Page 97 of Angels Are Falling

Heat crawled up my neck. “That’s— People are eating.”

“You started it, Princess.”

His words poured through me, melting my insides with their heat. Meanwhile, the man in question was made entirely of composure, and I longed to see him fall apart. Not to rattle him, but to be the reason his composure slipped. To be the one significant enough to crack it.

We finished eating. Even though I was initially annoyed by his stalking, I was sad that our time together had come to an end.

“You didn’t have to bring me lunch. It’s—” I stopped myself, because the thing I was about to say was sweet and saying that would require me to reevaluate several firmly held positions. He shouldn’t be calling the hospital for my lunch schedule, among several other serious invasions of privacy.

He glanced at me sideways. He knew exactly what I hadn’t said.

“I can pack my own lunches from now on,” I said instead.

“You’ll forget.”

“I won’t.”

It turned out that I did forget, and for the rest of the week, Kai either brought me lunch or took me out to eat. Despite his own grueling work schedule, he never missed a day. We discovered every mom-and-pop cafe within a five-mile radius. I also discovered other things, like the fact that Kai loved to spoil me. Sometimes it came in the form of an expensive gift, and other times, it was the most unbelievable gesture.

On Tuesday, Kai learned to make mujadara the way my teta used to. He watched me take the first bite the way other men watch the stock market.

“Well?” he asked.

The lentils were soft, the onions caramelized almost black. It tasted like being six years old in Teta’s kitchen. It tasted, God help me, better than Teta’s. Not that I’d ever admit it. Poor woman would have rolled over in her grave if I had said the words out loud.

“It’s close,” I said.

“Close.”

“Almost as good as Teta’s. Keep practicing.”

He set down the spoon and braced both hands on the counter on either side of me, close enough that I had to tip my head back to hold his gaze. “Admit that it tastes better.”

“Never.”

Something dangerous moved across his face. “Stubborn.”

After that, he fucked me nine ways to oblivion until I conceded that his version, in fact, tasted better. Men!

On Wednesday night, I told him I loved the look of bougainvillea. On Thursday, I stood in the doorway in my scrubs, keys in hand, and found myself staring at the bright magenta flowers spilling up both sides of the entry like something out of a dream. I threw the door open and attacked him with a sexual vigor I didn’t know I possessed. We didn’t even make it to the bedroom.

After work on Friday, he took me shopping. He handpicked everything he wanted to see me in. The only reason we didn’t get kicked out of the stall for having sex in it was that he practically bought the entire store.

On Saturday, he blew off a business function for an ordinary family day with the kids and me. We went to the farmers market for locally sourced produce, which he later used to cook a Lebanese feast, keeping true to the Arab style of cooking for one hundred people instead of five. There was everything from tabbouleh, kibbeh, and pita, all of which he made from scratch. I tried to help, but Kai found me hopeless in the kitchen and shooed me away.

By Sunday, I had stopped going to Stefan’s side of the house and moved my things into Kai’s bedroom. That was when I found them at the back of Stefan’s closet—the red-bottom heels, still in their original dust bags, and the last quilted Chanel bag that had shown up by courier. It had arrived the morning after Stefan had left for Dubai, and I’d understood the meaning behind the bag perfectly.

Sorry. Here’s a gift. Now, everything is good between us.

I had picked it up. Ran my thumb over the leather. Then I set it back down on the shelf, exactly where it had been, and closed the door on that side of the house for good. Before returning to boarding school, the kids also moved their belongings to their rooms on Kai’s side. Stefan was never there; it made no sense to keep returning to an empty wing.

Not only was Kai’s side of the house decorated with furniture I had accumulated over the years, but the clothes hanging in our shared closet were also more to my taste. Rather than buying me the most expensive label, Kai was focused on curation. Anything he bought for me was intentional and thoughtful.

The scarf I had pointed out at the farmers market.

The famous Carrie Bradshaw shoes from Sex and the City, because I’d once mentioned they’d look great in silver.

Jewelry pieces from an online store I followed on Instagram.