Things don’t look the same in the daylight.
That’s the first thought that crosses my mind when I wake up in a foreign room with silk sheets beneath me and the most comfortable mattress I’ve ever laid on.
It takes me a few seconds to come to fully, rubbing the sleep from my eyes to figure out where I am.
Sitting up in the bed, I look around, blinking.
This must be Julian’s room. It’s filled with sleek modern furniture, and this is the largest bed I’ve ever seen. It screams masculine yet lacks any defining personality.
I smirk at the thought but then quickly remember why I’m here and what happened last night, and the amusement drains away.
Did he move me here in the middle of the night?
It’s the only logical explanation, because I remember falling asleep in my own bed, my chest feeling like it was splitting in two from the conflicting emotions going on inside me.
I wonder if anyone else has ever had the pleasure of being in here, but the second the thought crosses my mind, my stomach cramps, so I push it away, convincing myself that I really don’t care.
The urge to jump out of his bed and snoop through his belongings is strong, but now it feels heavier, like there’s a bigger sense of betrayal somehow. Although after opening the burner phone last night and reading a message from Julian’s “employee,” snooping is low on the list of things I’ve done behind his back.
I know I should regret what happened, that I should be beating myself up and claiming it was a mistake, but the truth of the matter is that I don’t really regret it.
For the first time in my life, my mind was clear, my body was free, and all my problems disappeared. At least for a while. I felt safe. Cared for. Wanted. Desired. And that’s not to say I’ve never felt those feelings before, but having that type of attention from Julian Faraci is like being used to cloudy days and then being blasted by the sun.
I’m not sure how I’ll go back.
But I have to go back.
Just like everything else I should come to terms with but am choosing not to, I push the feeling down, ignoring it, deciding to enjoy the delicious strain of my sore muscles and the memory of what it felt like under his tongue.
Arousal heats me slowly from the inside out.
I stretch out in the bed, raising my hands above my head and sighing at the way it relieves the sleepy tension from my muscles. Then I push the covers off me completely, slipping out of the side of Julian’s bed and padding through the room until I hit his en suite.
Glancing around, I wonder if maybe he’s here, but there’s no sign of him, so I decide to make myself at home. He wouldn’t have brought me here if he wasn’t implying I had free rein to do what I wanted.
The second I see the master shower that takes up the entire length of the far wall, with multiple showerheads from a thousand different angles, I know I’m going to be using it.
I waste no time, stripping off my pajamas and making my way to the shower, turning on the water and watching with excitement as the multiple different showerheads light up and spray water.
There’s a main one, just like there is in my room, that sits on the ceiling, creating a rainfall effect on your head when you step under the spray. It has a removable head beneath it, attached to the shower wall. Beyond that, there are spouts on the sides, spraying from all directions. I’ve never experienced anything quite like it, and I’m immediately immersed in the sensory overload of it all, allowing the heat of the water to cascade over my skin and relax my body even more.
Rude of him to not tell me this shower was here the whole time.
There’s an automatic dispenser on the right- hand wall, and I reach my hand underneath, the smell of Julian’s soap filling the air. Closing my eyes, I hum under my breath as I start to wash my body, my breath hitching when I run my palms over my sensitive breasts. My mind starts flashing memories of the night before, how Julian’s hands moved me where he wanted like I was a doll there for his enjoyment. How he demanded things of me and held me down while he made me come, yet made every single second about my pleasure.
I never knew that being handled that way would be such a turn- on.
It’s always in the shower that visions of Julian make me want to come.
When I brush my fingers across my clit, a shudder racks my body. Slowly, I rub back and forth over my pussy again, a sharp sting of pain mixing with the pleasure when I pinch myself, trying to recreate the feeling from last night, but it falls short.
A throat clears and I gasp, my heart flipping and my eyes shooting open, my hand flying away from between my legs.
Julian stands there in the middle of the room with nothing but gray sweatpants and a smirk on his face.
I’m caught so off guard at the sight of him without a shirt that I don’t even say anything, instead just letting my gaze roam the length of his body. I’ve never seen him look this way, and if I thought he was dangerous in a suit, he’s devastating when he’s just up and out of bed.
Both of his arms are entirely covered with tattoos; they sprawl across his shoulder blades and drip down his chest. In fact, it’s easier to find spots of him that aren’t showing skin than parts that are. There’s a snake’s head that starts on his left hand and wraps around his entire arm, coiling up over his shoulder blade. It’s the largest of all his pieces, and my eyes are transfixed on the art.
His stomach is toned, because of course it is, and his eyes are like fire behind thin, silver wire- frame glasses.
My stomach jolts.
He runs a hand through his perfectly mussed black hair. “Don’t stop on my account.”
“You scared me,” I complain, my palm pressing against my chest to calm my speeding pulse.
His eyes blaze down my body, and even through the steam, I feel exposed, lit up like a firework without a single touch.
What is he thinking? Is he regretting last night? Wanting it to happen again? Gloating because he has me exactly where he wants me?
He shakes his head. “You make it hard for a man to leave when you look like that.”
My heart flips at his words. I’m not sure why his compliments affect me in such a visceral way, but the most selfish part of me hopes that he never stops.
“So don’t,” I reply.
He swipes his tongue across his bottom lip. “Duty calls, gattina. And Razul is here to take you to your father’s.”
Confusion swims through me and my forehead scrunches.
“Why?”
Julian tilts his head. “Don’t you want to see him?”
Sadness, that nasty emotion, reminds me of its presence again with a sharp tug around my chest. “Yes, of course,” I whisper.
He’s quiet then, letting his gaze sweep over me one more time. “I’m leaving for Egypt tomorrow morning for a few days. I’m hoping you’ll come with me.” Egypt.
“Oh,” I reply.
I don’t really know what to say. Before last night, I would have jumped at the chance to see Aidan, but now…now things have changed, shifted. And going to Egypt with my fake husband who I let fuck me with his tongue and seeing the man I thought was the love of my life but who now feels like a distant memory is confusing to say the least.
“But go see your father first. Check in with him, see how he’s faring. If you don’t want to leave him, I understand.”
I’m surprised he’s giving me the choice, but I’m grateful for it either way. I don’t know if I can leave with my father only having a limited amount of time left. I’d never forgive myself if he died while I wasn’t here.
But if I stay, I doubt he’d let me see him at the end anyway.
“I’ll be leaving from the office in the morning, so if you choose to come with me, Razul will bring you to the airport after you wake up. Otherwise, I’ll see you when I get back.”
I nod, watching him turn around and leave without so much as a goodbye. This shouldn’t be a big deal; it’s just a short trip, and I’m honestly surprised that he’s willing to let me stay alone, so far out of his reach.
But it feels heavy, like something will fundamentally change regardless of what I decide. A thick sense of foreboding creeps up my spine and doesn’t leave.
Not through the rest of my shower.
Not when I call Riya and fill her in on what happened last night.
And not when I finally pull out the burner phone and bring up the message that’s been nagging the back of my head ever since I read it.
Unknown number: You don’t know me, but I work for Julian. I took this number from Aidan’s phone because I know you need some help.
My fingers shake as I type out a reply, a sick feeling rolling through my stomach.
Me: Who is this?
I get an immediate reply.
Unknown number: A friend. Come to Egypt when your husband does. I can help.
The words from the last text are seared in my brain and stay there even an hour later when I’m in the car with Razul, going to see my father.
He’s awake and on the main patio overlooking the pool, a cup of steaming tea beside him when I get there.
It’s a beautiful morning, the crisp autumn air breezing through the trees that line the property, wind chimes clinking together in the distance, and the sun sparkling down on the heated pool that hasn’t been covered yet for the winter.
Something pulls in my chest as I walk over and sit down next to him, the cushioned chair soft beneath me. I don’t say anything at first, and neither does he.
This is different. He is different.
But I guess facing your own mortality will do that to a person.
“Baba.”
He jumps slightly, his tired eyes swinging over and widening when they meet mine.
I’ve been told that right before you die, you straddle the worlds, one foot in this one and one foot in the next. It makes my stomach cinch up tight when I think about how far gone out of this life he has to be to not have noticed I was here.
“Yasmin, what are you doing here?” he asks. His voice is worn and soft, barely above a whisper.
“Baba, how many times do I have to tell you?” I choke out, trying to stem the tremble in my voice. “I’ll always be here.”
A soft smile plays around the corners of his lips, and he turns his face forward until he’s staring out again at the view.
“Nice morning,” I manage.
He nods. “One of the prettiest.”
We sit in silence for a few more minutes, and even though I’ve spent the past few months lying to myself—even though I’ve raged and fought and tricked my mind into believing it isn’t true— right now it’s impossible to ignore.
He’s dying. And there’s not a damn thing I can do.
A sharp, searing ache pierces through my chest at finally acknowledging this for what it is.
With clarity comes pain. With acceptance comes grief.
I’ve been running away from both for quite some time.
Fingering the ring on my left hand, I say, “I’m sorry you didn’t get to walk me down the aisle.”
He sighs, reaching over and patting the top of my forearm. “I’ve had a lot of time recently to think on who I am. Who I’ve been as a man. A husband. A father.”
His words are a punch to the gut. “You’ve been a great father.”
“We both know that’s not true. I’ve been what I knew how to be.” He shakes his head. “But sometimes what you know isn’t enough. And not acknowledging my need for growth, so I could become the father you deserved, the one who was present and not just a name on a check, that’s something that will haunt me into the afterlife.”
“Baba,” I whisper. “You did the best you could.”
“If I had done the best I could, I would have noticed you and the man who’s like a son to me falling in love right before my eyes. But I missed it all. My selfishness and greed made me think I knew what was best instead of trusting that you had grown into a strong woman.”
I inhale sharply, because never in a thousand years did I think we would be having this conversation. My father has always been stuck in his ways. The fact that this is what he’s grieving over, that he thinks he missed something that was never there, makes it difficult not to pour out all the secrets I’m holding close to my chest just so I can alleviate his guilt.
But I stop myself, because even if he could help me be free of Julian for good, even if he didn’t miss anything between us, he still missed me falling in love. Still disregarded my feelings to honor his own.
And if he’s taking the step to acknowledge where he failed, the least I can do is allow him to feel the pain of his actions so he can let them go and find peace before death, no matter how much I wish to take them away right now.
Tears spring up behind my eyes, and I let them fall, small sniffles coming from my nose as I realize that it took my father on his deathbed for me to truly feel seen.
Again, I waver on what to say. I could tell him that Aidan is the one I really love, that I need his help and I want to be free of Julian. I now know, for the first time in my life, that if I did lay everything on the line, my father wouldn’t look at me with disappointment.
I’m also not sure if all of it would still be true.
So I don’t say a word. Because if my father is coming to terms with his innermost feelings, maybe I should do the same.
And this marriage doesn’t feel fake to me anymore.
Not like it did. So maybe I won’t go to Egypt. I won’t meet this mystery “friend.” I won’t see Aidan. Maybe I won’t keep talking to Randy Gazim.
“Thank you, Baba,” I murmur.
“Are you happy, Yasmin?”
His question hits me in the center of the chest, and I chew on my lip as I think of how to answer. A few weeks ago and I would have said no. I don’t think I would have had it in me to lie to him when he’s being so open and vulnerable with me.
But now…
Now I’m confused. Because while there’s still a profound sense of sadness and grief when I think about the state of my life, there are moments that peek through the clouds, sprinkling bits of sunshine down. And yeah, they feel like happiness. And all of them include Julian.
I clear my throat. “Of course.”
He sighs, nodding. “Good. That’s all I want.”
“Julian wants me to go to Egypt on a trip. But I think I’ll stay here with you instead.”
He sighs. “I love you more than the world, Yasmin, but go with your husband to Egypt. I’ll still be here when you return.”
The way he says it like a command leaves no room for debate. I could waste my breath arguing, but it wouldn’t make a difference, and if I pushed, I’d only be faced with a locked door from a stubborn man who doesn’t want me to see him wither away.
I swallow, ignoring the way my throat swells. “Promise?”
“Promise,” he says. “I’m tired. I think I’ll go lie inside and rest.”
He pushes himself to a stand, and I move with him, reaching out and hugging him like it’s the last time I ever will.
He kisses my forehead and whispers his love, and somehow, even through the deep sickness in my heart, I manage to do the same.
And then I leave my father in peace and walk out the door to pack before going to meet my husband.
