We went out into the blistering sunlight, and it seemed wrong. There ought to have been a torrential downpour and angry-looking clouds. Everything ought to have been backward or upside-down to match the turmoil flooding my body. I stood off to the side as Isadora whistled for a cab. It was long and piercing, and I had the fleeting thought of asking her to teach me how to do that.
A bubble of hysterical laughter escaped me.
Isadora glanced at me in alarm.
“I think I’ve been robbed.”
“Come,” she said, frowning at the street. “Let’s walk over one block. I can’t seem to find any available drivers.”
I followed her in a trance, the swish of my skirt barely brushing against the path. Once again, she let out her sharp whistle, and this time a pair of horses ambled toward us, the driver flicking the reins lazily. My conversation with Ahmed repeated in my mind, and slowly I began to understand that my life had changed in an instant.
And that I had been a fool.
“Inez?”
Horror gripped me. That voice. I’d know it anywhere. I’d heard it nearly every day since I first arrived in Egypt. Slowly, I turned to find Whit striding toward me, dressed in an English suit: dark trousers, crisp shirt buttoned all the way to the chin. His jacket was all sharp lines and expertly tailored. A tall man trailed after him. He looked remarkably like my thieving husband. Same auburn hair. Same pale blue eyes. I knew who he must have been.
“Hola, Porter,” I said. I was amazed at how calm I sounded when all I wanted was to scream until my voice left me altogether.
Whit’s brother didn’t offer a greeting or a smile, only shooting an uneasy glance at my husband.
My lying husband. My manipulative husband.
“Inez,” Whit said, his expression revealing a hint of unease. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d still be at Shepheard’s.”
I couldn’t frame the words, even as the truth settled deep in my heart, fracturing it into sharp pieces. I felt as if I were staring down an oncoming locomotive, and I could do nothing to save myself from being plowed over.
“Look at me,” he said softly. “Are you all right?”
I needed a moment to compose myself, and so I averted my gaze, staring blankly at a long row of carriages ambling to their destinations. After a few moments of breathing deeply, fighting to remain calm, steadying my rioting heartbeat, I wrenched my gaze from the street, meeting his blue eyes.
My stomach somersaulted, and I flinched.
I had been fooled on every level by Whitford Hayes, starting with any warmth and tenderness I had imagined in his gaze. I relived every moment that I’d had with him. Every kindness, every soft word, every promise.
Alllies.
“What are you doing here, so far from the hotel?” Whit repeated. “You ought to have—”
“What are you going to spend my money on, Whit?”
He froze, and all emotion bled from his face. He was a door snapped shut, the lock sliding into place with an almost audible click; all thatremained was his English suit. His impassiveness only made me angrier. The longer he stood silent and remote, the worse I felt. As if by some mutual agreement, Isadora and Porter drew away, giving us some privacy on the busy Cairo street. Everything went on as normal, but I felt as if I were in another world, lost in parts unknown.
And it scared me.
“I just spoke to Ahmed,” I said at his continued and infuriating silence. “And he told me that you’ve stolen all my money from me. Unless, of course, he’s mistaken?”
Whit shook his head.
My heart fractured. A part of me had held hope it wasn’t true. “You’ve stolen everything, then?” I asked again, even as I cursed the fragile hope still clinging to my edges.
“Correct.”
“Well, thank you for being honest,” I replied sarcastically.
His jaw locked, but he nodded. Perhaps he would never speak to me again. Perhaps this was the end of everything between us. Fury rose, blinding and obliterating.
“Do you have anything to say?” I demanded.
