“I see,” she whispered, so quietly she didn’t know if Rami had heard her.
“Then tell him…goodbye.” She disconnected the call and cried: silently, achingly, desperately, pain flooding her.He considers matters between you to be at an end.
Oh, he did, did he?
She walked slowly through her home, towards her bedroom, where she climbed into bed and curled into a foetal position, hugging her knees to her chest as tears leaked from her eyes. Loving him was awful, leaving him had been impossible, but this was by far the hardest thing she’d had to deal with.
The end was so final, his rejection of her so absolute. So condescending! To have an aid call her back, rather than speaking to her himself? What had he thought would happen? Why not call her back himself? It was so incredibly inappropriate, given how close they’d been, how much they’d shared.
Her tears wouldn’t stop coming; she surrendered to them completely. The reality was: he was over her. He had moved on, into his new life, and now Cora had to work out how to do the same.
When her marriage had ended,her family had wrapped around her like a protective blanket, doing everything they could to help her get over Alf. At times she’d found their support almost cloying, but she’d needed them, and she’d been grateful to them.
They didn’t know about Samir.
They didn’t know that her heart was in tatters, more damaged now than she’d thought possible. As she went through the motions of Xenakis family life, concealing the deep grief she felt as well as the burgeoning life inside of her, she was completely alone. Not a single soul on earth knew about her relationship with the Sheikh, nor the fact Cora was pregnant—though she’d started turning her mind to how she would tell her family. After all, she wouldn’t be able to hide it for much longer. Already, her favourite jeans didn’t button up, and though her stomach looked flat, she could feel the difference.
But much like the impending conversation with Maggie Xenakis about her late husband’s love child, Cora wanted to get through Leonidas and Mila’s wedding first. Her news would cast a shadow over what should otherwise be a joyous family occasion and Cora had no appetite for that.
So she pretended. A lot.
She pretended with her work, reading reports, authorising funding, going to meetings, as though nothing was wrong. She pretended with family—though she did her best to avoid long amounts of time with them, because they were so perceptive and knew her so well. But short bursts of interactions meant she could fake it, feigning a happiness she didn’t think she’d ever feel again.
Whenever she walked back in the door of her home, however, she collapsed, peeling away the layers of make believe, the mask she wore for the outside world, and letting grief seep back into her bones. She spent most of her time at home in bed, curled up, staring at the wall, replaying every detail of her relationship with Samir and wondering how the hell she could have been so wrong about him.
She ate for the sake of their baby, but she had no real interest in food, so it was possible she wasn’t eating enough to sustain herself as well as their child. She’d read somewhere that a pregnant person’s body provided the baby with what they needed first, so she could only hope she was doing enough for their baby to be getting the nutrition it required to stay healthy. Everything was difficult.
Finally, the weekend of Mila’s bridal shower came around, and Cora took a long time to prepare. It was by far the most she’d have to ‘pretend’, and she knew it was going to be exhausting. She would have loved to skip it, but she’d never do that to Mila. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, cancel on family. So Cora did the next best thing and invented a business meeting that would mean she’d have to fly separately and arrive just in time for dinner, thus avoiding all the pre-party festivities. As Cora boarded the plane, she just hoped she’d be able to keep everyone fooled for a little while longer.
* * *
Fatima sweptinto the room with a frown on her face, and it only deepened at the sight of her son, her last son, head bent over his desk despite the lateness of the hour.
“Darling,” she murmured, but he didn’t hear, so she cleared her throat, more loudly.
He lifted his head, eyes landing on her before sweeping back to whatever he was reading.
“Can I help you with something, mother?”
She flinched at the coldness in his tone, a coldness she understood all too well. Samir was a man of deep feelings, but rather than allow himself to feel them, he hid behind this wall of reserve. Adan’s death was breaking him apart, just as it had her. Just as the King’s death had first.
“I wondered if you’d still be working.”
“The economic reform package is being discussed tomorrow. I’m adding my final thoughts.”
She compressed her lips, not allowing him to see her impatience with such an answer. True, Samir was a man who focussed with laser like intensity on any problem in front of him, but weeks ago, that focus had changed into something else, something far more dangerous. He was obsessive now, obsessive about everything, determined to not only fill Adan’s shoes but exceed them too.
“Why don’t you take a break? Join me for dinner?”
His dark eyes lifted once more. “I can’t. Sorry.” The apology was added as a formality. He had no intention of stopping, and would likely work through until the early hours of the morning, as he had every night this week. As he did far too often.
“Samir,” she said quietly, moving closer to the desk.
But the look in his eyes stopped her. It was a look of determination. Even as a boy he’d worn this expression: she knew from experience how useless it was to attempt to change his mind.
“Make sure you do eat something, okay?”
“I’m hardly wasting away.”