“Excuse me for a second. I need to use the bathroom.”
“I can take you—”
“No.” I shake my head, interrupting Asad, and hold up a hand for added emphasis. “I’m fine. I’ll be right back.”
“Em…”
“I’m good, Sam.”
Not waiting for any further argument from either of them, I wind my way through the thick throng of partygoers, offering polite, meaningless smiles to people but not stopping to talk. Some of them I just met while on Asad’s arm and others I’ve never seen before in life, and they only want to speak because of my connection to him. My patience level has hit zero fucks given, and if I don’t get to a people-free area, I might scream.
Finally, I push through the entrance and into the airy hall and farther still, out onto the courtyard. The cool night breeze greets me, and I gulp it down like it’s red, sweet, and fermented grapes instead of air. I tilt my head back, closing my eyes, and allow the relative quiet, compared to the ballroom, to wash over me. But it’s not enough.
Needing more space, more distance, I walk deeper into the shadows, past the gurgling fountain and under the opposite walkway. Once I prop a shoulder against the cool stone column, I exhale and relax. All I need are a few minutes away from all the noise—from the drama—and I’ll be okay to return and continue this circus of an evening.
The whole evening—the fairy-tale makeover, Sam, Michelle, and Asad’s display of heroism that leaves me breathless and confused—has me reeling and almost overwhelmed. Right now, I’m warring with myself. Stand my ground and resist making another mistake that will land me with my heart torn in pieces? Or take a chance and trust Asad again? Trust that maybe he’ll let me fall… but not by myself.
I’m not ready to make that decision.
No.
I’m scared to make that decision.
“Ember.”
Sighing, I open my eyes and glance at Kareem, leaning againstone of the columns. Irritation flashes inside me like dry lightning. So much for those few minutes of solitude.
“Kareem, I don’t mean to be rude, but I came out here for a few moments of bullshit-free silence. So, if you don’t mind…”
The corner of his mouth quirks, and he slides his hands in the front pockets of his tuxedo pants. The moonlight casts half of his face in sharp relief, and for a second, he reminds me of that guy from the Batman cartoon. The one whose face is split in two—one half fucked and the other normal. I don’t know why that image pops in my head right now, but I can’t shake it.
I straighten, stepping away from the column.
“I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is intrude, but I saw you walk out of there”—he jerks his chin in the direction of the ballroom—“and wanted to make sure you’re okay. You looked a little upset.”
I wave a hand. “I’m good. I just needed some air.”
“And you’re not one for all the drama. And between Asad and my mother, we’re nothing but drama,” he drawls.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to agree, but… speaking on Asad behind his back, even if it’s to his brother, feels shady and disloyal. Now Michelle, fuck her.
“It’s fine,” I say, wanting to end this line of conversation. Well, wanting to end the conversation, period. I ventured out here for peace and quiet. Kareem is preventing me from having both.
“Is it though?”
“Is it what?”
“Is it fine?” He tilts his head, and his scrutiny roams over my face. “Because you can be honest with me, Ember. You’re safe with me.”
I frown, genuinely confused. “Kareem, what’re you talking about?” And why are you still here forcing me to have a conversation when I clearly said I’m good and I just want to be alone?
He looks down at my bandaged hand and nods toward it. “I tried to talk him out of picking you up. Mom showed me the same video, but I couldn’t believe you would kill Marcus. Therehad to be some kind of explanation. But we both know my voice holds little weight around here—especially with Prince. So I couldn’t stop him. And I’m so sorry you were hurt.”
I cradle the hand with the injured finger in my other, holding them both to my stomach.
“You’re wrong,” I correct him. He stares at me, and I shrug a shoulder, uncomfortable at this line of discussion. Why can’t he leave it and me alone? Like. I. Asked. “I could’ve killed Marcus. I just didn’t. And trust, if it had been me, the manner of death wouldn’t have been as pedestrian as a drug overdose.”
He chuckles, and irritation flashes inside me, hot and bright. “I stand corrected. And you’re right. We’re all capable of committing things. It’s the decision of whether or not to act that separates us from others.” He takes a step forward, and it requires everything in me not to retreat. I’m not scared of Kareem. But unease frog-marches down my back. It increases when his voice takes on this faraway quality, as if he’s no longer talking to me but himself. “That’s what connects you and me. People tend to overlook us, underestimate us. Marcus did it for years with you. Asad and Mom do it with me. It’s a blessing and a curse.”
