Didn't You Promise (A Bad for You Novel) (22 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

I wipe my eyes, steady my breath, then open the door and stare down the barrel of what is more than a hundred and seventy something centimeters—a hellofalot more centimeters than I have—of seriously pissed off blonde woman. Emma’s put her stilettos back on, and stands tapping one toe on the linoleum in the center of the tiny kitchen, arms crossed, gaze shooting barbs in my general vicinity.

I close the door. I have to pity the guy who eventually wins her fiery heart. He’s in for trouble. Probably not as much as I’m in for right now.

“That’s him isn’t it?” She points at the door. “He’s the guy from the coffee shop and the elevator, isn’t he?”

I fall back against the door flowers in my arms. “Yes.”

“Yes?” She blinks, still pointing. “Yes? How can you say yes?”

There’s no point lying. Not anymore if she’s figured it out. Haithem’s invention has reached full market penetration, and I’m not spilling patent details. I just hope no one else connects the dots.

“I don’t understand. What happened?” She drops her hand. “Who’s the guy who confessed?”

I rub my lips together. “Some guy Haithem paid.”

She stares at me, her brows drawn tight and her mouth pinched. I’m about to find out how much our long friendship can stand up to.

“I need to sit.” She walks towards the living area. “Did he kidnap you?”

I put the roses on the bench then follow but linger in the archway. “Not exactly...”

Emma sinks into the sofa, and rests one hand on the arm. “You know if you’d decided to run off, and let that incredible beast bang your brains out for a few weeks, I could completely understand.” She reaches down and pulls off a shoe, keeping her gaze fixed on the carpet. “Hell, if you did I’d put on a costume and shake some pompoms, but
please
don’t tell me—” she toes off her other shoe, then looks up at me. The corners of her eyes narrow, “—that while we were all thinking you were dead, you were just off having a holiday with Sheik McGorgeous?”

My ribs pinch in the middle.

Emma’s never looked at me this way, no one ever has. I’ve known this was coming though.

Judgment
.

“Well he’s not a sheik, he’s just Egyptian, and I’m fairly certain Mc’s are a Scottish thing.” I approach the sofa, lower myself on to the other side.

“I’m really not joking, Angelina.”

“I know, but it’s complicated.” I meet her gaze. “We didn’t have
any
easy choices.”

Her jaw sets. “Then why don’t you explain them to me, because I think I deserve at least that much.”

I blink, and rub my temple with a knuckle. Then, I give her an abridged, light-on-specifics version. She listens, watching me speak the whole time without ever saying a word. If there is anyone who could understand, who might not judge, it’ll be her.

I finish and silence stretches through the apartment.

“That’s really not what I expected you to tell me.” She sighs and leans back against the pillows. “So he faked his death and now you don’t know if you can trust him, huh?”

I kick of my own shoes and flop back next to her. “Yeah, that’s about the gist of it.”

Among the other harder-to-articulate stuff.

“But you really, really love him?” She glances at me without turning her head.

That might be the first easy answer I can give. “In ways I can’t find strong enough words to define.”

“Well,” she says “Letting someone who loves you think you’re dead
is
a pretty shitty thing to do...”

I cut her a look through slitted eyes. “Not the same, Emma.”

She rolls on her elbow towards me. “Because you did it to protect your family, and he did it to protect who?”

I swallow a mouthful of sadness, and pick lint off a cushion.

“Babe, I understand needing to break away from the toxic people we love. My father’s been throwing me against walls and kicking me while I lay on the ground since I started high school...” Her voice gets husky and she clears her throat. I move my hand from the cushion to on top of hers.

“Yet, now I’m back for the weekend, I still have to fight the urge to go over there and see him. Find out if maybe today he’s sober. If maybe this time me actually cutting him out shook some sense into him...” Emma puts her free hand on top of the one I have over hers, sandwiching me there. “But
I
can’t. Because what my father does
is
hurt me, not protect me.”

We look at each other a moment. We’ve never been this honest before. “It’s not all about being protected, I want to be
respected
too.”

She sighs. “So you’re breaking up, or is that staying broken up?”

Her hands radiate warmth into mine.

My eyes tingle. “I’m not sure this is broken up—it’s being apart until we can figure it out.”

“So what are you going to do?”

I sniff twice. Emma puts an arm around my shoulders, and I rest my temple on hers. “Oh, Emma, I don’t know.”

September

“Bitch, just because you live alone does not mean you should do that.”

I angle my laptop screen for the best view of Emma’s judgey-Mcjudge-judge face, then tug the spoon out of the cookies-and-cream ice cream and lick it as grossly as possible.

“You mean this?” I say with my mouth full.

She rubs her forehead. “Why not put it in a bowl?”

“Because I only brought one and it’s still in the sink from dinner.” Yep, I have like three pieces of crockery and a handful of odd utensils Mum was going to throw away. Not sure why I can’t bring myself to flesh this place out a little. Honestly, I could sell one of the handbags that came from Haithem and I’d be able to deck the place out. But, I can’t bring myself to do that anymore than I can bring myself to start hanging photos around the apartment. And I’m not even into handbags. I stick the spoon back into the tub. “Besides no one else is coming over to eat my ice cream.”

She laughs, holding her hand over her mouth then rocks back. “No?”

My cheeks heat, and I put the tub down. No, the only person I want eating my ice cream, and boy does my ice cream want eating, is on the other side of the world for I don’t know how long.

“Have you heard from him?”

I glance at the pile of magazines stacked up next to the sofa. From the day he told me he was leaving, it’s been like something flipped over. Now I can’t walk past a magazine rack without searching through every single one, without buying any that even mentions him. I’m developing quite a nice little stalkerish collection. If I don’t end up a crazy cat lady, I’ll end up some freak with a shrine.

“I texted him two weeks ago.” I pull a tissue from my pocket and wipe my mouth. “Just to check he got to Cairo okay. Got an entire two-word response.”

I let out a long sigh.

Emma moves but the screen doesn’t quite catch up, making it appear as though her head teleports from one angle to another. “How are you doing?”

I snort. “I’ve been through worse.”

“Yeah, you have,” she says softly.

We stare at each other over the video chat, the steam running out on our conversation.

“Okay, I got to go get my ass ready for this date.” Emma fluffs her hair, which is in full frizz. “No guy’s going to want to shag Hagrid.”

“Because that’s an accurate comparison.” I laugh, and pick up the ice-cream tub to put away. “Talk again Monday night?”

“Sure.” She blows me a kiss. “Night.”

“Night,” I say, then lean forward and cup my free hand next to my cheek. “I’m counting on you to get some on my behalf.”

Her mouth opens wide then she laughs her adorable nose-scrunching laugh. “I don’t know who you are, but I like you even better than before,” Emma says, then her gaze drifts over the laptop. “No way...”

“What?”

“Turn on the television.” She waves her hand at the screen without looking.

I fumble in the cushions for the remote. “What is it?”

She tells me the channel. “Sheik McGorgeous is on the telly.”

I point the control. “He’s always on television now.”

“Not like this.”

The screen flicks on and I press the buttons for the correct channel. It’s a promo for a Sunday night current affairs show. Footage of a reporter walking a street some place very schmancy.

“
We will take you to Cairo
,
for a world first exclusive with a man who’s not only changing the world as we know it
,
but fast becoming the planet’s most desirable bachelor.
”

The screen flashes to Haithem, his wicked grin, a laugh that reaches out and seizes the contents of my chest.

“Whose-a-what-now?” Emma voice drifts from the laptop.

My jaw might just unhinge.
Bachelor
? He’s not a freaking bachelor. A bachelor is a schmuck on a show who dates twenty-five women at a time, while they vie for his magic roses.

“
Smart
,
wealthy beyond belief
,
and more than a little easy on the eyes—but who is Haithem?
”

The promo finishes, but I keep staring at the television.

“Nooooooo,” I whisper under my breath. The box is possessed. There’s a poltergeist in it. No way would Haithem go along with whatever that was.

I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t.

Unless he moved on.

Unless he took my request for a breather and ran with it all the way back to Egypt...

Unless now he was back to real life, the threat of someone murdering not tearing at his vulnerabilities, the life he wanted wasn’t actually one with me?

He could have anyone. Nothing stopped him now. I wasn’t the only person in the world he could talk to anymore.

“Angelina?” Emma’s voice cuts through the stillness my mind plunged into.

“This is why he
had
to rush back to Egypt?” I look back at Emma. “This is how he chooses to address the world for the first time?” I raise my hands. “As some kind of smug-ass playboy?”

I hit the buttons on the remote bringing up the guide. “When is this crap on?”

“That would be Sunday, tomorrow. Like they said in the ad.”

I shoot a scowl at the laptop.

“I thought you didn’t think the two of you could make it?” Emma asks looking at her nails.

“We have problems, that doesn’t mean it’s over.” I clamp my teeth shut.

“Exactly,” she says, then leans real close to the camera, her freckled nose coming into focus. “Which is why, my love, you really need to either shit—” her hand moves to the top of the screen “—or get off the toilet.”

The video feed goes dead.

She hung up on me.

Settles it. There’s
no way
I’m going to suffer the indignity of watching that damn show.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Packet Mac and cheese—that’s what this Sunday night has come to. At least it’s the good kind with tinned cheese not the powdered kind. You know you’re making great strides when you get your cheese from a tin instead of a sachet. But who am I kidding, it was on special this week, and honestly all I had left in the pantry.

I ladle a soup bowl to the brim and top it with ketchup. Not sure why I’m compelled to squirt ketchup on and make it as nasty and comforting as possible. I could add cheese Twisties as a crunchy garnish, but then I’d have to reach into the top cupboard where I hide treats from myself, and well—screw reaching for things.

It’s enough I showered today. Damp strands of hair soak cold patches into the back of my robe. Bugger dressing as well. My robe will do just fine until I drag myself to work tomorrow.

I shuffle to the sofa and hunch over the bowl, then take a few stodgy mouthfuls and work up the nerve to pick up the remote control.

When he said he had to go home, I’m not sure what I thought he’d do. Work some of his own shit out maybe. Come back to me with his own baggage left behind.

Not preen in front of some reporter.

Not reveal himself to the world as some kind of golden playboy.

The screen lights up on my cell phone balanced on the arm of the sofa. The reminder flashes.
As though I’d forget.
I set the spoon into the bowl then snatch up the remote, and turn on the television.

So maybe I am going to watch the show. Might be just what I need to pull my rapidly re-expanding ass out of this funk and climb back up on the life horse. The intro has already started. Tonight’s highlights flick across the screen. I toss the remote aside. Haithem sits opposite the reporter, that wicked smile playing across his lips as she asks him what it’s like to be the world’s most desirable bachelor. I shovel more pasta into my food-hole.

Starting tomorrow I’m going to buy some vegetables and stop eating like a toddler. Until Haithem came back from the dead, the contents of my fridge actually resembled an adult. Now the only produce remaining lies somewhere in the bottom-drawer-of-doom, wrinkled and juicy. There’s cucumber slushy in a bag. I chew and swallow. Bits stick in my esophagus.

I’m going to need something to wash this down. I put aside the bowl and go get myself a cola, cracking the lid as I sit back down. Now the intro has moved to inside a house. I swear these programs are more introductions, highlights, and recaps than show. The camera closes in on Haithem’s face and pain crashes over his features.

The cola slides down the wrong way. I cough, and set the can on the coffee table next to the forgotten bowl of Mac and cheese. I rub a cool palm over my cheek. The reporter starts talking. She’s walking down the pavement in what I can only assume is an Egyptian street, talking animatedly with her hands. My ears only pick out words. Words like
incredible
, and
remarkable
. That’s what she says he is. Short yellow hair blows across her forehead and she brushes it away. They chose a pretty young reporter for this interview.

They dedicated the entire program not just a segment to Haithem.

Everyone thinks he’s so fascinating. They’re right, but they have no idea. Not really.

She stops in front of a sprawling property with enormous gates.

“
When I first sat down with Haithem
,
of course I was struck by his looks
,
and then by his presence
,
which is something you have to experience to understand
—”

She brushes her forehead again but this time there’s nothing there.

“
I
expected to meet a world-leading inventor.
A
man who speaks an impressive five languages—a genius.
”

She holds out her hands.

I wiggle back into the sofa. I bet a few million more people just joined his Facebook fan group right now. Yeah, he has one. Someone started it a few days ago. It’s up to the kind of subscribership that has points and letters in the number of members’ counter. I haven’t quite got to the point of joining just yet. Maybe one day I will. Maybe one day I’ll be just another admirer.

“
What I didn’t expect to discover was the man at the heart of it all
—”

I sit forward. Her voice is way too dreamy for my liking. Especially since she gets to be there in Cairo while I get to be here on the sofa. I tug my pink robe tighter.

“
A
man who’s been through hell and back
,
only to make it out the other side
,
not only triumphant
,
but with the humility to admit he’s made mistakes along the way.
”

I take a breath, crossing my arms under my chest.

The reporter (her name is Jessica apparently) extends her hand to the gates. “
So tonight
,
we’re going back to where it all started.
To where
,
what our own Prime Minster has called
‘
the most significant technological development of our times,’ was conceived.
”

Jessica pushes open the gates, and walks down a winding driveway to stand in front of a cream-rendered mansion surrounded by lush gardens. Light bounces off the walls. Something I’d expect to see in Europe. The camera swings to a white-and-gold staircase. Haithem appears in the archway at the top of the stairs. Not wearing his jacket. The top button hangs open on his shirt. He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling its perfection.

My fingers tingle.

Somewhere in a studio, I envision this scene appearing in Disney’s next classic. Let’s face it, all that needs to happen now is for a stallion to come galloping to his whistle and they can cut to a break. Let the ladies swoon while advertisements convince them if they just wear
this
perfume, or
that
mascara, a man like him might fall for them.

A lot of perfume will sell tonight I’m sure.

They don’t know though, that the only aphrodisiac this man requires is the scent of the sweat he draws out of my skin in his bed.

I reach for the cola and take a tiny sip. The added predicament of my impending menstrual cycle on my mood considered, I probably should have gone for herbal tea.

“
How difficult has it been for you to come back here?
”

My gaze snaps back to the television.

Haithem stands beside Jessica and glances at the house. “
Extremely.
”

His parents’ house.

I sit a little straighter.
His home.
A place I’ve pictured a hundred times as I’ve tried to understand who and how he is.

“
How long has it been since you’ve been here
,
Haithem?
”

They ascend the stairs.

“
Five and a half years
,” he says.

They reach the front door.

“
Why so long?
”

He opens the door and smiles, but it’s his lifeless smile. “
That’s not really what you want to know.
” He steps inside and holds open the door. “
What you really want to know is about the device that changed the world.
”

All right, I’ll admit it. This is good-freaking-television. He not only looks damn good on the screen, he tells an entertaining story. I’m surprised the channel’s not flickering from the influx of ratings. He takes the cameras around the home lab. Shows off the equipment and makes even science sound fascinating, and of course gives all the credit, all of it, to his father.

“
I
have something very special to show you today
,
Jessica.
”

Her face lights up.

Seriously
,
Jessica?

She and I are already not on such great terms, what with the way she keeps touching him. Fingers on his elbow here, brushing his shoulder there.

Haithem rounds the bench and takes something out of his pocket about the size of a matchbox. He holds it out to her.

She takes the object and turns it around in her hand. “
A
new invention?
”

“
An adaptation of an old one.
You’re holding the prototype for the first automotive Guardian Cell.
”

Her lips part and she turns it over in her hand. “
You mean this would replace the battery in a car?
”

“
Not simply the battery
,
also the fuel.
”

She looks at Haithem. “
Essentially what you’re saying is you’re about to clean up what is left of the oil industry—shouldn’t something like this be kept under wraps?
”

Haithem takes a breath, lifting his chin. “
Unlike the electricity cell
,
this transition will not happen overnight.
I’ve secured contracts with most major automotive companies
,
but unless a vehicle is manufactured with a cell
,
it will require conversion.
Not a cheap process.
So
,
this will be a gradual transition away from petroleum.
”

Jessica holds the cell between two fingers. “
But
,
I’d imagine there are still a lot of people who are not going to be happy about this?
”

Her brows lift. She’s fishing.

“
You’d imagine correctly
,
Jessica
,” Haithem says. His eyes get darker, but he volunteers nothing.

She holds the cell a little higher under the light. “
Yet
,
you’re broadcasting the device for the world to see.
Isn’t that a dangerous thing to do?
”

What the hell is he doing? My shoulder muscles twitch. He’s exposing himself. I almost want to cover my eyes. Turn the television off. Stop him from proving the point he’s trying to make.

“
I’m done with secrets and living in the dark.
” Haithem steps forward directly under the hanging light, then holds out his hand. Jessica gives back the cell. He slips it into his shirt pocket
.
“
It’s time for everything to come into the open.
It’s too late to stop this.
No matter what anyone attempts to do
,
the demise of oil is still going to become a reality.
Now at least whatever happens
,
it’ll happen in the eyes of a knowing and informed public.
”

Jessica places a hand on her chest. “
And that’s a real possibility isn’t it?
Something happening to you?
”

His teeth snap together. “
Yes.
”

“
Because your parents were murdered in this very house
,
weren’t they?
”

His face shuts down. A blankness I know as agony. I bite my lip as his expression strikes me. Even through a screen, across continents, I’m susceptible to his pain. I slide off the sofa and shuffle towards the television, crossing my legs in front of it.

The camera focuses in on his face, honing in on the hurt. His teeth show through pinched lips.

I lean towards the television, but the screen changes, fades and cuts to an ad break. I fall back on my heels. Sit there, frozen in my almost Lotus Pose.
What’s happening?
I can’t believe he’s answering so much. I swallow, the aftertaste of my cola gone from sweet to bitter in my mouth.

The network makes the most of the programming and ratings I’m sure are breaking records. I struggle to breathe through endless advertisements. My knee bounces under my hand. The show resumes and I release a drawn out breath. They enter a lounge fit for a magazine cover—everything shades of cream and white, which altogether make up a rainbow of neutral. Jessica walks to a massive timber mantel, and touches a photo frame. “
These are your parents?
”

Haithem nods, running his thumb under his chin.

She moves the photo towards him. “
Your mother
,
what was her name?
”

“
Leila.
” Haithem takes the photo from her hands, and stares at it.

“
Can you tell us what happened the night your father made the mistake of sharing news of the energy cell breakthrough?
”

He doesn’t move for a long moment, his fingers shift on both sides of the frame. “
They came in the back door...
”

My heart sinks. My blood slows. The program seems to move at half-speed, as Haithem shows Jessica through the house. Points to places where when he’d returned home, disbelieving, he faced a home still sprayed in blood. He shows her the basement, the steep stairs down to where they were found. His face is blank, but so white. Tears soak not only my cheeks but my neck and collarbone. I’ve never seen Haithem pale. He’s pale now. Completely drawn. They greedily capture every moment on their cameras. I press my hand to the screen over his face, before his image fades.

I sniff, and wipe my face in the crook of my arm while my chest shudders. I knew his parents had been killed, but there’s a world of difference between knowing, and
experiencing
. Facing what he must have faced.

I fall back on the carpet, and lay down. Understanding blasts through me—why he’s been so paranoid. Why he could do what he did to me. I turn my head. They advertisements still play.

Ads
,
fucking ads.

I’m going to die during these ads. I cover my face with my hands. Breathe through the gap in my palms. The sound of Jessica’s voice reaches me, and I spring upright and kneel as close as I can to the screen. They aren’t at his house anymore. They’re in a studio somewhere. I don’t think this was filmed on the same day. Now he’s at his most dapper. He’s gone for his irresistible all-black look. Shirt and suit and tie, except this time there’s a splash of color with a red handkerchief folded into his breast pocket. He looks like power—he looks like sin.