#henbee

Zafar Family Home Manhattan, New York 2044

From over the top of her tablet, Ari eyed her father who, she knew, was pretending not to notice. Out of the corner of her eye, Ari watched one of the kitchen staff begin to pour her breakfast smoothie; and she was sure she’d heard her mother on the stairs, which meant she’d be joining them any second now and Dany had joined their father on his morning jog and he, like a weird Duracell bunny, did everything insanely quickly.

Ari’s window was quickly closing.

Ari jiggled her foot impatiently under the table as she waited for the smoothie knowing that, once delivered, she and her father would have a few, crucial moments alone. Once her mother came downstairs, the conversation would become… Domestic. Her mother strictly forbade business talk at the dinner table - or breakfast bar - and however interesting Ari knew her father found their informal business meetings, she also knew her father knew better than to disregard her mother’s rules. And her brother was a stickler.

“Thank you, Gina, sorry for disturbing your morning routine!” Ari said quickly as the smoothie headed her way, all but snatching the glass from the chef’s hands… And motioning with her eyes for Gina to hastily leave. Sleepily, Gina padded away - much to Ari’s relief. “So. I wake up to have breakfast with you, and you don’t even talk to me.”

Ari watched her father’s face - concentrated on what sounded like a cat video - break into a small smile, pausing his screen. Flecks of grey dotted the black of his stubble, something Ari still found… Disconcerting, but… Nice. Her father was always clean-shaven and in one of his tailored suits, the Wall Street legend and business tycoon, Aman Zafar; but with his morning stubble and in his slightly sweaty jumper and shorts, he was just… Her father. Still the amazing businessman, clearly, but more… Hers.

“The weather is still quite cool for this time of the year-”

“Papa!” Ari huffed impatiently, making her father laugh. “I - that’s not what I meant-”

“Your mother will be downstairs shortly, what have you been reading today?”

Ari grinned; before grabbing her breakfast smoothie and sitting beside him, shuffling her stool so that it was next to his.

“What do you think about this?” She asked, thrusting her tablet at her father’s chest.

Ari tried not to look too… Eager, as her father’s eyebrows raised in surprise. The screen showed an article by The Dawn, Pakistan’s main newspaper… And, not for the first time in recent months, was debating the latest news regarding the controversial acquirement of a UNESCO heritage site in Lahore.

“What part of it?”

“They’re saying that, even with renovations starting, they think people will still boycott the opening of the Gardens.” Ari said excitedly… Possibly coming across… Eager. Oh well. It was too late to hide it now. “Particularly now that the legalities of the deal have been announced. The whole reason people are unhappy is ridiculous, this is just a PR nightmare rather than a bad deal!”

“Hmm.” Aman murmured, pretending to focus on the screen. “And why do you say that?”

“The developers haven’t bought the sites, they’ve bought a lease on the land for the next century and rather than have UNESCO pay rent - which still would have been cheaper than the renovations they said they couldn’t afford and the government’s additional funding -, they’re funding the renovations. It’s essentially economic blackmail.”

“Oh, really?” Aman asked innocently. “How so?”

Ari was too excited to notice.

“The backlash UNESCO received for even considering removing the fort and gardens from the heritage list, based on haphazard economics and political pressure, was ridiculous. Another PR nightmare, something they’re unlikely to recover from in the considerable future.” Ari… Not gushed. Zarina Zafar did not gush. “By buying the land, not only does it highlight UNESCO’s already vulnerable position, but it undermines their authority in other, similar territories. To then not allow the developers to maintain property on their own land, out of charity, would imply the body itself isn’t in the business of charity-”

“Which it isn’t, because it’s a business.” Aman reminded her gently.

“Exactly!” Ari beamed. Her father’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s all legal and binding, UNESCO is just deliberately fanning the flames of the outrage of a heritage site being bought because they have been backed into a corner.” Ari let out a small huff, finally out of breath, watching her father expectantly.

He did not disappoint.

Placing the tablet gently on the breakfast bar, he sighed, shifted in his seat slightly and crossed his arms over his chest.

Yes.

“Shehzadi, you’ve taken a very keen interest in this deal in the past few months.” Ari straightened, nodding. This was business. Emotions had to take a backseat. “Why do I feel like your interest in this deal is linked to you having breakfast with me before it’s even six in the morning?”

“I am having breakfast with you before it’s even six in the morning because I am a wonderful, doting daughter who has missed spending time with her father whilst slaving away, working in London.” Ari replied airily, making her father smirk. “But it just so happens that I also had a pressing question to ask you.”

Ari smiled as her father did.

“Ah, of course.” He nodded, leaning forwards. “And what’s that?”

Do it. Do it, do it, do it!

“Do you believe I can do anything?”

“Always.” Aman replied, without hesitation.

For a second, a fleeting second, he saw his little girl again; with chubby cheeks and her mischievous grin, beaming up at him from his lap - but it was quickly gone and replaced with the woman in front of him, young and determined, instead.

“I think I can fix this mess. With the Pakistani government and the press, with UNESCO, allowing renovations to continue and in a way that profits the company.” Ari said, just like she’d practiced in the mirror that morning, her voice coming out strong and sure.

“And your mother? Your position with the magazine in London?”

“I can do both.” Ari promised. “I can, Papa, I promise I can-” Aman didn’t doubt it for a second. “- but I’m bored there now. The rate at which I can climb up the ranks with Conde Nast on my own merit has plateaued after a very steep rise which, whilst only an attest to my quick wit and frankly astounding intellect-”

“Of course.”

“- I want to do something more. Something… Different.” Ari sighed. “I want to-”

But Aman interrupted before she could finish - because she didn’t need to. He’d seen it on her face, the longing.

“You want to come home.”

“Not just home.” She clarified. “I know I can move back whenever I like. But it’s about coming back to the city, and not just as Mum’s daughter-”

Her father scoffed.

“You have never just been your mother’s daughter.”

“- exactly. Zarina Zafar, businesswoman of the new age, following in her father’s legacy but daring to go where others refuse.” Ari said dramatically, staring off into the distance over her father’s shoulder. She could see it now. Right there, in the Features section of The Crimson; Harvard alumni’s daughter creates business history. She’d never made it to Oxford and Harvard, ruined the family tradition… Lost the ability to make a new one. The Zafar men had, since their Ari’s great-grandfather, always attended those top two institutions. With everything that had happened… Ari had lost the chance to make it so that all of the Zafars did. This was a way of remedying that. “Will you let me?”

“As your father, of course I encourage you to challenge yourself.” Aman said practically - and although Ari deflated slightly, she nodded, hoping to hear something more optimistic come from her father’s mouth next. “But in business terms, whilst I appreciate the enthusiasm, there’s information you don’t seem to be privy to that could largely affect any plans you have in place-”

“The company that owns the subsidiary the developers belong to are our competitors, the ones who just hustled Uncle Jai.” Ari finished - and barely bit back her triumph, as her father stared at her in surprise. “I don’t know if you know my father? Wildly shrewd and successful businessman and general money-making legend?”

“Flattery only gets you so far in business.” Aman snorted, smiling as he sat back.

“I’m more than capable of making up the rest of the distance.” Ari said confidently. “So? Can I do it without Uncles Harvey and Mike ruining me before I’ve even started?”

“They wouldn’t dare.” Aman muttered - and Ari knew full well that was because she was so adored. She wasn’t ashamed of it. “And from what it sounds like… I have very little choice.”

Despite Ari having given herself multiple (slightly plagiarised) TED talks in her bathroom mirror, assuring herself of that very moment… Somehow, she still couldn’t quite believe it.

“So that’s a yes?”

“I look forward to hearing the details.” Aman nodded, sticking out his hand - and laughing as Ari shrieked, throwing her arms around him and squeezing tightly instead. “When can I expect to hear them?”

“You can’t! It’s all a surprise, I have a meeting booked for tomorrow!” Ari grinned, clapping her hands. Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes!

“I thought you were travelling to Pakistan tomorrow? For Annie’s wedding preparations?”

But Ari was already running out of the kitchen, breakfast smoothie in hand.

“I am, I am, I am!” She shouted - before whizzing past her mother, standing bewildered in the hallway, and running up the stairs. “Got to go, plans to make!”

She was doing it. Really, actually doing it.

… And for a second, Ari paused outside of her bedroom, as pure terror hit her.

Was she crazy? She was about to immerse herself into one of the most controversial business deals in Pakistani history. This was a major project, the type of which she had no experience in, where she’d be… Brandishing her parents’ surname, having it brandished against her will, at every opportunity. She was naive to think people would see it as her own venture. She would always be an extension of her parents’ respective companies and what made her think, for even a second, that her so-called charm (something that, deep down, Ari didn’t even believe existed) would be enough to sway people who worked for it, let alone competitors?

And what about Annie’s wedding? Making sure it ran smoothly, making sure Annie - a much beloved to Ari, but nonetheless, total Bridezilla - was happy, making sure she didn’t offend Annie’s future in-laws, including her father-in-law-to-be, the Minister of Culture… Not to mention her idiot brother’s messy marriage? And Raj, whatever that even was (and by that, of course she meant maintaining it not being anything)?

She couldn’t do this. There was no way. She wasn’t strong enough.

She had to.

Squaring her shoulders, Ari exhaled slowly.

“Sink or swim.” She told herself confidently - even if she didn’t feel it. “Sink or swim. You have phone calls to make.”

Dorothy & Michael Hintze Sculpture Gallery The Victoria & Albert Museum, London 2041 3 Days to Go

“You’re late.”

“I broke my phone.” Danyal murmured, shrugging on his blazer. If he noticed the outrage on Mara’s face, he didn’t show it… And as Mara continued to stare at him, she realised he wasn’t going to.

“And it didn’t occur to you to use any other device to let me know-”

“I’m here now.” Dany interrupted - and although he glanced up at her, it was only for a second, and paired with a brief, polite smile that let Mara know the conversation was over… If it had ever been one. “Shouldn’t we be outside?”

Before Mara had even opened her mouth to respond, Dany was already gone; through the smart, black double doors of the gallery, and beyond; into the square surrounded by beautiful, red-brick buildings with arches and carvings, the gallery pool in the middle.

The garden had been transformed for this; their registration-party-cum-brunch, the event marking the beginning of their wedding week. All of Danyal’s parents’ important business associates were in attendance and, as Mara had been reminded a million times (deliberately and not), acted as an introduction for Dany into the business life. He would start working with his father soon and, well, the Zafars’ business was a family affair, in every sense - and every one of the guests present were being reminded of that, notified of Danyal and Samara Zafar’s arrival onto the scene.

Samara Zafar. Mara’s stomach curled, nausea twisting and slithering its way up her throat in disgust.

Dany’s stag had overrun. He had been due to leave Vegas two days ago, at leisure, without cause for stress - and instead, for some dumbass reason or another, hadn’t left until the late hours of last night. Mara had been making excuses for him all morning - when she hadn’t even been given the courtesy of being told by Danyal what was going on in the first place.

“Dany-” Mara called out quietly - and though there was no way he couldn’t have heard her, he walked on, as if she’d never spoken.

Mara stood as still as she could for a moment, centring herself. She held her breath in her throat and, pretending she was looking idly at the pleasant scene before her, complete with classical music and the tinkling of glasses and polite conversation, rooted herself to the tiny spots on the floor where her heels connected to the ground.

That was the first time she and Danyal had spoken since… Everything. Since before he’d even left Pakistan.

Mara felt stupid for expecting anything different, for thinking he’d do anything but look right through her - and it hit her, then, that as much as she thought she’d accepted it, maybe she hadn’t. Maybe Danyal had heard her message and just… Not really cared.

She felt hollow.

Three more days and he won’t be allowed to make you feel like this anymore, Mara tried to tell herself.

Except feeling it wasn’t the problem. It was the fact Danyal had somehow snatched that opportunity from her in the first place, under the guise of friendship.

But so what? Right now, Mara had a role to play - and she was in too deep to back out now, and they both knew it.

So with a subtle shrug of her shoulders, Mara made sure her pleasantly neutral mask was fixed - and went back out to the crowd guests.

. . .

It was suffocating.

She felt like she was living in a dream; as time wore on, everything felt cartoonish. The smiles of the guests, the forced laughs, the… Excess of it all. The walls of the museum, enclosing the garden, felt like a wall - not to keep them in, but to keep everyone out, and Mara wondered whether, if people who wondered what kind of people hired a museum garden and gallery, who wore fancy designer clothes at brunches, would actually be able to stomach it at all.

Mara had never thought about it like that before. But she couldn’t unsee it - and now, she felt… Glad, to know that she wouldn’t be exposed to it for much longer. In fact, as Mara continued to talk so another faceless banker and her wife about honeymoon destinations and the stock exchange, Mara felt a surge of… Disgust at those around her.

It was a blessing, really. She just wanted to be… Away. And it was good to remember that, remember why she’d come up with this (admittedly) stupid plan in the first place - to find a way to be free. Because - and it as a whole concept, as a fully-formed sentence in her mind - hit her like a ton of bricks; this was her mother’s world. Maddie Kay’s world, filled with fake people and lies and clouds of perfume.

And yes, Mara didn’t think the Zafars were like that. But they were the exception, the strange exception, to an overwhelming rule; and they still belonged in this world. It was theirs, truly theirs, moulded how they wanted and that was… Too much, Mara realised. It was too uncomfortable, to know one family could do so much.

As Mara watched Dany from across the garden, speaking quietly in the corner with his father… She realised that he didn’t even know. Danyal Zafar existed in a world totally separate to 99.9% of the population, and Mara was on the other side of that fence. Her uncle wasn’t in this league. And even if he was close to it, Mara was his… Charity.

Maybe… Maybe if things were different. Maybe if they were both away from this all, things would be easier - Mara bit back a small smirk -, maybe they’d be doing as Dany’s family wanted, maybe they’d fall in love and everything would fall into place. But they wouldn’t. They… Couldn’t. Even when they were standing side by side, like they had been back inside the gallery, Mara realised that the hollowness she’d felt was a world still standing between them.

Mara felt a pang of satisfaction, though, as a small voice reminded her - Divya doesn’t belong here either.

A pang of satisfaction immediately followed by a fresh surge of resentment and then… Surprisingly… Hurt. Because Divvy Kapoor, a girl whose mere name had Mara instinctively rolling her eyes, that was who she was losing to -

Mara blinked, her mask slipping for a moment. Losing to? Losing what, exactly…?

She was tired. She was losing her goddamn mind. And so she made her excuses and, pretending to continue to talk to those on the peripherals of the red-bricked square, made her way to the doors; before slipping into one of the double doors leading back into the gallery.

Mara felt an overwhelming urge to run as she did - but, giving one of the wait-staff a quick, polite smile as they made eye-contact through the glass, Mara figured it wasn’t exactly subtle. She needed a breather. She wasn’t going to get that if the entire garden thought she was getting cold feet.

There it was again - that surge of… Negativity, the overwhelming feeling of being trapped.

Mara took a deep breath - before looking at her surroundings. The chequered floor, the beautiful mix of sculptures, the well-lit museum shop, filled with books on design and art and fashion, tucked away at the top of the small set of stairs in the corner.

There are worse places to be trapped, she reasoned.

Glancing out to the party again, Mara realised that the tents acting as a stock for the canapés and drinks obscured some of the gallery from view - and, with a quick sigh of relief, Mara quickly moved further down the gallery… Until the tents were all but obscuring her from view.

Sighing in relief, Mara leant back and closed her eyes, her bare shoulders brushing the pillar behind her.

She enjoyed that solitude for a few moments. The sudden quiet of the gallery, the peace of only seeing the darkness of her eyelids.

When she finally opened her eyes, looking straight ahead, Mara found herself raising her eyebrows at the sculpture in front of her.

Well, if it could be called that. It was more like some sort of… Carving, but clearly more than that, set up on the wall above a fake fireplace. On the edges, crowds of people watched, aghast, at the figures in the middle; a naked couple, kissing passionately.

Intrigued, Mara pulled her earphones and phone out of her pocket (which she’d had the good sense to keep on her) and slowly walked over, already drowning out the sound of her heels by the time she had reached it.

The first song to start playing had immediately been loud and upbeat - and, irritated at the disruption, Mara quickly chose another song from her playlist; slow, based on the piano and a duet.

She looked back up at the sculpture, before glancing over at the plaque beside it.

‘Harry Bates - 1850-99 War 1887’

She didn’t bother reading anymore. Although it wasn’t exactly cool to admit at dance practice or during business classes, Mara loved art. She loved the subjectivity of it, how you could feel the raw emotion put into something real that you could see and touch and still feel. An annoying plaque telling her about technique or historical context just ruined the initial magic.

They were both barefoot, the couple - and hopelessly entwined, almost desperately so, in a way that had Mara tilting her head and feeling slightly… Sad. One of his hands cupped her neck, the other under her arm, keeping her twisted to face him; and as one of her hands motioned for the crowd behind them to go away, to be ignored, the other clutched onto the arm holding his neck, keeping them locked together.

There was something… Brutal about it. Desperate. Angry.

I hate you, I love you, I hate that I want you, you want her, you need her, but I’ll never be her…

Mara flinched slightly at the song in her ears - and she quickly blinked away the embarrassing tears that suddenly threatened to spill down her face for no reason, as Mara realised that she was… Jealous of the woman in the sculpture. A figment of someone’s imagination. Someone not even real.

But the woman in the sculpture was wanted. It didn’t matter about the crowds jeering, how she was motioning for them to keep away - because there was also something nonchalant about it, like she didn’t care, because she was too caught up in that kiss. Because that man was her anchor, and she was his, and they were constant and Mara didn’t have anyone, not anyone, in her life who felt like that to her. Or, who felt that… Right.

And yes, her daddy issues were not the same as the issues of the couple in the sculpture in front of her, but it was… Resonating, somehow. Changing the song, Mara stepped closer, looking up at the couple; and it was truly beautiful, the detail - she could feel it, feel how much they needed each other, how it was about survival and love and feeling the need to be safe, more than two naked people engulfed in lust.

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds - but to Mara, it felt like hours, and she stared so long and so hard at it, something aching inside of her at the scene before her, that by the time she turned away, it felt like if she hadn’t, she’d have burned.

Mara swayed slightly as soul began to play in her ears, and she looked at the two options before her - the part of the gallery she’d already glimpsed, by the doors, or this other side - slightly darker from the tents covering the window and with less traffic. When she’d stood with Dany she’d caught busts and marble casket coverings, as well as large, impressive sculptures of struggling men and beautiful women… But looking to the other side, Mara felt her eyebrows raise at the fewer, scattered sculptures in front of her… Including a naked male torso, caught in the corner of Mara’s vision.

Intrigued, Mara walked over.

She smirked to herself once it was in front of her. It was a torso, a very nice, male torso, lacking a head and forearms and cutting off suggestively a few centimetres down from the top of the thighs - just enough to see the beginning of an, erm, important anatomical feature.

The torso was lean, and muscular, and ripped in a way that boasted a six pack of abs without being vulgar; and as Mara’s fingertips traced the bumps on the severed neck, along the shoulders and down the bicep (there weren’t any signs saying she couldn’t), and Mara genuinely applauded the smoothness of the stone (yes, just that! Artistic appreciation!), she couldn’t help but find it… Familiar.

It hit her, as her fingertips reached the jagged edge of where the arm cut off - it was familiar.

The morning after the night they’d spent at Sean’s party at the water-park; when they’d woken up, half asleep, in Samara’s bath-tub with her uncle knocking at the door. Once Mara had managed to convince him everything was fine - and there definitely wasn’t a boy, let alone the likes of Danyal Zafar, in her room -, Mara, too lazy to do much else, had turned on the taps despite where they still sat. Mara had still been wearing a neon bikini underneath her denim shorts and the baggy white tank top; so she’d sleepily fumbled out of them. Dany, on the other hand, had still been fully dressed - and, dozing until it was too late, had stayed that way in resignation. His white T-shirt had clung to his chest, sticking to the hollows that seemed to follow… A very similar outline to the chest Mara was currently looking at.

Of course, she’d pretended she hadn’t noticed. To him, or to herself.

Her fingers curling slightly in… Discomfort at the thought, Mara pulled her fingers back. Before she could help it (and as much as she didn’t want to see it), a flurry of mental images launched themselves into her mind. Confusing mental images, ones she didn’t want to see.

Ones that made her feel sick. Ones of Divvy caressing Dany’s naked chest - and then of the two of them, entwined back in New York, Dany falling in love while Divvy screwed with his mind… Amongst other things.

Mara glanced around, her eyes desperately looking for something else to focus on. She didn’t have to look for long; because slightly further down, near to the sweeping staircase at the bottom gallery, was another sculpture.

“Someone was feeling frustrated.” Mara muttered to herself, smirking slightly - before walking over.

It was a butt, a nice butt, and seemingly a woman’s butt, judging by the curves of the rest of her body. Like the previous one, it was headless, and only showed a small part of one arm; but it was less… Raw than the other. More seamless, more perfect.

It was one of the larger sculptures and, unlike the other, left little to the imagination - it showed from midway down the thighs, and everything that included, up to the neck. Mara smirked slightly as she saw the male torso, its muscled back and the beginning of a very cute butt of its own, now facing her - before shaking her head and glancing up at the other. Mara was genuinely impressed. The curves were so smooth.

The model must have also been super hot.

… Both of them.

But her smirk faded as she began to appreciate the art for what it was; for the adoration she could feel behind it, the love she could feel for this woman from the sculptor, even if just her body.

This time, she wasn’t sad, or overwhelmed by it. She liked it. This sculptor probably hadn’t even loved the model in that way. Maybe there hadn’t been a model at all. But the magic had worked, the lie had worked, and in a weird kind of way, Mara took comfort from everyone’s lies feeling like a universal truth.

That was how Dany found her. Looking pensively up at the sculpture, a small smirk playing on her lips and her hips swaying slightly as she listened to music from her old-fashioned wired earphones.

Dany hadn’t wanted to look at her.

Vegas had meant blissful ignorance; Vegas had meant peace of mind in the form of distraction; Vegas had included millions of excuses to not face it all, including Danyal’s phone being lost during a nasty paint-balling accident. And yes, he could have called anyway - through a million different channels. But he hadn’t wanted to.

He’d thought that the two of them not speaking would provide him with clarity. Less worrying about her feelings, less taking on responsibilities that weren’t his.

But as each day had gone on without hearing from Samara, without any further bids from her to contact him… Dany had found it… Harder. And all of a sudden, as he watched her look up at the sculpture - looking… Beautiful in the muted daylight of the gallery -, Dany realised it wasn’t Mara who was the problem. It wasn’t her emotions that were forcing him to feel guilty.

He was doing that all on his own.

He hadn’t wanted to see her when he’d walked in, late. He’d wanted her to be angry at him, to ignore him, because, Dany realised, deep down he knew he couldn’t ignore her on his own. But the moment his plan had worked… Dany had found himself at a loss, seeking her out in the crowd at every opportunity.

Maybe he was just starved of female attention, after Vegas. Maybe…

When he’d seen her in the gallery, quickly slipping out of sight of the windows and behind the tents, Dany had found his feet moving before he could stop himself. He wanted to talk to her. Be around her.

It’s what you’re used to. That’s all, Dany tried to tell himself - but even privately, it didn’t sound convincing.

Although it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, to Dany, it felt like longer, and, enjoying Mara’s obliviousness at her audience, he enjoyed the view. She really did look beautiful - and even to Dany, it was shocking, to hear the… Sincerity, in his own thoughts.

Mara was in a white, tapered jumpsuit that, aside from the off-shoulder detail and knot-type pattern on the front, was plain white and lacked sleeves. Her dark hair fell past her bare shoulders in loose waves and to a layman, her face looked almost natural - but Dany knew her eyebrows didn’t really look that dark, and that her lips - her mouth, a small part of Dany’s brain fell to the gutter again - weren’t such a dark, neutral pink. In silver strappy heels, showing black nails on display, she was practically the same height as Dany.

I want to kiss her, Dany thought suddenly - and he swallowed loudly, his eyes widening, as he heard it inside of his head. I want her to want me to kiss her.

That was when Mara’s eyes met his own.

For a second, Dany actually felt… Terrified, because, for a moment, it was like she’d read his mind.

But then it was gone, and she couldn’t have, and the quickly neutral expression only confirmed it - because Dany knew Mara too well by now to think that expression was truly neutral.

“We should be outside.” Dany suddenly blurted.

… What?

Mara wrinkled her eyebrows in confusion, before yanking one of the earphones away. Even from the distance between them, Dany could hear a distant rhythm.

“I’m sorry?”

“We should be outside.” Dany repeated, swallowing and deciding to stick to his convictions - even if they were completely random and stupid. Mara shook her head slightly - why?

Dany simply stared blankly at her.

“I’m looking at the art.” Mara finally said simply, rolling her eyes slightly as she turned away from him - and paused, before walking over to a small sculpture in the corner.

Dany walked forwards slightly to take a look, still a fair distance away; but his eyes immediately zoned in on how Mara seemed to stiffen as she reached it - a small, nondescript sculpture of what looked like a mother and her baby, the mother holding the baby close.

Dany watched, confused, as Mara’s eyes seemed to… Glisten, for a moment - but then she was turning angrily on her heel and about to walk straight past him, her eyes trained on the ground - and it was at that moment that, again, on impulse when impulse wasn’t something Dany really understood, he grabbed her wrist before she could.

“Let go of me.”

Dany frowned. “What’s wr-”

“I said let go.” Mara hissed - but Dany didn’t. He didn’t and, even though his grip wasn’t very tight - it was gentle and loose and easily broken - Mara glared up at him, unmoving, his fingertips grazing against the inside of her wrist.

What happened next was… Odd. For both of them.

It was… It was something neither one of them had felt before or, if they had, it was the first time they knew it. They were pulled towards one another and even though there was an entire gap of space between them, it felt as if they were only millimetres away - and although Mara’s wrist writhed, it was all an act, and, unable to help himself, Dany’s fingers only tightened; but his grip was still soft, as were his eyes, as the two stared at each other.

Something… Unnameable flickered across Danyal’s expression.

Mara tried to hide her fear.

Quickly, in the hopes it would be too quick for Danyal to notice, her eyes dropped to her wrist; and then to her surroundings, for something else to look at other than Dany’s dark eyes and thick, black eyelashes.

So her eyes followed the chequered floor to the wall; and then up the wall, to the nearest piece of artwork she could find… The couple. The couple twisted towards one another, their limbs entwined.

She felt like a statue. Like one of the pieces of art on display.

You’re that vulnerable, a horrified voice inside of her head told her. She thought of the naked busts behind her, too, the ones she’d admired. You made yourself that vulnerable with one phone call and it’s all your own fault.

How could she blame her parents for not wanting her? For not wanting to even give her a chance? Every time she thought she had a situation under control… She screwed up.

Mara began to feel that familiar tingle in the tip of her nose, felt the slow build of pressure behind her eyelids. No. She would not cry in front of him. She would not give him the satisfaction of appearing… Weak. Desperate for attention, like every other girl who threw themselves at him. That’s probably what he thought. That the phone call had been some lame attempt to - to -…

Because he didn’t see them as friends. Dany had made that abundantly clear before leaving for Vegas. She was just… A means to an end, a cog in his grand machine to own the entire world and everything in it, to put everything in his perfect little bubble of life - a perfect bubble Mara didn’t belong in because she wasn’t perfect, she was some sort of defect in that little world, broken and messy and wrong whereas Divvy Kapoor got a pass because she’d been the first inside his pants.

… And just as Mara’s face began to redden slightly from anger, mixed in with other feelings that were too tangled for her to try and understand, Dany swallowed loudly.

Mara in heels meant that her mouth was… Closer, than usual.

I want her to want me to kiss her. That’s what he’d thought. Was that wrong? Was that just him being… Danyal Zafar, in the way everyone expected him to be? Dany didn’t know. He’d never had to before.

“We should be outside.” Mara finally murmured, after what felt like a lifetime - and as she gently pulled her wrist away, Dany opened his mouth to speak, only to find that he didn’t have the words.

He had no choice but to let her go.

Danyal almost cursed out loud as he felt that horrible knot in his stomach and chest again as he watched her go; and it stopped him from speaking, from forming coherent thoughts, even as he saw Mara hesitate by the doors… Before squaring her shoulders, and walking out without a second glance.

For a moment, Dany just stood there. Completely gormless, just… Standing there, not sure what to do or say or think.

He slowly turned, sighing to himself - before pausing, upon his eyes falling on a sculpture on the wall.

A couple, kissing amidst a crowd.

Dany rolled his eyes slightly - before following Mara back to the crowd.

. . .

The rest of the day passed Mara in a blur.

She just wanted it to be over. She wanted it all to be over - this stupid facade, the lies, the ones she told herself. That Dany was her friend. That somehow, they’d become close enough for him to really care about how she was.

At least, she kept trying to tell herself that. Over and over; as she sat in her brightly coloured finery, her makeup as suitably black as her mood; as she glumly placed her chin on her knees between forced, polite smiles at all of the guests who were important enough to be a part of the wedding, but not really important enough to gain an invite to the main event; as she and Danyal managed to play the perfect, in love couple from across the room without looking at each other at all.

*

The Ham Yard Hotel SoHo, London 2 Days to Go

Mara grit her teeth, using all of her strength to pull herself upwards towards her knees - and then again, as the beat of an old techno-pop song played obnoxiously loudly in her ears.

She kept going, not caring how she’d wince and grunt with each push. Sweat trickled from the base of her thick hair, down her neck and past her collar bone, into the valley in her sports bra. She was red and sweaty and out of breath; but still, she kept moving, even as her body ached.

Good. She wanted it to ache; to make her wince every time she moved by tomorrow. She wanted to be so sore that it was all she could think about - that the days after the wedding would no longer be related to this whole, stupid charade, but just be another random day that just so happened to mean her muscles would stop working… And she wouldn’t be around the Zafars any longer.

One of them in particular.

Scowling at her reflection, seen between her legs with each push-up, Mara scowled.

Today was her day off; no more couple-y bullshit, for at least another twelve hours… Because Danyal had a fancy dinner with his friends this evening - his Oxford friends, the oh-so-important and busy ones that hadn’t made it out to his stag. A Goodbye Dany dinner, Raj had called it.

Mara rolled her eyes, hissing, as she completed another push-up.

Technically, she too was having some sort of… Event. Honestly, it was becoming… Suffocating. Ari was being so nice and even if she’d explained why, it made Mara feel uncomfortable.

They’d done so much… Nice stuff. Cool stuff. Stuff Mara enjoyed. Baking classes at Cordon Bleu, movie nights at rooftop cinemas that came with gourmet meals, late-night exhibitions. Pixie had managed to get them backstage tickets to the Royal Ballet, the one type of dance Mara had always wished she could master but had never had the guts to try. It had been great. A secret tour of London at night, a retro-themed party atop a capsule on the London Eye, in homage to Mara’s love of all things vintage.

It was suffocating.

Whether Ari was grateful or not about Mara helping her brother, it was too much. Too much. In a few days, Mara was going to walk away from Ari and her entire family and, according to Dany, never to be seen or spoken to again. How was Mara meant to pay them back?

Of course, Ari’s argument was probably that it was all a gift. But Mara had never exactly been around giving people - and so it just felt like a debt, hanging over her head.

Mara was just shaking her head at the amount of money she probably owed the Zafars - the use of their jet, their trip to Monte Carlo, Ari’s lavish bridal party - when she paused, puzzled, to find a pair of expensive blue Nikes between her black workout ones.

Mara jerked her head back in surprise as, following the trainers - ones she recognised -, Ari yanked out her earphones.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Ari huffed - before, much to Mara’s confusion, she proceeded to hoist Mara up from the floor. Too stunned to do anything else, Mara automatically steeled her legs to take some off some of her weight.

“It’s not even six in the morning.” Mara muttered, glancing at the clock… And shaking her head again, as she registered Ari’s outfit. Sports leggings, a T-shirt sporting the inspired slogan of coffee not toffee and no makeup, her hair scraped back into a bun.

“Exactly! We still have time to get dressed and I brought you fresh clothes, in case you were in the pool.” Ari said happily, thrusting a pink duffel bag in Mara’s direction. Mara simply stared at her blankly. “Come on! At least you’re all warmed up, any longer and we’ll be late!”

“For what?” Mara demanded. “It’s not even six-”

“I heard you the first time, would you just please get changed and we’ll discuss it later?”

The two girls stared at each other.

“You’re so like your brother sometimes.” Mara sighed, rolling her eyes - and taking the bag.

“Thank you!” Ari told her cheerfully.

Turning away, Mara sighed.

“It wasn’t a compliment.” She muttered to herself.

. . .

An hour later, and Mara found herself at… A rave.

A very specific type of rave.

It was called a morning rave; consisting of clean, green breakfasts and a smoothie bar, wherein one would start their day with a yoga class and following dance party. It was insane. Mara had walked into a nondescript city building during the dim daylight of the morning… And found a room stuffed with bright colours, large balloons, too much confetti and pounding dance music.

It wasn’t fancy, or expensive, or a once-in-a-lifetime experience. But it was completely mad.

And that was exactly what Mara needed… Especially when the DJ announced it was a 2010’s music throwback.

“How did you know?” Mara tried to shout over the music, as the beat began to kick up.

Ari shook her head, motioning to her ear.

“How-” Mara shook her head, before pulling out her phone and tapping out the message - How did you know?, before showing Ari the screen.

Pixie snatched it before Ari could reply.

Because we’re not as stupid as Dany, her reply read.

Mara knew Pixie meant that in a million ways - and possibly Ari, too. But in that moment, she didn’t care. She allowed herself to not have to worry about what anyone thought, or what anyone was thinking - and that was when she realised that that was their little morning trip’s whole point.

*

Dany was just finishing his run, when he saw Raj exiting from the front door. He seemed to be watching something with grave concentration - a video, Dany could hear loud music even with the distance between them - and did not at all seem amused.

“You look happy.” Dany commented as a way of greeting. Raj grunted. “What’re you looking at?”

“You haven’t seen it?” Raj mumbled, not looking up. Dany shook his head - but realising Raj wasn’t looking, quickly explained.

“My phone’s meant to arrive this morning.”

The prospect of being without technology somehow managed to steal away Raj’s attention.

“You’ve been without it for this long?” He muttered, aghast. Dany shrugged - before Raj handed him his own phone. “Here.”

Dany’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at what he saw.

Pixie, Ari and Mara; the three of them only, Mara’s cousins nowhere in sight. Of course, that wasn’t necessarily the surprising part.

Pixie held the camera as they danced; Pixie in yoga pants and a jumper, Ari in leggings and a T-shirt and Mara in leggings and a white-tank top, one where Dany could still clearly make out her black sports bra underneath, even under the flashing, bright lights. Mara’s face was red, as was the others’ - and aside from neon markings dotted across their faces (light splashes on Ari’s face, bright lips on Pixie and neon stripes on Mara’s cheeks), they wore no makeup, and were red and slightly sweaty. They were dancing - the camera shook as Pixie’s hand did - and singing loudly. The music was so loud that Dany could see Raj’s phone vibrating slightly as it played.

There were three clips - the first of the three of them dancing goofily at the camera, laughing, as the song began to play; another as Pixie and Mara downed what looked like shot glasses, captioned ginger shots and Mara gagging as Pixie laughed, unfazed by the burn; and a third that, once over, Dany immediately replayed.

It was Ari and Mara; Ari dancing and singing with her eyes closed, looking somewhat melancholic, and Mara, raving hard - trying to follow the movements of her high ponytail made Dany slightly dizzy -, with what looked like a… Smoothie cup in her hand.

The music started slow, before picking up to a loud, angry beat.

Where were you? ‘Cause I can’t see, but I feel you watching me… Dilated, falling free, in a modern ecstasy…

Pixie appeared at the bottom of the screen, laughing and singing along as Ari and Mara began to yell the lyrics at each other - Mara almost angrily, Ari almost sadly, but both of them full of energy and screaming.

I’m over the show, at least now I know - it wasn’t love, it was a perfect illusion…

Dany snorted, snatching Raj’s phone - and immediately texting Mara’s phone, paying no mind to the conversation clearly shared between Raj and Mara above the typing section.

If I were more insecure a fiance, I’d be worried - D x. He hit send.

Dany continued to smirk slightly as Raj hit replay, frowning beside him - but it quickly disappeared as Dany noticed something at the end and, before Raj could open his mouth to comment, hit replay again.

“Yeah.” Raj muttered absently, as they both leant in, concentrating on the screen. “Exactly.”

Dany was about to ask what Raj was talking about - until his words stopped in his throat, as he realised Mara wasn’t wearing her engagement ring.

Up until that moment, Dany had been fine. Amused, even. Mara was having fun, he knew Ari was safe. Ginger shots were not the most dangerous thing the girls could’ve been drinking. Even seeing the two of them dance; Dany knew Mara would get more attention, simply because of that… Energy (and the form-fitting, yet somehow effortless effect of the tank top) that she had, and that didn’t matter because… Well, it hit him in that moment. It hadn’t mattered, because Mara would’ve been wearing her engagement ring.

At first, Dany quickly became annoyed. This video was available to anyone who knew the three of them on social media. It was reckless. Why would a happy bride-to-be go out two days before her wedding, without a wedding ring? Although a small part of Dany’s mind had immediately reasoned that there were a plethora of sensible reasons for Mara to not wear it to… Wherever she was (sweat, the dark, etc), he quickly ignored it. He didn’t like it.

… And then Dany realised why.

And then Dany realised why Mara would be so reckless - even if she’d thought he’d not see it, with his lack of phone - and, as if struck by lightning, remembered the voice message he’d tried so hard to forget in Vegas. Apparently, he’d been a bit too successful.

“I’ll catch you later.” Dany muttered, all but running into the house - and ignoring Raj’s protests behind him.

Meanwhile, in the middle of a song called Bad Romance - that Mara head-banged to with a particular enthusiasm - her phone buzzed in her pocket. Pausing to glance at the screen, Mara’s eyes rolled so far back into her head at the message, that for a moment, she almost saw her brain.

She turned off her phone after that - and returned to the song with particular gusto.

. . .

By the time the rave was over - and, for the rest of the city, when their days began - Mara’s phone was dead, from the stupid amount of evidence she’d taken of herself actually… Having fun.

It had probably been a good thing her phone had ran out of battery; she was likely to just stare forlornly at it, thinking of all she was going to lose in a few days. A family. Friends. People who understood it.

Except, that wasn’t strictly true. And whilst Mara didn’t blame Ari, or Pixie, or anyone else associated with or part of the Zafar clan, for the actions she’d chosen to take (… with the exception of maybe Danyal) she couldn’t help but feel… Cheated. Angry. Perhaps even a bit jealous; and those were all things Mara didn’t want to think.

Mara had been dreading it, hoping that, when the time came, she’d be able to wish it away; that inevitable moment, when she relaxed and stopped thinking for long enough… That all of a sudden, she was living in fast-forward.

*

The Sunken Gardens, Kensington Palace Kensington, London 1 Day to Go

It was happening before Mara even had time to blink.

She purposefully avoided her phone - even when it was fully charged and flashing at her, filled with messages and notifications and alerts about her upcoming nuptials. She didn’t even flick through the many files she’d sent of herself yesterday of her, Pixie and Ari having fun the day before. It was… Too much. All of it. And being constantly reminded of that wasn’t going to do her any good.

Mara was in a pensive mood as the day went on; a day where she was largely left to her own devices, as the Zafars and her own family - if she could even call it that - prepared for the evening ahead. The last event before the wedding - the mehndi, the proper one, the one for family and fun. Dany wouldn’t be there - and he would be the only one.

For that, Mara was supremely grateful. In (yet again) a super pathetic kind of way, it felt… Good. Final. Like a nice parting before everyone went to shit and either had to pretend to hate her, for the sake of Dany and Divvy, or actually hate her.

So by the time early evening rolled around, and the sun was warm and lazy in the sky, Mara felt… Okay.

And then she saw it.

The Sunken Gardens of Kensington Palace; a giant rectangle of greenery, filled with other rectangles of brightly coloured flowers, with a fountain in the middle… And giant, bright umbrellas and cushions by the fountain for shade, with petals in the pool. Fairy lights were already strung in all of the bushes, ready to be lit, as well as rainbow-coloured lanterns hanging above them - and at the head of the fountain, a small canopy with its orange curtains tied back by pink and orange bouquets; and a comfy set of armchairs, of which one was hers.

Mara couldn’t help how her eyes immediately swelled with tears. She didn’t have the incentive of ruining her eyeliner or whatever - she was bare-faced, in preparation for the stupid amount of oil and weird creams about to be smeared on her face in the name of beauty (and the amusement of her guests).

“I’m going to miss this.” Mara mumbled, smiling slightly, and more so to herself than her aunt and Danyal’s mother beside her.

“What, the excitement of getting married?” Her aunt asked, her voice dripping in sarcasm.

Mara hid her smile as she saw Pixie and Ari share an agitated look.

“No.” She told her aunt coolly. “Being pleasantly surprised.” Because God knew, she’d had enough unpleasant ones lately.

That was the real moment. The proper one. The one where Mara realised just how much she was leaving behind - and, as she stepped towards the bright orange armchair calling her name, Mara really, sincerely hoped that Dany thought Divya Kapoor was worth it.

. . .

By the time the sun was setting, it were as if the rest of Mara’s week had been a bad dream. The lies. The isolation. The loneliness. The helplessness, of knowing so much of it was her fault, simply because of who she was, of how she existed.

The music was obscenely loud and Mara had been impressed to find a stage of sorts had been set up, at the top of the small set of stairs leading down into the garden from the main palace entrance; and it was like a dream, as Mara laughed and cheered and made stupid jokes as her friends and family made her smile.

Even the infamously moody Tara Zafar managed to have fun; and Mara yelled so loudly in approval at her final surprise, of a small performance by Ari, Raj and Pixie in front of everyone, that her throat felt hoarse.

She also waggled her eyebrows in a very obvious way, at how Ari and Raj shared a secret smile after Raj, between both girls and loosely holding their hands, took a bow… And knew there was nothing Ari could do but subtly glower, seeing as they were both in public.

Mara ate too much, too. She didn’t think about how her clothes were white, or how she was probably burning a bit too pink from the heat, or how greasy her hair was probably going to become with everyone wanting to chuck oil into it so it’d be shiny for tomorrow - or even why she was there. She just enjoyed it. The breeze, the lights of the palace glittering up in front of them… The smell of flowers and jasmine candles mixed with samosas and mango yoghurt milkshakes and henna drying on her hands.

All of her cousins danced; some goofily, some theatrically. Even Kabir joined in; he and Ari did a small comedy skit together, where Ari pretended to be their brother and Kabir was a very convincing Samara.

Divya had meant to be doing something, a proper performance from her and TJ’s new movie - but halfway through the night, she saw Raj and TJ talking urgently with each other, where they thought they were out of sight. Even that didn’t bother her. If anything, she was more than happy to cheer her old friend on his own.

Mara loved every moment; but each one was gone too soon, until the sky was dark above them and the doors to the palace’s main hall were open, ready for everyone to move.

“Aren’t you coming?”

Mara glanced up and smiled, as she saw Kabir grinning down at her.

“I am.” She promised - before motioning with her still-wet hands for Kabir to come over. “Help me up. I just want to clear my head for a few minutes before everyone goes for my hair again.”

Kabir cackled to himself, helping Mara to stand by the elbows so as to not smudge her henna.

“You sure you won’t be long?” Kabir asked, beginning to move goofily to the loud, Punjabi party music playing from inside.

Swaying in time with him, making them both grin, Mara nodded. Kabir snorted.

“You look like a puppet.” He muttered, motioning to how Mara had to keep her hands straight, so as to avoid smudging.

Mara raised an eyebrow. “That’s because I am one.” She pointed out dryly - and although it didn’t bother her to say it, not in the slightest, Kabir frowned.

She didn’t understand why. It had just been a joke - a funny one, she’d thought - but just as she opened her mouth to somehow try and take it back, Kabir spoke again.

“Can’t you guys just get married?” Kabir pouted - and Mara felt her chest freeze, her throat closing off before she could breathe. “You know, just - ignore the fact you’d be married to him. We’d hang out all of the time!”

It hit her like a fucking double decker bus. Literally. Every bone in her body ached and her eyes filled up with too many tears for her to blink away, out of nowhere - because this person, this one person actually wanted her to stay. Wanted to be around her, for everything she already was. This… Boy. When nobody else did.

And it felt so good to just be wanted and cared for for once - but it was such a new feeling, that all of the horrible thoughts and doubts that had been plaguing her, the ones she’d managed to forget, suddenly felt like they were crushing her and Mara felt her knees physically begin to wobble. Because she just wanted to drop to the floor and cry.

One person. One person, of all of the people in her life, of the stupid, long list of contacts in her phone and the people who posted fire emojis under her selfies; out of all of those people, there was one person, one kid, who actually gave a shit.

And even that was probably wrong! He was Danyal’s brother. He was probably just being charming and a bit sentimental. But Mara allowed herself to fall for it, because - well, who else did she have to help her kid herself?

Kabir’s face dropped - and quickly became horrified - as he watched Mara wipe away a tear with her forearm.

“I didn’t mean to upset you-”

“You didn’t, you idiot!” Mara admonished, shaking her head - and beaming at him, this little idiot, who was now staring at her as if she’d just landed off’ve a flying saucer. “Listen. Forget your idiot brother - whatever happens, you call me, okay?”

It had meant to come out lighthearted.

It didn’t.

It made Mara smile through the tears, though - to see as Kabir nodded seriously.

“You’re not going to start crying hysterically or anything if I leave you out here, right?” He asked dubiously, making Mara laugh again as she sniffled. “Because I don’t feel so good about leaving you here now-”

“If you don’t live,” Mara said sweetly. “I’m going to tell everyone you made me cry. Leave me in peace.”

Kabir sighed, rolling his eyes - but Mara laughed slightly as he smiled, and nodded once, before heading back inside. A boy. A literal kid understood her sense of humour more than… Anyone in her life currently did.

With a gusty sigh, Mara squatted, until comfortably low enough to drop her butt to the floor. Pulling her knees to her chest, Mara let the tips of her shoes hover over the water, her chin tucked into her knees and her arms resting out by her sides.

She watched the petals floating in the dim water, nodding her head slightly to the song playing from inside. A duet, a party song and, of course - a love song.

It was an old song, a very old song, and Mara shook her head to herself at the cheesy lyrics - the guy was telling the girl of his affections to stare deeply into his eyes -, but nonetheless, she couldn’t help but sing along as she replied - do something to make me yours.

Mara’s smile faded again as the song continued cheerily, so mismatched to the pensive, troubled expression of her reflection.

She shuddered slightly to herself, though not quite from the cold, as the breeze wafted by.

Kabir had broken the spell. It wasn’t his fault. He’d just been… Being honest. It was not his fault that Mara was such a steaming mess.

Mara blinked slowly. Such a steaming, horrible, messy mess.

The song continued behind her and Mara just… Sat there, smelling the jasmine. She wanted to go back inside, she did. She didn’t want the evening to end.

But whether that was because she was just having fun, or because she just didn’t want to face tomorrow… She didn’t know. And even though she was enjoying the silence, even though it was refreshing to just sit uninterrupted and think without having to fake a million expressions, she didn’t want to think about what she was.

She just felt so… Unsettled! And she didn’t understand. This was what she wanted. And Danyal definitely wanted it - so why was she sitting here, feeling bad? Feeling… Lost? It was the same plan it had always been. Beneficial to them both, so why, why now, was she doubting all of it? Yeah, it seemed more stupid than it had before, but nothing had changed. How could anything have changed…?

Because now, if she was being serious, if she was being honest - and sitting there, amongst the flowers and the trees and the colourful lights, it felt like the perfect place to be -  her heart didn’t skip into a million beats whenever Danyal walked into the room. Not ever. Not once.

But she felt… Something.

Mara exhaled slowly, shaking her head - and closing her eyes.

Monte Carlo, when she’d joined the Zafars on their annual trip. It had been perfect timing to introduce her to everyone in a nondescript, but still entirely… There, kind of way. But then there had been some fancy event, a dinner, and at the last minute, Mara and Dany had managed to lose each other before their big entrance.

Of course, it wasn’t meant to be a big entrance; but it involved a staircase, a fancy staircase leading to a room full of fancy people, a staircase Mara had felt stupid and self-conscious to be walking down on her own. But she hadn’t seen him anywhere and she couldn’t just… Loiter by herself, so she’d walked down the stupid damned staircase.

It had been horrifying. Like a fairytale gone wrong, because even though she’d looked like a princess - in a flowing, light blue gown that sparkled under the light, with shimmering sleeves that joined between her fingers and thumbs and her hair tied into a neat bun -, she’d felt like she was walking into a horror movie, cluelessly walking towards her slaughter, like all of the girls Mara yelled at whilst watching them.

But she’d had to do it. So Mara had kept her head down, her hand sliding down the bannister - until she’d seen Dany waiting for her at the bottom; and when her hand reached the end of the bannister, it effortlessly slipped into his, outstretched and waiting for her.

She’d felt such a rush of… Warmth. She’d thought it was relief. And he’d looked good, too, so effortlessly dapper - Mara could still remember it, still remembering how the Hell he was pulling it off - jeans, a casual polo shirt, a blazer and a silk scarf hanging loosely from his neck, all in varying shades of grey, no less -, so she’d thought it was smugness, too. At being the one to be standing next to him.

She knew better now.

She’d kept feeling it. When, after losing him in the crowd to other guests, he’d appeared behind her - even though she’d been fine, enjoying herself, actually -, his hand on the small of her back and his shoulder brushing the back of hers as he murmured updates into her ear. How he’d stayed with her for most of the night, his breath hot and minty on the back of her neck, his hand loosely cupping the curve of her waist.

Except - and Mara’s eyes flashed open - she couldn’t trust that feeling. How could she?! She’d been along for so long. She’d been looking for validation for so long - her eyes misted over slightly as she stared grimly at her reflection -, that just… Having someone around, having someone even faking being interested in her for a crowd… And it had felt good. To be touched. Not in a sexual way, to just be touched, and touched gently, like she was soft and gentle, like she could afford to be, like life hadn’t made her the way she was and ruined all of that stuff for her before she’d ever had a chance.

Companionship and trust and gratitude were not feelings Samara could trust. She’d had them all a million times before, with the same few people who kept screwing her over. Christ on a stick, her own mother still didn’t want her! And her father never had! Was she honestly that stupid, that insecure and out of her fucking mind, that she was going to let that ruin everything? Have her desperately begging for attention from random guys, stupid and annoying guys like Danyal Zafar, entitled guys because her self-esteem was so below sea level?

Mara turned away from her reflection, shaking her head again. No. No, she wasn’t. She had the rest of her life on a platter in front of her, her freedom, and she was sitting her, doubting that? No. No. She still wanted it. No, in fact, now, she needed it. More than ever.

Everything just felt wrong.

“Samara.”

Mara groaned quietly.

“Wonderful.” She muttered to herself, tossing her hair out of her face and squeezing her eyes shut. “Now you’re hearing his fucking voice everywhere, you lo-”

The words fell apart in her mouth as, opening her eyes again, Mara saw Danyal in the water - and when she whipped around to check she wasn’t losing her mind (but hoping she was), she couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath she took when she realised he was actually standing there.

“What-” Really? Now? Underneath the pretty lights and with the breeze wafting through his fluffy, un-styled hair and with him looking all tense and worried? No. No! She didn’t want to do this now, she didn’t have the energy, or the inclination, to fight him now. As if a giant camera crew were going to hop out of one of the bushes and tell her it was all a big joke, Mara glanced wildly around. “What’re you even doing here, you’re not supposed to be here tonight-”

“Raj helped me sneak in.” Dany said impatiently. “I heard your message.”

Even though Mara knew exactly what he was talking about… She shrugged.

“If you got the message I wanted to be ignored, I don’t understand why we’re talking to each other right now.” Mara said tiredly, unaware that it made sense; she didn’t know Danyal had tried calling her what felt like a million times, how he’d text and messaged too. She just knew of the message he’d sent after seeing the video of her and the girls at the Daybreaker rave. “Everyone is inside, including your parents-”

“I’m so sorry about your father.”

Her words jammed in her throat - but Mara swallowed them back. No. She was fine. She was fine.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” Mara shrugged, staring at the reflection of the bottom of her shoes in the water. Not him, standing over her behind her. Not even her own face. No, thank you. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not my fault they’re assholes, but it’s my fault I wasn’t there-”

“No.” Mara said sharply, shaking her head slowly. “No, no, you - don’t do that. You don’t owe me anything. You made it clear we weren’t to speak and I called you and I shouldn’t have-”

“Mara.” Dany sighed helplessly - and, sneaking a peek at his reflection, Mara fought the lump in her throat as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked… Good. Handsome. He wore blue jeans, a white T-shirt and a velvet, mustard blazer - and even though she couldn’t see his face and his hair was sticking up in several places, she knew he looked good. Surprisingly, mustard suited him. “Please don’t do that-”

His voice. He sounded so… Sincere.

Grow a pair.

“I mean it, Dany.” She told him - and mustering up every ounce of strength she had (which… really wasn’t much at this point), she looked up at him seriously. “I’m not being passive aggressive or anything. You told me we weren’t to talk to each other. You had a point, a valid point-” Mara faltered slightly as Dany shook his head, looking vaguely disgusted - before dropping to the floor, cross-legged, in front of her. Immediately, she began to shrink away. “It’s not your job to look after me. Don’t… Beat yourself up about it, I didn’t need you, I just-”

“Wanted me?” Dany finished, his voice dangerously… No. Mara felt sick. She couldn’t even think it. No.

Hopeful?

It was paranoia. Plain and simple. For a moment, Mara thought he’d meant… Something else, something deeper. That’s why she looked at him with such wide eyes, why she felt like a deer in headlights - but it was that, not the poor choice behind Dany’s words, that made the air between them seem heavier.

Because she saw it. She saw recognition first, then shock, then disbelief, cross over Dany’s face as he realised what she’d thought he was asking - and Mara had to look away, because what she’d just seen had been in one micro-expression, in one twitch of his eyebrow and that…

That wasn’t normal.

It was. But it wasn’t supposed to be. They were meant to know each other well, be able to read each other, but it was too much now. So much so, that Mara was worried it was never going to go away.

Mara held her breath as neither one of them moved. She didn’t mean to. She just… Couldn’t help it.

“Your parents are assholes.” Dany said suddenly - and he sounded angry now, and for some reason, that scared her. He scooted closer and Mara almost flinched away from him as she leant away slightly, feeling her heart beat sickeningly hard inside of her throat. Dany’s eyes searched her face and she felt… Exposed, because he wasn’t just looking at her, and his eyes weren’t just angry, they were more and she didn’t want to know why. “You deserve better.”

“I-” Mara tried to joke, to say she thought so too, but she couldn’t, she couldn’t, because Dany’s jaw was clenching as if he were… Emotional and maybe she was just overthinking things? Right? Maybe she was just being a total… Moron, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Samara, I-”

“Don’t, Danyal, please don’t, I can’t.” She blurted - before gasping sharply, as she realised what she’d just done.

Dany’s eyes widened slightly - and now they both knew, they knew that she’d just broken their vow of silence and she’d just acknowledged that he’d been about to.

Mara didn’t know how long they stared at each other like that for. She didn’t want to. It couldn’t get any worse.

… And then it did, because understanding flashed through Dany’s eyes and he carried on talking.

“It’s not your fault.” He said, like he’d read her mind, and Mara wanted to roll her eyes because, holy shit, whatever conversation with herself she’d been trying to ease herself into, Dany was now forcing her into a whole damn… Bog of it. “Samara,” Mara squeezed her eyes shut and moved her face in the other direction, at how Dany grabbed her forearm. “It isn’t your fault that they’re the most useless-”

“No, it’s not their fault they made me me, it’s mine!” She burst - and it was all tumbling out now, and there were tears in her eyes and holy fucking shit, this was exactly what she hadn’t wanted. “I am not enough for them, there is something wrong with me-”

“That’s not true-”

“Maybe, but Dany, that’s how it feels.” Her eyes welled again - and Dany could only watch helplessly as tears began to fall down her face. Her voice had cracked on that last word and somehow, as stupid as it was, that suddenly felt like the dumbest thing in the world. But that was what she was crying about. At least, she was telling herself that. She wasn’t wasting more tears on… Anyone, ever again. And unfortunately, every person in the world had the capability to try and force it out of her.

Frustrated with herself, Mara brushed her tears away. God, could she be any more ridiculous?

“What can I do?” Dany demanded. For some reason it made Mara laugh - though just the once. “Samara-”

“Honestly?” She interrupted - and Dany nodded. Mara shook her head again, trying to convince herself not to say it. “I could use a hug right now.”

For a minute, she actually thought he wouldn’t do it - but then the next thing she knew, he’d moved, and before she’d even turned around to see what he was doing properly, she felt Dany lifting her arms gently out of the way… And his back was pressed against hers.

Just like that, she was warm. Just like that, without giving it another thought, Mara was sighing in relief and leaning back against his chest, letting his arms wrap around her waist and hold her pressed tightly against him, her arms, still damp from the henna, resting over his jeans.

“People change.” Dany told her - and Mara closed her eyes and rest her head against his shoulder, enjoying the smell of the jasmine and the water and his aftershave all mixed into one. “Your parents-”

“That… Woman has always had a plan to keep me out of sight, out of mind.” Mara muttered, shaking her head. She looked out to the water.

Dany’s arms held her closer.

“Plans change.” He murmured - and although a statement, it came out like a silent question.

She wanted to look behind her. She knew his face was just over her shoulder, and she wanted to see him, to prove to herself later that she hadn’t imagined the hidden meaning.

But she didn’t.

“Not all of them.” Mara said quietly… Before sighing and staring straight ahead. She didn’t want to see what they looked like, like this. “Thank you, though, if I don’t get to-” Mara let out a gusty breath. If I don’t get to say it tomorrow. “I mean, you know, for-”

Words. Words, use your words!

“For?” She hated it. How calm he sounded. How collected.

It was even more annoying when it felt like he’d be able to feel her heart beating against his chest.

Mara pressed her lips together. She - if words weren’t coming out, if her mind was blank, then it was a good thing. Sometimes words were just more trouble.

… In Mara’s silence, Dany understood.

“It’s not you.” He told her. Mara fought back a fresh wave of tears - but, in a weird way, his words helped, too. She felt… Stronger for it. “It’s not… You’re not… Not wanted.”

So much stronger.

Taking a deep breath, Mara leant her head back on his shoulder - and held her breath as tightly as she could, when she saw Dany up close.

The stubble growing on his jaw. The snugness of his teeth - crooked, but in a cute way, in a young sort of way, and his gorgeous brown eyes and his long eyelashes and his mouth, parting slightly, and those eyes were on her lips too and…

Mara moved forwards.

Away from him.

She let out her breath - before balancing herself, somehow without her arms, so that she was squatting in her loose-fitting white tunic and matching trousers again. She pivoted slightly, facing him.

She looked at that stupid face.

“Bye, Dany.” She said - and it sounded wrong, for her voice to no longer be hushed. It sounded loud - and just like that, she was back in the real world. The loud music continued to play in the background, she could hear everyone laughing and singing and the wind whistling through the flowers.

Before she could stop herself, Mara leant forwards - and kissed him on the forehead.

She didn’t check his expression. She didn’t look back. She kept walking.

You’re not not wanted.

She repeated those words in her head with each step. And it… Made it easier, actually. To keep walking. To push down the sad stuff and remember that the whole evening was acting like some sort of goodbye.

She didn’t see how Dany opened and closed his mouth, how he looked for words to say in a moment that was gone. To ask why he couldn’t say what it felt like they’d already said.

That he was in love with her. That he’d known it the moment he’d heard her message, heard the pain in her voice and wanted nothing more than to be with her. That he’d known when he’d moved, he’d been moving, to kiss her just now because he couldn’t stop himself anymore, because even though they’d kissed before, he wanted this time to be different.

But he knew why he couldn’t. He knew who was the reason he couldn’t.

Watching as Mara went inside without another glance, her arms out in front of her like some sort of offering, Dany felt his mind whirl at a million miles per minute.

… But that had just happened. Right? That had been a clue, they hadn’t said it, but by not saying it, didn’t that mean -?

Dany slowly climbed to his feet, frowning at the floor.

Centurion Mall Islamabad, Pakistan 2041 11 Days to Go

“So you just… Missed your final fitting last night?” Pixie asked, narrowing her eyes. Samara nodded, continuing to stare up at the Cinnabon menu in front of her. “For no reason? Even though it was booked and going to be all private, like you like, and you flew down for it specifically? You just... Decided not to turn up?”

“Yep.” Samara sighed, sounding bored. “… Pretty much.”

“And you made this completely sensible decision after you and my idiot cousin decided that not speaking between now and the wedding was a good idea? And it’s apparently totally unrelated to an argument you said you both had over Divya Kapoor?”

“That’s what I told you.” Mara muttered, hiding her sigh. “Does Ari want anything from here? Is she already at the shop?”

“Samara.” Mara suppressed her irritation as Pixie forced her to face her, the guy at the register being completely ignored. “What happened? Did you tell him how you feel? Because if he’s ignoring it, well, let me tell you-”

But by then, Mara had already begun to roll her eyes.

“You don’t need to tell me anything!” She groaned, rolling her eyes. God. Talk about obsessed. “Dany and I fought, like we always do, no big deal, there were no feelings to tell him about and I decided to spend my night drinking shakes and watching documentaries on white collar criminals instead of turning up to an empty, scary shopping mall after hours for a tailoring appointment!”

… And whilst none of that was a lie, it wasn’t exactly the whole truth either. Not that Mara even knew what the full truth was so, really, it was inconsequential.

Samara almost regretted telling Pixie that she’d join her and Ari for their final fittings that morning. But it needed to be done, and Pixie had arranged for them to all meet for lunch at the exclusive Islamabad Club - of which, of course the Zafars and Awans were members -, after which, Mara knew, they’d spend the day together. Samara had figured it would be… Nice to have company at the fitting. And the outfit needed to be ready for tomorrow, and Pixie and Ari were leaving for London to prepare her bridal shower that afternoon and -

She just wanted to order her breakfast Cinnabon.

“Everyone will be staring. Wondering why we’ve got a security guard stopping people from entering the couture section with the named designer acting as our tailor, people will be, as you put it, gawping, but you put that aside to watch some lame documentary and bloat before your fitting?” Pixie huffed, her voice dangerously soft. Mara’s facade cracked slightly. Well, of course it sounded bad when Pixie put it like that. Pixie could be talking about the births of unicorns and she could make it sound like the news alert for a military blast. “Have your lost your mind?”

Mara tried to blink away her guilt.

She didn’t even know why she was feeling guilty! She was fine. She’d just… Fancied lying face-down on the sofa last night, yelling stupid comments at the screen as the criminals on it made it too damn easy for them to get caught.

And honestly, for the record, not talking to Danyal for the next week and a half or whatever was a blessing. He was irritating. Sometimes, it felt like she was more his parole officer than his fake fiancee. She hadn’t had any messages to say he’d landed in Mumbai safely, nothing alerting her to the fact he and Raj were on their seventeen hour flight to Las Vegas. No irritating, reassuring messages that, despite Dany’s guilt at the secret bride waiting for him on the other side of the stag Raj had so generously curated for him, Dany was not going to blurt out the secret of Divya being the preferred bride and consequently ruin their entire plan and, oh, possibly have Raj throw him out of a plane.

It was great. Mara hadn’t heard from him since his shitty, silent, rude as fuck exit this morning. Woohoo.

“I…” Mara struggled to find words. Good words, anyway. “Am waiting to be served.” She finished lamely, motioning to the slightly terrified Cinnabon employee, watching them with wide eyes from behind the register.

“And bloat more? Are you kidding?” Pixie hissed, tossing back her perfect black hair.

“No, and neither is he about marrying that asshole, so I can bloat as much as I want - but thank you for caring about the aesthetic.” Mara told Pixie calmly - before turning to the register. “Can I get a normal Cinnabon for now, and have one pecan and two chocolate on standby for our driver to bring it upstairs in a little while?” Before the guy could respond, Mara turned to Pixie - whose mouth was open in outrage. “Am I getting anything for you and Zarina or not?”

Pixie narrowed her eyes.

“Right.” She said sarcastically. “You and Dany definitely didn’t fight. You’re not missing him at all.”

Mara pretended she hadn’t heard, and turned back to the register.

“And give me a couple of tubs of extra frosting, too.” She muttered quietly, chewing on her lip as she took out her wallet.

. . .

Pixie had been right. She had been right. Having so many of the other shoppers gawping at her was… Suffocating.

She hated it. The way people watched and whispered and smiled. There was nothing to smile about. She’d stared at her reflection, that stupid reflection surrounding her on all sides while she stood on that ridiculous little podium, of her hair being a mess and bags under her eyes and a lot of bloating… Looking like a mess. Eating her Cinnabon, with frosting on the corners of her mouth.

Mara had almost thrown up, it was so suffocating. She’d claimed she needed a second and then thrown herself into the very last couture lounge, away from everyone’s prying eyes, while Pixie had sampled tiaras out of boredom and Ari’s sleeves had been getting fixed.

And she’d had to force herself to breathe. And calm the Hell down, because she was panicking over nothing.

It was fine. It was all just great. After the wedding, she’d be free of Dany’s stupid, ridiculous, assholish ways and she wouldn't have to listen to Pixie, or Ari, for that matter. It’d all be over.

As Mara had slid against the wall and to the floor, wearing a baggy T-shirt and her heavily decorated skirt, somehow… She hadn’t felt better.

"Five minutes.” She’d whispered to herself, fighting to keep the water in her eyes from spilling and staring up at the intricately carved wooden ceiling. “You get five minutes to do your drama.”

And five minutes later, Mara was back on the stupid podium surrounded by mirrors, smiling politely at the tailors and thanking her on-looking fans with appropriately self-deprecating laughter. She arranged her face into whatever it needed to be, grinning and bearing it all.

Only those who knew her - really knew her - would ever have been able to tell that she’d cried.

*

Bellagio Las Vegas Las Vegas, Nevada

“Have you told the Mrs that you’ve arrived safely?” Raj sighed, slinging an arm over Dany’s shoulder.

“Yeah.” Dany lied, avoiding eye contact. They were leaning against the wall of the lift, exhausted - Dany perhaps more so than Raj. After all, Dany had been the one struggling to keep in his secret for the past seventeen hours. He’d almost kissed the tarmac when they’d landed. “

“Good.” Raj said happily, squeezing Dany’s shoulders. “Now, you’re all mine.”

At that, Dany gave him a funny look - but then the elevator doors opened and Dany grinned, as, in the sprawling penthouse that laid out Vegas beneath them, he saw some of his closest friends - including Ed Styles, Hughie Horan, the Princes Stefan and Gustav of Monaco and…

Dany’s smile faded slightly as he spotted TJ - Divya’s supposed boyfriend, and somehow one of Mara’s old friends - and Rafi, Mara’s cousin, amongst the others.

It barely lasted a second, Dany meeting their eyes - but then he was engulfed in the crowd, laughing as he was put on the shoulders of his friends.

“Ladies, gentleman, philanderers, assholes and whores!” Raj shouted loudly, jumping onto the table. A waitress in a scanty maid’s outfit supplied Raj with a drink. “Now, as we know, our whipped boy over here has requested this be a dry stag-”

“You’re all raging alcoholics.” Dany snorted good-naturedly over the booing crowd.

“- but I solemnly swear that, in the name of this stag party…” Raj paused dramatically, as the rest of them quietened. “We will act drunk, we will look drunk, and, for all intents and purposes, over the course of these next few days, we will be drunk for the greatest stag party the world has ever seen - because, as of a few moments ago, the text has been sent, the Mrs knows he has arrived safely and he is all ours!”

Dany pretended to bow as the group cheered.

It helped him to hide his expression of guilt.

Dany could feel TJ’s eyes more than Rafi’s, boring into the back of his head. But it wasn’t because of Divya that Dany felt… Uncomfortable.

You could just text her when you get a m-

No, you can’t.

Dany didn’t look in TJ’s direction again.

. . .

Merkenwell & Kay LLP Bank, London 9 Days to Go

She’d decided during her… Drama queen moment (one which she did not begrudge herself, because letting out feelings was a positive, healthy thing to do), at the fitting yesterday. The idea had struck her like lightning and without Danyal to talk her out of it, and with nobody else knowing the truth…

So she’d seen Ari and Pixie off at the airport that evening, knowing they’d be in London by the morning. And by the time they’d landed… Samara was already packed, waiting for the Zafar jet to return.

She wasn’t meant to be here! Not in London, not in Fleet Street. Not outside of this office. Her bridal shower was due to start on Saturday - two whole days away, and the jet wasn’t meant to be flying until Friday because of it. What if they found out she was here? How was she going to explain herself?

Normally, Mara would’ve asked Danyal for help. But seeing as the most Mara had heard from him since his leaving were SnapChat stories on his friends’ feeds… She wasn’t counting on it.

“What are you doing?” Samara whispered to herself - and her face began to crumple as she stared up at the towering glass building in front of her, innocuous and unmarked. Exhaling slowly, Mara began to pace, blinking away the blur in her vision. “What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing?”

She was going to be sick. That was what she was doing. Preparing herself to projectile vomit all over the pavement. It would be gross and disgusting and it’d make tears stream down her face, she’d be throwing up so badly, and because she’d be crouching over it’d come out of her nose, too, it’d be disgusting -

Samara forced herself to stop outside of the entrance.

“Stop being a pussy.” She told herself - before taking a deep breath and storming inside.

. . .

“I’m here to see Madeleine Kay.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I don’t need one. I’m her d-” Samara stopped herself. For a moment, she couldn’t speak - her heart was hammering in her throat and she felt dizzy, and sick, and she wanted to cry. But the neatly polished receptionist before her saw none of that - she saw a well-groomed and stylish young, dressed impeccably in cigarette pants and high heels. “Just tell her it’s Samara. She’ll want to see me.”

. . .

She’d found out when she was sixteen.

By eleven, Samara already knew she was adopted. It was almost a relief. It didn’t even bother her that, seemingly overnight, her adoptive mother - Madeeha Kayani, her ‘uncle’s’ sister - changed overnight. If anything, it made sense to the precocious young girl. Mara wasn’t hers. It explained the sudden swings between a… Calculated coolness, and random bursts of affection. It made her feel happy, smug even, at not being crazy for seeing them.

So the problem wasn’t that Samara was adopted. The problem was that nobody was willing to help her find her adoptive parents.

Mara could barely remember all of it. It had happened… So quickly. One day, everything had been fine, and the next, Mara was a rebellious child, lashing out at her fancy school and throwing tantrums. It didn’t help that she could read moods - and more often than not, Madeeha seemed disinterested in Samara’s need to find where she’d come from. Not hurt, not scared of losing her. Just increasingly bored of Mara’s interest and, as time wore on, bored of Samara herself.

Samara had been relieved when she’d been sent to a top girls’ boarding school in Kent. Things had only gotten worse and, with the promise of rough terrain in the form of her teenage years on the horizon… Mara wanted to be far away.

And then, during her first year at Benenden - her secondary school, the boarding one - she’d been hit by a cyclist on campus.

It had been… Not great. A broken wrist, bruised ribs - and worst of all, she’d needed pins placed in her hip while it healed. Nobody had been able to contact Madeeha. The hospital and the school had ended up doing most of the heavy lifting, while she was hospitalised. And they’d been great, they really had. Mara still kept in contact with the school - her old teachers, the nurses who had looked after her in the infirmary -… But they hadn’t been family.

She’d gotten the idea when she’d had her blood transfusion, before the surgery. Before then, she’d toyed with being a vet - but by the time the surgery rolled around, in just a few, short days, Mara had felt enough like a piece of meat on the table that the thought made her want to hit something. She didn’t want to look after people. The only person she ever wanted to be able to look after, was herself.

It had taken three weeks of waiting patiently in that infirmary and one incredibly awkward, painful struggle to reach the cabinet and steal her medical file. So what if Madeeha couldn’t be found? Who cared if she hadn’t come down to see Samara, since she’d arrived back in London? After all, she wasn’t real family. And they’d argued before Samara had left for boarding school, and hadn’t communicated since. They didn’t owe each other anything.

Samara always smirked wryly when she thought back to what she’d found in that stupid file. The kind of plot twist that not even Samara, with her love of fiction and desperate hope that one day she’d be worthy of affection, could have imagined.

Surprise! She wasn’t adopted. Samara was a very specific, rare blood type… That she’d inherited from Madeeha Kayani. Her father’s name hadn’t been listed.

When confronted, Madeeha didn’t have anything to say - not anything that made sense, at least. It had taken her such a long time to confront her adoptive and biological mother - and boy, was that fucked up to think -, that Samara’d had the time to do her own digging. She’d become obsessed. Madeeha had known about her accident, but she just hadn’t cared. Everything else Samara found out after that, was… Nothing.

It had all been bullshit. Such utter, complete fucking bullshit. Madeeha had gotten pregnant. She hadn’t wanted a baby. Her brother had found out and convinced her she could keep it, that they could hide it somehow. Adoption had somehow seemed like a smart idea.

And as soon as Samara knew the truth, well, Madeeha didn’t have to pretend to care anymore.

Before Samara had even turned seventeen, she’d decided to move away. To her uncle. He’d lied, too, but at least he’d kept her around - and beggars couldn’t be choosers.

She’d moved to attend NYU, after a blistering argument with Madeeha - now going by Madeleine - or Maddie to her friends - Kay, completely shedding herself of Samara’s existence at her fancy new law firm - when she was seventeen. She’d celebrated her birthday on a sunny morning in Central Park, eating ice cream and wondering whether she’d ever truly be loved. Her aunt had made it clear upon arrival that she wasn’t wanted… But it paid to be friends with Maddie, the fancy, impressive lawyer in London. So Samara had been allowed to stay.

Not that it had been all bad. Her cousins had become her sisters and her uncle… Cared. More than Maddie did. In fact, upon reaching New York, Samara began to tell anyone who asked that her adoptive mother was dead.

It wasn’t a lie. The mother Samara had thought she’d had as a child had stopped being present when she was eleven, and the mother she had by birthright had ceased to exist the moment her… Human incubator had decided to make Samara’s entire life a lie.

That had been almost three years ago. She and Madeleine Kay hadn’t spoken since.

Nobody knew. Mara’s uncle didn’t even know she knew the truth. She’d thought about telling him, a few times, but… What good would it do? So the secret stayed hidden.

… Until Samara had met Danyal Zafar.

They’d been memorising each other’s life histories one night, holed up in a hipster coffee place in Brooklyn. Mara had corrected something he’d said - something stupid, she couldn’t even remember what now - and Danyal had… Known she was lying. Apparently, in all of his memorising, Danyal had been able to tell that the fake tell Mara had made for herself was actually the real one.

So she’d told him.

It had surprised her, how much it had… Hurt, to say out loud. But somehow, it had made New York feel like… Home. To admit it.

Mara had confessed, over her coconut latte served in a goblet made out of wafers, that her experiences with Madeleine Kay was why she was so obsessed with Sophia Zafar.

Soph Zafar had gone through hardship, but she’d stayed true to who she was. She hadn’t blamed her culture, or her religion, or her family, for her mistakes - for her marriage to Zayn Malik. She owned that shit. And despite it, despite however difficult or fucked up her life had gotten, she’d kept moving. She’d made a new life for herself, away from the Malik brand. She’d become a ridiculously successful editor, and businesswoman, as well as a fashion industry legend. She’d married someone who adored her and had lived her happily ever after, was a great mother - and Samara knew that was true more than ever, after seeing the way Dany was with his mum - and had just… Done better. Been better than what she’d started off with. And then she’d fought off cancer!

She wasn’t just her career idol, Samara had explained. She was the super-Mum Mara wished she’d had. And although lying to Super-Mum sucked, knowing she was exactly what Samara had imagined, even if Mara would only ever be this close for a short while… It made Mara feel a little bit better about the rest of the world.

Mara smiled whenever she remembered what had happened next. She’d looked away from her coffee, up at Danyal - and found him watching her, eyebrows raised, and clearly overwhelmed by all she’d told him. They hadn’t exactly been friends at that point.

But then he’d sighed, and leant back in his chair and said, super sarcastically -

“Your Mum sounds awesome.”

Mara had blinked. And then she’d thought Dany was emotionless. And then she’d laughed, struck by how much… Lighter she felt, having said it all out loud - and having someone acknowledge it, even if it had been with one sentence and a vaguely hidden grimace of disgust - … And then she’d smiled to herself, as Dany told her he was going to buy her a cookie.

. . .

Samara felt oddly… Calm, as she waited.

Maybe calm was the wrong word. Agitated. Offended. Anxious. But it wasn't the same stomach churning fear as before, and for that, she was grateful. She supposed that once you were in the belly of the beast, it was a little bit too late to be scared of the beast as a whole.

After the receptionist - the law offices of Merkenwell & Kay were too fancy for name badges, apparently - had managed a clipped phone call, Mara had been instructed to go up to the reception on the thirty-first floor. So far, she'd been waiting for twenty nine minutes.

Surprisingly, it wasn't bothering her as much as it could have. She didn't have anywhere better to be. Jesus, after next week… She wouldn't have anywhere to be, full stop.

Feeling a flutter in her stomach as she a woman walking past her, much further down the corridor, Samara twisted the engagement ring on her finger.

“Can I help you with something?”

Mara glanced up, surprised to find a middle-aged businessman in a smart suit smiling down at her.

She blinked. In twenty eight of the twenty nine minutes she'd been on the thirty-first floor… She'd been ignored by even the guy who sold sandwiches from a noisy IKEA cart.

“I’m here to see Ms Kay.” Samara said, pairing it with a polite smile - one of her more charming ones. The way this guy was looking at her was… Odd. He had a kind face, and grey streaks in the sides of his hair. Samara’s stomach squirmed. “I was told to wait here, she's meant to be in a meeting…”

“We just finished.” This man was easily closer to Dany’s dad’s age than Samara’s - and although he didn't have the immediately calming, if not slightly imposing, demeanour of Samara’s almost-father-in-law… He didn't seem creepy. “I can walk you over?” He offered.

Samara hesitated, glancing at the thin leather watch on her wrist. Thirty two minutes.

“Um…” She looked back at reception. There were three receptionists and each one of them was still pretending like she didn’t exist. “…Yes, please. If it's not too much trouble.”

“It's not.” The man said happily, motioning for her to follow him. Mara quickly rose to her feet. “It's nice to see Maddie have visitors, she never usually has-”

Mara nodded, barely listening - though she had noticed one thing. Maddie.

They were walking through a corridor now, filled with offices with large, glass panelling instead of doors. Clearly, this was a senior floor - so why the lack of privacy? Did they feel the need to show how hard they were working, so justify being part of some kind of tax evasion club? Was it a size thing? It seemed like a size thing…

They stopped abruptly, so abruptly that Mara almost ran into her guide’s back. Realising he was staring at her as if expecting to speak, Samara somehow managed to scramble the words to thank him… Whilst struggling to not look through the glass.

She didn’t want to ugly-puke on this guy’s shoes. They were brogues, and Mara wasn’t sure whether or not the decorative holes were permeable.

“Want me to see you in?” He offered pleasantly. Mara shook her head.

Before she knocked on the door, she caught a glimpse of her reflection - a tall, thin young girl, in chic black trousers, black heels, a grey cable-knit jumper and a long black waistcoat, her hair tied into a loose ponytail at the base of her neck. She almost didn't recognise herself, she looked so slick.

And then, past her reflection… A tall, thin woman, in a smart white dress, tapping away at her desk.

Unfortunately, she recognised her.

She knocked before she had the time to reconsider - and walked in, without invitation.

When the woman at the desk looked up, Mara slowed, letting her hand fall gently from the door’s handle.

Samara wasn't sure how long they stared at each other for. How, all of a sudden, she felt sick again. What was she doing here? What did she want, what did she expect? There'd been a reason that Samara had never taken the thought of doing this seriously before. So why now? Why was she doing this?!

“I'm sure you have better things to do the week before your wedding, than turn up at my office uninvited.” Madeleine - no, screw that, Madeeha - sighed, after what felt like an eternity.

Just like that, Samara wasn't scared anymore. She was just angry.

“So you did get the invitation.” She murmured, raising her eyebrows - and, sitting opposite Madeeha, smiled falsely at Madeeha’s raised eyebrows as she did. “And there I was, assuming your Internet was down. Or your electricity. Or you'd suddenly lost the ability to use your thumbs…”

“I didn't think it was necessary to respond.” Maddie said coolly. She folded her hands elegantly in front of her on the desk - and Samara rest her chin in her hand and tried her hardest to look attentive.

“That’s weird, because I’m sure there was an RSVP on the bottom of the invitation.” Samara tutted.

“A waste of ink.”

Samara exhaled slowly, as they watched each other.

“Why are you here?” Maddie finally asked, rubbing her temples. Mara straightened in her chair, feeling… Stupid. She wished she knew. “You have everything you could want in New York, I’ve made sure of that-”

“It’s weird, because it’s like you think you’ve spent enough time with me to know what I want-”

“Don’t be juvenile, Samara.” Madeeha snapped. Mara raised her eyebrows. The Ice Bitch was getting sarky! A human really did exist in there! What next? Acknowledgement of human feelings? Or, the unthinkable - a pulse? “You chose to leave London-”

“I chose myself.” Samara corrected softly. This had been a stupid, stupid, stupid idea… And yet, her feet were refusing to carry her out of there. Instead, she actually leant forward. What did she have, a death wish? “And I did that, because even as a stupid little kid, I knew that you never would.”

Madeeha’s eyes narrowed for a second - and stupidly, Samara actually felt a spring of hope. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was what it would take for her to burst, for them to just… Be honest -

“Well, clearly my parenting, whether you agree with it or not, did you well.” Madeeha smirked, tossing back her hair. It was short now, in a choppy bob cut. It suited her. Samara hated it. “I mean, your pathological need for attention managed to help you trap one of the richest heirs on Forbes.”

Underneath the table, out of Madeeha’s line of sight, Mara dug her nails into the flesh of her hand.

“Did all of your years in inheritance law give you that little nugget, or a petty Google search?” Mara asked, struggling to hide her gritted teeth. God, she was an idiot. She was an idiot, to want to be in the same room as this horrible woman, to acknowledge that this was the witch with which she shared significant DNA. “And anyway, he’s more than just a faceless heir on a list.”

“You’d be sensible to sign a pre-nup. For his sake, of course.” Madeeha continued coolly. Samara's face hardened - though if it did any more, her face would turn into marble. “As you know, it’s not my area of expertise, but I could refer you-”

“I want to know who my dad is.”

Whoa. Mara hadn’t seen that coming. That was almost as much of a shock as the whole mother thing.

… But it was better than actually being there solely for approval.

It also gave Samara a pleasant little kick of joy, at seeing Madeeha’s expression actually flash human for a second. Just a second, of course - anything longer and time itself may have split in half and cause a black hole or something -,  but it was still than Mara had ever managed before.

“That’s none of your business.” Madeeha said tightly. Samara let out one, disbelieving laugh before she could stop herself. “What do you want from him that you don’t already have? Money? A roof over your head-”

“Try genuine parental affection, a lack of self-loathing from sharing a significant amount of DNA with someone who seems to have the symptoms of a sociopath-”

“Maybe if you’d actually gone to medical school, I would pay attention to your opinion-”

“He’s my father. Whoever he is. And I’m getting married, and I’m guessing he’d like to know.” Samara said seriously, not quite knowing… Where her sudden maturity was coming from, but deciding to run with it. Just to stand by her convictions, if nothing else. Maybe this is what people meant when they said she was stubborn. “Also, it kind of is my business.” Mara tilted her head slightly. “Kinda became my business when you dropped your panties and fall pregnant, ruining both of our lives.”

The small, fake smile that Samara sent Madeeha’s way made Madeeha’s lips purse in fury; and consequently caused that fake smile to quickly become genuine, at scoring another hit.

There were a few, tense seconds of silence. Mara relished in them.

“You didn't come all of this way to embarrass yourself.” Madeeha finally said. Mara frowned, pretending to think about it. “And we are carrying on as we’ve always been - we're not discussing your father.”

It wasn't what she said - it was the way she said it.

Of course her witch of an incubator wasn't going to readily admit who Samara’s father was. Mara knew Madeeha was proud, and the guy who had been smart enough to run in the opposite direction at creating offspring with possibly the Devil incarnate? Understandable, even if it not… Jealousy-inducing. If Mara had been able to escape from the womb… She would have.

Before Mara had even seen said it, she'd known it couldn't happen. It wasn't going to be something that a couple of quick snipes was going to achieve. Then again, Mara hadn't exactly determined a goal for her visit beyond not being sick out of her nose, so… Maybe she was getting ahead of herself.

One thing Samara definitely hadn't expected, though? Was the look of fear on Madeeha’s face as she'd spoken.

It was well-hidden. In fact, if Mara hadn't been attending AP Deduction with Danyal Zafar (Case Study Divvy Kapoor), maybe she would have hesitated. After all, it wasn't like she knew the psycho-bitch from across the table well enough to be sure - and that applied to all of her personalities. Madeeha Kayani, Madeleine Kay…

But she saw it. The subtle gulp, the tension in her fingers - and the way her eyes had darted away from Samara’s and behind the -

Maddie.

It hit Samara like she'd just been back-handed into a goddamn wall. Just like that. Out of nowhere. Like she'd been sitting there, in movie freeze-frame, and all of a sudden - boom! Music, lights, camera, action!

“… No.” Mara muttered, following Madeeha’s gaze… To the man in the business suit, Samara’s guide, hovering on the other side of the glass door.

And just in case Samara was unsure? Just in case that little part of her that wanted to be proven wrong, t have a proper mother, was clouding her judgement? Samara looked back to Madeeha.

And Maddie, as that… Stranger, that random stranger Samara had just met, by chance, by accident, had called her - her eyes widened, as she realised Samara had followed her unconscious, guilty as fuck gaze.

“You're messing, right?” Samara breathed, staring at Madeeha… Incredulously. No. No. This was not - this was not how this was happening. No! How was it that this… Nightmare of a planet was consistently ruining every important benchmark she was meant to have? How?

Okay… Maybe not every benchmark (Samara figured she had the whole marriage thing covered), but seriously? This was it? She was actually going to find out who her father was, after actually asking… Like this? By recognising a look? This was her big moment, this?!

And, also, just, by the way - what kind of self-respecting lawyer, with their name on the firm they worked for’s fancy paper, had such a bad poker face? How was that even possible? Or did Madeleine Kay not work for her money, just sit around and deliver pneumonia in the form of ice glares whenever someone dared to oppose her? How the fuck did that work?

She shouldn’t have come. She should not have come.

As Samara looked up at the… Vile woman in front of her, she almost flinched. She could see it, she could feel it - all of Madeeha’s superiority, her arrogance, her power, draining from her in front of Samara’s very eyes… And being pulled to her, like some kind of magnetic force. For the first time ever, it was Madeeha who looked wary and scared and uncertain.

… And maybe if Samara had been a better person, maybe if she’d been taught compassion and a little bit of empathy, the pity she felt for Madeeha would have been enough for her to let it go. To just… Silently, humbly accept Madeeha’s first defeat and let it be. She could have been the better person.

But her mother had taught her better than that. Or, well, you know, worse.

You didn’t help someone up when they fell. You kicked them while they were down, just to prove you were a stone-cold bitch.

And Madeeha, knowing the hard expression that suddenly graced Samara’s otherwise soft, open one, could only watch on in panic.

“Samara, don’t you dare-” Madeeha tried to warn - but it was too late. She wasn’t in control anymore.

With a cool, calm twist of her head, Mara turned to face the… Dude standing outside of the door - and, upon making eye contact, motioned with two fingers for him to step inside. Happily, he did.

“Yes, ladies?”

As soon as he spoke, the glass door shutting softly behind him, Samara’s heart suddenly began to stutter, loudly and obnoxiously inside of her throat. Was this it? Was this honestly it? She thought she would have… Known. That’s what she’d always imagined. That finally, after meeting the father that Madeeha had always tried to keep secret from her, when Samara finally saw him… She’d know.

Could it be him? What if she was wrong? Could she afford to be? Could she afford to not trust herself now?

Although Madeeha opened her mouth to speak, no words came out - instead, it was Samara’s cool, pleasant voice that filled the room. It was only Madeeha who knew it was dripping with malice.

“So, how long have you and my mother been working together?”

Stunned silence.

At first, in that initial split second after having spoken, Samara felt an almost overwhelming sense of satisfaction. It felt warm and smug and triumphant. Madeeha, Madeleine, whatever, wanted to keep secrets? Well, fuck that, thank you very much. Samara was here to blow them the fuck up.

But that split second passed and, torn in a whirlwind of emotion, Samara suddenly felt embarrassed and ashamed - a feeling that intensified as she saw… Dude’s expression, stunned and wide-eyed.

Why she felt embarrassed and ashamed was the dumbest part. Why was she berating herself for not being the better person? She was sick of it. Sick of going quiet, sick of hiding, sick of pretending it was all of her choice when it wasn’t, when she’d never agreed to being Madeeha’s dirty little secret. It wasn’t her own fault that she existed. It was Madeeha’s, and possibly this man’s -

Oh no. Was this it? The first thing she’d ever say, ever do, in front of her father?

… Be a total asshole, just like her mother?

Great. Awesome. Another reason for Samara to feel completely shitty.

It was Dude who broke the silence.

“… Mother?” He repeated faintly… Before looking to Madeeha, with wide eyes.

It was like Samara had been slapped. Because the way he’d spoken… She didn’t need to doubt her suspicions anymore.

For the first time in her life, she was standing in a room with both of her parents.

… This has been a mistake. Oh, Jesus, this had been such a huge, mind-altering, apocalyptic, colossal mistake.

This was real. This was… Happening, this was real, and this was not the perfect, cinematic picture Samara had imagined in her head as a kid. This was messy and brutal and fucking random and… And this man, this stranger’s face, was stunned and horrified and bewildered in comparison to the expression of guilt and fury on Madeeha’s.

She shouldn't have come. Whatever she thought she'd been trying to do, whatever demons she thought she'd been chasing down… Samara had been more than wrong, she had been downright stupid.

In a way, Mara almost blamed herself for the origami-level bullshit unfolding before her. What had she come for? Not to really find out who her father was, she hadn't prepared herself for that. She'd said it almost… Tongue in cheek, to get under Madeeha’s skin, to remind herself of why she couldn't expect anything from Madeeha in the first place.

What had she been thinking, to just… Turn up? What was she trying to prove? Trying to say? Goodbye, before her plan with Danyal meant she silently disappeared into a future of her own making, off’ve everybody's radar? Well, in that case, Samara had really fucked herself over. All she'd done was tie herself to Madeeha more, rely on Madeeha more… Make any relationship Samara decided to have - if, if she wanted to have one - with this stranger, entirely dependent on the Satanic offering that was Madeleine Kay.

Samara had thought about this moment so many times. Imagined it, because, deep down, she’d never really expected to find out. Life didn’t work that way. People didn’t always find answers. People did live their lives alone, no matter how much they hoped for otherwise. She wasn’t exempt from that just because she wanted to be.

But the moment was here. And it was sudden and random and - and that was all Samara could think about, how random it all was. Unexpected. How many times had she considered coming to see Madeeha’s new offices? Heard her talk about work, even before leaving for New York - or rather, being run out of London?

What if Madeeha was right? What if this guy didn’t have any interest in Samara? What, he’d been working with Madeeha for all of these years, knew her well enough to call her Maddie (then again… If he was her father, Mara supposed he knew Madeeha very well. Biblically well)… And not once had he worked out that she had a child?

Either Madeeha really hated her that much, or this guy was wilfully naive.

She just felt… Numb. Empty. Unaffected, which was… Pretty insane, given what was happening.

The only comprehensible thought in Samara’s mind, however, only made it worse - because she hadn't expected this. Mara had not expected this! Even if a part of her had dared to hope, that part of her that somehow had magically asked… Not once had she ever entertained the thought, the possibility, not once, that she'd have an answer. That this would be happening. Even a few seconds ago, antagonising Madeeha - that was all it had been! Antagonising her! Mara had never expected…

Okay, that fear of being sick? Not such a fear anymore.

More of an expectation.

Mara wasn't sure how long they all sat (or stood, in the case of her… of Dude) there for, staring at one another. Stunned at Mara’s brazenness. Christ on a stick, she was stunned, and she'd said it.

“I have to go.” She breathed, rising to her feet - but three things happened at once.

Both Madeeha and… Dude spoke at the same time, and, accidentally in stepping towards Madeeha’s desk, Samara found her exit obstructed by this stranger, this random stranger, who, somehow… Might be her father.

“Samara, you are not going anywhere-” Madeeha said through gritted teeth, as, with wide, bewildered eyes… Business Suit (at this rate, Samara was going to run out of tag names) asked the question that immediately commanded a heavy silence.

“Who’s the father?”

Mara squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as reality hit her. This was happening. This was happening - even though it didn’t feel like it was, it didn’t feel real at all, she felt like she’d fallen into the goddamn Twilight zone - and it was real. She was visiting her mother - and probably for validation, and probably because she felt alone and scared about next week. It was pathetic. She’d come to Madeeha’s office, for the first time… Ever and just like that - she was going to get an answer?

She didn’t even know where to start. How could it be this easy? How was this not a special moment - did special moments not exist?

Realising Madeeha didn’t plan on replying anytime soon, Samara cleared her throat.

“That would be you.” She managed to say, her voice coming out... Hoarser than she’d expected. Dude just kept looking at her like a deer in headlights. “If you slept with her twenty or so years ago, which, judging by your expression… You did.”

It took every ounce of her self-control to try and control the sudden, super embarrassing and overwhelming urge to cry.

And then Dude turned to Madeeha and said something that broke whatever little part Samara thought she had left of her heart.

“I thought you got rid of it?”

Samara’s eyes closed in defeat.

She took that one second; that one, brief second, to feel the rejection, to feel all of her hopes dashed once again. To feel like a lost little kid, pathetic and vulnerable and unable to protect herself, desperate for a stupid fucking dream of a happy little family to come true.

One second. One.

And then, before Madeeha could say whatever smug comment her expression clearly showed was coming, Samara stared them both down and straightened her shoulders.

“I’m sensing you both have a lot of catching up to do.” She said calmly - and Samara was so proud of herself for keeping her voice even and cold, that she almost burst into tears right there. “I’ll leave you both to it.” She rose to her feet, hoping that nobody could see how her legs were shaking, and headed for the door.

“So that’s what you came for?” Madeeha scoffed, glaring holes into her head. Samara paused at the door, her face turned away from them both - her parents, Jesus Christ -, and sighed silently to herself. “Are you happy now? Convinced?”

Samara ground her teeth together so hard, her jaw hurt.

“No.” She finally replied, turning to face her with a fake, sunny smile. “No, I came to make sure that I wasn’t doing the wrong thing by not having labelled seats for the bride’s parents. Mission accomplished.”

Samara tried not to shake her head as Dude stared at her, open-mouthed, apparently lost at the word bride.

“Have a nice life.” Samara told them both seriously - before exiting from Madeeha’s office.

Every step was a struggle.

Samara refused to cry where she could be seen - not in this stupid corridor, with its rows and rows of glass offices. But her hands began to shake violently as soon as she was out of Madeeha’s sight, and she had to blink back tears.

This was what she’d waited for. Her whole life, this is what she’d hinged on - the possibility that she had a father out there, one who didn’t know her, but would love her and care and give a shit when nobody else had.

And for what? She’d waited almost her entire life for this moment, and for what?

As the lift doors closed in front of her, Mara watched her reflection - and, seeing her eyes begin to glisten slightly and her bottom lip begin to tremble, Mara forced herself to become composed.

“No.” She said shakily, staring down her own reflection. She placed a finger carefully under each eye. She wasn’t going to cry. She was not going to cry. Madeeha could watch the CCTV later and eat her heart out and how completely careless Mara was going to seem on that stupid camera. “Grow the fuck up. People suck. You’re fine. Grow the fuck up.”

As the lift slowly began to fill with each floor, she kept repeating that mantra - grow the fuck up, people suck, grow the fuck up -, digging her nails into the back of her leg to keep herself focused.

She made it through the ride down to reception. Past the receptionist, with a polite smile. Out of the building, and then down an easily ignored turning that led into an alleyway filled with bins, a man in a neon vest on the far end emptying one out.

Mara hovered awkwardly, waiting for him to leave. He can't have taken more than a few minutes - but to Mara, it felt like centuries, her feelings swarming in an uncomfortable mess in her throat that was beginning to make her feel nauseous.

The man left.

At first, Mara was stupid enough to think the feeling had passed - she was calm, uncaring almost. Maybe she’d been… Dramatising, just caught up in the shock of it all, and now it had passed. She’d been silly to think she needed a moment to hide. She was fine.

But then she heard it in her head again - I thought you got rid of it?

It had been so… Callous. Cruel. Incredulous, like Mara growing up to be a person was the fucked option. Like she was some kind of office printing error, that Dude couldn’t understand happening so easily, because it was so stupid.

Mara leant against the building behind her - and, sighing in defeat, felt her face crumple.

At first, it was… Difficult, almost. Allowing herself to let go. She was so good at keeping her emotions in check - and she finally felt months’ worth of pretending take its toll, as she instinctively fought the emotional release she needed.

“You’re such a child.” She muttered to herself - and then stopped, her hand halfway up to her face, as she realised what she’d just said.

Mara took deep breaths, bracing herself so that her hands were on her knees. Her eyes felt… Wet and as much as Mara tried to blink the tears away, they were too heavy to ignore - and before she could help it, as much as she didn’t want to, Mara felt her face crumple.

It was not graceful and it was not quiet. The more Mara tried to hold it all in, hold it together, the less it worked; she was crying freely now, and loudly, gasping for air and barely able to stand as her body shook - alternating between loud gasps for breath and silent, violent sobs.

"Grow the fuck up, grow the fuck - up-” She tried to tell herself - but she couldn’t stop, her mind angry at her own stupidity. He didn’t want you. They never wanted you. How could you be so stupid to think anyone would? You’re meant to know better. You should have known better…

Mara shook her head, cupping her hand over her mouth as her body ached, still convulsing. Her hands trembled - and it took three tries to remove her phone from her pocket, and another two before she heard the dialling tone.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the familiar sound, and tried to even out her breathing. With every deep breath, she seemed to… Hiccup - her breath being caught in her tears, her chest heaving and stuttering as she hastily tried to dry her already-swelling eyes.

It went to voicemail. Mara tried to sound as normal as possible - or, at least, not so totally pathetic.

“Uhm, hi, sorry, I know we said we weren’t going to talk, but I just wanted to see how you-” Mara stopped, closing her eyes. What was she doing? Why was she doing it? She shouldn’t be talking to anyone. Certainly not him.

But he was the only one she could tell - and, considering the amount of work she’d put into what was essentially going to be his relationship with someone else, she decided she was allowed… His time. What she had left of it, anyway.

“Actually, I’m lying.” Mara confessed - squeezing her eyes shut as her voice began to wobble slightly.  “I… I'm in London, in secret, because I came to visit my total bitch of a mother-” Mara shook her head, sniffling and rolling her eyes heavenward. What a stupid mistake that had been. “- and I don’t know why I did, I guess it was something to do with the wedding-” Mara cringed. Shut up. “- anyway, I, um, I just-” Breathe. Speak. It’s not that hard. “… I think I just met my father. And it wasn’t good.”

It felt awful to say. Real.

Humiliating. That this was her life, that the kind of next-level bullshit she was trying to describe, was where she came from.

“I know I’m not supposed to be calling, but, well, I didn’t have anybody else to call and honestly, I don’t think I trust anyone else - to talk about this with, I mean.” She added quickly, chewing on her lip. She kept sniffling, and Mara had a horrible feeling her mascara had run… Everywhere. “I'm sorry, I guess I just wanted to hear a friendly voice." Mara stopped - again - as she tried to compose herself, feeling… Truly alone. "I just can’t believe that he doesn’t want me either.” She said quietly - and for a second, she actually had to remind herself that there was silence on the other end, because she was leaving a message. “Anyway,” Mara said quickly, realising she sounded ridiculous. “Just… Call me back, okay? I don’t know if I’m going to want to talk about it, or even be able to later, seeing as I’m going to look like an escaped panda the moment I walk down the road with running makeup, but - I hope you’re having fun and if you can call for five minutes… Please do.”

She hung up before she could change her mind.

Sighing, and beginning to try and salvage what little makeup she’d had on in the first place, Mara tried to calm herself down. It was fine. It was all… Okay.

Mara knew Dany would call. There was a possibility he’d moan about it, or making a stupid comment about Mara having the reigns on him for the sake of whoever was nearby (… and to irritate her), but… He’d call. There was no way he wouldn’t. Even if he was a total douchebag sometimes… He had her back. He’d had to, after the past few months.

Anyway, she had things to do. Any second now, Mara expected Madeeha’s stupid PA to let her know that the house she’d grown up in - the one Ari and Pixie were planning on using for the shower - was no longer at her disposable. A petty punishment, for wanting to find out the truth… And sure enough, within moments of Mara ordering her Uber, she received a message.

Don’t even think about the house - but it was text, directly from the wonderful Maddie Kay herself.

“It’s fine.” Mara told herself, taking a deep breath… Before ducking her head down, and heading back out onto the main road to wait for her taxi. You’re fine.

*

Cypress Lounge, Bellagio Las Vegas, Nevada

Dany squinted, grimacing as he sat upright, to the sound of his phone ringing obnoxiously from somewhere beside him. He groped around blindly in the sunshine and frowned, upon seeing Samara’s name flash across the screen.

He sighed, leaning back in the deck chair he’d fallen asleep in. Surrounding him, were the remains of last night’s late night kick-off party; random bits of confetti, half-eaten trays of junk food and some of Dany’s closest friends splayed out around him, in varying degrees of mess.

Hughie was the closest - asleep and snoring softly, his face teetering on the pool’s edge; all it would take was one slight turn, and Hughie would wake up with his head underwater.

Dany turned his phone to silent as Hughie murmured, though not quite moving his head.

The screen had automatically filled with pictures of the caller, and Dany inhaled deeply as the screen transitioned to show one of his favourite pictures.

It was of the first time they’d hung out together; at a party thrown by one of Samara’s friends, thrown at a water-park. There had been a photographer, the kind Dany would have ordinarily expected at parties or clubs; and had taken a picture of the two of them in the crowd, looking ridiculous. Dany was wearing oversized pink sunglasses that took over his entire face, in a damp white T-shirt and a pair of shorts; and falling off’ve Dany’s back, her mouth round in surprise, was Samara. Her hair was loose and wet and she had round (normal-sized) sunglasses on her nose. Dany was looking up at her, amused, as he tried to catch her leg to stop her from falling - and the Dany in real-time grimaced slightly, as he saw his hand just underneath where her denim shorts stopped, his fingers clutching into the firm muscle as he tried.

We’re not meant to be talking.

A part of Dany told him to answer now, quickly, before anyone could stop him and the phone ceased to ring. She’d called first. She’d broken the rules…

But why, Dany asked himself. He was doing it so that it would help them both. So unless it was an emergency… There was no reason for Dany to answer.

They’d made a deal. They’d all but given their word.

… But what if it was an emergency?

Dany chewed on his lip as the image on the screen suddenly died - and was replaced with a small notification of a voicemail, instead.

Surely if it was such an emergency, she wouldn’t have the time to leave a voicemail…?

Dany’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, his entire body feeling uneasy at so blatantly ignoring Samara’s call; and then, he felt irritated, and began to berate himself.

They’d agreed. If it was anything serious, he would know - not have a notification for a voicemail. It was probably Mara updating him about some random detail regarding the wedding, or… Or even an accidental call! After all, what did they really have to say to each other?

They weren’t in a… Formal relationship. After the wedding, they’d have nothing to say to each other.

That decided it.

Taking a deep breath, Dany switched off his phone, slipping it into the back-pocket of his shorts before he could stop himself. He was compromising. He wouldn’t return her call - not unless she messaged him, or called him again, which would indicate it was something serious - and keep to his word… And, he thought irritably as curiosity coursed through him, I’ll check my messages at the end of the trip. Even if they hadn’t agreed to try and get into good habits for after the… Ceremony, Mara wasn’t supposed to be calling him on his stag. Especially when they both knew it was a stag for a wedding different to the ones they’d sent out invitations for.

Although a small voice in Danyal’s mind told him he was being a prat, and to pick up the phone immediately, just to know what was going on (… and maybe, maybe, just to hear her voice)… Dany was resolute. They’d agreed. And anyway, he was going to have to get used to ignoring her calls, if he… Ended up with Divya.

Dany shook his head slightly, rubbing his eyes. He felt… Gross, and immediately tried to blame the relatively comfortable poolside nap he’d just woken from.

He lay back again, staring up at the beams of light wood holding up the umbrella.

What am I doing here?

It was both stupid and useless a question, simply because Dany had an answer to both. He was at his stag. And he was there, because he had orchestrated a fake wedding to make room for a real one.

Exactly. That annoying voice told him. What am I doing here?

. . .

As the hours ticked by, Dany’s day continued; one quickly filled with shenanigans and laughter, after Raj had announced that they were set to partake in some sort of survival course out in the desert. Much to Dany’s relief… That meant leaving their phones inside. Without such a constant reminder, it was easy for Dany to no longer feel so guilty.

And in London, after curiously switching her phone on and off again to make sure her signal wasn’t being funny, Samara realised that Danyal wasn’t going to call her back.

It’s fine, she told herself. She’d already called Ari, telling her that the original venue of the bridal shower was no longer available - no further explanation than that -, but had left out the little detail of already being in the city herself. Realising there was nobody to comfort her, Mara had thought it best to give herself some… Alone time. Though so far, all she’d felt was empty. I’m fine.

Mara thought about texting Danyal; but she told herself that he was probably busy, that he probably wasn’t checking his phone, and that whenever he turned it back on, he’d call her back.

But by the time Mara was in bed in a nondescript Premier Inn, tucked away in one of the city’s many red-bricked back alleys… She wasn’t so sure.

*

The days blurred into each other.

Despite the slight mishap regarding the venue, Pixie and Ari managed to pull off a perfect bridal shower - one Mara had felt privileged to find out, was Ari’s means of thanks, for helping her “totally ridiculous, completely stupid” older brother.

And it was… Lovely, a series of events spread out over the course of four days, for Mara’s cousins and friends to join as their schedule allowed. It was almost like a holiday; one filled with all of Samara’s favourite things and the illusion of company that actually cared about Mara - as a person, for who she was.

The illusion was addictive.

It was the same for Dany, in Vegas; he was caught in a whirlwind of partying, extreme sports and paint-balling, sometimes all at once - much to the chagrin of the hotel, Mara was sure. Of course, she didn’t hear it from Dany himself. TJ and Rafi kept her posted, more TJ than anyone else, and even though Mara couldn’t blame Dany… It stung, every time she thought of how Dany had ignored her call.

It was more humiliating than anything. She’d been so desperate. It was her own fault. And anyway, she’d… Served her purpose. Created a fake relationship. What reason did they have to stay in touch? Maybe Danyal had been onto something, about not being friends after the wedding. Maybe they’d never been friends in the first place.

It wouldn’t have been the first time Mara had desperately sought out affection and imagined something that wasn’t there, would it?

It was okay, though - it was fine, really, to think that her friendship with Danyal was all… In her head. It was nothing new. And Mara didn’t have any more tears to spill - she’d done that on that first, terrible day in London, quietly crying to herself under the covers until she’d fallen asleep with swollen eyes, still occasionally checking her phone just in case Dany had called, or messaged, but she’d missed it.