After introducing Renee to his mother and Shadi, Jalal stayed in the kitchen with them, while Azadeh gave her a tour of the house and gardens. Evidenced by her questions about Jalal’s emotional state, the tour was more an excuse to get Renee alone than Azadeh’s sense of duty as hostess. The lunch they ate proved Jalal was not the only talented cook in the family, and now they sat around the kitchen table talking. Jalal said little.
“Your gray eyes are beautiful, Renee” said Nasrin. “They remind me of my sister Dorri’s.”
“Remember when Aunt Dorri painted her kitchen bright purple?” asked Azadeh.
“And Uncle Amir told everyone she was having a breakdown,” said Shadi. The Vaziri women laughed together at the memory.
As their banter continued, Renee smiled and commented when appropriate, but she kept an eye on Jalal. He seemed to drift further away by the minute, barely glancing up unless asked a question. Abruptly, with no obvious provocation, he stood up and left the house through the back door. His mother and sisters paused the conversation for only a moment, but when it resumed, they changed the topic to Jalal.
“He ate almost nothing,” said Nasrin. “Azadeh, you told me he was doing so well now.”
“He has, Maman,” she said, “you can see he’s almost up to his normal weight.”
“Well, he’s obviously not sleeping,” Nasrin said.
“He just didn’t sleep well last night,” Renee told her. “He was anxious about today.”
Nasrin looked stricken. “I knew we should never have forced him to come here.”
“Oh, stop it,” said Shadi to her mother. “You know Jalal is just being overly dramatic. As always.” She turned to Renee. “Azadeh says you confronted Jalal about his addiction to grief.”
Nasrin gasped. “Shadi!”
“Face it, Maman; his behavior has gone far beyond normal.”
Though Shadi’s callousness irritated her, Renee had to admit that addicted to grief had described Jalal exactly. “Yes, Shadi, I did confront Jalal.”
“Do you have some kind of counseling background?” asked Shadi. “Some training for conducting an intervention?”
It would have been nice if Jalal had just warned her that Shadi was a bitch. “No, I don’t.”
“What sort of work do you do?”
“I’m a waitress.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Actually, I have two jobs. I wait tables in a restaurant days and at a bar most nights. That’s the only kind of work I’ve ever done. Do you have a problem with it?” The room silenced. Shadi arched her perfectly shaped brows, feigning innocence. “Let’s cut the—” Renee glanced at Jalal’s mother. “Let’s get this straight, Shadi. You don’t like me, and I don’t fu … freaking care. I’m here because your brother asked me to come with him. Being in this house again is a major step, so why don’t we just focus on supporting him?”
All eyes were on Shadi. She surveyed her sisters and mother coolly. Then, she laughed. “As it happens, Renee, I like you quite well. I think you are exactly who my brother needs. You will support him when he is weak, but I believe you will also toughen him up, which no one else in his life has ever managed to do.”
Renee blinked. “Well.” She nodded once. “Okay then.” She pushed her chair away from the table. “I think I should check on him.” Nasrin reached over to pat her hand, and Renee gave her a smile before she got up and walked to the glass-paneled door. She looked out, but didn’t open it. The other women began to clean up the kitchen, while she watched Jalal.
Jalal stood rigid, facing away from Meredith’s hidden garden. For a moment, he gazed into the pool at something apparently visible only to him, and then he looked up and around. His eyes paused here and there and, bit by bit, his body relaxed, as though at each stop he severed a cord that held him taut. Again, he stared into the pool. He swayed slightly. His upper body turned a few degrees, then snapped back. She watched him struggle to turn and face that place he connected most to Meredith. Even as Renee wavered, wanting both to hold him back and to push him forward, she reached for the doorknob. As if he’d been aware of her all along, he turned his head and looked straight into her eyes. Within seconds, she stood at his side and, taking his hand, led the way toward the gated hedge.
At dinner, Jalal talked a little easier, but neither his mother nor his sisters were able to persuade him to spend the night in the Coelho house. It was nearing ten o’clock, when the two of them headed toward the coast.
“I am not ready to live there,” he said.
“Someday.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again.
“You seemed to have hit it off with Shadi.”
“I guess.”
“Meredith never learned how to take her.”
“Really?” Renee only pretended surprise. From what she’d read in Meredith’s journal, it seemed most of the time even Jalal had intimidated her. Meredith entries also hinted that she had loved his family almost as much as she had Jalal. Had they expected as much from Meredith as they did from her? Probably not, since Jalal hadn’t needed fixing then like he did now. But she and Jalal were like addicts trying to help each other get clean. She should have set his mother and sisters straight today. They over-estimated both her inner strength and her power over him.
When they arrived in foggy Bahia, Jalal headed toward his house. “I’d like to go to my place,” she said.
“Oh. Of course.” He turned the car around. At her apartment, he parked and got out. Renee reached for her tote, but not the door handle. She’d learned to let him play the gentleman. “Should I just wait here for you?” he asked, opening her door.
Her mouth opened, then closed. Why hadn't she realized Jalal expected her to spend the night at his house? Obviously, she should. He needed her. The strain of the day was evident on his face. He looked weakened, as though all the progress he’d made in the last three weeks had been reversed in just a few hours “Stay here,” she said, “I’ll just grab a few things.”
When Renee woke, Jalal was not beside her. She lay there looking around his room, wondering if that painting on his wall was a street scene in Paris, some favorite view of Meredith’s. Yes, she and Meredith were nothing alike, but Jalal would always compare the two of them. Jalal letting go of his grief did not mean he would forget. She would live in Meredith’s shadow as long as she stayed with him. Meredith, Part 2. Meredith Revisited. That’s all she would ever be to Jalal, a sequel.
She wished she hadn’t gone to Coelho with him yesterday. Not that she was sorry she’d been there for him, but now she felt pressured. When it was just the two of them, the odds were even. It was give and take. Now, the odds had changed in his favor. His family put too much emphasis on her part in this relationship, as if her only purpose was to be Jalal’s physical, mental, and spiritual life-support system. Come to think of it, did Jennie really care about her, or were Jennie’s manipulations, too, only to help him? Jalal. Jalal. Jalal. When the hell had she volunteered to sign away her own life?
She got up and dressed. Jalal wasn’t in the kitchen, but he’d made tea, and she poured a cup to reheat in the microwave. He must have gone out. With cup in hand, she headed out to the porch to wait for him, pausing to pull on one of his sweatshirts against the morning chill before she opened the door.
“Good morning,” he said.
She jerked and splashed tea on her hand. “Damn it, Jalal!” She glanced over to find him wide-eyed, a smile playing at the corners of his pursed lips. “Don’t laugh. You made me burn myself.”
“Sorry, I only wished you a good morning,” he said. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head and plopped down next to him on the swing. “I thought you were out running.”
“Ah-h.”
Gently, Jalal set the swing in motion and said nothing else while she drank her tea. They needed to talk, that’s all, set some boundaries. No, they already had those. What was it then? Why did she feel … what? Like she wan
ted to bolt, that’s what. Face it. She was afraid. Renee set her empty cup between them and arched her back, stretching. “How did you sleep?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Well, enough.”
“Is that a lie, like when you answer ‘fine’?”
His eyebrows rose. “Okay. I am a little confused here. True, I forgot the rule was: do not speak to you until after you have your morning tea. But you have already had a cup and—”
“I prefer coffee.”
“I'm sorry. I have always brewed tea in the morning, but from now on I will remember—”
She jumped to her feet and glared at him. “You never listen, do you?” His look of confusion set her teeth on edge. “You just assume I’m going to be here every morning!”
His face now registered alarm. “Renee?”
“I am not moving in with you.”
“Why are you bringing—”
“You can’t have everything on your terms, Jalal.”
“But … I thought you … I thought we were …” He shook his head and gave up.
“I have my own home!” She started toward the door, and he followed.
They were two steps into the living room, when he said, “You have a dreary little apartment above a bar. That’s not a home.”
Renee spun back to face him. “Oh, excuse me for not being born with a silver spoon in my mouth.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“It’s exactly what you meant.”
“There is no shame in having money, Renee. Being poor doesn’t make you nobler.”
She shot him another glare, ripped his sweatshirt over her head, and threw it at him.
He caught it. “I do not know what I did wrong. Or when I did it. Care to clue me in?”
“Stop smothering me!”
Jalal focused on the shirt in his hands and, for a minute, neither of them moved or spoke. As the seconds passed, her anger built, spinning faster, out of control, while he appeared to grow calmer. She had rocked to the balls of her feet, about to turn and walk out of the room when he looked into her eyes and set her firmly back on her heels. She glanced away.
“You asked me once where you stood,” he said. “Now I’m asking you that question.”
“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“What would you prefer we talk about?”
“Nothing. I just want to go home.”
“Renee …”
“Damn it, Jalal, why are you in such a rush to change things?”
“Things have already changed, Renee. I thought you wanted that. I thought you wanted me to change.” He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “I thought you wanted me.”
Her shoulders slumped with a sigh. “I do.” She closed her eyes. “I just—”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Nothing.” She pressed her fingertips against her temples. “I mean … living with someone … I don’t have a great track record.” She dropped her hands to her sides and opened her eyes. He stared at her so long she felt him under her skin and wanted to scream at him to stop.
Finally, he spoke. “Did it ever occur to you to ask yourself why you picked all those guys who treated you badly?”
“That has nothing to do with you.”
“Really?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why did you hang around day after day, all these weeks? All the time I was … unreachable. Admit it, Renee. You like it better when there is no chance the man in your life will actually feel anything for you.”
“I won’t live with you, Jalal.”
He nodded. “So, let me get this straight. You will let me fuck you, just not love and take care of you?”
“Shut up!”
“Maybe you would be happier if I slapped you around a little too.”
She flew at him. “If you ever hit me, you son of a bitch, it’ll be the last move you make!”
Jalal grabbed her wrists and held them—calmly, confidently—waiting until she gave up the struggle. Then he walked forward, gently forcing her back against the wall. Their eyes locked; his gaze was soft, hers still cold.
“I will never leave you, Renee.”
“Shut up!”
His gaze never faltered. After a moment, he mouthed the words I love you.
No! Don’t do this to me.
Without a sound, he said it again. She let her eyes flick away—for only a second—but it was enough sign of weakening to encourage him to mouth the words a third time. A fourth.
Please, Jalal. Don’t make me say it.
He mimed the words, over and over, until her throat ached and her vision blurred. He released her wrists, but only to clasp her hands in his and bring them to his chest. I love you. I love you. I love you, he said silently. She shut her eyes against his assault. The trembling deep inside her spread outward and she pushed her hands against him, trying to curl them into fists. He held them flat, his heart thrumming beneath her fingertips. Only her angry whimper broke the silence. She shook her head, shoved against him, stamped her foot, but he would not release her. She opened her eyes.
Jalal looked at her in a way no one ever had before. A way that had nothing to do with anger. Had nothing to do with need. Nothing to do with self. He began again.
I love you.
She was safe.
I love you.
She believed.
I love you.
She mouthed it back. I love you. She whispered, “I love you.” Then louder, “I love you.” Now, when he took her in his arms she didn’t resist, but rested her head against his chest and said the words over and over, as if she couldn’t get enough of them. They were a plea, a prayer, a song. Jalal held her, until she had her fill.
As much as she wanted to play it cool, Renee couldn’t hide her amazement when they stepped into their suite. This would be life with Jalal; you tell him you want to go to Spain and he books you into a five-star in the Pyrenees—plus, orders dozens of roses and chilled champagne to greet your arrival. Jalal had kept the details of her birthday trip secret, but the minute they stepped on the plane in L.A., she realized it would all be first-class. In order to enjoy it, she’d had to force herself to stop estimating the cost of everything. But, damn.
While he was opening the champagne, she stepped out onto the balcony. The wind was brisk, but that wasn’t all that took her breath away. She had never been in a more gorgeous place in her life.
Jalal joined her and handed her a glass. “Happy birthday,” he said. “May you have a hundred more.” They drank to the toast and then he swept his arm across the view. “Does this meet your expectations?”
“It’s incredible. We’re actually standing in Spain, how cool is that? Have you stayed here before?”
He shook his head. “I have been to this country, but not to this town. I am familiar with Barcelona. We will go there in a couple of days. Tomorrow we will go to that village, the one there beyond the river,” he said, pointing. “They are having a fiesta.”
“Tell me that’s not something else you arranged?”
He laughed. “No, I did not.” He sat his empty glass on the balcony railing and stepped behind her to wrap his arms around her. The wind whipped her hair in his face and he batted it away.
“You’re the one who doesn’t like me to clip it up,” she said.
“And for once, you do what I say?”
“Watch it, smart ass.”
He noogied the top of her head with his chin and she reached up to yank a fistful of his curls. Silently, they stood looking out over the valley for a few minutes.
“Do you think Jennie and Eduardo would like to come here on their honeymoon?” asked Jalal.
“Hmmm. I don’t know. It’s probably too quiet. You know Jennie; give her a ship full of strangers and she’ll talk herself hoarse.”
“Yes, I think you are right. We will stick with the cruise for our gift.”
She laughed. “Yeah right, our gift.”
Jalal squeezed her tighter
with his left arm, but let go with his right, and reached into his pocket. He held up a gorgeous ring before her. “I love you.”
So many thoughts rushed through her mind at once, they canceled each other. She stood mute, almost paralyzed, then she blinked twice and set her glass beside his. Before she could stop herself she said, “I won’t quit working for Jennie.”
“Oh,” he said. “All right.” He cleared his throat. “What about the bar?”
“Yes, I’ll quit that.”
“Good.”
“Well?” When he said nothing, she turned in his arms. “Say it, Jalal.”
He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Uncertainty hushed his voice. “Renee … will you marry me?”
“Hell yes.”
His eyes flew open and he laughed in relief.
Renee held out her hand for him to slip the ring on her finger. “It’s about time you made an honest woman out of me,” she told him.
“Indeed,” he said.
Coming Soon
AN ILLUSION of TRUST
In this sequel to The Brevity of Roses, Renee Vaziri discovers that even when your dreams come true your nightmares remain.
When Renee Marshall locked the door on her dark past and married Jalal Vaziri, she hoped for a quiet life in a California coastal town. Now, with a sexy, adoring, wealthy husband, one beautiful child and another on the way, Renee dares to believe happily ever after could be her future. But doors don’t always stay locked. As the stress of living in Jalal’s high-society world increases, the traumas of Renee’s past begin to poison the present and threaten to destroy everything she treasures. Is it her imagination or is Jalal keeping a secret that will end their marriage and rip her children from her life? And could it involve Diane, the woman who reminds Renee too much of Jalal’s beloved first wife?
The Brevity of Roses Page 27