by Holly Rayner
“Shut up, Maddi!” another friend blurted.
But Maddi only shrugged his shoulders. “We can’t let it go on like this. It’s over.”
Tiffany felt her heart beating in her throat. After a long, horrible moment, she turned back toward Kazra, looking for any kind of indication that this wasn’t true. That he had actually meant everything that had happened between them. But the Sheikh was unable to make eye contact with her.
Without waiting a moment more, she whirled back toward the road. She walked quickly, her hands curling into fists. Rage pumped through her veins. She’d been a bet, a way to prove to his friends that he could get literally any woman he wanted. Even her.
The only man she’d been able to open up to in years. The only man who’d seemed to see her—really look at her—had done it all in jest.
As she walked, she felt her heels faltering on the pavement. “Screw it!” she yelled to no one, removing her heels and running barefoot toward the road. Flailing a single arm through the air, she hailed a taxi and bounced into the back, feeling the tears begin to fall.
“Oh dear,” the taxi driver said to her, his voice gruff yet melodious, not unlike her grandfather’s had been. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t worth all these tears.”
“He wasn’t worth all these tears, you mean,” Tiffany sighed, leaning her head against the window. “I know that, now. I know that I was right all along about him.”
The taxi driver gave her a knowing look in the rearview mirror. He drove along sadly, taking her back to her apartment in the heat of the afternoon. When he dropped her in front of her door, he waved his hand when she tried to pay him.
“Sometimes, all we need is just one person to look out for us. I can be that person today,” he told her, with a long, even sigh. “This won’t be the last time you feel this bad. I know it’s not the first time, either. Be safe out there. Keep yourself well.”
With that, the taxi driver skirted back down the road, carrying that heart of gold along with him. Tiffany felt warmed for a singular moment, before darting back into her apartment, which still smelled of the Sheikh’s cologne. Diving between the sheets, she let herself fall into sobs. She clung to the pillow, holding it tight, and trying to wish the past 24 hours away. But she couldn’t. They had happened. And now, she had to deal with the consequences.
Chapter Six
On Monday morning, Tiffany dressed in a black dress, donned sensible heels and trudged to work. She felt weighted down, dark. She gave Mallory a small smile upon entering, but didn’t answer when the older woman tried to chase her down regarding her “date.”
“How did it go? Aren’t you going to fill us in on the juicy details?”
“I can’t right now. I have a ton of emails to go over,” Tiffany sighed, falling into her office chair.
“Those can wait five minutes, can’t they?” Mallory asked, her eyes searching Tiffany’s.
“I’m afraid not.” Tiffany’s voice was quiet and mousey.
Mallory hovered by the edge of her desk, leaning closer. “If it went badly, you can rant to me about it. We could even go for drinks after work, if you think that would make you feel better. I just hate seeing you like this.”
“Like what?” Tiffany asked, feeling a million miles away. “You know what, I changed my mind. I called it off. So there was no date. Nothing to talk about.”
It was clear that Mallory didn’t believe her, but she nodded and turned back toward her own desk. As she did, Karen, the receptionist, appeared in the doorway holding a bouquet of blood red roses. Tiffany felt her heart sink in her chest. Karen’s grin was a mile wide as she walked the flowers toward her, dropping them in the center of her desk.
“How about that!” Karen piped. “Things must be going well?”
“Nothing’s going on at all,” Tiffany said, feeling rage pumping through her. She reached for the card that was pinned to the side of the roses. With nostrils flared, she opened it, knowing that no matter what the Sheikh said to her, she couldn’t forgive him. She couldn’t look past the fact that he’d fooled her. He’d shown her that he was precisely the type of man that the press portrayed him to be.
She began to read the note.
Tiffany.
I’m so sorry for the horrendous way things went at the car show. I had a fantastic time with you on Friday evening, and see no reason why we should remember it differently. Please, take these flowers as a token of my apology.
Yours,
Kazra
Gasping slightly, Tiffany ripped the letter to shreds, allowing the pieces of the paper to fall across her desk. Karen and Mallory gaped at her. After a long, dramatic pause, Mallory lifted the flowers from her desk and carried them to another office space, whispering, “These are too pretty to throw away. Let me take them off your hands. And we won’t speak of them again.”
Tiffany fell into her desk chair once more, trying to focus on the spreadsheet on her screen. She stared at it harder, narrowing her eyes. But still, thoughts of the Sheikh wouldn’t be banished from her mind. She’d been wronged. And she knew it would be a very, very long time before she trusted anyone ever again.
Perhaps this was a good thing. She could focus, wholly and completely, on her work. Worry about whether or not she was “living her life to the fullest” was no longer valid. Especially as “living life to the fullest” meant putting yourself up against people willing to destroy your very way of life.
Chapter Seven
Over the next few weeks, Tiffany busied herself, flying from dinners with Zarina to vigorous exercise routines at her local gym; throwing herself into work and spending long weekends with her father, Mike. As her father had been in Al Barait for years, as the U.S. Ambassador, he was assisting her with the language, helping her with her pronunciation.
Their relationship was, on the surface, a very good one. The pair never dove into “real” conversations. They didn’t talk about her mother, and they didn’t linger on the fact that Tiffany never discussed her personal life with him, or that her eyes had grown sad and withdrawn over the last few weeks. Her father didn’t ask her questions about that. And perhaps, more than anything, Tiffany appreciated this dividing line.
One Friday, about a month after the car show, Tiffany and Zarina arrived at Tiffany’s father’s house. Mike had been slaving over the stovetop for hours, preparing one of their favorite American dishes, fried chicken. He opened his arms to the girls, hugging Tiffany tightly and welcoming Zarina warmly.
“Happy weekend, girls!” he said, his voice boisterous. “Come on in. I’ve poured us some iced tea.”
“Thanks, Mr. Ashworth,” Zarina said.
“Zarina, we’ve been over this. Call me Mike.”
Zarina’s cheeks burned red with embarrassment, but she chuckled in return. “All right. Mike.”
They sat on the couch, their plates on their laps. The smell of fried chicken filled the air, making Tiffany’s mouth water. In recent weeks, she’d been insatiably hungry. As her father dropped a dollop of mashed potatoes and gravy onto her plate, she inhaled her first bite of chicken, closing her eyes.
She almost missed the words that came out of her father’s mouth next.
“The Sheikh’s in really poor health,” he said. “I’ve been in meetings all week about it.”
Zarina frowned. “That’s horrible. The last time I saw him on TV he didn’t look like he was aging so well. He looked pale.”
“Yes, he’s quite ill,” Mike continued, taking a contemplative bite of his chicken. “In fact, I wanted to check the news. See if there was anything—” He lifted the remote and clicked it, igniting a press conference on the screen.
The three of them sat in horror as they realized, all at once, that Kazra’s father, the ruling Sheikh, had passed. The Sheikh of Al Barait was no more.
Tiffany’s chicken fell out of her hands and onto her plate. Despite her rage for the man’s son, she couldn’t help but think back to their conversation from the night toget
her. That last, wonderful night, when she’d allowed herself to believe that he was far more than he seemed.
She remembered how upset he’d been about his mother’s illness and death. His eyes had been wet and wounded, deep and dark. Tiffany had held him close, and felt the weight of his past. And now, with the death of his father—how would he go on?
“That playboy Kazra will have some big shoes to fill,” Mike said, shaking his head. “The death of a great man. It’s hard to believe.”
Tiffany continued to gape. She felt Zarina’s hand on her arm, squeezing it tight.
“Are you okay?” Zarina whispered.
“Of course,” Tiffany murmured, still incredulous. “I just can’t believe it.”
As the press conference continued, a man announced that the Sheikh had arrived for comment. The three of them watched as Kazra walked onto the stage. He was wearing traditional, colorful robes. His eyes were somber and tinged with red, as if he were drunk, or tired from crying. Tiffany assumed that both were true.
“He’s drunk. Look at him,” Mike said, scoffing slightly.
“No. He’s just sad,” Zarina whispered.
Kazra reached the microphone and cleared his throat. Around him, cameras were flashing wildly. “Good evening,” he began, sounding somber. “My father, as you know, fought valiantly the past few weeks against a horrible, sudden illness. I couldn’t have imagined, only a month ago, that it would soon be time to say goodbye.”
Tiffany shifted uncomfortably, remembering the arrogant man from the car show. That wasn’t the man she saw before her now.
“My father was a man of honor; of diligence. He loved his country more than I could possibly describe here today. And I will do my best, as I ascend to the throne, to take on his love and passion. I will say goodbye to my old life, and make peace with the new. Thank you.”
The silence that followed was heavy. No longer hungry, Tiffany shoved her plate to the side and leaned back in her chair. Letting her head hang down, she listened to Zarina and her father discuss Kazra—his past exploits, his potential.
“I’m just not sure he has it in him. His father was always such a strong-willed man,” Mike said.
Zarina eyed Tiffany with curiosity. “What do you think, Tiff?” she asked, her voice low. “Do you think a man like Kazra can change his ways?”
Feeling suddenly energized, Tiffany burst up from the couch, collecting her plate. She placed it in the sink and then scrubbed it, calling back to them from the kitchen. “I don’t think a man like that could ever change. But I guess it’s up to him to prove us wrong.”
“Agreed,” her father said, taking a final sip of iced tea. “That’s my girl. Never giving anyone an inch.”
After dinner, Tiffany and Zarina sped back toward Tiffany’s apartment. They sat in the back of the taxi, both lost in their own thoughts. After a while, Zarina reached across the middle and gripped Tiffany’s hand, forcing her to whirl around.
“Hey,” she said. “You haven’t really talked about Kazra in a few weeks. Do you want to work through anything right now?”
Tiffany pressed her lips together, feeling suddenly, horribly exhausted. “It doesn’t matter, Zar.”
“It does matter,” Zarina retorted. “You’ve already said to me, countless times, that you’re never dating again just because of him, what he put you through. That’s ridiculous. You shouldn’t give him more power over you than he already has.”
“You mean, I shouldn’t give him more power than he has as ruling Sheikh?” Tiffany asked, rolling her eyes sadly. “Zarina, that sounds insane.”
“Look. He was an arrogant asshole to you. But that doesn’t mean you can’t trust anyone,” Zarina sighed.
“It does to me,” Tiffany said, her voice low. “At least for now.”
The taxi stopped in front of Tiffany’s apartment building. After tossing a few bills in the driver’s hand, Tiffany walked into her apartment, her shoulders rolling forward, making her look defeated as well as exhausted. She sensed Zarina following her, despite not having invited her in. After a long, terrible pause, she whirled around.
“And now you’re not going to leave me alone, are you?” she asked.
“I think you could use the company,” Zarina said with a shrug. “I was watching you back there. You hardly ate your dinner.”
“What do you mean to do about that?” Tiffany sighed, unlocking the door with a click. They walked through the small foyer and collapsed on the couch. In a way, Zarina was her sister: forcing her to recognize her own emotions and calling her out on her bull.
“I’m going to order us a pizza. That’s what,” Zarina said, wrapping her arms around the Tiffany’s thin frame. “I’m not going to let you go hungry. That’s for sure.”
“You’re going to make me fat,” Tiffany chuckled, watching as Zarina dialed the nearby pizza place.
“So be it,” Zarina smirked. “Better than making you go hungry. As a single woman, you owe nothing to anyone. And as a woman wronged by the Sheikh…”
“Let’s just stop talking about it,” Tiffany said, bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Okay?”
Chapter Eight
Just three days after the news of the old Sheikh’s death, the day of Kazra’s coronation arrived. The ceremony was set to screen live on every station in Al Barait, all regular programming halted. Everyone was out of work, able to attend or else watch at home, basking in the glory of a new era.
Tiffany remained at home, curled up on her couch, sipping tea, watching the hubbub of the early hours of the coronation. Religious figures in traditional garb marched back and forth, speaking closely with one another, awaiting the ceremony. Half the city seemed to huddle outside the palace gates, waving when the camera passed over them.
The camera showed Kazra exactly once, about an hour before his official crowning. The sight of him sent a shiver down Tiffany’s spine. Shocked at how miserable he still made her, she lifted the remote and turned off the television. The silence around her was deafening. Almost immediately, her phone began to ring— it was her father calling. Knowing he was at the coronation, Tiffany allowed it to go to voicemail. She could hear about it later. It wasn’t a matter of life or death. Not now.
Realizing that an entire day was stretched before her, she hopped into her bedroom, grabbed her running clothes, and bounded down the steps and into the sunshine. The city streets were empty, with all the cars sweeping toward the royal palace. The area by the pier was completely still. The Ferris wheel had halted and the other rides were closed.
At the boardwalk, Tiffany began to run, lifting her knees as high as they would go. As she ran, her eyes burned and tears tracked their way down her cheeks: a reminder that, no matter how deep she shoved the Sheikh’s betrayal, it had affected her in ways she couldn’t comprehend. She was angry. She was upset.
More than anything, she wondered if she’d ever be able to trust anyone with her heart ever again.
After running flat out for a few minutes, Tiffany stopped, gasping, near the far rocky ledge. Gazing out over the water, she watched as gentle waves lapped easily against the cliffs. The water was a bright turquoise, and it was calling out to her.
Glancing around her, she noted she was the only one around for miles. Lifting her arms, she stripped herself bare, and draped her clothes on the rocks. She felt the wind whisk past her breasts, along her stomach.
As she stood, poised, ready to dive, at the top of the rocky ledge, she eased her hands down over her body. Frowning slightly, she glanced at herself, noting that a small bit of fat had begun to creep up along her stomach. Pressing it with a finger, she realized the “fat” was rather hard, as if she were bloated. But she hadn’t eaten anything yet, and had barely scraped at her dinner the night before.
What was going on? Why did she feel like a blob?
Feeling suddenly frightened, Tiffany reached back and grabbed her clothes. She dressed quickly, and pulled her hair up into a ponytail. Feeling suddenly uninspired,
even with the crashing waves behind her, she chose to walk the rest of the way home. Her shoulders slumped forward and her heart hammered in her chest.
Suddenly, she felt certain of something. But she didn’t dare check up on it. If she took the test, she would know, for sure, that she was carrying a child. His child. Perhaps, if she left it alone; perhaps if she didn’t take any sort of test or pay attention to her symptoms; perhaps if she just carried on living, the bloat would go away. She would get her period. She wouldn’t feel so nauseous in the mornings. Everything would go back to normal. It couldn’t be true.
Didn’t the body always have a way of tricking you into thinking crazy, horrible things? For a full month, the previous year, she’d been sure she had lockjaw, and for as long as she remembered, every single time her period had been late, she had been one hundred percent sure that she was pregnant, even if she hadn’t had sex in months. She had always allowed her brain to run wild, even at the most innocuous of symptoms.
She couldn’t afford to do it this time. She had to stay strong.
But as the weeks passed, her symptoms grew. Suddenly, she found herself racing away from a morning meeting to throw up. She found herself avoiding some foods and opting for greasy things she’d never normally choose, or nothing at all. For a moment, she attributed the weight gain to the greasy foods. But as her stomach stretched into her favorite “fat pants,” she knew she needed to do something.
She couldn’t ignore it forever.
Zarina took the day off work to go to the doctor with Tiffany, clinging to her hand and trying her best to make jokes. When Tiffany couldn’t give her anything more than a small smirk, Zarina sighed, bringing her hand to Tiffany’s cheek.
“It’s going to be all right,” she whispered. The streets were racing beside them as the train bolted into the center of the city. “Really.”