Another Shot at Forever, page 6
“It is and isn’t about the boar,” Ara replied gruffly.
Blowing a sharp breath out his nose then, he continued, “Losing my parents changed my life. I wouldn’t wish that loss on my worst enemy, and it’s why I’m trying to do everything I can to keep our child from...from experiencing that too.”
He hadn’t been able to save his hooyo and aabo—hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye and it haunted him still. If he could trade all his wealth to guarantee their baby never had to feel the pain he’d been dealt, he would do it in a heartbeat. But he didn’t have that power alone. Zaynab had to want the same thing too.
“That’s why I want us to be on the same page. It’s why I think we should live together.”
Zaynab looked down into her teacup, her fingertip circling the rim slowly. Waiting for her to speak her thoughts was torturous, but eventually she said, “I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Tell me why.”
She sighed and met his stare. “I understand where you’re coming from, and I want the same thing, but...”
“But...” he urged.
“But we’ve tried this already.” Zaynab looked away, though not before he spied the pained expression flickering over her pretty face. “And we failed at that, didn’t we? I might not know what it’s like to lose a loved one, but my parents’ divorce was ugly, and I—well, I just don’t want that for our child either.”
“I didn’t ask for the divorce.”
She whipped her head back to him with a ready glare. “I might have asked for the divorce, but that’s only because it felt like the only solution. And I’d rather a clean break than be reminded that my marriage is a product of my father not truly wanting me.”
They rarely spoke about Sharmarke. Zaynab’s father was a barrier between them even though he was no longer in their lives.
“If what happened with your father is something you can’t overlook—”
“What happened with Sharmarke has nothing to do with us,” she cut in. Then, her eyes softening, she sighed. “I can’t speak for you, but our marriage wasn’t happy for me. And regardless of what my father did or didn’t do, things would have ended up the way they did for us anyway.”
Hearing that their divorce would’ve been inevitable for her stabbed into his chest. Worse, he couldn’t do anything to assuage the pain as Zaynab was watching him carefully, her teeth locking onto and worrying her bottom lip.
“It’s all right if you lay the fault at my feet.”
“Why would I blame you for something he did?” she asked skeptically.
“Because I helped send him to prison.”
It wasn’t a secret that Ara had gathered the evidence against her father that had locked him away forever.
One of the hardest choices he’d had to make, but Sharmarke had allowed his political clout to get to his head and committed unspeakable, evil crimes against innocent people. It had fallen on Ara to either be his accomplice or to stand up against the injustice. He’d chosen the latter, and though he knew it had been the right decision—the morally good one, it hadn’t made living with it any easier.
“It would be perfectly understandable if you blamed me.”
“But I don’t,” she said firmly. “Sharmarke deserved the several life sentences for his crimes. If I’d known what he was doing, I would’ve locked him up myself. I should thank you.”
“Thank me?”
She jerked her head in a nod. “I’m glad someone saw through his lies. Saw him for who he truly was.”
Ara gazed at her in wonder, shocked to see no condemnation staring back at him. She’s not angry with me. He had always thought that she secretly accused him of imprisoning her father. It was why he avoided the subject around her, and partly why he had spent their marriage avoiding her. At first he had wanted to protect her from who her father was, but after witnessing the harm Sharmarke had caused, Ara worried whether loving her would only bring him pain.
The kind of pain he’d felt after losing his parents.
They lapsed into their own little worlds after that, drinking their tea in a silence that was thicker than the misting rain falling outside.
“You know, six months isn’t that long,” Zaynab said, breaking the silence.
Then she smiled prettily and the sight of it delivered a bolt of crackling heat through him.
Ara wanted to agree, but with the way his heart was juddering, six months was already feeling like it would be a lot longer than he bargained for. He was doing this to protect her and their child, but now he had to wonder who would protect him from the heart-racing, chest-tightening, flushed skin feelings that Zaynab awoke in him every time he was close to her.
Feelings he highly suspected would only grow stronger if they moved in together.
CHAPTER FIVE
“DON’T FALL IN LOVE.”
Sitting cross-legged on her sofa in her cozy little London flat, Zaynab lifted the pen off her small notebook and read over what she wrote.
It was the only rule she made for herself.
The only one that could wreck everything before it even started.
If she and Ara were going to make living together work, this one rule needed to be observed strictly. Because the last thing she needed was to forget that they weren’t playing at pretend house, but rather trialing a co-parental existence that would provide the best environment for their baby.
Although Zaynab still thought living with him was a bad decision, she at least now understood why he was pushing for it so hard.
“Losing my parents changed my life.”
Not once had Ara ever been that open about his feelings and thoughts. He could discuss business practices, politics and social ideologies all day, and that had attracted her when they had first dated, but she had imagined he would grow more comfortable around her after they married. She never knew what he was thinking and it made living with him difficult.
Yet for the first time ever, glimpsing his emotions had given her a wealth of information. One, he wasn’t as coldly unemotional as she thought, and two, under his seemingly impenetrable exterior there was a beating heart that mourned his late parents.
“It’s why I’m trying to do everything I can to keep our child from experiencing that too.”
He’d spoken those words painfully and, now as they played back in her head, her chest tightened with her sorrow for him.
She could appreciate why family was important to him, and why he would want to be close to their baby, yet it didn’t make moving in together any less nerve-racking. They had tried this before. It hadn’t worked out for them then, and expecting a baby only exacerbated her apprehension. What if they argued? What if living with him stressed out her and the baby?
What if this is a mistake?
Either way Zaynab wouldn’t know what it would be like until he finally arrived in London.
Their time in Mauritius was two weeks ago. Two weeks since she last saw him, but Ara had begun messaging her regularly. He’d even sometimes call, and though never longer than a few minutes, she liked that he asked after her and the baby’s health. It felt like they had talked more in those couple weeks than they had in all of their marriage. The promising change in him almost had her anticipating seeing him again.
Almost.
Seeing him meant having those dark eyes of his piercing her, his smoky, spiced cologne swimming through her space, and all the memories of his arms around her. And Zaynab just didn’t know whether she was ready for that yet. “Or if I’ll ever be ready for it,” she whispered.
The doorbell ringing interrupted her musing.
In her hurry to answer her caller, she stubbed her toe on the small boxes she had piled right by the sofa. She had started packing slowly and hoped that she would be prepared when Ara arrived. With her apartment being so small, they’d decided that it was better to find a new place.
“Coming!” she called when the doorbell buzzed a second time.
She tugged down on the hem of her oversized hoodie over her leggings. Figuring it could just be a neighbor asking her for a cup of sugar, Zaynab went to the door.
A peek through the peephole told her it was not a neighbor calling.
Breathless, she opened the door with a shaky hand and faced Ara.
“Zaynab,” he greeted. No “hello” or “how are you,” just her name rumbled in that deep, deliciously sultry voice. She clamped down the urge to shiver in response, her clammy hand tightening on the door handle and pulling the door open wider.
In the short time apart, Ara hadn’t changed except for one way: his beard was thicker and darker, and it only drew her eyes to his blade-sharp nose, sculpted cheekbones and dusky brown lips. His long overcoat was drawn open allowing her to a good look at the finely tailored three-piece suit he had on.
Somewhere out there she just knew some magazine was missing its cover model.
“May I?” he asked, pointing past her with the handle of his umbrella.
She blushed at having been caught ogling him, stepping aside and turning to watch him enter her home. Closing the door and sealing out the wintry air creeping in from the outside, Ara turned his back to her temporarily, leaving his umbrella against the door and his shiny leather shoes on the mat before facing her.
It gave her just enough time to get a grip on her swooning when his familiar fragrance wafted over to her.
“Tea?” she offered with a meek smile.
He nodded and she flitted away into the open kitchen plan.
Feeling him shadow her, she busied herself gathering the teacups while the kettle warmed to a slow boil on the stove. She’d always thought her kitchen as a restful place, but that was before she had six feet of lean muscle looming behind her, reaching up over her head to help her pull down plates from the cupboards for the biscuits she’d planned to set up as a quick snack. It didn’t matter that she could have reached for the plates perfectly fine herself. Her foolish heart thumped harder.
“The ultrasound.”
Ara moved away from her to the fridge and plucked off the magnets holding their baby’s first ultrasound.
It had been a few days ago since Zaynab had gone in for her scan. Ara had joined her over a video call, and although she’d appreciated that he had made some effort to be there for that special moment, she would have liked for him to have been there in person instead. Holding her hand when the sonographer had talked her through the process. Marveling with her as their baby made their first appearance on the technician’s computer screen, the soft lub-dub of the heart filling the sterile exam room. And hugging her when she’d sat up and held the first ultrasound in her hands.
But she didn’t want them to argue about it, not now that they were trying to be on the same page. So, she swallowed her disappointment.
“I have your copy of Button in my wallet. Remind me to give it to you later, all right?”
“Button?” he echoed.
Zaynab smiled, abashed that she’d have to explain. “Yeah, um, well it kind of looks like they’ve got a button nose.”
Wrinkling his brow, Ara held the ultrasound at different angles. Zaynab could see him struggling to envision what she meant, and before she realized it, she was at his side, leaning in and pointing it out for him.
“Right there. It’s just like a button, don’t you think? Well, that and we can’t keep calling him or her ‘the baby.’”
“I see what you mean,” he said, his warm, mint-scented breath stirring over her face as he turned his head to her. She’d been in such a rush to explain their baby’s nickname that Zaynab hadn’t considered personal boundaries. Now having infiltrated his space, she was even more susceptible to his magnetic aura.
With one look he made her feel like the only person in the world.
The only person in his world.
She gulped, her face heating up under his scrutiny, and needing his attention off her again, she nervously gestured to the grayscale image. “See, those are the arms, the little face, and the legs flung up over their head, like Button’s doing yoga in there.” She was babbling now, and Ara had to have known. Everything she was telling him he’d already seen for himself when he had joined her virtually for the ultrasound.
Worried about what she’d say next, Zaynab closed her mouth and retreated back to unpacking biscuits for them.
“When did you arrive?” she asked, using the excuse of plating their store-bought crisp biscuits to keep her back to him.
“Around noon.”
Zaynab was glad she wasn’t looking at him, otherwise he would’ve clocked her shock. It was past four now, so he’d been in the city for hours and he hadn’t bothered calling her. Her confusion and irritation didn’t last for long though as Ara explained himself.
“I would have come earlier, but I had an errand to oversee,” he said.
“Errand? I didn’t think you were familiar with London.” She knew that though Ara’s company was big, and he had investors and clients all throughout the world, he preferred staying near his home in Berbera.
It was why Zaynab had worried he would change his mind about living in London and try to talk her into moving back to Somalia.
But seeing him now, in her tiny kitchen, allayed that fear.
At least it did until he said, “I had to see a woman about something.”
“A woman? What woman?” She hadn’t meant to blurt out her curiosity, or to whirl around to him and gawk, but the thought that he hadn’t contacted her because he’d first gone to see another woman hurt more than she was expecting. Not that she was expecting him to be seeing other women. And not that I should care...
Ara’s easy, handsome smile disarmed her suspicion though. “The estate agent,” he said. “We need a home, don’t we?”
* * *
Getting Zaynab out of her flat wasn’t as difficult as Ara imagined it would be. As soon as he’d told her about the home he purchased, she was eager to see the place for herself.
Well, “eager” was a stretch.
Nervous was probably a better description. Throughout the hour-long drive from her neighborhood to West London she gripped onto the worn brown leather handle of her purse and sat silently beside him. He’d been ready for her to pelt questions at him, but he knew that she was more likely still processing his sudden appearance at her doorstep. The only reason he hadn’t called beforehand and forewarned her of his arrival was because he’d wanted to see their new home first and ensure that the estate agent he had hired had done their job properly. It had to be perfect for Zaynab...
Perfect for their growing family.
Family. That word was sitting better in his mind with each passing day. Whether they divorced or not, they would be a family now, and if Ara couldn’t have Zaynab as his wife, then he still wanted to provide for her and their baby. As long as he breathed, they wouldn’t go without anything. He silently swore the oath again, as he’d done almost every day since he had last seen Zaynab.
Now that he was with her, he was just ready for them to truly begin this journey together as soon-to-be parents.
And it started with showing her their home.
Zaynab’s breath hitched, the brisk but soft sound clapping like thunder in the silence of the car. He glanced at her and fought a smile when he glimpsed her wide-eyed awe.
After gearing the car into Park, he exited and circled around to grab her door before she did. She was still gawking out the windshield and whipped her head to him when he opened the door.
“This is it?” she squeaked the words out, stepping out of the car and straightening her baggy hoodie. In a hurry to see the new home, she hadn’t changed out of her adorable outfit.
“This is it,” Ara repeated.
Besides wrapping up his business affairs in Mogadishu, he’d spent the past couple weeks apart from Zaynab searching tirelessly for a home that would suit her. The staff at the estate company that he’d worked with had just about nearly reached their wits’ ends when Ara had finally seen it; the ideal house for Zaynab. Ironically it was the antithesis of what he’d have chosen for himself. But one look at the pastel-hued stucco exteriors of the terraced houses in Notting Hill, the lush, private communal gardens, and tranquil atmosphere away from the busier central heart of London, and he knew he’d found the perfect home that complemented both him and Zaynab.
She pressed her hands to her stomach and softly wondered, “Which one?”
He opened a charming wrought iron fence, walked her beneath a dormant flowering tree covering their front property, and up a short flight of stone steps to their terraced house with a seafoam green door. Ara unlocked it and swung it wide open, gesturing for her to enter before him. He’d gotten a thorough tour from the estate agent and inspected every inch of the four-thousand-square-foot, three-story town house, which would now work to his advantage because he’d have nothing to disturb him from watching Zaynab’s every single reaction.
Of course he wouldn’t be able to do that if Zaynab remained rooted in the entrance hall, her lightly glossed mouth parted open and her head swiveling as she assessed her surroundings.
“Would you like me to give you a tour?”
She nodded slowly, closing her mouth but mesmerizing him with those large bewildered eyes of hers.
He couldn’t blame her for being overwhelmed. The town house dripped with the kind of excessive wealth that surprised even him. Although with its hefty price tag, he expected nothing less.
Ara followed her facial cues as he guided her along the three separate flats that made up the grand town house. From the foyer to the sitting room, through the kitchen and dining area, and into each of the six bedrooms and five bathrooms plus the cloakroom on the ground floor, he highlighted the prime features of the home that was theirs—but only if she wanted it to be. And it was hard to tell what she was thinking when her features remained fixed in surprise.
