Didn't You Promise (A Bad for You Novel) (10 page)

Chapter Eleven

Haithem

I’d never forget her face. Not as long as I lived. I’d never forget the way she’d looked at me. The car pulled up. I handed the driver twice the fare for the two-and-a-half-hour drive.

“Wait here. I won’t be long.”

The driver nodded.

I opened the door and exited the car. No, I’d never forget the way she’d looked at me.

The gleaming white exterior of the multi-story resort rose out of the ground amongst tropical trees. I stalked toward the entrance.

But I’d live with all of it. To protect her, to stop her going through what I’d been through, I’d survive her bitterness.

I made many foolish choices since she blasted her way into my life, but risking her parents’ lives was not one. I entered reception, and approached the counter.

The concierge greeted me with a smile.

Should’ve told her
.

I should’ve taken her shoulders and told her all about how militias, corrupt governments and
terrorists
make their blood money.

Smuggling oil. Oil which funds genocide and terrorism, and I was about to make it redundant.

“I’d like to check out.”

The concierge nodded, and asked for the keys and room number.

Angelina might be smart, but in so many ways she was still naïve. It wasn’t oil companies and billionaire sheiks we were running from.

We’d never stayed at this resort—we were staying hours from here on a small island. I handed the concierge an envelope I’d had arraigned for this contingency. And I never explained the difference. I’d wanted her cautious but could not stand to have her terrified.

There was enough keeping her up at night.

He opened the envelope and tapped a computer screen. My stomach hardened on a knot of regret. We’d leaped up our scale of contingencies to Plan C, and I hadn’t even told her. The lingering feeling prickling the back of my neck, screaming we’d been compromised made the escalation unavoidable. The only choice was to lead anyone searching away from India. I handed over my credit card. A credit card with my
real
name.

I paid for two weeks of occupancy, and room service orders. Anyone looking would catch a glimpse or two on the security cameras of a man not too different to myself checking in wearing sunglass and a basketball cap.

Not today though. Today there was no basketball cap or sunglasses.

Today I turned my face to the camera.

The credit card would have been enough, but I never did anything by half.

They’d have their signal.

They’d come and I’d be gone.

Me and Angelina would disappear once again. This time we’d lose ourselves somewhere completely safe. Live out these last few months together until we could make things right.

Things would be made right.
Eventually
.

The clerk printed out the bill.

It wasn’t cheap. It shouldn’t be. I signed on the dotted line with my own scrawling signature.

I’d signed far worse things than this.

Angelina would be fine. She might hurt now, but we’d deal with this. No matter the consequences, we’d survive.

We’ll be fine.

I’d make it fine.

The clerk handed back the credit card with the receipt. I returned to the waiting car. Paid him a little more to make the way back faster.

We’d be fine—it’d be just like before.

Angelina

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the packed bags sitting against the door. He’d been gone so long I’d fallen asleep. I’d had a dream like a scene from Aladdin. Where I was Jasmine stuck in the hourglass. Sand pouring over my face—drowning. Except in the nightmare version of the story someone shared my prison, trapped on the other end of the hourglass.

Haithem
.

His sand pouring over me. Killing me. Then the hourglass flipped over, and my sand flowed over him. Then he was the one drowning. Smothered by my mess.

I blinked, the bags going blurry.

I kept seeing the dream. Again and again in my mind. Because that was us. One of us or the other. We were doomed. No matter which way you flipped it—one of us paid the price.

The sun sunk orange rays between the shutters. We’d be leaving at sunset, he’d said this morning. I forced myself to my feet and poured a glass of mineral water.

Every moment he’d been gone, as much as I’d wanted to scream and rant at him for leaving me here and disappearing for hours, I could barely breathe waiting for him to get back.

We’d just have to work out our differences. I’d have to find a way to live with my choices.

I glanced at the phone.

We were an hour away from hopping on yet another boat. An hour away from being on the move again. This time of night in Australia my parents would be asleep in bed. Dad’s cellphone charging in his study.

One message could make everything all right...

I could explain that I was okay. There was no reason I had to give details, or mention Haithem. I could explain even my call had to stay a secret. They’d stay quiet if I said it’d keep me safe. They’d never gamble with my life.

I stepped closer to the telephone.

One short message and my parents could stop hurting.

No one had to know.

I picked up the phone. My breath charged through the receiver, rasping over the sound of the ringtone. I’d be careful, and pick my words cautiously. I wouldn’t say anything that’d link me to him. I dialed the Australian calling code then punched in dad’s number.

The phone rang—actually rang. Hard to hear over my heartbeat, but I counted them. One, two, three, four, the line clicked.

“
You’ve called Peter Morrison
,
I’m not available to take your call right now
—”

My chest squeezed, Dad’s voice a dart through my vital organs. So real it pierced the pain, sending me crashing back to the cruel arms of reality.

I jammed the phone back onto the base. What was I thinking? I covered my face, and sat back on the edge of the bed. What if they
did
say something? What if someone put things together? Haithem was right, there was only one thing they’d never recover from.

Death
.

This was the choice I’d made, no matter how painful. I went to the bathroom, scooped handfuls of cool water over my face until my cheeks stopped burning. I’d almost betrayed Haithem. Almost broken my promise to him. I patted my face with a towel. But I hadn’t—I’d stopped.

I
stopped myself.

I looked in the mirror and stared at myself.

It never happened.

The bathroom door opened. I gazed at Haithem in the reflection, a silent lump rising in my throat. He stepped forward, and rested his chin on top of my head.

“I’m sorry, Angel.” His arms came around me and he squeezed my ribs.

I pressed my arms over his arms and closed my eyes.

“So am I.” I turned and hugged him, rubbing my cheek against his shirt buttons, and listened to his heart race.

He was here. We were together. It’d be all right, we just had to make it to the end.

Chapter Twelve

My heel met a deck more solid to me than ground. Even at a third in size of the first yacht, the great curving expanses of fiberglass had me pinching myself.

Karim and Emilio greeted us at the bottom of a set of stairs. I laughed, and hugged Emilio. He squeezed me briefly, then stepped back.

I hugged Karim. He didn’t so much as twitch, but when I pulled back he inclined his head.

Haithem carried our bags up. The stairs on this boat were steeper and narrower than the first two yachts, and rattled with all kinds of metallic noise as we ascended. We reached the upper deck and I stepped through the open doors of the cabin, then stood still.

He set the bags down. “What?”

“Déjà vu,” I said, and looked around the cabin. Different yet eerily familiar. “We’re back where we started.”

Haithem tugged off his tie, draped it over a chair, then sat and dragged me onto his lap. “No, we’re not.” He brushed my hair over my shoulder, and pressed his lips to the back of my neck.

Shivers curled along my spine.

Not quite where we started.

That night when I’d visited Haithem on his yacht, I’d attempted to leave, but fate had bigger better plans for both of us.

Maybe she still did, the tricky cow.

“I love you, Haithem.”

He tipped me in his arms, gazed down at me, a small frown pinching his lips before evening. “I love you, too.”

We looked at each other. An aching sadness passed between us. As though we’d be leaving something we didn’t expect behind in Thailand. His shirt pocket vibrated against my shoulder. I sat up, and he pulled out his phone.

“Avner,” he said.

He took the call and I moved off his lap. I watched him cross the room, and speak in another language when English would do just fine.

I wanted to trust him—did trust him.

I had to trust he had his reasons for continuing to conceal things from me. Did he think I didn’t know?

He stepped out onto the deck, his words trailing off.

No, he wouldn’t be so unaware.

I sighed, and moved to the bags, unpacking a few things. Found a shelf with playing cards and a chess set, and set the cards on the bed.

Haithem returned to our cabin.

“What are these for?” He picked up the deck of cards.

I closed a drawer and looked at him. “Teach me something other than Go Fish.”

“Snap?” He smiled and emptied the cards into his palm.

“I was thinking something more advanced.”

“What makes you think I can play cards?”

I raised a brow.

He grinned and shuffled the deck back and forth between his hands like he’d been a dealer in a past life. “What shall we play for?”

My vagina piped up with a suggestion, but I shut her down, and went to the little table in the corner instead. “Got chocolate?”

His rich chuckle washed against me. “Would I really trap myself on a yacht with you without being fully prepared?”

“You’d better be prepared,” I said.

He set the deck on the table, then went outside. His footsteps knocked down the stairs. I spread the deck out flat, started flicking cards over.

Hearts and spades
,
hearts and spades.

They all seemed to turn over in that order.

He came back inside with a block of chocolate, sat down and re-shuffled the cards. “Gin?”

“Sure,” I said. Not that I knew what that was but it’d do.

He explained the rules while I snapped the squares of chocolate into pieces. We played the first games for free until it all sank in. But he won, mostly, showing me no mercy until finally I beat him fair and square.

I took the chocolate I’d won back, and popped a piece into my mouth, letting it melt on my tongue while he collected the cards. “Teach me something else now.”

“Poker?” He shuffled, cards fanning between his nibble fingers.

“Not cards.” I leaned my elbows on the table, and stared right at him. “I want you to teach me to speak Arabic.”

He met my gaze, expression unreadable. The flutter of cards slowed. No, poker was not a game for the two of us.

He spread the deck face up. My heart dropped a fraction. More damn cards. What was he afraid I’d understand?

“We’ll start with numbers.” He tugged out the ace of hearts, and lay it in front of me.

My gaze brightened on the deck, and my chest lifted.

“
Wahid
,” he said. “One.”

I attempted to copy his pronunciation. “
Wahid.
”

“Again,” he said, slowing it down so the sound of the syllables jumped out. “
Wā-hed.
”

I watched the shape of his mouth, the way his tongue moved, and said it again.

“Two.” He ran a finger along the spread deck, then slid out the two of hearts. “
Itnein.
”

I mimicked his words until they flowed from my lips almost seamlessly. We went over and over the numbers until he could pull a card at random and I remembered its name.

“You’re very good at this.” He shuffled with the cards turned over so I couldn’t see them, making our game more challenging when he placed one in front of me.

“Thank you.” I grinned, taking one of his pieces of chocolate and putting it in my mouth.

“Want to do it in French now?”

“I can already count to ten in French.” I swallowed, and narrowed my eyes. “Why don’t we move on to the alphabet?”

He slipped the cards back into the deck. “The Arabic alphabet is tricky.”

I sucked melted chocolate off the tip of my finger.

Bet it wasn’t half as tricky as him, and I’d worked him out.

“Then let’s do basic words.” I held up my finger. “How do you say finger?”

“
Esba’.
”

I stood, repeating the word, then walked to the bed and sat on the edge.

“What about this?” I ran my finger down my neck.

He rose to his feet and approached me, undoing the button on his shirt sleeve, then rolled it up. I missed what he said, fixated instead by the flex of his forearm.

Dammit, I wasn’t going to remember any of these.

He repeated the action on his other sleeve, then rested his hands on either side of my hips.

“
Halamah
,” he said softly.

“What’s that?”

“Why don’t I show you?” He grabbed the strap of my dress and bra in one, yanked the fabric under my breast and pushed up, then closed his mouth over my nipple.

I gasped.

He sucked, then let go.

“
Halamah
,” he repeated against my puckered skin.

My insides coiled tight and hot. He pulled my dress down over my hips, then off my feet. He undid my bra, and took off my shoes. Told my every single body part all the way from eyelashes to toes. Said words he explained were crude while he kissed between my legs. I no longer cared what language he wanted to talk dirty in.

I’d take every crude word and wicked touch.

He taught me lots of Arabic, but mostly there was more sex. As though somewhere between our bodies we could erase the tension between us. The barrier of what we’d seen in Thailand had solidified. We could try to ignore it, to pretend it wasn’t there. Lose ourselves in passion, but it’d just be waiting for us the moment we caught our breath.

Our incredible, unbelievable love, had come at a hefty price.