Page 154 of To Tango, with Desire

I read the note once. Then twice.

He’d hurt her. Omar had broken her.

Scorching hot rage filled my veins now. I couldn’t avenge my mom, I couldn’t break his spirit like he had hers, I couldn’t do a damn thing. I crumpled the paper in my hand, squeezing it until I had nothing left.

He hadn’t deserved our love. Or my respect.

I let the tears flow, praying it washed away the bitterness. But experience had taught me that not even time could heal all wounds. I would just have to bear it.

Through the heartache, I made a new vow. A promise I would keep for the rest of my life. I wouldn’t let this break me. And I sure as hell wouldn’t let it break my brother.

We deserved better than that.

THIRTY-NINE

ZANE

Ipaused in the foyer that evening.

It was Christmas Eve. The house was decorated, the music filled with festive cheer and there was lightness in my heart that made me feel like I was floating on air.

I’d flirted with the idea of taking Amira somewhere cold in Europe, to have her experience a white Christmas for a change, but I knew we both needed to be here. To make our first memories of the season at home, together.

God knows, life had been hectic for us both lately.

I’d managed to get Kade admitted into a rehab clinic over the holidays, wanting to ensure that he was there for as long as he needed.

Amira’s mother still refused to talk to her, and now that her siblings had been forced to take sides, Amira found herself suddenly without her family. Sahar would call when she could, but Nasrin was adamant that she never wanted to speak to her youngest child again.

While Amira put on a brave face, I knew the decision was hard on her. She missed her family. Missed her niece and nephews.

I undid my tie, following the sounds from the back of the house. And the smells.

It hit me now as I approached the kitchen. A smell I hadn’t taken comfort from in a very long time. It reminded me of home.

On the kitchen island sat plates and bowls of various scents, colors, and textures.

And standing at the rice cooker was Amira, hair bundled up, face flushed, looking more beautiful than ever.

“What’s this?”

She turned, brushing at an errant hair with the back of her hand.

“This is Christmas Eve dinner. For us.”

I stared at the dishes, feeling something I couldn’t name swell up in my chest. “Is that—

“Mahshi, yes. I hope the recipe is okay. Maryam helped steer me in the making of it. My mom makes a different variation.”

“I haven’t had homemade stuffed grape leaves in a long time.”

She smiled. “I wanted to make something special for you. And given these things take hours to prepare, I didn’t want to be doing it on Christmas Day, so I thought a pre-Christmas cooking feast was in order.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Help me with this rice, then we can sit and eat.”

I picked up a pair of oven gloves and helped her flip the bowl over onto a flat serving plate. When we lifted the hot aluminum container, a perfect semicircle of rice stood, fragrant. “You made tahdig.”