Chapter Eighty-Five
‘Kai.’ I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. ‘I’m so pleased you’re here.’ Early. Arriving without any word. Unspeaking, sending cool glances my way. Yep, I’m as happy as a bastard on Father’s Day.
‘Kai, man! It’s good t’see ya!’
I’m thankful no one else senses the descent of a sudden and unseasonable frost. Geoff’s too busy shaking Kai’s hand and propping Mum up, and Mum’s too busy, well, being propped up. Pleasantries are exchanged, the how’s and when’s of travel, at least by the males in the room. Meanwhile, I realise I’m staring and that I have the door handle in a death grip. Uncurling my fingers, I force myself back to my seat at the head of the table, already feeling rejected. He hasn’t dragged me into his arms, unlike the whispered promises spoken over the distances, and his cool countenance prevents me from making it my move.
Though cool is an understatement. It’s like saying the Arctic is a bit chilly sometimes.
Someone’s squealed, and my money’s on Rashid.
My parents make their goodnight wishes; the door closing with an air of finality that makes me jump in my seat. I slide my gaze to him, but can’t seem to make my eyes rise to his face.
‘Mum had too much wine.’ I release a nervous laugh, almost surprised hearing the noise.
Kai doesn’t answer, doesn’t sit down, instead making his way to the table where he picks up my glass to take a sip. Placing it back, he notices the empty wine bottle that’s now somehow lying on its side. He studies the label though his eyes seem unfocussed, his whole demeanour sort of preoccupied.
‘At least it was a decent bottle,’ he murmurs, standing it on its base.
Sliding his hands into his pockets, he turns back to the door. My heart stops as I anticipate him pulling it open and striding through. Instead he turns and leans back against the wood. How can a gaze that’s so cool, suddenly burn so hot. So hot that it feels as though it sears the skin from my bones, leaving me scorched and exposed.
‘I—I thought you were in Africa?’ I say, my fingers straightening the pale leather table mat.
‘And I thought I could trust you to tell me the truth.’
Seems we’re going straight to the heart of the matter. I shake my head, feeling the blow of his words, wondering exactly what it is he knows.
‘Where did that come from?’ Not really a question; more like an evasion.
‘From the place of requiring explanations. From the place of wondering what the fuck has happened while I’ve been gone.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I counter lightly, cursing the tremor in my voice.
Kai pushes away from the wall with the air of a sullen teen.
‘No, that’s not how this goes,’ he says, folding his arms once more, his long legs beginning to pace the room. ‘You’re going to tell me everything that happened this morning, right before you tell me why I haven’t yet heard it directly from you.’ He comes to a stop standing by my chair. I don’t look at him. Not until, that is, his fingers grasp my chin.
‘Let go.’ I’m surprised how cool my voice sounds, despite the blood pounding between my ears.
‘Then tell me.’ His fingers tighten and then release just as quickly. ‘In your own words.’
Clarification and justification. But of what? Exactly what? How can he know when I haven’t even decided myself?
I sit back in my chair, not sure which direction to expect a further attack. ‘Why are you behaving like this?’
‘Babe, you can be more original than that.’ Hurtful. The word hits like a barb.
‘Kai, don’t do this.’ Please don’t call me that.
‘No, you don’t get to be defensive,’ he growls. For the first time.
‘How about you stop attacking me, then?’ I thread my palms between my legs to stop them shaking; to stop myself from throwing them into the air.
‘Attack—you think this is an attack? How about subterfuge? On your part. What happened to “you shouldn’t hide things, ever”?’
His words slash through the air like a knife as he throws back my own words. Subterfuge and denials. Attack and retreat. Why does this feel like a battle?
‘I’ve got no idea—’
