by Zee Monodee
She answered on the second ring. He’d indeed caught her around prayer time, her head covering on and baring just the oval of her face.
“Zed.” Her tone sounded surprised, even if her features remained poker-straight.
He should take the plunge and get it over with. Would save them both any suffering.
“I can’t go ahead with the wedding, Bilkiss.”
Finally, the words had been spoken aloud.
Her eyebrows rose as her nose scrunched up. “May I ask why?”
Whatever respect she had for him would go down the drain with his following words, but she deserved the truth.
“I loved someone back in London, and I just found out we have a son.” He paused for a deep breath. “I still love her, and I think we should see if we have a chance, her and me. For the baby.”
Her silence rang heavy for long seconds. Then she took a deep breath and spoke.
“You should see if you have a chance for you, Zed. For you and her. Not just for the baby.”
The strength and conviction in her tone stunned him. “You mean it?”
She smiled. “Love. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world.”
“But what about you?” He was leaving her in the lurch here. Yet, he couldn’t do anything else.
“Don’t worry about me.” A trilling laugh escaped her, light and joyful. “You won’t believe me when I tell you I just asked God to send me a sign not five minutes ago on the prayer mat.”
“So this is a good thing?”
“Definitely a good thing,” she chimed with another laugh. “What’s her name?”
“Rio. Short for Riona.”
“Pretty. And your son?”
“Nour.”
She smiled. “It means bright light.”
“It does,” he concurred.
“I hope to meet them sometime.”
“I’d like it.” Bilkiss was a friend; she’d just proven that a thousand-fold.
“Be happy, Zed.”
“You, too.”
“Allah hafiz,” she greeted before ending the call.
God knows best. Nothing could shake her faith, it seemed.
A gigantic sigh rolled out of him as he dropped the phone on the bed and let himself fall back on the mattress. So that had been taken care of. He should move on to the next item on the list.
Sitting back up, he grabbed the phone again, wondering if Dilmas might still be up at this hour of the morning.
Chapter Seven
Rio was fielding a call and trying unsuccessfully to find the appropriate invoice in the mass of papers on her desk. Where was Martha when she needed her? Over the past week, her super-efficient PA seemed to have vanished into thin air. What on Earth was going on? Things couldn’t keep up this way. Not if she wanted to run this ship without it sinking.
She went out of the office with resolute steps, spotting Martha’s handbag next to the empty chair at the PA’s desk. Good—meant she was around. Rio finally found her in the Mess room with a cup of tea in her hands, her knuckles almost white around the ceramic handle. She paused on the threshold at the sight of the red and puffy face of the blonde.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
Martha sniffled and nodded.
Seriously, though, something must have happened.
“Is your cat okay?”
A watery smile made itself known. “Bubbles is fine, thank you.”
From what she knew of her PA, Martha didn’t have anyone else but her precious Bubbles. Unless … “Did someone break your heart?”
The wordless nod and the pinched lips as if to bite back a sob was all the answer she needed, and she moved into the room to wrap her arms around Martha.
“I’m sorry,” she said when she pulled away. “I’d give you the day off if I could, but you know how much I need you right now.”
Martha nodded again. “It’s okay. It might sound masochist, but I actually prefer being here. And it’s not like he ever knew I existed, you know.”
She wanted to tell the woman that whoever the bloke was, he was an arse. But she didn’t have this kind of BFF friendship with her employee, so she settled for a smile and a soft press of her shoulder.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of movement. She and Martha turned towards the opened doorway when a man stood.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Martha mumbled, then made her way out.
Zediah stepped aside to let her pass. All the while, Rio’s eyes remained glued to him standing there. She hadn’t seen him since early Saturday morning when she’d returned from the gala to find him still there and their son so miserable with yet another teething episode. Nine months was a bit early for such happenings, but some babies did seem to start cutting their teeth as early as eight months. Just their luck, Nour turned out precocious in this aspect.
The words Zediah had spoken then had stayed with her, though. He’d said he would make things right, but what did he imply? Would he really stay, turn his back on his family? Families were tricky often. One didn’t get to choose, so they got saddled with whatever Fate had lumped them with. She should know. But it wasn’t reason enough to forego them entirely. He’d already caved in once. Who said he wouldn’t do it a second time?
“Rio. Hey.”
His soft greeting pulled her from her musings, and she gave him a small smile in return.
“You got a minute for me?” He grimaced. “Well, an hour or two would be more like it.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Something seemed different. He’d dressed in a charcoal grey suit today, still the epitome of the successful businessman. But something rankled.
Was it in the way he stood, straighter but also like he wasn’t forcing the pose?
Previously, a hint of discomfort shadowed him like he didn’t really fit in but was doing his best.
That seemed to be gone today. His broad forehead had also lost the frown he perpetually carried, his eyes no longer with the hint of a squint to them. They actually seemed to sparkle? No, wait, those lines at the outer corners hadn’t been there before. He was smiling? With his whole face?
“Do you?” he asked.
Another blink and she returned to the present. An hour or two? “Whatever for?”
“It’s a surprise.”
The genuine smile coming with those words looked cheeky and so carefree. A hand squeezed her heart at witnessing the change in his face. He’d been breathtaking before, but like this, he looked beautiful. She had no other word for it.
She threw a look at her watch. She still had so much work to do today, but the excitement brimming about him proved contagious and infected her, too. Would Martha be able to cope? She could always tell the staff to be on the lookout for a potential breakdown.
Zediah’s bustling energy made her want to play hooky. “I have to be back in three hours for an important meeting.”
Granted, it was Kelsey dropping by the place, but she was doing so as the foundation’s chairperson, not as Rio’s bestie.
“Ample time.”
The smile grew more expansive, and the clench in her chest tightened. Why did he have to look so gorgeous? And more importantly, why did he have to make her wonder, even for just a second before she pushed the thought away, that things could’ve been great between them if they’d been given a chance?
If he had given them the chance.
This reflection sobered her elation. She took a deep breath and walked past Zediah on the way to her office. The heat radiating from his body threw her nerves haywire when her arm brushed against him. How was that even possible when she wore a long-sleeved cashmere jumper, and he had on a wool-blend suit?
This was dangerous, and she couldn’t afford this. Not now. Shaking her head, she went into her office and grabbed her coat and bag. “I assume we’re taking my car?”
He nodded. “Unless you want to Uber there.”
“Where exactly is there?”
“It’s a surprise,”
he said once more, his smile widening.
A huff escaped her. While she didn’t hate surprises, she really disliked them.
“Will I be able to park?”
“Yep.”
Okay, one less worry. She’d deal with whatever he lobbed her way when the time came.
She threw a quick look at Martha at her desk, busy typing on her keyboard. At least the tears seemed to have staved off. Passing by one of her senior-most teachers, she dropped a quick word with him telling him to keep an eye on her PA as she was going out for a few.
Zediah followed behind her. And once inside the Range Rover, she forced her mind to blip out the larger-than-life presence of the man beside her and followed his directions, taking them past Woodbury Down to … Leyton? She frowned as they entered the multicultural residential hub of East London. What were they doing here? Aside from a few Mauritian relatives who lived there, she knew no one from the area.
In front of another row of Victorian terraced houses, which looked identical to ones on other streets around here, he told her to stop the car and got out. He walked over to her side and held the door for her as she exited.
After she’d pressed the key fob to secure the locks, he placed a hand softly at her elbow to guide her to the front door painted red. A gentle tingle raced up her arm from where he touched her, but she blipped it aside, wondering why they were here.
She didn’t have long to wait. He pressed the doorbell, and the door swung open barely a second later as if the person inside had been waiting for them. Her mouth hung open when she saw who it was.
“Jalil?”
The youngster grinned wide and rushed out to wrap her in his arms. The air whooshed out of her as he grabbed her and held her tight, his body trembling, shaking. With sobs, she realized. That poor lad. She hugged him back, which made him tighten his arms around her as he all-out cried now.
Over his shoulder, she looked at Zediah and mouthed her concern.
He smiled and shook his head. She lost some of her apprehension and held on tight to the boy who sobbed in her embrace.
When Jalil finally pulled away, he quickly wiped his face with the sleeves of his hoodie and tugged hard on her hand.
“He did it, Rio.”
She frowned again. “Who did what?”
“Rio! Ukhti!”
Only one person called her ‘sister’ this way. She looked up to find the vast form of Quraisha Khaleeji, Jalil’s mother, as usual, draped in a black abaya and a colourful scarf. The woman opened her arms from the hallway of the house.
With a smile, she went gladly and let herself be smothered against the ample bosom. Amid a flurry of English mingled with Arabic, Quraisha grabbed Rio’s hand and tugged her farther inside the house. Rio found herself in a cosy front room with Arabic calligraphy displayed prominently on the walls. She sat on a squishy sofa, a cup of mint tea thrust into her hand.
What on Earth was going on here? She glanced sideways to Zediah, who simply shrugged, even though the soft smile never left his face. A pang hit her heart at witnessing that. Still, the rapid-fire squealing and talking around her shunted her back into a haze from which she managed to pick up the most significant bits and pieces of the narrative.
Turned out Zediah had gone looking for Jalil, finding the lad and his mother in the dangerous estate where they lived. He had moved them to this house in this safe neighbourhood and had extended a production contract to the young artist.
A lump settled in her throat as she watched the joy around her. She had seen this family at their lowest. When Jalil had failed his exams, Quraisha’s world had almost come tumbling down. The woman had done her best to keep her son from falling into the clutches of the gangs prowling the area.
The last time Rio had come to see them, Jalil had angrily told her to leave. That had stung, but she hadn’t taken it to heart, knowing the boy hurt. Because he’d been let down. Instead, she’d redirected her anger to Switz Bagumi for all of seven seconds. What good would it have brought to dwell on this disappointment even longer? She’d moved on, trying to help Quraisha where she could.
Her gaze slid to Zediah. He had come back, and he had delivered. Over a year later, but not too late, it seemed.
Could the same be said about their relationship?
She didn’t get a chance to ponder this question more that day. Jalil wanted her to listen to the first track he was working on with Dilmas. For this, they all had to go to the studio located near Highbury in North London.
Another shock awaited her there, whereby she found out the name of Switz Bagumi’s record label. RioLight Productions. He’d named it after her, and unknowingly, after Nour, too.
By this point, it was time for her to get back to her meeting with Kelsey, so she left them there and returned to Camden, thoughts and ‘what ifs’ swirling in her head.
Yet, she put a stop to those reflections. Where would they lead her today? Absolutely nowhere, so best she tore herself away from all of it.
As for Zediah—out of sight, out of mind for the rest of the week. She breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been spending most of his time at the studio lately, as she’d just found out, arranging with Oksana to see Nour during the day when Rio was at work. Suited her just fine. It was good to see him involved in something other than being a ghost haunting her house at all hours, plus she had her own life to live.
Friday night came and found her sitting at the dining nook in her kitchen when the doorbell rang. Oksana was upstairs giving Nour a bath before bedtime, and Rio would go up to tuck him in afterwards. This meant she would have to answer.
When she opened the door, the breath hitched in her throat. Zediah stood there, but at the same time, it looked like an entirely different man. One who stood straighter, looking taller than his usual six-foot-one and leaner, more lethal in an ink-blue suit and black coat.
Yet, the wide smile on his face, and those quicksilver eyes that positively sparkled, softened the ruthless persona somewhat. Energy seemed to bristle from him. The kind that called to a person, infectious in the best way as it radiated joy and contentment.
She could even see it in the lay of his shoulders which seemed broader, in the smooth forehead now devoid of frown.
“Hey,” he said. “Sorry, I’m so late. He’s asleep already?”
Nour. He was here for their son.
Not for her.
She should remember it.
Opening the door wider, she smiled and bade him enter. “You can catch him just in time upstairs.”
He could do the tucking in tonight, she reluctantly conceded.
Still in his coat, he thanked her, rushed past into the house and up to the first floor. She could imagine the baby happily squealing when he saw his father, the person around whom the stars and the moon now revolved. Nour adored him, and the feeling was mutual.
With a pang, she remembered the day Zediah had met his son for the first time and told her he loved the child already. She’d told him it had been the same for her—except the feeling had hit her from the very first time she’d heard his heartbeat from the sonogram machine and had then seen a little thing shaped like a shrimp inside her belly.
Zediah hadn’t been there. He’d chosen to stay away from her. Had he known he would be a father, she had no doubt he would’ve been here.
But he hadn’t even told her his real name.
She’d been a one-night stand to him and should remember it, as well.
And speaking of the devil, there he was, ambling into the front reception room. He paused at the kitchen’s edge, eyes growing big when he saw the array of food on the kitchen island and on the table in front of her.
Zediah would always have a place in Nour’s life, and consequently, in hers, too. She should stop rehashing what might have been and instead look to the future. One that would inevitably have him in it now.
She nodded towards the table. “Come. Join me for dinner.”
He frowned. “You sure?”
“Y
ou think I can eat all this?” She cocked an eyebrow up.
“Why’d you order so much food then?” he asked with a laugh.
A sigh left her. “I didn’t. My brother dropped all this off thirty minutes ago.”
“Well, then, if you need my help.”
She smiled when he removed the coat and placed it on the pegs in the front hallway. He also returned with his suit jacket off, busy rolling up his pale blue shirt sleeves before going to the tap to wash his hands. She averted her eyes from those strong, wiry forearms before wishing she could swap places with the towel wiping them dry.
“Grab a plate and cutlery on your way,” she said, busying herself with opening the many Tupperware boxes in front of her.
Zediah plopped down on the booth across from her. “Is your brother trying to force-feed you or something?”
She groaned. “My mother, more like.”
His eyebrows raised in question.
“My family owns The Jolly Maharajah in Southall. The kitchen is catering for a big wedding tonight, so my mum made sure to pack a little of everything and had my brother drop it over.”
“This is her definition of little?”
She chuckled. “Traditional mother.”
“Eager to force-feed.”
They both erupted in laughter.
“Shouldn’t you keep some for Oksana?” he asked.
“She can’t do spicy. She had a few spoonsful of the biryani, but it’s her limit.”
Zediah eyed the fare before them with a pointed look that he then directed onto her.
“Are you putting me to the test here?”
His question made her squirm further, but she steeled her spine and threw her shoulders back. “Are you a lightweight with heat?”
The flare in his eyes made her want to purse her lips. When he reached for the paneer korma, she bit back a smile instead. Game on.
He munched through a serving of korma, a plate of biryani where he mainly ate the rice, another serving of lamb madras, and almost the entire container of chicken vindaloo. He was certainly not a lightweight with heat.