He’d made a mistake asking—it was too reckless, an idea that should never have been spoken aloud. He was going to tell me that he agreed with my uncle, that it was for the best that I leave Egypt, and then I’d have to find someone else. People married for convenience all the time, surely. There had to be—
“We have to get married today.”
I blinked. “¿Qué?”
He crossed his arms. “It has to be today. Too many people could interfere, get a hold of your uncle, and tell him of our plans.”
My mind reeled. “But—”
“I have our witness and someone to marry us. But I need to work on securing the license.” He went on as if I weren’t floundering in deep water, trying to stay afloat. “Were you able to find a way out of Shepheard’s?”
“Yes,” I said. “I don’t have a dress. It has to be today?”
“If I can get the license, then yes. Meet me at the Hanging Church when the sun goes down.”
Whit turned to go and I reached for him, but he’d already crossed the room and was at the door.
“How did you get inside my room?” I asked. “I have the key.”
“I nicked the spare from downstairs,” he said over his shoulder. “The hotel security is appalling.”
“Whit—”
“I have to go,” he said hurriedly and was gone. Gone before I could get another word in, gone before I could ask him why he wasn’t acting like himself, before I could demand that helookat me. Just once.
I stood motionless, overwhelmed and terrified. It was as if I could already feel the swaying of the boat under my feet, dragging me back home.
I wore black to my wedding, and if I were feeling sentimental, I’d let myself think of the moment when I first laid eyes on Whit, while wearing the same exact dress. But that awful raw feeling of terror clung to me like a shroud, and I could think of nothing but Whit’s aloof manner earlier. I fingered the only adornment I’d chosen to wear, Mamá’s brightly patterned shrinking scarf. I had thought about leaving it behind, but it gave me a reminder of why I was getting married in the first place.
I would not allow my mother to win.
A sharp yell yanked me from my thoughts. A carriage driver had narrowly avoided hitting a stray dog barking happily at several children playing in front of a small market stall. Barrels of spices scented the air: paprika, cumin, and turmeric. Next door stood Harraz, a store specializing in herbs and fragrances, where many Egyptians and tourists strolled among the varied offerings. They all came out smelling of essential oils, and I itched to sample a few for myself, but I didn’t have the time. I waited for Whit at the street corner in front of the church, entertained by watching the proceedings of daily Cairo life. No one spared a glance at the widow standing alone at the end of the street corner. I had slipped through the front entrance of Shepheard’s in my disguise with a confidence that I didn’t feel in the slightest as the minutes dragged.
Whit was late. Very late.
The sun lowered, cool air settling over the city as the sky gradually darkened. The sound of the evening prayer rose high in the night. I usually found it comforting, but it only served as a reminder that the person I was marrying hadn’t arrived.
A part of me doubted he’d show up at all.
Maybe he hadn’t been able to secure the license; maybe my uncle found out about our plans and was now, in this moment, confronting Whit. Athousand reasons and explanations swam in my mind, all of them viable possibilities. But there was one reason that sat heavy in my stomach, an indigestible lump, one that shared the space with my worst fears.
Whit was just another person in my life who could easily walk away from me.
I shifted on my feet and tried not to think the worst. Except it kept rising in my mind like steam, making the back of my neck damp with sweat.Whit might have changed his mind. For the first time in my life, I wished for a pocket watch. I’d give him a few more minutes before heading back to the hotel, and in my head, I began to count seconds. By the time I’d gotten over five hundred, I finally faced the truth.
He wasn’t coming.
My feet seemed to move of their own accord as I slowly began the walk back to the hotel. What was I going to do now? I thought about using my mother’s scarf to shrink me down to nothing, except the magic probably wouldn’t work on humans. I went to cross the street, when I heard a shout and realized with a start that someone was yelling my name.
“Olivera!”
A familiar frame appeared at the end of the path, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. Relief stole over me as he drew closer, feeling like a balm over an aching wound. I let out a shaky breath as I took in his features. Whit seemed lighter somehow, less encumbered. Hope dug its way into my heart, a determined weed.
He stopped in front of me.
“Hello,” I said cautiously.
Whit grinned and pulled out a single sheet of paper. “I got it.”
