Another Shot at Forever, page 2
“We need to talk,” Zaynab told him.
“Not here,” was his curt reply before Ara drew her after him gently, away from the merriment that was his sister’s engagement party.
* * *
Running into his estranged wife at Anisa and Nasser’s engagement party was a security measure Ara hadn’t even thought to consider.
And why would he? They technically hadn’t seen each other face-to-face for a year. Any communication they’d had since Zaynab left him to return to her home in London was short and infrequent. He counted a total of three brief calls with her. The first call had been shortly after she left, and he’d inquired about her safe landing, while the second call came from her a few days later. When he’d answered her call, she’d quickly explained that she hadn’t meant to call him at all but that she’d made a mistake.
Admittedly that had stung him far more than he anticipated.
But as fragile as his ego was after that, it was the third call that lingered in his mind. The last one before they went a year’s stretch without speaking.
When she called and asked for a divorce.
His jaw clenched at the memory.
Though it shouldn’t have surprised him when she asked. After all, they had been married for a couple months at that point but they were virtual strangers. More than anything the fault was his. He hadn’t known how to be a husband to her, to love and value her the way she deserved. She might believe otherwise, but their estrangement wasn’t anything he’d planned.
Like their marriage, it just happened.
And Ara neither knew how to fix whatever had broken them—nor did he think it was worth fixing. Zaynab shouldn’t have ever been with him, and since he couldn’t undo time and make it so that she never had met him, he figured the least he could do now was hear her out. Because she hadn’t flown thousands of miles from the UK to coastal Somaliland for Anisa’s engagement party.
So he should have been prepared when after ushering her out of the house and into his car, she opened her purse, pulled out papers, thrust them at him and said, “I want a divorce.”
That word again.
Ara lifted a heavy hand and thumbed the ignition button, the steady hum of the engine not enough to drown out the pressingly dull sound of his heart beating in his eardrums. A sudden heat wrapped its hot, clammy fist around him and held him in its thrall, squeezing at his airway and forcing him to breathe more carefully through his nose—lest Zaynab realize what was happening to him.
Besides, once he breathed enough times and calmed his body’s instinctual reaction, their divorce wasn’t truly shocking news. More unwelcome as it added another task to his overflowing work schedule.
Convincing himself it was the additional unwanted workload she’d now dropped in his lap that was causing his startling physical reaction, Ara sat back, grasped the wheel and drove them away from the house and any prying eyes that might see them together. More than not wanting attention drawn from Anisa and Nasser announcing their engagement to their friends and family, he quietly admitted that he wasn’t ready for his divorce to be made public yet.
They didn’t speak again during the drive to her hotel.
And then only when they entered her modest hotel room.
“How did you know where I was staying?” she blurted as soon as the door to her room closed behind him.
He arched a brow. “You messaged me the location.”
“Right. I forgot that I did that...” Zaynab turned her back on him, but not before Ara caught her anxiously sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. She dropped her purse and the papers she’d been holding onto her bed—the ones he hadn’t taken from her yet—and she walked over to slide open her balcony door and let in a cool breeze.
Stepping closer to her, he tasted the ocean in the fresh mid-October air as it fluttered through her hijab and flooded the room. She must have an even better view of the Indian Ocean and Batalaale Beach from her balcony than he did from his hilltop house. If nothing else calmed him, it was looking out over the white sands of the beach and the sparkling blue waters that had been his home all his life. He would’ve hoped that the vista offered her the same serenity, but judging by the way her shoulders practically touched her ears and her arms caged her middle, Ara didn’t think Zaynab cared much for the view.
He couldn’t blame her. They were, after all, about to end their marriage.
Curbing a sigh, he asked, “If you planned to meet here, why did you come to the house?”
“I didn’t mean to do that either. I just... I didn’t want to wait anymore.” A stronger breeze whipped at her headscarf, the black chiffon wrapped tightly to her head, a reminder that she hadn’t removed it. It was the first time she’d done that. When they’d lived together, just the two of them, Zaynab never wore her headscarf around him. As husband and wife, she hadn’t had to be modest with him.
He supposed that too would change once the divorce was official.
It was an odd thing to fixate on given the heavy subject they had to face.
Zaynab turned from the open balcony and looked at him, concern creasing her brow and a frown curling across her pursed lips.
“I hadn’t planned to come to the house,” she said softly, her arms banding around her tighter, “and I certainly wouldn’t have come had I known about Anisa’s engagement.”
Ara frowned. Yes, he thought guiltily, that was his fault. Though in his defense, they rarely spoke and he assumed a call from him wouldn’t be welcomed by her.
“I would’ve called with the news, but I figured you might be busy.”
By the way Zaynab worried her bottom lip, he knew what they were both thinking about. Or rather, who.
Her mother.
Part of the reason he hadn’t disturbed her was for her mother’s sake. It would’ve been unfair to distract Zaynab when her mother required her undivided attention, and understandably so. They hadn’t spoken about it, and Ara had only heard the news from one of Zaynab’s distant relatives, but he couldn’t imagine what she’d been going through after learning of her mother’s cancer diagnosis.
It was one thing to lose family—he knew that all too well, unfortunately. And yet another to watch them suffer and not be able to do anything to help.
“How is your mother?”
If he hadn’t known what to look for he’d have missed the slightest tremble to her chin.
“She’s fine,” she replied. “In remission now, alhamdulillah.”
“Alhamdulillah,” he echoed, with a lot more relief than he’d expected to be feeling. He had first met her mother, Fadumo, at his and Zaynab’s nikah. Being that her only child was getting married, Fadumo had flown to Berbera from London for the special occasion. Though she had been there to support her daughter, Zaynab’s mother hadn’t treated Ara with anything but maternal kindness, and in that way she’d reminded him of his own late mother... So, naturally, he was relieved to hear that her health hadn’t only improved but been restored.
Ara didn’t fault Zaynab for not telling him that her mother had been sick during their marital separation. Not when they both must have known that this day would come.
That their divorce was imminent.
The awkward silence that followed had him shifting his weight from foot to foot. And the restlessness was compounded when Zaynab glanced at the papers on the bed.
Seeing that he couldn’t avoid it any longer, he picked them up, tension priming his muscles as he perused the small sheaf of papers. It didn’t take him very long to relax. And then to grow confused.
“This is an application form for a khula.” He directed his scowl from the papers to her stubborn expression.
She jerked her head in short affirmation, a look of determination staring back at him.
A khula was the only way a wife could initiate divorce proceedings.
“I went ahead and spoke to my local Muslim law council,” Zaynab explained when he didn’t speak. “We’d have to go through the application process, and I’d have to pay back your mahr—”
“No.” The word slipped easily from his lips as he set the papers down on the bed. Fighting the urge to rip up the divorce application forms, he narrowed his eyes at her. “This isn’t how we’ll do this. Your dowry is not up for discussion.” Although he knew without paying him back her bridal dowry, she wouldn’t even be able to start the process of khula.
He would give her the divorce, but he’d do it in a way where she wouldn’t have to be deprived of the dowry he’d promised her.
“A khula is unacceptable.”
“But I want this done now. I don’t want to wait three months until it’s official.”
She was talking about iddah, the three-month waiting period. If he divorced her, Zaynab and he would still technically be married for three of her regular menstrual cycles. That meant she wouldn’t be officially separated from him until after those three months.
“Did you intend to remarry?” He hadn’t even considered that possibility, and he didn’t care to, not when his thoughts veered toward a blistering anger and...jealousy. Denying it was pointless; he was jealous of what her impatience insinuated. Was there another man waiting in the wings, biding his time for Ara to be out of the picture fully? It would make sense why she seemed so disinclined to perform iddah. And it wouldn’t shock him if there was a lover awaiting her eagerly.
Zaynab was a beautiful woman. It couldn’t be hard for her to find someone to replace him.
“Is that why you’re rushing to perform khula rather than a talaq?” The talaq was the more accepted practice of divorce, where the husband would initiate the divorce proceedings. It was far less complicated, and it wouldn’t require her to return any part of her dowry. “I can’t see why else you’d be impatient.”
If looks could kill...
Well, he wouldn’t be standing in front of her.
“After this I think I might not ever remarry,” she said, seething, her words stabbing into him and fueling his bitterness more.
“Still, the iddah period serves a purpose,” he argued.
“It’s not even like pregnancy is an issue. Doing iddah would be a waste of time.”
She had a point, of course. They hadn’t ever consummated their marriage. And since the chance of immaculate conception was impossible, the three-month waiting period was unnecessary.
“That may be so, and yet I don’t want to rob you of the dowry.”
Zaynab rolled her eyes and kissed her teeth. “You wouldn’t be robbing me—I’m choosing to give it back. Just sign your half of the papers...please, Ara.”
His name came out as a softly exasperated plea, and it nearly weakened him into agreement.
“Pregnancy isn’t the only reason the iddah exists,” he heard himself say, his voice gruffer. “It’s there as a measure to ensure a couple truly want a divorce, and that there’s no path to a reconciliation.” Sealing the distance between them, he stopped in front of her, the space between them vibrating with the heat of their bodies and the tension of their situation. “Divorce is hard enough without regrets.”
Zaynab sniffed at his words. Being a few inches shorter than him, she lifted her chin to stare him down and it made him feel small.
Though not small enough to stop him from saying, “Are you so certain that we’re beyond a possible reconciliation and any regrets?”
It was as though his brain and his mouth were disconnected. Ara couldn’t explain why else he was pushing against the divorce so suddenly, especially since he wouldn’t force Zaynab to remain with him. He told himself a year ago when she left him that it didn’t matter what happened to their marriage and that it was for her to decide what she wanted. That I would go along with whatever she desired.
And she was clearly telling him that she wished for their relationship to end.
So why couldn’t he just shut up, and do as she asked and sign the papers? It would be the rational course of action.
But apparently he was feeling irrational, because he cupped her cheek and stroked her soft skin, the simple touch unlocking an ancient primal part of him.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she stammered, her eyes widening but her body remaining still. She could’ve stopped him from touching her. Stepped back and ended the contact.
But when she didn’t, Ara touched her a little more boldly. His hand slid down and framed her lower jaw, felt the tension buried beneath the smooth brown skin and deep in her jawbone. He tipped her chin back further, and with his thumb indenting the soft flesh of her bottom lip, Ara inhaled sharply when her mouth parted open, her tongue swiping out suddenly and wetting the tip of his digit. He could tell by the way her eyes widened that she hadn’t meant to lick him. And yet that knowledge didn’t douse the heat firing through his body.
They had come here to begin to finalize the end of their marriage.
And somehow he was now holding her, his arm secured around her back and their bodies pressed close. He turned them and walked her back toward the large, comfortable bed a few feet away.
Zaynab gasped when the back of her legs made contact with the bed and gave way, bending, bowing and sending her reeling backward onto the cushioned support of the bed comforter and mattress. Ara followed her, his hands pressed by the sides of her head, their chests no longer touching and yet both matched in their heaving breathlessness.
Her eyes rounded with shocked confusion, sparked with a newer emotion. Desire, he recognized quickly, feeling the same yearning pumping molten heat through his own body.
“I’m just making sure that we’re both certain this is what we want.” Ara took her chin in his hand again, his face lowering closer to hers until he could feel her sweet, warm breath stirring over his lips. “I can’t walk away with any doubts. Can you?”
For a second she did nothing but swallow audibly, but then she shook her head, the motion causing her hijab to slide a little back off her forehead, the baby curls she’d smoothed at her hairline peeping out. Teasing him. Firing up his need to see more of her.
She didn’t object or stop him as he revealed her. As he drew back the hijab with a gentle hand, she lifted her head to help him and he settled the material at the base of her neck, which only fueled the fire for his lust. He couldn’t have worked fast enough, but the result was well worth his patient endurance.
“Braids,” he breathed, pulling her hair free of the hijab that had restrained them and carding his fingers through the long, silky golden-brown lengths of her microbraids.
Ara lifted a palmful to his mouth, brushing their softness over his lips and groaning when he caught a tantalizingly sweet whiff of her hair. It wasn’t enough for him to bury his nose into the hair he had trapped in his hand; he desired the source and moved to tunnel his face into the side of her neck, her braids tickling his face and the scent of her oud perfume, fruity shampoo and whatever was naturally her. Dazed by passion, he ended up with his lips pressed to the pulse beating right above her clavicle.
Her soft little gasp wasn’t what drew his head up.
No, it was her hands at the back of his head, digging in suggestively until he rose up over her again, their lips in perfect alignment were he to descend to her.
Before Ara could decide whether he wanted to go as far as kiss her, Zaynab pulled him down to her and made the decision for him.
He groaned as her lips moved hesitantly against his, her soft exploration of him causing his arms to nearly buckle and testing the limits of his self-restraint to do anything more. But as he told himself that this was all it could be, he felt Zaynab’s legs brushing his thighs, her ankles pressing into his backside with an urgency that matched the now-confident slide of her mouth against his.
It was counterproductive for them to be doing this—torturous even, considering why they had come together.
And as if to remind them again, the loud distinct crinkle of paper reached his ears.
She didn’t break from his mouth, tipping her hip to the side while he ripped the offensive papers for the divorce application free from under her. Flinging them away haphazardly, not caring where they ended up or if they blasted to oblivion, he pushed her deeper into the bed and kissed her to breathlessness. And she returned the favor, driving him onto his back at one point and moving away from his mouth to nip and trail her lips along his jawline to a sensitive earlobe.
He knew he should’ve stopped them.
But it was when Zaynab lifted up the bottom of his shirt that Ara realized that even if he desired to, there was no ending what they had started, not without any hurt feelings. He hadn’t been a good husband to her, but this one time he wished to give her what she wanted.
First this moment together, and then the divorce she asked of him.
CHAPTER TWO
ZAYNAB DIDN’T KNOW what made her angrier at Ara: that he’d abandoned her with a signed divorce application after their one-time passionate mistake, or that after refusing to give him any more thought, she was now fully reminded of him at her doctor’s checkup.
She stared in horror as her family doctor confirmed what she’d suspected and dreaded.
“You’re pregnant, Zaynab.”
Pregnant? She was pregnant?
Whatever else her doctor said was slowly overtaken by her harsh, grating breaths as she barely held together her composure when all she wished to do was scream.
“Your HCG levels... It’s a lot later in the first trimester...”
“I’m pregnant.” She hoped that saying it would settle her thundering heart, but she only grew more faint sitting upright on the exam bed when her doctor smiled and nodded patiently. Zaynab didn’t even bother asking her if she was certain. She had the result of her blood test in her hands, not to mention a pregnancy test currently occupying the dustbin in her flat’s bathroom. She’d done the home screening when her usually regular cycle hadn’t arrived not for one but two months. It hadn’t taken her long to do the math after and then drop everything to visit the nearest chemist to her flat.
