Accidentally Engaged

by Farah Heron

  Reena looked at her bare fingers on the hard table. Never in her life had she accepted the magnitude of her loneliness.

  She couldn’t break down again. She needed to hold herself together.

  “I don’t know, Khizar. I don’t know what to do.”

  He was silent a while before he spoke again. “What did Nadim say when you confronted him about this?”

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  “At all? Did you find out whether he really did work for Salim Shah? You might find that out by googling.”

  “I haven’t looked. And before you say anything, I know. I just—”

  “Reena, I know it’s a mess, and I get it that it hurts, but you always deal with problems by pretending they’re not there. I’m not saying you have to forgive the guy—I certainly wouldn’t. But you can’t live with your head in the sand all the time. You can’t breathe in there, and you know it.”

  Evil, evil big brother.

  “I wish you were here, Khizar. When are you coming home next?”

  He snorted. “Nafissa can’t sit for more than forty minutes without looking for a bathroom, so it’ll be after the babies are born. But you’re still coming for the birth, right? It’s only four months away.”

  “Of course I am. You’re going to be a daddy.” She smiled. He was going to be an amazing father.

  He laughed. “I know. It’s surreal. Things are changing, Reena. We want you and Saira to be in their lives as much as we can swing it. Those girls are insanely lucky to have such kick-ass aunties.”

  Reena bit her lip. “Yeah, they are. I’ll call you tomorrow, Khizar. Give Nafissa a hug from me.”

  “Okay, Reena. Take care, and call me anytime.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  After getting off the phone, Reena showered, changed into yoga pants and a sweatshirt, and planted herself at her computer to do something she should have done weeks ago. She googled Nadim Remtulla.

  She didn’t find much. Some mention of him on a football team (his type) in London a few years ago, plus a Twitter handle that he only used three years ago for entering contests. His Facebook account also looked rarely updated. There was a newspaper article from Dar es Salaam mentioning him as one of many volunteers in a girls’ education charity, and a few pictures shared by other people from several years ago—pictures with Nadim smiling, at parties and at restaurants. A genuine smile on his bearded face and no popped collar to be seen. No evidence of Jasmine either.

  She googled his father, Shiroz Remtulla, and found mentions of him as a partner in a major law firm with several offices in East Africa, and one in London, and many mentions of his generous charity donations.

  Finally, Reena googled Salim Shah and Shah Enterprises. She skimmed the information, confirming what she already knew about the man. A real estate developer like her father, he built buildings and hotels before selling them off at a profit, mostly in the UK. Skimming headlines, she found a mention of the failed project on a small business trends news site from London.

  The project was a boutique hotel and spa. It had failed for several reasons—first of which was that the high-end facility was completely wrong for a neighborhood that hadn’t begun gentrifying yet. There were also some issues of overspending on fixtures and tradesmen. And some speculation about underhanded deals. Bottom line was that the project was unlike all of Shah’s other properties—it was over budget, and it didn’t sell. If Nadim was responsible for this mess (as much as only one person could be responsible for such a big project), she could see why Dad wouldn’t want the man working on the Diamond project.

  But nothing here mentioned Nadim or Jasmine. After googling her specifically, she found some hits from D-list socialite gossip sites. Jasmine Shah apparently had some famous friends. Reena kept googling. Finally, she found a short article on some fashion blog. The picture attached was a heavily filtered, full-length shot of Jasmine standing in one of those ubiquitous London city plazas, wearing a floppy suede sun hat and mirrored glasses, and the attached interview with Jasmine was primarily about her influence as an Instagram model on @JazStyle.

  Instagram model?

  Reena searched for it, but the account no longer existed. She flipped back to the article. Most of it was fluffy praise for her fashion sense and her eye for composition in photos. Finally, she found a paragraph that made her stomach churn. Answering a question about her future, Jasmine waxed poetic about her fiancé.

  Oh, I absolutely have a plan for the future! My fiancé and I are in the final stages of construction of a new boutique hotel in London. It’s just the beginning of our plans for an international brand synonymous with luxury and style and with real substance behind it. Nadim, that’s my fiancé, comes from Africa, and is passionate about increasing access to hidden oases in the far reaches of the world. We’re looking at properties in Egypt soon!

  Luxury and style with real substance? Reena nearly threw up. Well, this was the confirmation that Nadim was not only involved with this London boutique hotel kerfuffle, but also indeed was engaged to Jasmine.

  But wait…Reena remembered something. Egypt. That day Saira came over with her bone soup, she had some gossip that Jasmine Shah had been abandoned by her fiancé in Egypt. Had that been Nadim? She checked the date on this article. It was almost a year old. She grabbed her phone and called her sister.

  “Remember when you told me that Jasmine Shah’s fiancé left her in Egypt?”

  “Yeahhhhh…” Saira paused. “Oh, that could have been Nadim! Did you ask him?”

  “No.”

  “Shouldn’t you?”

  “I’ve decided to ignore his messages.”

  “Reena, you’re impossible. I’ll call Rish. She can probably find out.”

  Reena walked around her apartment for a while, waiting for her sister to call. Eventually she sat back on the couch and lowered her head in her hands. She couldn’t believe she had resorted to fishing for gossip again. Why couldn’t she just ask him? What was she so afraid of?

  It was an hour later when a knock sounded at the door. She peeked in the peephole to make sure it wasn’t Nadim. It was Saira.

  When she opened the door, she saw that her sister was holding a carton of low-sugar frozen yogurt and a selection of organic juices in lurid colors.

  “I stopped at the store. I think you’ll need this,” Saira said as she walked in.

  Damn. Saira had more bad news. Hopefully not devastatingly bad, because Reena was pretty sure that nonfat fro-yo and cold-pressed juice wouldn’t have the self-medicating properties she’d need.

  “What did you learn?”

  “Let’s dish this out first,” Saira said.

  Unexpectedly, the ice cream substitute didn’t taste terrible, and the dark chocolate flavor went well with the sour cherry juice.

  “Okay,” Saira started once they were settled on the couch. “I asked Rish to ask her cousin. Apparently, they’re not fighting anymore. Remember I said her cousin was obsessed with this socialite?”

  “Vaguely.” In all honesty, she didn’t remember the convoluted tale Saira had told.

  “Well, that socialite is Jasmine Shah. And yep. The fiancé who left her in Egypt was Nadim.”

  Relief spread through Reena’s shoulders. If he had dumped her in Egypt it meant they weren’t engaged now. But why did he hide this from her?

  “So, he wasn’t engaged when I met him.”

  “Not so fast, sis, there’s more. As I said, the cousin doesn’t really know Jasmine well, but she pretends they’re real tight. She was posting screenshots of Jasmine’s Instagram on the family WhatsApp. Rish was able to get some of the screenshots.” She handed Reena her phone.

  Reena scrolled through the pictures. Nothing interesting here, basic Instagram pictures of an immaculately styled Jasmine. She recognized the one in London from that article.

  “Read the hashtags, Reena.”

  Reena did. #engagedlife. #marryingmybestfriend. #travelwithmylove.

  Reena
exhaled. “So, she is engaged.”

  Saira shrugged. “The last screenshot is from about a month ago. That seems to be when she deleted her account.”

  About a month ago was before Reena and Nadim started dating. If the fiancé Jasmine was talking about was Nadim, maybe they’d split up since then?

  “There’s even more,” Saira said. She took the phone and cued up another picture.

  It was another screenshot—this one from Facebook. From the Ismaili Muslim Business Owner Network. The post was by Salim Shah. It was a family picture—Salim, his wife, his daughter Jasmine, and Nadim, with his swanky beard and precision hair. The caption was something about how much Salim was looking forward to his daughter’s upcoming wedding to his former business manager, Nadim Remtulla.

  Reena nearly threw up her fake ice cream.

  “Look at the date and time. That’s London time,” Saira said.

  She did some calculations in her head. It was posted last Saturday night, Toronto time. She looked at her sister.

  “Yeah, I checked, Reena. Dad is in this group.”

  Three days ago, Salim Shah posted in a Facebook group Jasmine was marrying Nadim. This is how Dad found out. And this was the truth. Fuck.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  It’s not a new picture,” Saira said.

  “Of course it’s not. Nadim was with me Saturday night.” But that didn’t mean he wasn’t engaged to Jasmine. Because why would Jasmine’s family lie about this? After all, his engagement to Reena was fake. He admitted that himself, the day this picture was posted.

  Reena didn’t know what to say. Looking at the picture in front of her, she saw a happy, healthy family. She saw a couple well suited for each other. Intelligent. Beautiful. Aspirational. In love. She put the phone down, her vision blurring.

  “I’m sorry, Reena. I can’t believe he didn’t tell you he was engaged. Fucker.”

  Reena fell back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. “I’m an idiot.”

  Her sister was on the floor, feet stretched in front of her, wiggling her toes. Which just reminded Reena of Nadim’s foot thing. Ugh. How could the man who’d lovingly admired her arches done this to her? He’d even painted her toenails last week. They’d argued about calling it nail polish or nail varnish.

  Saira looked at her. “You’re not an idiot. You’re trusting. He’s the idiot for not realizing your value.” She smiled sadly. “I know you like to avoid heavy stuff, but I do think you need to speak to him. No doubt he lied to you, but this doesn’t add up. It’s going to eat away at you forever unless you know the truth.”

  “You sound like Khizar. Or a therapist.”

  Saira grinned. “Janeya’s amazing. You should get a therapist. Everyone should. All I’m saying is speak to Nadim. Then we can kick him off a cliff.”

  Reena sat up and drained her glass of juice, remembering the look on Nadim’s face when she tried to ask him about his past on Saturday night. “I’m not sure he’ll tell me. Although, we caught his lies, so what does he have to lose at this point?”

  Saira shrugged. “You. He has you to lose. I think he’ll talk.”

  * * *

  Saira left soon after, letting Reena keep the rest of the frozen yogurt, and promising to check in soon. And Reena was alone again. She’s already cried more in the last few days than she had in years. And she was pretty much done with the Bollywood watch list. Reena stood in her living room, more restless than she could ever remember feeling.

  After those revelations, what Reena needed was a drink. Actually, several drinks. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t had a sip of alcohol since she’d found out about Nadim’s secret fiancé. Her abstinence was noble, but was it necessary? One drink wouldn’t really destroy her. At least not like she assumed it would. She eyed the collection of bottles stacked on her dining room sideboard. There was no need to be a martyr to her own guilt.

  She placed her hand on the bottle, mouth watering in anticipation of the burn that would numb this, when she stilled. Sliding her hand down the smooth glass, she rested it on the bottle for about three seconds when she heard a thump outside her door.

  Nadim was home.

  Without taking a second to think, she rushed out her front door in three long strides.

  He was in his regular work clothes and carrying a stack of cardboard. His shoulders fell the second he saw her. “Reena.”

  Seeing that face again felt like a blow to her chest. She had been in love with that face. She didn’t know what to say. After staring for several agonizing seconds, she went with that. “I have no idea what to say to you.”

  He sighed, dropping the cardboard heavily to the floor. “Then don’t say anything. There is nothing you can say that’s worse than what your father said to me yesterday. Or my own father.”

  “So, it’s true then?”

  “What’s true?”

  “You’re engaged to that woman?” She couldn’t say her name. She was frankly amazed she could say anything at all.

  “I was. But not anymore. Not for a while.”

  “I saw a Facebook post that said otherwise.”

  “I know.”

  “From her father. And Jasmine said it on Instagram.”

  He exhaled deeply. “I know that, too. But we’re not engaged.”

  “Who, me and you? Or you and her?”

  He sighed. Reena watched his face. Dark puffy eyes. Crease between the brows. Corners of his lips down turned. He looked miserable.

  Good.

  “You’ve been lying to me for weeks,” Reena said. “You told me you’d always wanted to work in real-estate development, when apparently you already had. Hell, you even told me that Egypt was on your bucket list, when apparently you were there looking at properties for a new development!”

  “I said the Pyramids were on my bucket list. I never got to see them when I was there.”

  “Jesus Christ, you’re going with loopholes and caveats now? When we were getting to know each other you never once mentioned a fiancée. Ex, or otherwise.”

  Eyes cast downward, he answered, “I’m sorry.”

  “Why would Salim Shah post that he was looking forward to your wedding if you’re not getting married?” Fuck. Her voice cracked. She couldn’t hide her pain.

  “I don’t know why he said that.” He barely looked at her.

  “What was the point of this?” She gestured between them. “Were you here to run business intrigue for Salim Shah? Cozy up to Aziz Manji’s daughter to get his trade secrets?”

  “Reena, no. This wasn’t fake. I—”

  She put her hands up to stop him. “Did you forget about the ring? It was fake. Pretending to be engaged for the contest. Pretending not to be together to our parents. None of it was real, and I hate myself for thinking it was.” Her voice cracked again.

  He took a step toward her and reached for her arm, while she took a step back, hitting her back on her door. She couldn’t handle physical contact now. His arms dropped to his sides. He looked at her, eyes blank, brows tightly knit together.

  “I wish I could defend myself,” he said, meeting her eyes. “But…I’m sorry.” He looked down at the stack of cardboard at his feet. “I’ll be leaving very soon. You can pretend none of this happened. I really…I didn’t want you to get hurt.” His eyes were so dejected that it weakened her resolve. He finally resembled the Nadim more familiar to her. The one from the hotel who told her for the second time that his soul knew when he was home.

  He’d been playing her the whole time.

  She turned and faced her door.

  “Wait, Reena, one thing,” he said. She stilled but did not turn.

  “I wasn’t using you. Or your dad. I know you have no reason to believe me, but you were the only real thing in my life for years. I’m sorry I made such a mess of this.” His voice trailed to nothing.

  She stared at her closed door. He sounded sincere, but what did she know? She’d heard enough in those damn videos to know he could sound convi
ncing. Her eyes welled with tears as her hand touched her doorknob. She didn’t move until she heard his door open and his footsteps disappear inside his apartment.

  * * *

  Reena stood in the hallway. Part of her wanted to knock on his door and throw herself in his arms, again. Apologize for not believing him and beg him to just go back to the way things were. She wanted to feel him around her, smell his soap in his neck, his hands on her waist. And she probably would have done it, if Marley hadn’t come racing down the stairs then.

  “What is going on down here?” Marley asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Shayne was close behind Marley. “We heard you yelling. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you yell.”

  Marley looked at Reena carefully. No doubt taking in Reena’s red, puffy eyes. “You okay, Reena? Come upstairs for a drink.”

  A drink. Her shoulders slumped. “I, um…”

  Marley put her hand on Reena’s forearm. “Come. Talk to us.”

  Reena was pretty sure her parents wouldn’t want her to mention the business problems outside the immediate family, but she wasn’t much in the mood to do what her parents wanted. “Sure. I’d love some of that oolong tea, if you still have it.” She followed them upstairs.

  The moment she was in her cousin’s apartment she fell onto Marley’s sofa. “Want to hear some dirt about my former Tanzanian/English boyfriend?”

  Marley’s eyes widened. “Holy shit, former? It’s over already? You guys seemed so great together.”

  “Yeah, well, apparently appearances can be deceiving.”

  They took their tea out to the back deck, where Reena told them most of the story, skirting over the part where Dad lost money to the phony architect and the part where Mum spent her free time in a poker club. Best not to broadcast all their messy secrets to her mother’s brother’s daughter.