“Only several hundred miles,” Whit said, still unperturbed by Tío Ricardo’s foul temper. “You could pull the stitches, risk infection—”
“Whitford.”
Almost against my will, my eyes flew in his direction. I couldn’t help it, much like I couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped from my mouth. My uncle wasn’t only irascible with me, he dumped his acerbic manner onto Whit, too.
He just handled it better than I did.
“You’ll do what you want, but I did promise the doctor I’d issue his warning,” Whit said, smiling faintly. “And now, at least in this instance, my conscience is clear.”
You’d never know that hours earlier, he had spoken of marriage. His manner was the same as it always was, an amused air that hid a deep current of cynicism. He met my uncle’s eyes confidently; his words came out with nary a wobble. His hands were steady around the handle of the coffee cup.
Only one thing gave him away.
Since I sat down, he hadn’t looked in my direction.
Not once.
Tío Ricardo narrowed his eyes. “What else have you gotten yourself involved with? Or do I not want to know of the other instances?”
“I’d stay clear,” Whit said before taking a long sip. He still wouldn’t look at me. As if he worried that meeting my gaze might reveal all of his secrets.
My uncle pushed away his plate—he’d eaten pita bread, dipping it in hummus and tahina, and four fried eggs. Despite my frustration with him, I was pleased to see his appetite had returned. “Humph,” Tío Ricardo said, but he let the matter drop. “Now, Inez,” my uncle began, rummaging through his jacket pockets. “I have your train ticket to Alexandria. You’ll be leaving within the week, and hopefully by then I’ll have found you a chaperone for the journey. It’s a shame Mrs. Acton already sailed.” He threw me a vexed look. “By the way, I had a hell of a time calming her down when you walked out on her. She was deeply offended.”
I’d nearly forgotten about dear Mrs. Acton, a woman my uncle had hired to escort me back to Argentina upon my arrival in Egypt. I had tricked her and escaped from the hotel where my uncle had wanted to keep me under lock and key until he could pack me off. But I couldn’t scrounge up any feeling of remorse. I couldn’t even form a reply.
My mind stuck on my forthcoming departure date.
Within the week.
My uncle let out an exclamation of triumph as he pulled something out of his pocket. He held up two slips of paper and then slid them to me. I glanced down, refusing to touch the sheets: a one-way train ticket to Alexandria, and one passage booked for the port of Buenos Aires.
The noise level in the room died down, the constant chattering falling to a hush. I contemplated drowning the tickets in my water glass. I thought about ripping them intro shreds and flinging them at my uncle’s face. Whit’s marriage proposal loomed large, a way out of my exile. He offered a lifeline, a chance to make things right. Access to independence, a way to stop my mother and her heinous behavior. My answer to Whit’squestion crystalized in my mind. Slowly, I lifted my face and looked in his direction.
And for the first time since I sat down, he met my gaze.
His blue eyes seared.
Whit arched his brow, a silent question that only I knew the answer to. He must have read something in my face because he lowered his coffee, pushed his chair back from the table. “I’ll be out on the terrace while you work out the details.”
Tío Ricardo murmured distractedly. His attention was on a dark-skinned man across the room, dining with his family. He wore a tarboosh on his head and a crisp suit pressed to perfection. Whit shot me a quick meaningful glance before striding away. My pulse raced, knowing he wanted me to find a way to meet him outside, away from my uncle.
“Excuse me a moment. I’ve found a friend,” Tío Ricardo said. “Wait here.”
“But I’ve finished my breakfast,” I said. “I think I’ll head back to my room—”
“Not without me,” my uncle said, standing. “I won’t be ten minutes.” He fixed me with a stern glare and waited for me to agree with his demand.
It was almost too easy. I set my mouth in a mulish line and gave in reluctantly. He nodded, turning away, and when I was sure he wouldn’t notice my empty chair, I walked out of the dining room, toward the terrace where Whit waited. The lobby teemed with guests from everywhere, several languages spoken audibly as I weaved through the crowd. The front doors were opened for me and I stepped outside, blinking in the sunlight. Overhead, a blue sky with nary a cloud stretched above Cairo. The city of all cities, as some renowned historians had called it, and I had to agree. Since the dawn of time, this place had been a marvel.
I hated the idea of leaving it behind me.
Whit sat at his favorite wicker table, painted a deep green, his back to the wall, facing out toward the street. From that vantage point, he could see the comings and goings. I marched right up to him, not bothering to sit. He’d observed me the second I walked out onto the terrace, of course, and he tilted his chin up in order to meet me head-on.
“Why did you kiss me in the tomb?” I demanded.
“Because I didn’t want to die without having done it once,” he said immediately. “At least.”
I dropped into the chair opposite him. “Oh.”
