Chapter Eighty-Four
Rashid closes the heavy door behind us with an audibleclick.
I’m so screwed.
The photo rustles against my skin as Batool pushes it closer when she burrows into my shirt. My fingers stroke her sun-warmed fur absently, not wanting her to move, wishing that between us we could hide the image forever. Leave it where it is, never bring it out. Leave it to burn a hole in my chest and let my undeserving heart fall out.
Why did I do it? Why did I have to lie to him? Such a small, inconsequential utterance; the words leaving my mouth without much semblance of thought. I can join the dots now, of course. I can see Kai’s face as he held Shane up against the wall back at my old flat.
I’ve seen it all before, have a few pictures of her somewhere.
Kai’s expression spreading to his fist.
And when he’d asked me... that night we’d taken pictures of our own.Have you done this before?The unspoken plea:please tell me what he said isn’t true.
So I did.
And now I want to leave this image hidden, never take off my shirt, or maybe stand under the shower, the image still within, and clean this malignancy, turn it to lint.
Keep your secret, add one more.
‘That man. He is no good.’
I realise Rashid is still behind me and that I haven’t moved.
‘I know.’
Batool begins to squirm. With a sigh, I avoid Rashid’s gaze as I place her on the floor and fold my arms, watching as she pads out of the room. His gaze almost nudges my back, but if I don’t speak, maybe he’ll just leave.
No such luck.
I turn to face him, but those coffee coloured eyes give nothing away. How much did he hear? What should I say?
Brows furrowed, his expression says it all. Knows it all.
‘No good.’ Then Rashid follows the cat from the room.
Keep your secret, add one more.
Screwed.
If I looked up the definition in the dictionary, I wonder if there’d be a picture of me.
Essam wants to screw Kai via me. I’m just the vassal; I’ve no illusion of that. He doesn’twant me. He just wants to hurt what Kai has.
The screwage is, well, it’s a clusterfuck.
I lied about Shane having no photos, and I either confess to Kai or I don’t. And if I don’t, I’m an adulterer. The worst kind of scum.
As well as an idiot.
But it’s more than just a lie; it’s the danger of those images being available on the internet. Yes, social media is heavily censored out here, but I’ve also been told that any fool can get around that. The chances of any marriage anywhere surviving one party participating in soft porn—however unwittingly—is slim. But here? The threat seems like a whole world of shit to the power of ten. Bad enough that I could be socially scorned—or worse—but what of Kai? How could this affect him?
And how would he ever be able to look me in the eye again?
My choices are untenable. All of them. But I can’t tell him, and those reasons are mostly purely selfish. Yes, I want to protect him; I so desperately want to keep him from being hurt. But selfish because I want to be one half of a fairy tale; our relationship one big success. I can’t bear the image of his face, the disappointment in his eyes as I tell.
Keep your secret, add one more.
