About A Girl: Chapter Three
Kaiser Medical Clinic
Manhattan, New York
She was awake when he left.
Mara knew she would have woken up beforehand; she knew what she was like on anaesthetic. After Danyal had all but dragged her to the hospital, she’d been diagnosed with a hernia caused by not looking after herself properly after the transplant surgery - and within a few hours, she’d been in theatre. Mara wasn’t even sure what time of the day it was. But she was properly awake now and, hearing a small sigh from the corner beside her before the door closing quietly shut, her eyes flew open and she grimaced slightly as she sat up a little in her bed.
Dany had stayed with her. The whole time. He’d even stayed during her stomach being examined by the doctor - a Doctor Kaiser who, Mara was sure, was exactly the clinic’s namesake - when she’d told him not to, which had led to her clutching onto his hand as she tried not to cry out in pain. Even when she’d first been wheeled out of surgery, she knew he’d been there; she couldn’t remember much, just his voice… And a hand on her forehead.
You know. The exact kind of thing she didn’t want to remember.
Grimacing slightly and placing a hand over where she could only feel a dull ache, Mara leant over to the small table and picked up her phone, collapsing against the pillows as it rang. She purposefully ignored the arm chair beside it, a messy hospital blanket splayed across the seat.
“The fact you’re calling me means you’re not on a flight, which means you’re not coming, which means your drama with my idiot cousin means you’re not attending my wedding-”
“Pixie, please.” Mara groaned, her limbs still feeling heavy. She tapped the loudspeaker and prayed Danyal wouldn’t be back anytime soon. She didn’t think he’d left the hospital - not for a second - but that confidence was confusing, and her brain felt foggy enough already from the anaesthetic. “Have you spoken to Zarina yet? Danyal said he’d call her.”
“Some shitty excuse about you being hospitalised?” Pixie asked haughtily - but Mara smiled slightly, at the tiny glimpse of concern she’d heard. “Yes. You’re an idiot.” There was a small pause. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I just can’t do much for a few weeks. But I promised I’d show off my badass dancing skills for the wedding and I promise you, it’ll happen. It just means I need to take it easy here first. I’ll still help from here however I can.”
“You’re still coming?” Mara mumbled in agreement, still smiling as she heard the hope in Pixie’s voice. “Well… Then of course you should look after yourself. Be careful.” Mara shook her head slightly, as she practically heard Pixie throw her hair over her shoulder. “Obviously you can’t be ill and like, embarrass me or whatever. What’s even wrong with you?”
“A hernia? Don’t old men get that? Why do you have one?”
“I’m extraordinarily special and I decided I needed to steal some of the limelight away from your Bridezilla routine.” Mara teased, shifting slightly to be more comfortable. Her throat was a little dry and her head was still not great, but she’d be fine. In fact, she didn’t feel any pain at all. “Actually… Pix, do you have a few seconds? To talk?”
On the other side of the phone, sitting in traffic in Pakistan, Pixie hesitated as she looked up at the gigantic Centurion Mall - two towering blocks of every shopaholic’s dream - fast approaching.
“Of course.” Pixie lied, twirling her finger in the rear-view mirror, motioning for the chauffeur to turn around. Pixie guiltily ignored his look of long-suffering. They’d been stuck in traffic heading towards the Centurion for the past forty-five minutes. It didn’t matter. Mara only ever called when something was wrong - and seeing as she was calling from a hospital bed, Pixie was placing bets that there was more going on than usual. “How can I help?”
This time, it was Mara who hesitated.
She’d lost a lot of friends, in becoming Mrs Danyal Zafar. To all of the friends she’d grown up with or made in New York, before meeting Dany… She’d changed. Mara had been bitter about it at first, angry even - and maybe a part of her still was, at the unfairness of it all - but… She understood now why they’d thought that. She and Danyal, for lack of a better term, had been building their brand. Everyone was supposed to fall for it. If they’d done a good enough job to fool the Zafars, even now, was she surprised that her friends had, too?
Not to say it wasn’t… Shitty. She hadn’t noticed the distance so much when she and Danyal had still been playing their stupid, stupid game, but… Once she’d left, after the wedding, the absence had become… Obvious.
It had been a lonely few years.
It was why she hated being back in New York; hated actually seeing Raj and Pixie, rather than just texting them, even bickering with Ari again. It was so easy to fall into the old routine, but it was just a constant reminder of everything she’d faked and lost to get it - when even that wasn’t as simple as it should have been.
She didn’t have anyone to talk to about any of this. There was TJ, sure, but… After everything that had gone down with Divvy since the wedding, Mara felt like it was almost cruel to keep bringing it up. Not to mention there were some things he just… Couldn’t understand. No therapist would be paid enough, or have the patience, to follow the complications of Mara’s history, let alone understand it. Her family were more in the dark than the majority of the Zafars were. There was nobody to talk to, nobody to ask for guidance, to ask if she’d grown - except the people in it, the people Mara resented for being a part of something that trapped her.
At least, that’s how you felt before, Mara reminded herself. You’ve changed. You’ve grown. You spoke to Danyal.
Mara immediately frowned at herself. Spoke was a push at best.
As much as Mara wanted to be fiercely independent, to not need to talk to anyone… She’d spent the last few years doing that. And it had been fun! It had. It had been good for her and forced her to see things and understand things she hadn’t wanted to, things she would have always found excuses to avoid.
The problem with that was that now she was running out of things to keep her busy. Some things just needed confronting.
And Pixie was as close as she had to a friend.
“Do you remember when you asked me the real reason why I left Danyal when I did? After the wedding?”
“And you fed me some bullshit excuse about a moment of clarity between throwing up vodka shots?” Pixie snorted - before pausing and settling comfortably into her seat as her chauffeur headed for the motorway. “…Yes. I take it I’m about to hear the real story? This is exciting…”
Mara frowned, glancing at the closed door of her room again.
“Maybe a bit too much, Pix.”
Red Light District
SoHo, London
Three Years Ago
“I cannot believe you just did that.”
“Oh, relax.” Samara giggled, stumbling slightly on her studded red Valentino’s. Immediately, Danyal’s arms went out to steady her - but she avoided them, just about regaining her balance, before standing in the middle of the street and continuing to laugh at herself some more. With a frustrated clench of his jaw, Dany kept walking. “Oh, what is your problem? We were having fun-”
“Fun?” Danyal repeated, whirling around to face her. “You, alongside with everyone else’s significant other, got onto the stage and started dancing with the-”
“With the pole dancers? Strippers? Or are you going to be diplomatic and call them exotic?” Mara snorted, using air quotes above her - before giggling to herself some more. “Get over yourselves! All of you! What, you drag us all to a strip club for drinks-”
“I didn’t know we were going-”
“And all of the significant others, girls and boys alike, are meant to sit there meekly and not have our own fun?” Mara snorted. “I saved the night! You saw how much fun we had up there on stage, everyone loved us-”
Dany clenched his fists and kept walking, trying his best to drown her out.
“Oh, oh, what’re you going to say now, hmm?” Mara called after him. Reluctantly, he pulled to a stop - she was getting louder and with the silence around them, it only seemed worse. “That I embarrassed you? Is that it?”
“I never said that.” Danyal muttered, more to himself than Mara. Unluckily for him, she happened to hear.
“Is that why we had to run out and leave so early? Why you needed me to make excuses for you?” Mara pouted, stopping in the middle of the road again. Thankfully, it was mainly deserted - it was almost 3am and although the rest of SoHo was still buzzing, where they’d parked was a small ocean of silence. Just a few steps in front of them, the car - a deep red Corvette, parked by some greenery - waited and Danyal could have jumped for relief upon seeing it. “Because your ego got bruised that, seeing as we’re not at the turn of the century, you and your Neanderthals couldn’t just ogle at those dancers in peace? At least we all gave you a show, it’s not my fault you’ve got the goods and are now too afraid to touch them - well, me, I mean, obviously -”
“Get in the car.” He muttered, unlocking it as they approached. Not bothering to check on her behind him, he opened the passenger door - but instead, Mara stayed where she stood a few feet away, swaying slightly in her shoes. Dany sighed. “Samara, please, can you just get into the car? Please?”
And then, much to his relief, she slowly began to walk towards him…
… Before slamming the door he’d been holding open shut and snatching the keys from his fingers, twirling them on her own.
“You’re absolutely ridiculous if you think you’re driving in this state.” Danyal told her coolly, trying his very best to not be antagonised. Once he showed he was… It was game over. He knew her when she was like this; she was mischievous and if he didn’t play his cards right, they’d be out here all night, bickering like schoolchildren because Drunk Samara found it funny.
“Is that the real reason?” Samara asked, her eyes glinting in the light. Dany stared down at her impatiently as she stepped closer. “It is, isn’t it? I was right when I gave that crappy excuse when I saw you were on the verge of a tantrum. That’s why you’re pissed.” Mara laughed as Dany’s jaw clenched. He was so easy to irritate. She stepped closer again, closing the distance between them and draping an arm over his shoulder. Dany sighed and stared off at something in the distance - but no, no, that was no fun! Placing her fingers on his cheek, she forced him to face her. “You saw us all goofing around on that stage, saw everyone watching, and you hated it.” She moved closer still, her voice dropping slightly. Underneath her arm, she felt Dany’s shoulders tense. “Because in that moment, all you wanted… Was for me to be doing that with just you watching, in our bedroom.” Samara murmured, so close now that her chest was brushing against his. “That’s the real reason, right?” She tilted her head slightly, triumph radiating from her as soon as Dany looked away again. “Or am I wrong?”
The last few words were whispered, her breath - smelling sweet, with an alcoholic tinge - warm on his neck.
He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t have.
He showed weakness - he swallowed.
“You know, if you want me so badly,” Mara continued conversationally, balancing on his shoulders now. Automatically, Dany went to steady her as she leaned into him - and cursed himself silently for falling for the trap, when his hands found the bare skin of her sides, warm and with curves that perfectly fit into his hands. “I’m right here.”
Mara raised an eyebrow as Dany’s facade broke - the perfectly blank, almost bored expression making way for pure confusion and wide eyes.
“You’re - you’re drunk.” Dany said uncertainly, careful to keep her at arms distance. Mara only smiled. “Just - just get into the car and you can - sleep it off-”
“You know, I kind of just don’t feel like doing that?” Mara hummed.
He clamped his mouth shut as, eyes on him, Mara sauntered over to the car and sat on the hood.
They said nothing for a few moments, challenging each other silently. Daring the other to make another move, to try and be in control.
She wasn’t wrong. Of course she wasn’t - and they both knew it, the same way they both knew that the way she was sitting on the damned hood of the car was to show off her legs.
She didn’t look beautiful tonight. Well, she did - of course she did, she always did to Dany -, but this was more than that. So… Much more.
They’d had to share the bedroom at the Zafar house while the other members of the family were still there; but they’d barely spoken when not in public and certainly not touched. She needed her space. Danyal understood that. After everything that had happened at the wedding, he was amazed she was still there at all - and he wasn’t some kind of animal, he could control himself. Of course he’d wait.
But he’d been so preoccupied with Mara’s feelings, that he’d forgotten everything else.
Until he’d seen her on that stage.
He’d known, as she’d swayed her hips in time to the music and elicited hoots of approval from customers and dancers alike, that she’d been doing it for him. To piss him off, to get his attention. If he’d doubted the attention part before, he certainly wasn’t now.
He didn’t want to look at her the way he was right then. He didn’t. But he couldn’t help himself.
Because she’d been right.
She was in short black dungarees, a tight-fitting cropped white T-shirt that showed off her dancer’s body and siren red lipstick to match her high heels. Now, Dany watched as she pulled her hair from the messy ponytail she’d kept it in, shaking it slightly at the roots as it fell into natural, tousled waves.
He hated how he couldn’t look away. It was a game. This was all some kind of game.
And yet… A part of him was desperate to keep playing it.
“You’re really pretending to not think about it?” Mara finally asked knowingly.
“You’re drunk, you don’t know what you’re saying.” Dany replied robotically. What did he do? What was happening? What did he do?
“I’m really not as drunk as I’m letting you think I am.”
“If you were sober at all, you would not be suggesting…” His confidence faltered as he struggled to find the right words, Mara watched him with raised eyebrows. “You wouldn’t be coming up with this kind of… Plan.” He finished feebly.
“No, if anything, it proves how aware I am. It’s ideal, really.” Mara told him, crossing one leg over the other and leaning on her arms. Danyal pretended to look down the road, rather than acknowledge how long her legs looked in front of him. Supermodel legs. “I mean, we’re both incredibly frustrated at how things have turned out, aren’t we? Me in my gilded cage, you my keeper.”
“This is a way of… Releasing that frustration.” She shrugged - before walking towards him. Dany crossed his arms over his chest, helpless as he watched the car keys disappear into her back pocket. Maybe it was hope - maybe he was just imagining things - but for a split second, his mind registered that she wasn’t as wobbly on her feet as before. “I think it’s really rather sensible. Well done me.”
Dany shook his head, as Mara stared up at him from underneath those damned eyelashes, chewing on the inside of her lip.
“Whatever point it is you think you’re trying to prove-” Dany clamped his mouth shut as Mara yanked him forward by the belt loop of his jeans.
“I don’t need to prove a point, you already did it for me by manoeuvring that hot mess people are calling a wedding.” Mara said sweetly, biting back further amusement as Dany did everything he could to avoid eye contact. The empty road was so interesting! Or the tree in the corner. Fuck, even the dirt underneath his shoe. It was frustrating because Dany didn’t quite know why he couldn’t look at Samara… And yet he knew the more space between them, the better. “I know you find me attractive and I know the only thing that stopped you before was this knight complex you have going on-”
This time, Dany did look at her - with incredulity. “What? That’s what you think?”
“- but you quite nicely sorted out that little problem for your already questionable conscience by putting a ring on it, so let me reassure you-” She yanked on the belt loop again slightly, jerking Dany forwards so that their faces were inches apart. The street lamps behind them meant half of his face was in shadow and there was a cold breeze that made her shiver against his body - something that didn’t go unnoticed, seeing as Dany’s whole body seemed to tense. “- I am a little drunk, but only enough to know that I would be too proud to say this sober.” No reaction. Mara sighed. “Let me put it this way - I want someone’s hands on me and it’d be in your best interests for those hands to be yours.”
Dany’s face remained the same - that frustrating impassive -, but Mara smirked to herself as she felt his breathing get heavier against her chest.
“Why do I feel like I’ll regret this later?” Dany finally said - and just like that, Mara’s mouth went from a smirk to a full blown, Cheshire cat smile. “So what’s your plan? You won’t get in the car-”
“I mean, we’re standing in the middle of SoHo, if we ever got really desperate, there are at least several street corners we could disappear into and nobody would bat an eyelid.” Mara quipped - and even though it was the very last thing he wanted to do, as their eyes met, Dany couldn’t help but match the smile Mara too was trying to fight, at her own quick humour.
The smiles faded as their eyes stayed on each other.
Mara’s breathing… Stuttered slightly as, as carefully as if she were made of glass, Dany’s hands moved from her hips to her ass, pushing the two of them closer.
Mara’s slapped her hands over his as his fingers spread, ignoring the tingling she suddenly felt from her throat down to her ankles.
“Nice try, but you don’t get those keys until you pick a side.”
Dany’s eyes narrowed as Mara stared up at him in defiance. The tips of his little fingers were brushing against where denim ended and skin began and, unthinkingly, they began to trace small circles.
It could have been seconds. It could have been minutes. Who knew?
“Oh, fuck this.” Dany finally muttered - and Mara laughed into his mouth as she found it smashed against hers.
Within seconds, she was squashed between Danyal’s body and the cold car, her back automatically arching as she shivered into him from the icy metal.
They were kissing. This was happening.
His stubble was rough and chafed against her cheek as he kissed her, her rings scratching against his scalp as her fingers tangled in his hair; they scrambled against the, their whereabouts forgotten, to push Mara up higher so that her legs could wrap around his waist, making her hum in approval as, once successful, she felt his torso, strong and firm, against the bare inside of her thighs through his thin shirt.
He smelt like the smoke of the strip club and his own aftershave, like a damned warning, every breath of it she took in reminding her that this was a terrible, stupid choice - but that was what somehow made it better, what made her kiss him harder and pull him tighter and press her pelvis up against his chest before she could think better of it.
Fuck who saw them. Fuck what they were doing, fuck how complicated everything was. For every reason she could think of to stop, the feeling of Danyal’s hot tongue in her mouth and how their bodies writhed against each other with each move of it was a reason to carry on. She was breathless; they both were, kissing furiously and not pausing, because if they did the spell might break and that was the last thing either one of them wanted. No more reality. No more thinking.
His hands were all over her, ass to the bare skin of her waist, to the inside of her thighs and back again. She couldn’t keep her eyes open - but when they did flutter at the feeling of Dany dragging his lips down her neck, his stubble grazing the path, she could only see her wedding ring glinting in the darkness from where it rest against his cheek, keeping him in place as he moved.
He was rough, but not too rough - he pulled her by the roots of her hair to give him more access to her neck, but only hard enough to leave her grinding her hips against his chest again, her hands gripping him by the waist. Every time they moved against each other, he made a small grunt as her heels pressed into his behind and every time he did, Mara couldn’t help a smug smile.
“You’re a - you’re an - an - asshole.” Mara managed to say between silent gasps, gripping the back of his neck with all of the strength she had. He was. He was a fucking nightmare, this was all of his fault, this whole damned mess was his fault - and she was proven right, right by how he smirked into their next kiss, their kisses so hard that it felt like they were both bruising each other. That’s what it felt like. A million bruises, each one packing its own punch, a sensory overload that took her out of her own head, one that she didn’t want to stop. “Put - put me d- the car -”
Dany nodded - but neither one of them moved, still tangled in each other, their surroundings silent save for the sounds of their lips messily moving against one another and their bodies writhing against the car.
When Dany finally let go, Mara threw him the keys - and seeing one another like that, seeing Dany’s hair sticking up in odd places and with red lipstick smudged all over the both of them, made their eyes sparkle with lust.
“So you fucked him in the red Corvette?” Pixie gasped, scandalised. “That is my favourite car, you tramp-”
Back in New York, Mara began to splutter at the phone in horror.
“Wh - I - no! No!” She said quickly. Why had she decided to tell Pixie this, again?! “No, no, we did not fuck in the Corvette, oh my God, Pix!”
“Well, then, what happened next? Details, now, I honestly didn’t know my cousin had it in him-”
Mara grimaced at her use of the word cousin.
“No. No more details.” She muttered, the anaesthetic - and the memory - leaving a horrible taste in her mouth. There was something nasty about remembering it in the harsh light of the hospital room. The few times she’d allowed herself to remember were… Were times when she’d been alone, in the dark and in bed, using the memory recreationally and knowing full well the disgust and embarrassment she’d feel for it afterwards.
Except, unfortunately, now it was too late to just stick back into a box in the back of her head.
The way their lips had met again within seconds of slamming the car doors shut behind them. How Danyal had almost crashed three times on the drive back, speeding and skipping red lights, as she’d deliberately stared at him, breathing heavy, as her hand had slipped under her dungarees (Mara cringed to think it). They hadn’t even made it up the stairs without her dungarees being left in a puddle behind them.
Mara felt her face go hot underneath her hands. Uuuurgh, she hated herself.
“So is this the real reason why you stopped drinking?”
Peering between her fingers, Mara stared at the phone incredulously.
“Um, yes, is that not enough of a reason?” Mara huffed. “I - I - I woke up the next day, realised what an utter… Moron I’d been and I got the Hell out of there-”
“Why are you telling me this, Sammy? Hmm?” Pixie was the only person to call Samara Sammy, the same way Mara was the only one to call Pixie Pix. She sighed. “What? You want to do it again? Pick up where you left off?”
“Is this not weird for you to even say out loud?” Mara groaned. “How can you be so - so… No, I don’t want a repeat, I just-”
“Oh my God, you so do, I can hear how thirsty you are and I’m a continent away.” Pixie cackled gleefully. “What’s stopping you?”
“I don’t know, Pix, the imminent threat of departure?!”
“Are you planning on leaving him, then? For sure?”
“I- I don’t know, I just-” Mara struggled helplessly. “But we’re meant to talk and after that happened, I just - I just needed someone to understand that - it’s - it’s complicated, how are we meant to talk without actually talking about that-”
“Then don’t talk about it, use your hospital time to do the opposite of talking-”
“No, Pix, I don’t know what to do-”
“What you want! Do what you want, Sammy, you’re married to what used to be one of the most eligible bachelors on the planet who apparently is not living up to the stereotype of his reputation being more impressive than his skillset, enjoy it!”
“You’re not - I told you, it’s more complicated-”
“Maybe more than I thought before, but nothing a quickie in the Corvette can’t fix.”
“You’re the worst, you are being of no help at all, where is the emotional support-”
“Honey, you didn’t become friends with me for emotional support. You became friends with me because I don’t spout bullshit.” Pixie told her smugly. “Now, I’m bored of this conversation. Keep me posted and get well soon. Bye.”
“Wait, I-” Mara began - but the call had already ended, leaving Mara alone in the silent hospital room. “That’s… Awesome.” Mara muttered to herself, sighing.
Pixie didn’t understand. Nobody did. That was the whole problem.
Whether she had wanted to or not, Mara had… Opened up a conversation with Danyal, before the surgery. A conversation she couldn’t have, even if they needed to, because she didn’t know where she stood in it.
So far, she’d managed to dodge discussing… Everything, any of it, but now? Now how was she meant to carry it on? When the last time they’d seen each other was… That night? Or even after what Danyal had said? Love you. Present tense.
She was angry, she was. It was… Frustrating! How could he just say that, so easily? Love wasn’t a light word. It was heavy with meaning and commitment and other terrible, horrible things that created an automatic response for Mara to run in the opposite direction when she thought of them. She’d had so many people say they loved her and yet it always amounted to her getting hurt. Being hurt. And Danyal was no different. He’d done the same thing, like everyone else, on their wedding. He’d betrayed her trust.
How was she meant to make him understand that? How, when maybe what he’d done was right?
It was fucked up. It was so fucked up and - and wrong! The thought of someone actually knowing what was best for her that wasn’t herself? At a time when she’d been so desperate to find that part of herself? No! It wasn’t - it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right!
… But here she was, sitting in hospital because of Dany. Because of the ties he’d forced her to have. She’d admitted to herself on the way back from the gym that she’d decided, once everything had imploded with her parents after the surgery, to come back to the Zafars, to New York, whether she’d wanted to or not. Of course Dany had been a part of that. She’d known he’d be back in New York for his birthday.
How could both things make sense in her head? Because they did. How could they?
What was she going to say to him? How was she meant to explain?
“I heard you on the phone.” Mara winced slightly, keeping her eyes trained on her hands, at the sound of that voice. A voice that only meant trouble. “You seemed… More awake than before, so I brought you coffee. If you wanted it, obviously.”
Mara nodded - before taking a silent, deep breath and looking up at him - the cause of all of the trouble, Danyal, hovering awkwardly in the doorway.
“You look terrible.” She mumbled, offering a half-smile. She wasn’t lying. Underneath Dany’s eyes were deep-set dark circles and he hadn’t shaved, his hair sticking up in odd places. Dany said nothing, standing there in his crumpled jumper and skinny jeans. “Here.” She motioned for the coffee.
Handing it to her carefully, Dany sat in the armchair that Mara just knew he’d slept in, pushing the blanket aside.
They both stopped, hesitating awkwardly, for interrupting the other.
“Me first?” Mara asked, smiling politely as Dany nodded. She placed the coffee on the table - it was too hot - wincing slightly, and immediately ignoring how Dany seemed to want to reach out to help her. She sighed.
What was she meant to say? How was she meant to say it? Forget how much he may have heard - she couldn’t be bothered to think about how that was about to impact things. The more she thought, the more confused she’d become.
“It wasn’t some magical moment. Maybe that’s what’s making it so hard.” She finally began, hoping that, what she’d previously found to be Danyal’s annoying tendency to read her mind, would suddenly come in handy. If the way he seemed to tense was any indication, she was in luck. “And I know, I do, I know I should be used to that by now, but-”
“But what?” Dany interrupted, looking confused - and angry, too. Mara chewed on the inside of her lip, feeling like a child. “You thought, after everything that happened, you wouldn’t?”
“Not so soon.” She admitted quietly, ignoring how Dany began to shake his head. “Maybe not ever. Look, I’m - I’m trying here, I’m trying to be honest-”
“Not so soon?” Dany repeated, ignoring her. Mara sighed. “Not so soon? So you thought about it happening, at least?”
“You’ve just had corrective surgery for a kidney transplant you didn’t tell anyone about.” Dany told her seriously, clenching his jaw. “And now is when you choose to be honest?”
“That’s what you’re seriously upset about?” Mara asked in disbelief. Dany shook his head again, as if she was somehow the one missing the point. “Now? I’m finally having this conversation with you, one you say you’ve waited to have for so long-”
“Then why does this matter? Why does it matter that this is why we’re having it?!” Mara motioned with her hands to the hospital room.
“Because I’m meant to be looking after you!” Dany snapped - before sighing, as Mara shrunk slightly into the bed, his words… Frightening her. Not his tone. His words. For fuck’s sake, why did he keep saying things that just… Confused her more?! “I - what did you think? That marrying you and yes, yeah, I did hope that was how it would end and I shouldn’t have done it that way, but when I married you, did you think it was nothing? That I didn’t know what I was promising?”
Mara swallowed, trying to buy herself time.
“I - I don’t know.” She replied weakly, struggling to form coherent sentences when Danyal was looking at her so… Earnestly. “Maybe. I don’t know what went through your head-”
Dany laughed, though not because he found anything particularly funny.
“What went through my head was that I couldn’t lose you and you didn’t want to lose me and that was the only way I knew how to fix things, because you were too scared to understand your feelings.” Dany muttered, his voice laced with irritation. He was even scowling as he said it. Mara didn’t know what to say. “You know that-”
“No, I don’t-” At this point, she was arguing more on reflex than anything else.
“Why would you put yourself through this?” Dany demanded, setting his coffee aside. Mara sighed, collapsing against her pillows and closing her eyes. “Why would you give him a kidney after - after the way he treated you, after everything we did to get rid of him-”
“Everything you did.” Mara muttered to herself… And when there was no answer, she opened her eyes.
Dany was staring at her, temporarily speechless, with round, horrified eyes.
“If I did something wrong - if you changed your mind about your Dad when I told him to leave - Mara, I’m sorry-”
“Urgh, no, don’t do that. Don’t.” Mara groaned. The night of their wedding; when her father had shown up at their hotel and Dany had sent him away. “Don’t - whatever happened between me and him, it’s not something you should be apologising for, Christ-”
“Yes, it is, if I failed you-”
Mara immediately stared at him in disbelief - after staring in incredulity at the sky.
“This isn’t about you, Danyal! Or your pride! This is a decision I made, I’m a grown ass woman, I can handle my own decisions-”
“Urgh, Samara!” Dany groaned. “I’m not saying this is about me or my pride, I’m just - I was trying to help-”
“And in case you hadn’t noticed, Danyal, you trying to help me somehow never ends up the way you want it to.” Mara burst, unable to help the ironic peal of laughter that fell out too.
It was reflexive; at the sound of her laughter, wry and ironic but without the bitterness he’d already heard so many times… Dany managed a sad smile.
Something ached in Mara’s chest. It just felt so… Familiar.
Mara hid her face, pretending to focus on fiddling with the hospital sheets, to try and hide her tears.
“When did everything… Change?” She asked quietly - and immediately closed her eyes, blocking out the sight of Danyal opening his mouth so speak, knowing exactly what he was about to say. “Please… Don’t - say it, don’t repeat yourself. I can’t hear that again, not - not yet, I just-” She shook her head, her eyes still squeezed shut. She cringed even more, remembering how… Similar this conversation was, to one they’d had once before. “I - I genuinely don’t understand. We were nothing-”
“Nothing?” Dany repeated sharply.
Mara’s eyes flew open, only to squeeze in annoyance again - this time, at her own words.
“That’s not what I meant, I just - how can you even know that you mean it?” She tried to sound reasonable; she tried to sound… Fair. Instead, she just came out patronising. “Don’t look at me like that, Danyal!” That currently meant a poker face tinged with silent outrage. It was a look specific to the eldest Zafar sibling’s face. “You said you loved Divya. We went through that whole charade because of you saying that, constantly-”
Dany was already shaking his head before she’d finished talking.
“Samara, please tell me you’re not serious.” He said, setting his coffee cup aside. Mara rolled her eyes. Here we go. Why was it that every conversation they had ended up here? Frustrating and counterproductive?! “I know it’s different with you-”
“No, you don’t know, you don’t and that’s the whole point!” Mara burst - and fuck it, she was here now, this was happening, so why bother holding back? Where had that gotten her? Oh. Right. In hospital, in New York, struggling to say all the things she needed to with this idiot.
How many times had she gone through this? Imagined this scenario? Created a perfectly crafted script?
Internally, she sighed to herself. When was she just going to accept that her life wasn’t perfect?
“Have you ever just considered,” Samara said through greeted teeth, taking a deep breath and ignoring the slight dull ache she felt coming from her stomach. “That maybe, just maybe, Danyal, your view of love is a little bit skewered?” She continued quickly, seeing the indignation on Danyal’s face, raising her voice. “You grew up hearing about your parents. Your parents, who are not the rest of the world. Who had to deal with difficulties and strain in their relationship, before they were even together-”
“What is your point?” Dany interrupted. Mara took a deep breath as he stared at her, incredulous. “I know about my parents-”
“And you assumed that whatever you had with Divya was real, the first girl you’d ever been with, because it was difficult and you weren’t together yet and you assumed it was l - shit!”
Dany immediately stood to attention as Mara winced, the pain in her stomach sharper than before.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” She lied, swatting Dany’s awkward, hovering hands away. Too tired to continue shouting, she motioned for him to sit on the bed - but he remained standing, eyeing her with a stern expression that, she knew, was just a mask for concern. “I just… You don’t know, Danyal. You jumped from her to me. That’s not…” The L-word lodged in her throat. “That sounds more like a rebound than anything else.”
“I know what this is.” Dany muttered, shaking his head. “Just because you don’t want to feel like you’re worth that, doesn’t make it any less true.”
Mara’s head jerked up at that. How did he do that? Get inside of her head, ruin everything? She wanted to have an answer! He’d leave the room in ten seconds and a million brilliant, witty scathing ones would enter her head - because ordinarily, they were already there -, but with him, everything was delayed. She wasn’t herself.
How could they have what he thought they did when she was a different person around him? Only him?
For once, pride worked to her strength; instead of looking away as her eyes filled up with tears, of frustration and anger and disappointment - and not just at him, at everything, at her parents, at her life, at being in a hospital bed sitting in front of Danyal Zafar at all - she stared at him belligerently, taking some comfort in the sadness that flitted across his face at her pain.
“I’m sorry, I-” Dany sighed, running a hand through his hair. She kept staring. She didn’t trust herself to stay in… Control, if she opened her mouth. She’d leant on him when she hadn’t wanted to enough times before. “You need rest and this isn’t helping, I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll go.”
Samara pressed her lips together, hard, as with a sigh, Danyal headed for the door.
Hoe, don’t do it, she warned herself. Don’t you fucking dare, you a strong and independent young woman, don’t you dare - she repeated it over and over, hoping it would sink in.
He was halfway to the door when some of that slipped out.
“Don’t.” Not the part she wanted - and she felt it afresh, like she did every time she thought about their wedding, every time she was honest and it hurt. Disappointment in herself for being so weak. Fear that, just like he’d said, Danyal was right to know her better than she did herself.
A part of him almost wanted him to keep moving, as for a split second, he stilled in the middle of the room. It would make things easier. The lines wouldn’t be so blurred.
But he didn’t do that. Instead, as if he’d been planning on doing it all along, he immediately turned on his heel and sat back down in the armchair next to her bed.
Samara swallowed back her tears, telling herself it was from the anaesthetic that was still working wearing off, as she shuffled in bed, turning her head away from him.
As her shoulders tensed in her efforts to not cry, she felt Danyal’s hand on hers - and as much as she hated herself for it, as confusing and horrible and weak as she felt, she clutched it so hard back that she thought her bones may break.
She took a few minutes to try and compose herself - and if it hadn’t been for the vice-like grip still on his hand, Dany may have thought she’d fallen asleep.
“I miss my friend.” She finally admitted, her voice thick and heavy from emotions she hated on the regular. “I just want my friend back, Dany.”
Silent seconds, ones that felt like minutes, ticked by - and then, in a voice that was sure and strong and so similar to the voice she remembered from simpler, happier times, he replied -
“I haven’t gone anywhere.”
It made her feel physically sick to think that maybe, just maybe… Maybe this whole time, he had been right.
Conde Nast Headquarters, One World Trade Centre
Manhattan, New York
“Hello, Esme. Is she busy?”
“Oh, hi, Mr Zafar!” Esme, on of Soph’s many, enthusiastic young assistants, beamed up at him. “The last I checked she was on a call to the board, but there’s nobody in there so go right ahead!”
Aman nodded, already halfway through the door.
“Yes, of course - no, absolutely.” Soph muttered, smiling as Aman, upon entering the office, bent down to kiss her on the forehead. She watched as he collapsed onto the sofa in the corner, throwing his blazer to the side and pulling on his tie. God forbid he would just take a board position and look after himself over the damned company. “No, honestly. Yes. Okay. Okay, bye.”
“Long day?” Aman asked, closing his eyes and letting his head rest against the sofa back - and not being at all surprised when, a few seconds later, he felt Soph slip under his arm, her head resting against his chest.
They sat there in silence for a few minutes, Aman’s arm falling from the sofa back to rub circles into Soph’s bare shoulder.
“I should have spoken to you first.” Aman finally said, looking down at her. Soph said nothing, looking up at him. “I’m sorry, I just… She was so excited. And I thought if I told her-”
“Aman, don’t pretend you didn’t manipulate Zarina’s interest in the land acquisition.” Soph huffed, shaking her head. Aman sighed as Soph pulled away, forcing him to face her. “What are you doing? She’d hate the idea of being lied to-”
“I don’t want her to feel pressured-”
“So you’re betraying her trust in you instead?”
“No, I’m not, she’s my daughter and I am trying to help her.” Aman said sternly. Soph shook her head. Aman sat up a little straighter. “Look at what happened with Raj! She felt pressured, she said no-”
“And I’ve told you, I don’t think that’s over-”
“She wants it to be and that’s all I need to know.” Aman replied quickly, sighing as Soph got to her feet and began to pace. “What have I done that’s so terrible? This way, she can get to know him and if they like each other-”
“Aman, she is going to feel ambushed! Even if she does end up liking him, taking away anything natural about it will make her run the other way-”
“Of course I do, she’s our daughter!” Soph laughed, without humour. “Of course she’ll run in the opposite direction! She throws herself into her work, just like we used to and ignores anyone telling her she needs anyone else, because she doesn’t want to believe it, and she shouldn’t-”
“She does not need this boy. Or any other boy. The only people she needs are her family.” Aman said sharply… And although it was in a voice that would have had anybody else quivering, the years had done nothing to Soph’s only response being an unimpressed expression. “But… But she could be happier! She shouldn’t feel like she has to feel alone, what’s wrong with me wanting that for her? You said so yourself, he sounds like a nice boy-”
“It’s not about us finding him nice, Aman.” Soph paused her pacing to stare at her husband in shock. “We didn’t choose each other and we ended up fine! Why can’t you trust her own judgements, her own taste?”
“No, you’re just deciding that this boy may be a good match for her and sending her, unknowingly, to meet him for what she thinks is a business meeting!” Soph scoffed. “Have you thought about what he may say to her? How she may feel like the business?”
“Do you honestly think I’m that stupid?” Aman huffed, smoothly reverting from English into Urdu… Which, to anyone else, signalled something serious. “Of course nobody thinks she’s there to… Meet him for that reason! They know she’s representing this company, this family-”
“And since when did people so easily accept a beautiful young girl only being interested in her career?” Soph challenged, matching his bilingualism.
“Other people living in the past isn’t my problem,” Aman said hotly, his temper flaring now, too. “Our daughter is a beautiful, intelligent, fantastic young woman who is an asset to any company she chooses to work for-”
“And if you trust her so much, she should be able to make this decision!”
“I’m not forcing her, Soph! If she likes him, then there’s nothing standing between them and if she doesn’t, so what?”
“How do you know she’ll like him? Just because he’s good for her on paper-”
“- we know our little girl-”
“The way we knew Tara?” Soph challenged, in English again - and Aman stared up at her in surprise, as if he’d been slapped, as her eyes began to take on a new, watery sheen. She slipped into Urdu again. “I’ve already lost one daughter on the assumption we know her, I’m not losing another one!”
“Tara made her own choices. Informed ones.” Aman said grimly, his jaw setting firmly. Ignoring Soph’s immediate head-shaking, he continued, staring at the floor. “No, don’t defend her. She knew what she was doing and Zarina is nothing like that, we can trust her, Tara chose not to be a part of this family-”
“And look how much we tried to do for her, how we tried to help her.” The calm in Aman’s voice, after all these years, was no longer intimidating; nor was it comforting, for that matter. It was irritating, because it acted like an off-switch to Soph’s anger, whether she wanted it to or not. “Are you honestly telling me my shehzadi doesn’t deserve more? After what she’s endured? That she doesn’t deserve to have help in finding happiness?”
“Don’t you dare put those words in my mouth, Aman.” Soph warned. Before he could open his mouth to protest, she continued. “Of course I want those things for her! But the moment she knows we had any hand in this, she will feel pressured, to fake her own happiness for our sake-”
“If it works out with this boy, why does she have to know?” Her husband demanded, finally rising to his feet. Soph stared at him in disbelief. “I’m serious, don’t look so shocked! If she finds happiness with someone, why do we need to tell her she received help? Why do we need applause for it?”
“I’m not saying we do, but I’m pointing out how easily this could hurt her - and she’s going in blind, considering someone as a life partner versus a business associate are two very different things-”
“Was it different for us?”
Soph shot her husband a look of long-suffering.
“We weren’t looking to go into business with one another.”
“That’s not the point.” Aman said, half-smiling. Soph shook her head… Immediately fighting her own. “If she likes him, as a business partner or not, she’ll stay. And we know where she is, who she’s around and that she’s safe and that’s something I failed her in before.”
Soph’s shoulders sagged - and, forgetting everything else they’d said, she stepped forwards, cupping Aman’s face in her hands.
“Aman, listen to me.” She sighed, her eyes filling up with tears. “You can’t spend the rest of her life trying to make up for something that isn’t your fault. And if you failed her as a parent, then I did too-”
Aman shook his head, his jaw still clenched, as he fought back tears of his own. Even now, Soph hated seeing him like this; hurting, feeling like he’d failed. Not when she’d seen what real failures in a person looked like, and he’d been the one to pull her away.
“You’re not her father. I am. It was my job to protect her then and I didn’t, but in this way, I can.”
Soph shook her head - but, knowing nothing she could say would ever make any difference, silently pulled his neck downwards and pressed her forehead against his.
“Aman, just because she may stay for the challenge, doesn’t mean she could like him - or love him, or be happy with him-” Soph stopped, seeing the wry smile that began to flicker over Aman’s face, slowly replacing the sadness. “What?”
“She’s our daughter.” He told her quietly - confidently, too, as if she were missing the obvious. “If he’s the challenge to her I think he is, wanting to stay for the challenge and wanting to stay for him won’t be that different.”
“Sounds as if someone’s talking from experience.” She sighed.
Aman pulled her close, before giving her soft, chaste kiss on the lips - one that, even years and children and life’s nightmares later, made Soph feel like she was in her twenties again, falling uncontrollably with a man she knew she shouldn’t. Free-fall. Even after all of this time, that kiss felt like free-fall.
“That’s how we found each other.”
“Not everyone’s like us.” Soph warned.
“No.” Aman agreed. “But she’ll do better.”
Soph sighed to herself internally as she clutched him close, wishing she could share his faith… But she couldn’t. Because she had a horrible feeling that, at that age, Ari was just like her.
New York to Islamabad, En Route
Zafar Family Jet
Of their fourteen hour flight, there was only three left… And Ari was hoping to keep up the record so far, of her and Raj’s awkward silence.
She hadn’t wanted it to be awkward, of course. But it was.
The first few hours hadn’t been too bad; she’d been focused on work, prepping for her meeting. Pixie’s future father-in-law was the Minister of Culture; she’d already asked Pixie, who was already his darling favourite, to arrange for a quiet corner for them to discuss the project. After that, Ari could - as if she hadn’t already - set up a visit to Lahore over the next few days, amongst the wedding preparations, to meet the mysterious businessman behind the deal himself.
Ari chewed on the inside of her lip, glancing out of the window. She closed her eyes behind her sunglasses, feeling the warmth of the sun and the brightness of the sky on her face through the plastic-reinforced glass… And recited all of her research again.
A (presumably) filthy-rich businessman of the name Khalid Ahmed - at least, according to the documents on public record - had acquired the land underneath one of Pakistan’s major UNESCO Heritage Sites; the Lahore Fort and its surrounding Shalima Gardens, both of which had began to fall into further disrepair than age, due to the UNESCO financial scandal from almost twenty years prior.
The Pakistani government had offered to donate a significant sum to the renovations, provided UNESCO could provide the rest; but, unable to make such a commitment and under pressure to maintain other sites in Western countries, they had denied, causing a standstill. Without the UNESCO Heritage status, there was little anyone else would be able to do in terms of protecting it; but with a structure that had existed since the sixteenth century, the status meant nothing without the funds to keep it maintained.
Enter Mr Ahmed. He’d approached the Pakistani government and UNESCO as one, she remembered, offering to buy the land deep to the site. This, he’d argued in a written statement also found in public record, would give him a personal incentive to see the property on his land restored, using private funds and investors. His return would be rent paid, partly by UNESCO and the Pakistani government from the funds they’d hoped to spend on repairs, for a lease on the newly-bought land… And one of the most ambitious property deals in business history.
For the government, it worked out cheaper to pay towards a regular lease than the hassle of a full restoration, as well as the unexpected finances any big building project would accumulate. For UNESCO, it helped their PR nightmare in showing that people were still willing to work with them - even if it meant that their access to the project itself was riddled with fine print and where the money was used was beyond their control.
Despite all of this planning, however - and Ari couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the thought -, nobody had stopped to consider how they would announce this news to the public.
To many, even those perhaps not the most… Privileged, when it came to education, saw the Fort as a shining example of what had once been; of a rich and diverse cultural history shared with other parts of the region. In layman’s terms, it seemed as if Khalid Ahmed were buying a piece of history and capitalising on it - and seeing as political reform in Pakistan was still relatively new, it felt to many like a step backwards.
As Ari had mentioned to her father; it was a PR nightmare. An image of bulldozers and cranes heading into the gardens had been used by news outlets everywhere, even internationally; and not even Soph’s influence on trying to create a more balanced view had done much good. It also didn’t help that Mr Ahmed didn’t seem very… Camera-friendly; although it had taken the use of a private investigator, a very short look into his life had found a hedonistic, lavish lifestyle, including a thirteen-second video of Mr Ahmed at a club in Amsterdam, surrounded by sex workers.
Thankfully, nobody else had seen the footage; but his living in the shadows had only made the public more suspicious. As they’d been preparing to board, Ari had been reading a recent piece from the past twelve hours, questioning whether ‘Mr Ahmed’ was just a non-existent crime cover-up, as part of a laundering scheme.
It was made worse by the fact that ‘anonymous sources’ claimed, should Mr Ahmed be satisfied with this venture, he would be next settling his eyes on the Badshahi Mosque, also in Lahore; another centuries old structure known for its architecture and history, as well as still being an active place of worship.
That was what had turned the deal from a PR mess to Hell on Earth. Protestors had been camped outside of the Gardens for weeks, preventing workers from entering and destroying whatever equipment and supplies they could. Mr Ahmed had been forced to hire security teams to watch the site around the clock, which, even when not accounting for the over twenty hectares of land, had been of… Very little help.
Not that any of that mattered.
Ari knew she’d be able to fix all of that.
Zarina Zafar was Pakistan’s darling - and India’s too. She was young and attractive and always camera ready; stylish but not fashionable; modest but not outdated. She balanced her identities as Pakistani, Indian, English and Muslim all at once, with an air of naturalness that left the public breathless. She worked for her parents, had never been snapped or rumoured to be doing anything untoward and her private life was kept secret, despite her wide circle of celebrities and powerful figures being only complimentary.
She was considered the epitome of class, grace and mixed cultural identity in two nations that warred with the overpowering identity of the young Western man or woman. She was everything people wanted their children to be and, by some miracle, everything people her age wanted to be in the press; charming, put together and just the right amount of goofy on her Instagram stories.
Of course, the whole thing was an act - or, at least a large majority of it. Ari was in publishing, for God’s sake. She knew how to present an aesthetic.
And that was exactly what she would do with the Fort project. It would still require careful planning, of course, but it could be done - Ari convincing the public that this was in their interest, all the while supporting the Zafar family name. She could do it. She knew she could. It wasn’t cockiness or over-confidence - this was what Ari did every day at Vogue in London.
The only variable was how… Amiable Mr Ahmed would be to work with. Especially seeing as he was allergic to being in the public eye, which was already part of the problem.
Well… Part of the problem. Although it was a minor loophole at best, the Minister of Culture needed to approve the Zafars’ involvement in the project - and that was fine. But seeing as she hadn’t yet had the opportunity to visit Lahore, it would probably take some bluffing…
… That would be easier done if Ari had the safety net of being able to hang up.
She paused - before quickly texting Pixie, seeing if she could arrange the meeting for… Now.
Forget waiting around in Islamabad for a few days. Ari was too excited. Plus, realistically, once she was in Pixie’s sights, she wouldn’t be let out of them - not to mention Sarfaraz pressuring her to babysit Raj… And her brother and Samara could arrive at any moment…
Ari played a game of Tetris 4 - the entire family, save her mother, were locked in a fiercely competitive private league, of which Kabir held the title - as she waited for Pixie’s reply, purposefully not looking in Raj’s direction. A few times, she’d wanted to try and… Talk - the flight seemed like a wasted opportunity otherwise - but thankfully, her most useful trait had given her the wisdom not to.
Stubbornness; it was stubbornness - because if Raj was waiting for her to go back on their agreement of playing nice for Pixie’s wedding, he could wait forever.
Barely a few minutes later, Pixie had text her back, with a video meeting set for the next two minutes.
“Hey!” Ari hissed, throwing a pen - and landing it square in Raj’s temple - at her sleeping jet-mate, making him jump slightly and glare at her. “I’m on a business call, don’t interrupt me.”
With an irritated look that clearly highlighted he had been better off left asleep, Ari turned away and quickly patted down her hair - before pressing on the number Pixie had sent.
It answered on the second ring.
The Minister immediately greeted her in Arabic, to which Ari correctly responded.
“So, Miss Zafar, what can I do for you? Were we not set to meet once you landed?”
“Yes, sir, we were - but actually, I knew that once I landed for the wedding, I wouldn’t want to leave!” Ari immediately said, with her chirpiest voice and trademark smile. She didn’t see Raj glance sleepily over his shoulder at her - before smiling slightly as he fell back asleep. “And ultimately, we’re all in Islamabad for such a happy occasion, the less we have to discuss work the better, surely?”
“Of course.” Minister Bilal said kindly. “So you want to discuss your father’s corporation’s involvement with the Fort project?”
Ari sat a little straighter in her chair.
“Yes.” She said resolutely. “As you know, my family and I are deeply interested in preserving our country’s history and even on an international level, my mother has been recognised as a patron of the arts-”
“Miss Zafar.” Ari paused, quick to hide her confusion, as the Minister suddenly seemed… Awkward. “Your family’s involvement is not at question here. The government’s concern is, rather, about how you may be of service.”
“Excuse me, but I’m not entirely sure I understand your meaning, Minister…” Ari said calmly, her nails digging into her palms underneath the table. If they were happy to have her involved in the project, why was she being forced to jump through hoops? “Are there any doubts in our integrity?”
Ari fought to not raise an eyebrow as the Minister quickly began to tut away such an accusation. Despite it being implied, Ari thought angrily.
Ari didn’t respond well to being questioned. Ever.
“You’re a very shrewd girl, Miss Zafar - and I would expect no less, given the family you come from.” Ari’s mind began to race, because she didn’t like this one bit. Despite knowing it was… Next to impossible, she began to wonder - was this about what had happened to her, in London? What if she was prepositioned? Or they thought she was weak because it had been kept hidden? She’d known this would come out eventually, she knew she would never be able to bury it deep enough - “But let’s not pretend - we don’t have the time amidst such a busy, happy occasion!”
Ari just about managed a polite smile.
“The bad press is bad for the government. It makes my job more difficult, when at this current time, I’d much rather it felt easy!” The Minister smiled. “At first, this… Khalid Ahmed character was an odd quirk for privacy. But the terrible way this has been handled - which you’ll improve, I’m sure - means that his privacy is no longer our concern. Especially after receiving certain… Intelligence. Bring the real man behind the plans into the light. This is my only condition of your involvement.”
Thankfully, she stopped herself from saying that aloud.
Knowing the Minister was watching her much too carefully for her to relax, Ari simply decided on… Nodding, understandingly. If was better that he thought she was confused than totally lost, which was the truth - because the real man behind the plans? What the Hell did that mean?
Though the intelligence part? That must have been the video. Ari hadn’t found it too difficult to get hold of the video. She couldn’t imagine it would have been difficult for the Pakistani government, either.
“You do… Know the arrangement regarding Mr Ahmed’s role in the public eye, don’t you, dear?” Minister Bilal asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“Of course.” Ari replied easily… Lying through her teeth. She remembered the mega-watt smile of her father’s lawyer, Harvey and all of the lessons he’d taught her with it. “But we’re in the business of discretion. I don’t think it my place to comment, but now that I know what it is I can to do start-” Ari said shrewdly, making Minister Bilal laugh slightly. “- helping, consider it done.”
“It’s that simple?” He laughed. Ari shrugged, trying to feign her irritation as innocence. “Well, I have no reason to doubt you. And when I see you next, no talk of business - we’ll all be becoming family!”
“If God wills.” Ari replied in Arabic, her nails digging so hard into her palms under the table now that her hand was beginning to feel numb. “I’ll see you soon, Minister.”
“Would you like to talk to Pixie before you go?”
Ari fought not to roll her eyes. How transparent. As if she’d forgotten about the wedding; about how, if she messed this up, it could also affect her cousin.
… Okay, maybe she hadn’t realised the Minister would be so transparent (in an underhand sort of way) about it, but it was still insulting to have it done so obviously.
“No, thank you, Minister. It was a pleasure and we’ll all see each other soon.”
Ari had already hung up before he’d finished saying his goodbye.
Ari stared at her blank phone screen for a few moments, chewing on the inside of her lip. That… It hadn’t gone badly.
It also hadn’t gone particularly well.
She’d had her reservations about working with Khalid Ahmed after seeing the intel, for obvious reasons - and if you didn’t respect your business partner, what kind of foundation was that? - but now… She was frazzled. Secret identity? Who would be stupid enough to do that, let alone someone as dumb as whoever it was in the video - and these were questions that needed answering, only if she’d been right in understanding Minister Bilal.
The only person Ari wanted to ask for advice was her father. But she couldn’t. She had to prove she could do this, by herself…
Ari didn’t bother to hide how she rolled her eyes at Raj’s voice.
“Ar - Zarina…” Ari sighed and glanced over to Raj, who was now watching her carefully. “If you need a hand-”
If she wasn’t taking her father’s help, she sure as Hell wasn’t taking her ex-lover’s.
“According to a financial report, two incredibly poor business decisions taken by you cost the Gemini Group almost a quarter of a billion dollars.” Ari interrupted, bored and irritated at having to say it at all. For Raj not knowing better than to keep things between them… Formal. They’d lasted this many hours, hadn’t they? In a compressed metal box in the air? Didn’t he know how to read a room? “I appreciate your offer of help, but I think it needn’t be more conscious than me doing the opposite of what you have recently.”
Yes, she was lashing out - and yes, she felt guilty. But she bit back her urge to apologise and swallowed it, because she and Raj were strictly business. Family business, for now. That was it. There needn’t be any more familiarity than required, thank you very much.
“I was going through a tough time.” Raj told her quietly, his jaw clenched.
Knowing exactly what he meant, Ari raised an eyebrow, turning away towards the window.
“Business is business.” Ari told him, surprised to find that, although she’d said it before… This time, she really meant it. Wasn’t that something? Maybe living in London again hadn’t been such a weak choice after all. “So it sounds pretty pathetic to me.”
Contrary to her last statement, Ari was not a fan of toxic masculinity; she’d suffered at the hands of it before, a thought that automatically made her fingers and toes curl. But she was a fan of Raj’s pride and the distance it would place between them… And judging by the angry stare Ari felt on her shoulder and Raj’s silence, it had worked.
Ari stared down at the brightly coloured fields below, fiddling with her fingers. She’d already made the meetings in Lahore. Who was she meeting with?
Raj would offer to come, if she gave him even the smallest of hints that something was… Sketchy. But she couldn’t be afraid forever. And anyway, who would dare mess with the people’s princess? A Zafar?
They’ve done it before, a solemn voice told her from deep inside of her head.
Ari swallowed. No. Not today.
Picking up her phone, she sent Samara a quick text; asking if she knew enough people in Pakistan to ask around for her. Samara’s nickname on Ari’s phone, the bored-looking emoji, immediately replaced her name upon Ari pressing on it.
Samara replied almost instantly.
> Are you joking? I’m sitting in a hospital bed.
> Probably not, I’m too white to be brown and vice versa. Bonus of being married to your brother. But who?
Ari, ignoring the last comment, typed quickly. From the corner of her eye, she saw Raj was trying to fall back asleep - properly this time.
Thinking for a moment, she quickly added.
Don’t tell my brother. Trying to do this on my own.
Shit. Had she been stupid to ask? Was Samara going to tell Danyal out of pure spite? Ari had trust issues, of course, but she also had difficulty keeping her mouth shut when she wanted something - but surely Samara would understand independence, surely -
> Sure. Ari breathed a small sigh of relief. Her brother would freak out if she knew anything about what Minister Bilal had just said. Actually, it was probably a good thing that, by the time he and Samara arrived in Pakistan and he did find out, theoretically, Ari would have sorted out the whole mess and would be working on the actual project rather than… Silly little politics between silly little boys. The best person to ask would be Tabby, though and it’ll look more suss if I ask than you in random conversation. Ari frowned. Tabina? Samara’s cousin? You okay with that?
Knowing Samara would know better than to be offended - or had been so many times, that she’d stopped caring, Ari replied - which one’s Tabby? All of Samara’s cousins, the set of sisters she’d lived with in New York - her uncle’s children -, looked the same. Tall, dark haired, elfin.
Now, Ari was usually very in control of her emotions and expressions. It had taken years of trauma and emotional pain to do so and she was pretty proud of it. But in that moment, reading Samara’s last message, Ari physically jerked back, staring at her phone as if a sign had just flashed over the screen calling her poor and ugly.
Her fingers began to fly over the screen, even faster than before -
What? Since when? I didn’t recognise her!
Back in New York, Mara sighed to herself, before going into her pictures; one of her and her cousins a few years ago, and another of Raj… And the girl, Ari realised, she’d seen him with when Sy had taken her to his apartment when she’d landed in New York.
> Nose job, lip fillers, some other shit.
Who is her surgeon?? Ari replied frantically. I didn’t recognise her and I *know* plastic procedures.
> She spent a lot of money on a lot of procedures. Are you going to ask her?
Ari made a face of disgust, again, too preoccupied with Samara’s message to mask it. She didn’t care if Raj saw.
No thank you. And then, after a second thought - I’d rather stick pins in my eyes. She watched curiously as the typing icon appeared, disappeared and then reappeared. Great. Offended?
Finally, she received Samara’s message - and couldn’t help but smile slightly at the crying with laughter and passive-aggressive smile emojis in droves, with no text.
Ari sent the grumpy one back… And, on a whim, wished Samara well soon. She set her phone back down on the table before Samara could reply.
That was enough friendliness for a little while… And anyway. Apparently, they both had more important things to do.
turnnoffyourmind
areudirty
izzy806
jbbartram-illu
andulkaphoto
snowghoul
2087