Heart on Lock *4*

We were actually doing this. 

I followed his car out the arena, ignoring all the screaming sirens in my head. That I shouldn’t be doing this. That I might get caught. That someone might take note. 

I shook my head, ignoring the screams. I couldn’t decline his invitation; not when he’d done so much for me. I didn’t know where I’d be if it weren’t for him. He truly was my angel for a night. 

He was right; I hadn’t heard of this coffee shop. It was on a corner, nondescript with white walls and a very vague logo on it. I took off my glasses once I left my car to see it better. 

“How did you find this place?” I asked him, and he chuckled, now wearing a pair of  black track pants, and white and red sweatshirt. 

“I took a wrong turn once,” he said, opening the door of the cafe for me.

It was quiet and minimal inside, and empty. Usually I liked coffee shops filled to the brim with people, but I didn’t need the crowd anymore.

“Hi, can I have one iced americano, and…” Yaqoub turned to me. 

“Iced latte, please,” I said. 

“Iced latte,” he repeated. I watched him pay for our drinks, and we sat at a table by the window. 

“This is nice,” I told him, looking around. 

“I told you,” he said. I smiled. 

“So…second place. How will you celebrate?” I asked him, and he shrugged.

“This is good enough,” he replied with a soft smile, and I blushed.

“How long have you been racing?” I asked him. He raised his brows and calculated in his head.

“Since I was sixteen, so around eleven years. I’m retirement age, I think,” he said with a chuckle. He was twenty-seven years old, just three years older than me. Perfect. Not too old, not too young.

“I think you have another ten years on your belt,” I said, smiling and he chuckled.

“Careful, don’t jinx me,” he said, and I laughed. The waiter finally brought us our drinks, but even in the silence I still found comfort. 

“Thank you,” I said, taking a sip of my latte. It was perfect. Everything was perfect so far. 

“Have you ever tried racing?” he asked me and I shook my head. 

“No,” I replied. “Driving my car is the closest thing to it.”

He smiled. 

“Anyone else into racing in your family?” I asked him, trying to get a bit more personal. He knew more about me than I did him. 

He shook his head. “My brother used to, but he quit after six months. He started to get dizzy easily.” 

“Oh,” I said. “Is it just you two?” I asked, taking another sip. 

He nodded. “You?” he said, putting his cup down. So he was interested, too.

“I have four brothers—I’m the only girl,” I said, and he smirked. 

“Should I be worried?” he said. So he was talking in code. I smiled. 

“I’m the eldest, and no,” I replied. None of my brothers were the type of person he should be worried about. 

“Good,” he said, smiling. 

“Where do you work?” I asked him, not trying to find ways to segue into getting to know him. I was interested, and I wanted to make it clear that I was.

He told me the name of an investment company in the city, very close to where I worked. I almost choked on my latte, which I’d already had half of. 

“You’re joking. We’re neighbors,” I said,

“Really?” he said. 

I nodded. “Maybe we could get coffee tomorrow,” I suggested. How was I so bold? 

He liked the idea because the next thing he asked me was: “Have you been to the one close to my office tower?” He was almost elated with enthusiasm. 

“I’ve heard of it, but no,” I replied. My guts shifted. I couldn’t be seen with him, not with my engagement announcement coming up. What was I thinking? 

What would people say? “We saw her getting coffee with a man who wasn’t her fiance?” 

It would look terrible. 

“You’ll love it,” he told me, flashing a smile. My phone buzzed on the table. A message from Razzaq, my brother.

She arrived early. She’s on the way home.

I sighed. I didn’t want this to end. 

“I’m sorry, but I really have to go,” I said.

“This was too quick,” he replied, standing up and I nodded.

“I’ll make it up to you,” I said with a smile. I would? “And thank you for the coffee.”

“My pleasure. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. 

“See you tomorrow.”

I couldn’t bail on him. 

*

Where are you???

Razzaq texted me once I opened the door of the house. I could tell when my mother walked in from the smell of bukhour in the entry way. It was the expensive kind—not the one they used for me and my brothers. 

My heart began to sputter, racing behind my chest once I heard her voice from the living room upstairs, overlooking the large foyer. 

I climbed up the stairs and to the informal living room we kind of frequented. Almost all of the house was reserved for special occasions, except for our private wings. 

 

“Welcome back, Mama,” I said, kissing her cheeks. “How was your flight?”

I sat on the armchair next to her. Razzaq is on the couch next to me, opposite her, with the twins on the couch next to Razzaq, hands folded on their laps, aching for their phones. 

“It was good,” she said, short and curt. “Are you taking care of the house? Making sure the maids are working?” she asked me. 

“Yes, of course,” I said tentatively. I glanced at Razzaq, and he met my eyes, reading my mind. We split the chores equally. I got the groceries while he took care of the twins. I was supposed to do it all, in my mother’s eyes. 

I hated Zaid for putting us in this position, that selfish idiot. 

“How’s Zaid now?” I asked my mother, trying to steer the conversation away from my responsibilities. 

“One of his legs is permanently damaged, but he can still walk. He’s doing physio now mostly,” she said. 

“When will he be back?” I asked. More like “when will you be back?”.

“I don’t know, Zaina. Maybe after six months. You should go; give me and your father a break,” she said. As if I didn’t know they had nurses taking care of Zaid while they lived their lives abroad. 

I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable.

“We’ll go next month. What do you think?” Razzaq said out loud. 

I looked at him and nodded, appreciating his efforts to soften the tension in the room. 

“Aziz, Fawaz, go have dinner,” my mother instructed my fourteen-year-old twin brothers, who said nothing the entire time. They nodded and left. 

“How are things with you and Talal?” she asked me, taking a sip of her tea with milk. Razzaq stood up, about to leave when my mother signaled for him to sit down.

“Stay,” she said, as he sat back down. While he was only twenty two, going on twenty three soon, he was clearly her favorite. 

He was the best looking one out of all of us, though I think Zaid might surpass him. Razzaq spoke my mother’s language, and he rolled the carpet wherever she walked. He was good at it, and she loved it. 

“Umm—we’re good,” I said, feeling my head spin. Did anyone see me with Yaqoub? Did she know about my accident? 

“His mother called me, asking when we want to announce the engagement,” my mother said. 

Shit. 

“Oh…,” I could only say. 

“We need your father here, so maybe next month? What do you think?” she asked me. 

No, no, no. 

“Umm—“ I couldn’t object. 

“Isn’t that too soon?” Razzaq interjected, sensing my hesitation. 

My mother lifted her brow, considering his words. She trusted him, that I knew. 

“With Zaid’s situation and all, I think it’s best if we announce after three or maybe even five months—just when he’s in the clear. At least they’ll get to know each other even better,” he reasoned. 

A wave of relief surged through my body, but I was still tense as I waited for my mother to agree with him. 

Her face straightened, deep in thought before she nodded.

“I suppose so, yes,” she said. I didn’t show any signs of relief. “I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“They will,” Razzaq reassured her before glancing at me, and I smiled in appreciation as my mother stood up, prompting us to stand up, too.

“Gina,” she called out for one of the seven maids in our house. She walked away, probably heading to her wing on the third floor, leaving me and Razzaq alone.

“Everything okay with Talal?” Razzaq asked me.

I couldn’t tell him the truth. I was afraid he’d talk some sense to me. 

“Yes, why?” I asked him. 

“You seemed tense when she mentioned him,” he said, knowing me too well. He knows us all too well. 

“No, I’m just worried about the preps and all. I need to go to Paris soon for my wedding dress,” I said, feeling bile rise up my throat just mentioning this. 

“I’ll go with you. I’ll ask my dad for some time off to accompany you, then we’ll go to Zaid in Germany. How does that sound?” he asked me.

I hugged him, appreciating his existence.

“You’re the best.” 

He chuckled while hugging me back.

“So I’ve been told.” 

I playfully punched him in the shoulder, and he chuckled. 

“You can tell me anything. You know that, don’t you?” he said, and I nodded.

“Of course. You can tell me anything, too,” I said. 

“I know,” he replied. 

Little did I know we were both keeping things from each other, yet somehow we both knew it.