by Fiona Quinn
“Oh, ha! Okay. Yeah, maybe in a way. It’s a cognitive reflex since she invited you in. Her unconscious decision-making means she wanted you inside and moving to the next stage. Humans don’t like to change trajectories. So once we’re heading down this path—which you are doing very nicely—unless you somehow screw this up, we’ll continue to make strides.”
“And that next step? How am I going to get her to ask me to Tanzania with her?”
“We need to scare her about her safety in Africa. Little by little. To make her feel vulnerable. And twice now, she’s depended on your protection. Trajectories. It will make perfect sense that in her mind, she’ll be safe with you around. You and Rory. To that end, at dinner tonight, you’re going to bring up a friend of yours who is traveling in Africa.”
“All right. Can I name a name?”
“Nitro is fine. You need to make her feel vulnerable based on what you’ve heard about what’s going on over there. For example, just today, the Italian diplomat to the Congo was killed with his security forces when a kidnapping attempt went bad. Congo doesn’t border Tanzania, of course, and she knows that. But you could then say that unrest has been problematic, and America hopes those attacks aren’t going to cross the borders. Now, caution, if Kira says she’s headed to Tanzania, you can’t tell her dangerous things about being in Africa. As soon as she’s says anything about her upcoming trip, you listen, and you ask questions, but you don’t tell her she will be in danger. She needs to come to that conclusion on her own. I’ll monitor to see what comes of it. If she needs more push. I’ll make a plan.”
“Give me some other talking points,” Ty said as he pulled the pants on.
“I mentioned that Kira holds a doctoral degree in the humanities. Her master’s thesis was on Jane Austen and included other Regency writers. The Regency period in England was the time when King Charles was mentally incapable of the requirements of the crown, so his son, a future King George—and don’t ask me which numbers they are, I’m lucky to have held on to these details.”
“Okay.” Huh. Ty would never have picked these pants off the rack. They were a slim fit, where he preferred the comfort of moving room. He turned this way and that in the mirror. They looked damned good, he’d admit it. And they’d definitely accent that Adonis ratio White told him about.
“The son George ruled England as a regent somewhere in the environs of Austen’s writing in the first two decades of the eighteen-hundreds.”
“So she likes that.” He slid the shirt from the padded hanger and pulled the soft fabric up his arm. It felt like a whisper on his skin.
“What?”
“I’m imagining wealthy men rushing to the rescue of ladies in distress.”
White paused. “There might be a bit of that in there, sure. She doesn’t need wealth. So it would just be the lady in distress bit. And that picture isn’t an accurate one.”
“You’ve come to another conclusion.” He was working on the tiny buttons. His callouses were snagging the material.
“Yes, actually. Kira’s father had an accident that killed him the winter of her college freshman year. From what I can gather, her dad was comfortable in America and western models of women’s freedoms. This isn’t true of her mother, Hamina. Hamina moved to Qatar to be with her deceased husband’s family under her husband’s older brother Nadir. The same older brother who considers himself to be Kira’s protector and is in charge of arranging a marriage for Kira.”
“The start of a good Regency novel?”
“Qatar is modern in some ways—women dress modestly but are not required to wear head coverings, for example. Most of the women are college-educated. It’s the wealthiest country in the world per capita. Women can own a business and drive, but on the other hand, there’s Sharia. How’s everything fitting?”
“I’ll be out in a second, and you can judge for yourself.”
“Kira’s dad worked long hours, and Kira’s main parental influence was from her mother. Hamina met and married—with Hamina’s father’s permission—while she was in college. The Taliban in Iraq killed Hamina’s family. For Hamina, going against the norm is deadly, and surely, she taught that philosophy to her daughter. As soon as Hamina’s husband died, the brother Nadir came to America, sold her home, packed up Hamina, and moved her to the family compound in Doha to be with her sisters-in-law. Nadir gave Kira permission to stay at Duke and study.”
“Big of him.” Ty reached down his pants to tuck in his shirt. “And you’re tying this into Kira’s choice of studies?”
“I am. It’s a guess. Kira understood that there would be familial pressures brought against her to conform to the norms of Qatari society. And she’s comfortable enough with Qatar, having grown up between America and long family visits there. I think as she studied, she found understanding of women’s situations—the obligations to family and to the norms in 19th century women’s writings. Perhaps she was trying to find a way to manage her own situation.”
Ty emerged from the bathroom as he slid his belt through the loops.
“Very nice,” White said with a nod.
“I don’t understand why she couldn’t get a job in the U.S. and visit her family from time to time.”
“Kira’s father loved America. He embraced a lot of our culture but balanced it with the traditions he was raised with. One tradition exercised by his family was the separate lives of women and men and that continued in his own home here in the U.S. Another tradition that he kept was being the protector and provider for his family as he would have been in Qatar. His providing for Hamina and Kira after his death would be an extension of that obligation to provide and yet allowed the women to stay in America. Kira could live comfortably on the yearly interest income from her trust fund. But her dad is dead, and her family is insistent.”
“What did he do?”
“He was a chemical engineer, and he liked the idea of living on what he could make with his own talents. You know he was a member of the royal family.” She held out a hand. “Peripherally. And that’s where the wealth came from. In the will, that money was distributed between Hamina and Kira. But the uncle has control of Hamina’s wealth, and Kira’s future husband would control her inheritance should she ever marry and live in Qatar as her family wishes Kira to do.”
“I have to walk Rory. I’ll be back in five minutes,” Ty said when his eye caught on the digital display on the alarm clock. He didn’t want to hear another word about how Kira was going to be exploited. He had no control over any of that.
Ty needed to get into the compound in Tanzania. That was it.
With Rory on his lead, they headed out the door.
When he came back to the room, White looked up from her computer. “Good?”
“Good enough.” He signaled Rory into his crate, then Ty brushed his hands over his slacks to remove any Rory hairs.
He opened his drawer to get his vehicle keys.
“Text me if you’re bringing Kira back to your room tonight, and I’ll skedaddle,” White said, sending an appraising eye over Ty. “You look nice. Don’t forget your rose.”
Chapter Eighteen
Kira
Kira fingered the silks and lace in her lingerie drawer. She could play this one of two ways: She could choose the cotton high rise underpants she wore when she went to yoga, knowing that she wouldn’t likely show those off to a lover their first time together, or…
She picked up a pair of indigo satin and lace panties that were her very most flattering—Kira bit at her lips. “I’m doing this, aren’t I?” she asked Beatrice.
Pulling out the matching demi-bra, a smile curled onto her lips. She had been curious about Ty in bed since he rumbled his Harley up Elm Street. Yes, it reminded her of her favorite movie, and yes, that movie had a happily ever after that she didn’t expect for herself. But still, if this was her last chance to choose her sexual partner, she wanted to bang Ty.
Kira had been with some good-looking men—but my goodness, Ty
was spectacular. His muscles, his graceful movements, his obvious intellect, his gentlemanly demeanor. He was the whole package—the fantasy.
Something about Ty’s face seemed so familiar to Kira as if she’d always known him. And that familiarity made her feel comfortable with him.
Strong and virile, Kira wondered what kind of dad he would make. Well, watching him with Rory told her a lot about his calm, steady demeanor.
Even in a crisis, Ty was cool under pressure. Capable.
Instead of working on her book project that afternoon, Kira had primped for their dinner together. She’d whitened her teeth, deep conditioned her hair, exfoliated, buffed, and moisturized. Now, she needed to find a dress to wear. Something that said sophisticated and fun, lady-like but also pick me up and toss me onto my bed, I’m ready.
Was that too much to ask of one dress?
She opened the drawer on her bedside table and pulled out the condom box. One lonely condom shook into her hand. It had been a while since she’d last had a boyfriend. She checked the expiration date—three more days. It seemed like serendipity for Ty to show up now.
She laid the condom within easy reach by the lamp on her bedside table. The last one—she had just the one shot, she laughed.
Maybe Ty had one in his wallet. Maybe things would go really well, and he’d run to the pharmacy and get a whole box.
If Ty was willing, Kira would fill her memory with pictures of him on top of her, making her gasp with pleasure.
***
The evening so far had been wonderful. Their candlelit table for two was set beside an enormous plate glass window. With the low ambient lights, the diners were treated to the gorgeous sunset over the lake and the sailboats that dotted the dark waters.
Kira and Ty had laughed their way through appetizers and dinner with easy banter. Ty was telling Rory stories, and Kira was talking about some of the crazy experiences she had when she traveled.
“So Kira, I’m wondering how you would describe yourself,” Ty said, changing the mood.
Interesting question. So he wanted to get to know her better, was her assessment.
Most people asked this would simply say their school and work background, perhaps list their hobbies. They’d already talked their way through that, so he wanted something deeper, she guessed. How exactly would she describe herself? “Admirable but flawed.” She laughed. And not liking that bent to the conversation, she took a sip of her red wine and changed the subject. “Are you reading anything interesting right now?”
“I’m working on two books, Thus Spoke Zarathustra and Frankenstein.”
“Those two works are nothing alike. I studied Frankenstein for my master’s thesis on Jane Austen.”
“Mary Shelley and Jane Austen, do they have anything in common? I mean besides being women writers from the same period?” Ty asked.
“For my thesis, I was actually studying Mary Shelley’s mother.”
“Also a writer?”
“Not of fiction. Her name was also Mary—Mary Wollstonecraft. She was an English philosopher.”
He leaned back in his chair. “I’m familiar with her work. She was an early advocate for women’s rights.”
“I’m impressed.” She beamed a smile at him. Kira had never dated a man who could discuss eighteenth-century female philosophers. “How it applies to my thesis was that Jane Austen was familiar with Mary Wollstonecraft’s writings and incorporated as fiction some of those thoughts. Were you a philosophy major?”
“I’m not a classically educated man. I went to one semester of college, and I knew it was absolutely not for me. I’ve been in the Army ever since, sixteen years now.”
“You’re reading Nietzsche. That’s rather esoteric stuff.” She posted her elbows on the table, laced her fingers, and settled her chin on top. “What’s one of your favorite quotes from him?”
Ty smoothed the napkin on his lap and looked out at the waterway. The sun had sunk below the horizon, and the boat lights glowed in the twilight. After a moment, he said, “Whatever is done for love always occurs beyond good and evil.”
“Beyond good and evil…” Kira frowned, looking down at the table, processing. “Hmm. I’m going to have to think about that.” She brought her eyes back up to meet his gaze. “That’s a very male perspective, and I believe most women would disagree.”
“I’d like to learn why.” He looked concerned. “I was speaking with a colleague, and she mentioned a quote from the writer Margaret Atwood. I haven’t seen it written. I think it went that ‘while men are afraid women will laugh at them—'”
“‘Women are afraid the men will kill them.’ Yes, it’s true.” She let her finger trace up and down the stem of her wine glass. “When you, as a man, go out on a date, you probably think, I hope I have an enjoyable time, and we get along well. Women run through a checklist, have their phones fully charged, call three friends telling them where they are and when they expect to be home. Sometimes they plan check-in times throughout the date. I have a friend who sends me a picture of the guy’s license plate, so if she disappears, we know who to send the police to.”
“Wow. I… I don’t know what to say to that. That’s upsetting to learn. Who did you call tonight?”
“No one.” Kira blushed. “Normally, I do. This time, it never occurred to me. Maybe it has to do with you showing up wearing your superhero cape twice now.” She winked, so he knew not to take that too seriously, though she most certainly did.
He had worked his way into her system. She had no fear of him, not even a drop.
Kira couldn’t have felt safer.
Time to change the subject away from rape and murder. It dampened the mood, and she had a condom waiting on her bedside table. “You were talking about the books you’re reading and mentioned Thus Spoke Zarathustra. I have a friend who has that book and has been reading it for five years.”
“Yeah? He or she is getting a lot out of it? Five years? Are they writing a thesis on Nietzsche or something? I can only stomach so much nihilism. It’s not a philosophy I agree with.”
“A thesis? Not even a little bit. He uses it to fall asleep at night. One page and out.” She snapped her fingers.
“I lose interest pretty quick if a book isn’t challenging me. I’m enjoying this one, but it’s not my usual read.”
“What is your usual read? Books about K9 behavior?”
“I do that for my job. My reading is for me. I like to build up a 3D understanding of the world. Science, architecture, politics of all bents, government and idea leaders—those that I agree with and those that I will fight with every ounce of my being to stop.”
“Those are intellectual fights for you, though, aren’t they? I mean, you said you’re at Fort Bragg as a K9 trainer?” Sudden fear for his safety wrapped her throat as she remembered how bruised his arms were.
He sat silently, and Kira thought he was choosing his words carefully. “I fight the way the Army asks me to fight. I don’t have a lot of say about how and where they use my skills.” He reached out and crossed his knife and fork on his plate to signal the server they were finished with dinner. “I raised my hand to be a dog handler. And I’m where I want to be. If the Army asks me to go somewhere, I’ll go. I’m proud to do my part in making the world a safer, more equitable place.”
“You’ve been stationed in the Middle East? Does your safer world extend to Muslims like me?”
“I’ve spent a great deal of my time in the Army stationed and working in the Middle East and Africa. It’s not a religious fight. It’s a fight against terror and repression. A fight to protect women and other vulnerable people, children, the disabled...” His sincerity was visible in the warmth of his eyes. “No matter where we live in the world, we should all be safe to enjoy our homes, our families, and yes, our personal beliefs. As Americans, we have freedom of religion as part of our Constitution. I believe in that right, or I would never have raised my hand and sworn to defend those ideals.” He tipped his head. “
Are you of the Muslim faith?”
She took a sip of wine. Under other circumstances, this shift in their conversation might have felt heavy, but here that’s not the sense Kira was picking up. It was almost like the fluffy first date topics didn’t satisfy him. Like Ty wasn’t using this dinner as a means to get into her bed. Though, that’s absolutely where she wanted him. And he wanted more.
“I’m a bit of a chameleon,” she said. “I see the beauty and truth in the warmth of the Muslim faith. I’m not a staunch adherent. My sense of spiritual connection is strong, whether I refer to my maker as Allah or as God or another title.” Kira looked around as the server lowered her tray, collecting their dirty dishes and utensils. “I guess I just keep working at being a good person and true to the experience I’m having with this body—gender, health—” Kira concluded after the server went away.
“And beauty.”
She sent him a smile. “Looks are to be overcome, aren’t they? Good looks can create problems as much as people who struggle with their looks. I have friends who are considered absolutely gorgeous, like my friend London for example. You would think that their looks are a positive, but they all have very low self-esteem. They fear the time when their looks no longer serve them, and they’ll be judged on their merits and they feel shaky about being judged for other attributes, like intelligence and skill. It’s not voiced, it’s something I intuit, and I could always be wrong.”
“Doubtful, you seem very tuned-in to me.” Ty sat back as the server was back with their dessert. She placed chocolate lava cakes in front of them. “Thank you,” he said, and Kira noticed he looked the woman in the eye, and his words were genuine. Kira liked that.
“Tell me more about that idea,” Ty said as the server retreated.
She shrugged. “As far as looks go?” Kira picked up her spoon and waggled it over her cake. She wanted to eat it, but she also didn’t want to be overly full if this evening led to sexy time. “Sometimes I question my interactions. How people treat me. I want them to focus on the part of me that strives to be a good person, a brain, and a heart, not a face. To that end, I don’t often wear makeup. And sometimes, I really like wearing traditional Middle Eastern clothing like I do in Qatar, where my family lives. It’s a unifying uniform—perhaps a bit like your Army. But, for me, it also challenges the idea of being an individual. So there’s disquiet in my soul about dressing that way. It’s why I don’t wear the shayla and abaya unless I’m over there, and even then, it depends on where I’m going and what I’m doing. The dress code simply asks for modesty.”