Elise, but she’ll probably want to talk to you herself.”

  Malik closed his eyes. His stomach hurt. “No, I mean yes… I’ll need to talk to Elise. But I won’t be writing anymore. This is a full-time commitment, and I can’t dishonor my father by splitting my attention.”

  “You’re giving up writing?” Her voice rose in pitch, the tone incredulous. “Are you— I mean. Um. Okay. You need a break. You need to…. What would you be doing at the family company? I have trouble seeing you in a desk job, Malik.”

  “Yet that’s what my future holds.” He tried to say it lightly but failed ut
terly.

  “Why?” This time she didn’t try to be diplomatic or understanding. “Why are you doing this? I get that you’re grieving, that you miss your dad and wish the two of you had seen eye to eye more. But you’re not a corporate whatever, Malik. That’s going to make you miserable.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” he lied, because the conversation was already too hard. He was exhausted and his chest was burning with the knowledge of what he was about to do, and he couldn’t stand to argue with her about his career path, too.

  He heard her take a deep breath, and then she said, “I guess you know yourself better than anyone,” and he knew she was back to being considerate of his feelings because she thought he was vulnerable right now. He wanted to curse and shout at her to not be so nice. “I’ll tell Elise that you need an extension because of your father’s death, and that for the same reason you’re not sure when you’ll be submitting the next book. If you decide not to return to writing, that’s fine, but if one day down the track you find that you can balance your new career with being an author, then at least you won’t have burned any bridges.” She forced a chuckle. “And I guess I’d better start looking for a new job. If you’re not actively writing, you probably won’t need me full-time. Where…. Um. Are you going to be based in Monaco still? Or maybe Paris?”

  It was the opening he needed, but he didn’t want it. She was planning her job hunt—the hunt his decision was forcing on her—based on where he would be. She was planning to relocate—again—to be with him.

  He hated himself.

  “I will be here,” he heard himself say, but couldn’t add anything else. He was the worst kind of man.

  “Oh.” Expectant pause. “So… um, I guess that might be a problem, since I don’t have… I mean, I can’t—”

  “It might be best if you went back to Australia.”

  The silence this time was razor sharp. Malik forced himself to swallow, bit back the desire to take it back, to tell her he would be home in a few days, hell, a few hours. To just run away and go back to the life he really wanted.

  “Let me be entirely certain I understand,” Dani said, her voice cold and calm, none of the previous uncertainty in evidence. “You’re moving to Saudi Arabia to begin a new career, and in your wisdom have decided that there’s no place for me in your new life, so you’re dumping me?”

  “I—”

  “Shut up, Malik. I’m still talking. What reason have you chosen for our breakup? Is it my personality? My background? My ethnicity or religion? I never would have thought those would matter to you, but then I never would have thought you’d tell me you loved me and that we had forever together, and then less than two weeks later change your mind.”

  “It’s not—”

  “If your next word is going to be ‘you,’ then I strongly recommend you never finish that sentence,” she snapped. “You’re a disgrace, Malik. I get that you’re grieving. I know you and your dad never had a great relationship and part of you probably feels responsible for that. If you really want to make a grief-clouded decision to uproot your life and change it completely, that’s something you have to work through. But what you’re doing to me now… either you never really loved me in the first place, which makes you an utter pig for pretending you did, or you’re letting this stupid, misplaced sense of guilt you feel right now mean more to you than me and my feelings, and that’s not okay. I’ll leave the key with the concierge.”

  She’d hung up and not answered when he tried to call back. She’d ignored his texted apologies and attempts to explain. And when he’d seen Ben an hour later, he’d been treated to a glare so freezing cold that he’d actually shivered.

  Which brought him to now. It was the first day since he and Dani had started dating that he hadn’t received a text from her. And it was painful.

  He had to get used to it.

  Every day would be like this from now on.

  A sudden, overpowering hatred of his phone took over him, and he threw it across the room. It sailed through the doorway, narrowly missing Khalid, who ducked and turned to watch as it crashed into something.

  “I think the screen may be cracked,” he reported, but didn’t go to pick it up. Instead he entered the room and closed the door. Malik eyed him warily. He and Khalid got along fine, but they’d never been close. Khalid was five years older, a solemn, serious man whose priorities in life were his family and the company. Their father had been bursting with pride for his oldest son, and while Khalid had always been kind to Malik when they were children and, unlike their father, had accepted his adult life, Malik knew his brother didn’t really understand him. Khalid was happy with a quiet life of work and family. Malik was not.

  Or he hadn’t been. He was sure he’d get used to it. After all, he was in his thirties now. Wild oats had been sown, or whatever the expression was. People settled down as they got older, and it was his turn.

  “I needed a new phone anyway,” he quipped, trying to sound lighthearted and not to think about the last time he’d broken his phone by throwing it across the room—after a conversation with his father. “Is everything well?”

  Khalid spread his hands and sat—incidentally, in the same chair Léo had occupied only a few days before. To Malik, it felt like it had been years. “Things are as well as they can be,” he said fatalistically. “It will take time for everyone to settle into the new normal.”

  His brother looked tired, Malik realized as he sat at the desk. He was now the head of the family and responsible for the company—and their mother. She was a strong woman, but she was accustomed to leaning on her husband, and the adjustment would be difficult for her. “Please don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything I can do to make it easier,” he said, hating that he had to offer. If he’d made more of an effort with his family over the years, they’d be comfortable leaning on him now. They would ask for assistance without him having to offer first.

  Leaning back in the chair, Khalid studied him. “Thank you,” he replied quietly. “I am grateful. There are some things I will send your way.”

  “Of course.” It wasn’t much, but it was a beginning. “I’m glad you’re here. I need to speak with you.”

  “About taking a role in the company?” Khalid raised an eyebrow, a faint smile crossing his face as Malik started.

  “Who—? Léo told you.” He sighed.

  “Actually, no,” Khalid denied. “Léo has said nothing. Nobody said anything. You are not as good at hiding your feelings as you think, Malik. And you have been asking questions… I guessed that you might be considering some changes.”

  A tiny spark of something warm ignited in his chest. His girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—hated him, and his best friend wasn’t speaking to him, but it seemed his brother knew him better than he had always thought. Perhaps there was a chance for them to be close.

  “You guessed correctly. I plan to move back here and take a position in the company, the way Father always wanted me to.”

  Khalid nodded. “We would of course love to have you so close. Mother has missed you greatly, and I have always wanted time to become better acquainted with you. And if you want to join the company, I will happily arrange it. But, Malik… I don’t need you to.”

  It was a slap. Of all the reactions he could have predicted, being told he wasn’t needed had never been on the list. As Malik scrambled for something to say, Khalid held up a hand.

  “You will be most welcome, and I have no doubt at all that you would be a strong asset. But the company is not in trouble. Things are going well and will continue to do so. If this is a step you are taking because you are concerned, then don’t be. If it is something you genuinely want, then I welcome you with open arms. You would be a much better executive than Mahmud and Fareed. But I don’t want you to sacrifice your own desires—if this is not where your heart lies, you would end up miserable, and I don’t want to be responsible for making my baby brother unhappy.”

  Malik sagged back in his chair,
unable to stay upright. “I….” He met his brother’s steady gaze. “It was what Father always wanted.”

  Khalid sighed and stood and began pacing. “Father….” He stopped, paced some more, then turned to face Malik. “I loved Father. He and I were very much alike in many ways. But one thing I never understood was why he could not be more accepting of you. Malik, there is nothing wrong with you or your life. Father couldn’t understand you, and he had no tolerance for things he couldn’t understand. You wouldn’t fit into the box he had designed for his children, and so he tried to force you there. Mother made the right decision sending you to France. As much as we all missed your exuberance, if you’d stayed, Father would eventually have crushed out the best parts of you.” He sank into the chair again. “A friend of mine from university is a psychologist. I have spoken to him at length about you. The first time was years ago, when you and Léo were being kicked out of the best schools in Europe. I could not imagine breaking the rules to such an extent as to be expelled from school, and I was worried. I told my friend all about you, but he wasn’t concerned. He says you are a free spirit, a creative soul. You think outside the box and to a large extent, don’t like to be constrained by rules and regulations. I am the opposite; I take comfort from guidelines and boundaries. So did Father. If it didn’t fit what he knew and was comfortable with, he had no use for it. That was why he tried so much to dictate your life. Why he wanted you to come back and take a role in the company. Why he put this ridiculous idea into Mother’s head that you needed to marry.”