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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  BONUS: DELETED SCENE

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products and locales referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Copyright ©2014 by Leylah Attar | All Rights Reserved |

  Cover illustration and book design by Leylah Attar

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  ISBN: 978-0-9937527-1-1 (kindle)

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  PITCH73 PUBLISHING

  Toronto, Canada

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to anyone who has ever tried—

  "Fly,

  Dammit,

  Fly!"

  Table of Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  Table of Contents

  1. Here We Are

  2. November

  3. Kiss Me

  4. Earth And Sky

  5. Boardwalk

  6. Almost There

  7. Beetroot Butterfly

  8. Not Like This

  9. Poseidon

  10. Tangled

  11. Fireworks

  12. Free Falling

  13. Wait

  14. Hotel Room

  15. Battle Of The Sheet

  16. Guilty Lingerie

  17. Call Me

  18. Brownies

  19. Opening The Door

  20. Show Me

  21. No Promises

  22. Hookah Cola

  23. The Ghost Of Nowruz Past

  24. Pretending

  25. Scary Cherry

  26. Call Him Yourself

  27. Two Shades Of Red

  28. Tsunami

  29. Four Years Later

  30. Dark Spell Master

  31. Fly, Dammit, Fly

  32. Level Seven Kanoodling

  33. Tell Me

  34. Crushed Roses

  35. ‘X’ Marks The Spot

  36. I Changed My Mind

  37. Every Woman Imagines It

  38. Red Rebozo

  39. Defenseless

  40. New Girl In Town

  41. A Fairy Tale. Kind Of

  42. The Big ‘O’

  43. A Double Betrayal

  44. Lighting The Candles

  45. Faded

  46. A Wicked Game

  47. Give Me Everything

  48. Wings

  49. Rainbows and Waterfalls

  50. No More Disguises

  51. Laughter

  52. The Window

  53. Letters For My Lover

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  BONUS: DELETED SCENE

  BOOK CLUB KIT

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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  1. Here We Are

  June 18th, 1995

  The third time I see him, twelve years after that hot, sticky night in July, he’s kissing Jayne. My hand freezes on the door knob as I watch their silhouettes embrace against the brilliant arch of the window. I step back, not wanting to interrupt this private moment between bride and groom. But something keeps me riveted. Matt doesn’t make the air crackle like this. He doesn’t send long, dark tentacles, tempting me out of the shadows and into the light. No, not Matt. Troy. Troy Heathgate, kissing my best friend minutes before her reception.

  And just like that, I’m at war—two sides of me charging down the hills, clashing and clanging in a valley about as wide as the sliver of the door I’m peeking through. I want to barge in, to rescue Jayne from the captivating black-magic knight that’s him, but I waver at the threshold, clinging to a tattered banner of self-preservation.

  The dusty sneakers and sweatshirt are gone. A formal jacket outlines shoulders that are impossibly broader. The tousled, shaggy hair has been tamed with a suave, sophisticated cut. All the same raw-boned ruggedness, poured into a hard, polished presence. I flinch, dropping my hand from the door.

  This. This foolish, heady pounding of my heart. This is what destroyed Maamaan and Baba, what sent Hossein running, and left us scattered like four points on a compass. I grip the gold band around my finger. I will never let this darkness touch my home.

  I watch as Troy’s fingers circle the back of Jayne’s neck, weaving into her hair. He pulls her face away and says something in her ear. For a second, she stares at him. Then she blinks and slaps him hard across the face. The resounding smack barely affects him. Amusement lurks in the corners of his mouth as he takes the hand that lashed out and kisses it. Then he straightens his jacket and heads for the exit.

  I duck behind the door, squeezing myself flat against the wall as six feet of solid male whips by me, leaving the unmistakable blast of power and expensive cologne. His shoes click across the smooth marble floor as he walks into the banquet hall, cool, confident and completely unruffled. I lean my head back against the wall and let my breath out.

  “Shayda? Is that you?” I hear Jayne calling.

  Damn. I pull myself together and enter the room.

  “You have no idea what just happened.” She engulfs me in a hug.

  “I saw. But now’s not the time.” I turn her around so she can see her mum and dad approaching.

  “Sweetheart.” Elizabeth clasps her daughter’s hands. “It’s almost time.”

  “I can’t believe it.” Bob hooks his arm around Jayne and pulls her in affectionately. “My little girl.”

  I swallow, wishing I could conjure up some memory of my parents from my wedding day.

  “Dad!” says Jayne, wriggling away from him. “You’re ruining my hair.”

  “Me?” Bob laughs. “Looks like someone already beat me to it.” He tugs a piece that’s sticking out.

  Jayne and I exchange a look. We know who’s to blame.

  “It’s barely noticeable,” I say. “But we need to retouch your lipstick.”

  “I’ll get it.” Elizabeth reaches for Jayne’s purse.

  “And I better get back to our guests,” says Bob. “Care to join me, Shayda?” He offers me his arm.

  I look at Jayne.

  “I’m fine.” She reassures me. “You two go inside.”

  Bob leads me through the elegantly appointed reception hall, to the family table.

  “Are we the only ones here?” he asks Ryan. All the other tables are filled with people, talking and mingling.

  “For now,” says Ryan. “Ellen’s in the back, doing whatever maids of honor do. I thought it’d be you for sure, Shayda.”

  Decked out in a suit, Jayne’s brother is the splitting image of their father.

  “I’m not one for crowds or speeches,” I reply. “Your wife saved the day. How was the drive from Ottawa?”

  “Great. The kids slept most of the way. We’re paying for it now.” He points to the two girls spinning circles on the empty dance floor.

  “Wow.” I laugh. “They’ve grown.”

  “They certainly have. What about yours?”

  “Well, Natasha is now eleven and Zain is nine.”

  “You didn’t bring them?”

  “They’re with my mother.”

  “And Hafez?”

  “He’s
out of town,” I reply.

  “Still the same, crazy hours?”

  “Still the same.”

  “Shayda, have you met Ryan’s college buddy?” asks Bob. “Where is he?” He looks around. “Hey, Troy. Troy!”

  No. Please no. But he’s already waving him over.

  I stare at the monogrammed favor box on the table. “J & M” it says, in cursive silver. The hair on the back of my neck stands when Troy Heathgate stops behind my chair.

  “Troy, meet Jayne’s friend, Shayda. Also my brilliant protégée. She started off as my assistant and is now one of my top realtors.”

  I paste a cardboard smile and stand.

  “Dad, they’ve already met,” says Ryan. “Canada Day fireworks. Remember, Troy?”

  “Yes.” Something flickers across those brilliant pacific blues. “I remember.” His smile falters the tiniest bit before he takes my hand.

  Our palms barely connect before we pull back, like we’ve touched a live wire.

  “Troy has just moved back from New York,” Bob is saying...

  It doesn’t matter.

  It doesn’t matter what anyone is doing or saying. I wish Troy Heathgate would stop looking at me like that. Time has intensified his gaze into a laser beam that zaps hazy memories of him into a cloud of smoky grey. Poof. Gone. Dissolved. Disintegrated. What chance do black and white rainbows have against full, blazing technicolor?

  “They’re here, everyone!” Elizabeth sweeps in.

  We turn as Jayne and Matt make their entrance. I watch over the back of Troy’s shoulder, acutely aware of the way his hair grazes the top of his collar. He shifts, putting his hand on the small of my back, and guiding me in front so I can see better. It’s the lightest touch, but every part of me bristles. How dare he kiss Jayne? How dare he stand behind me and cheer and clap as if he hasn’t betrayed years’ worth of her family’s trust?

  “There you are.” Long, red talons claim his arm as a chestnut haired beauty sidles up to him. “Did you forget about me?” she purrs.

  Of course. A date.

  “Heather.” He smiles. “Where’s Felicia?”

  “Right here, darling.” A honey hued goddess coos, leaving a neon pink lip print on his cheek.

  Huh. Two dates.

  The clapping stops. It’s time for us to take our seats. Thank god. I wish he would just leave.

  He walks his dates to the other side of the table and takes the empty seats next to Ryan.

  No. Nonononono.

  We sit across from each other, through the speeches and dances and toasts—me with Bob on one side and Ryan’s little girl on the other; him, flanked by twin bombshells.

  “So explain to me what it is that you do,” says Bob as we’re finishing dinner. “This ‘internet’ that I’ve been hearing about.”

  “It’s quite simple really,” replies Troy. “A system of computer networks that connects people around the world. It’s been around for a while, but it’s just starting to get interesting. My company designs and implements security protocol for businesses that want to establish their presence online, so that sensitive information exchanged on the internet stays secure.”

  “It’s really taking off,” says Ryan. “Troy’s firm is doing so well, he needs to set up offices here in Toronto to cover the Canadian side of his operation.”

  “Well that’s great,” says Elizabeth when Heather and Felicia leave for the ladies’ room. “What I want to know is, when are you going to settle down?”

  “Oh no, no, no, mum.” Ryan holds his hands up. “Did you see those girls? Troy, buddy, live it up. For the both of us, man.” He clinks glasses with him.

  “I’m just saying,” Elizabeth continues, unfazed. “It’s all fun and games until someone steals your heart from right under your nose. You should think about that, young man.”

  “I don’t know,” replies Troy, twirling his glass. “What do you think, Shayda?”

  He says my name like he’s been holding it in his mouth for a long time, savoring it, letting his tongue taste each vowel, each consonant, before releasing it with a warm ‘ahhh’.

  Am I the only one hearing this? Seriously? Shaydahhh.

  I lift my eyes and find him watching me. Intently. Like I’m some specimen he’s pinned to a cork board with brightly colored thumb tacks.

  “Hey.” Jayne and Matt stop by our table. “Why isn’t anyone dancing? Come on guys. Let’s go, let’s go!”

  Jayne seems relaxed, like she’s really enjoying herself. I steal another look at Troy. No reaction. It’s as if I imagined the whole thing between them.

  Ryan and Ellen take the kids and follow the bride and groom to the dance floor. Heather and Felicia return, giggling. Nothing like a trip to the ladies’ room for some female bonding. They drag Troy away, one on each arm.

  Elizabeth declines, pointing to her half-finished plate. “Why don’t you take Shayda?” she tells Bob.

  “No thanks,” I reply. “I prefer to sit and watch.”

  “Suit yourself,” says Bob. “But Milton Malone is making his way over and I have a feeling it’s not me he wants to dance with.”

  “Oh Bob! Why would you invite him?”

  “I invited a lot of our clients.”

  “Let’s go.” I grab him, and we scoot off to the dance floor.

  “She picked the perfect venue,” says Bob.

  I nod. In spite of the extensive renovations inside the mansion, the graceful estate that Jayne chose for her wedding retains the glamour and romance of the 1920s.

  “This is where I’m going to get married,” she said when the proprietor showed us the sunken garden. “And this is where we’ll have the reception.”

  The room looks even more beautiful at night, with twinkling chandeliers and creamy damask curtains.

  “Was this intentional?” asks Bob.

  “What?”

  “You match the decor.”

  I laugh. I’m wearing a knee-length dress that reflects the soft, blush tones on the wall.

  “I think you should get Elizabeth for this number,” I say when the DJ switches to a slower beat.

  “Liz has her partner picked and it looks like she’s having way too much fun for me to cut in.”

  “Where is she?” I laugh, turning around, and find myself staring straight at Troy Heathgate.

  “Mind if I cut in?” he asks Bob. It’s more of a statement than a request. “Thank you for saving me a dance, Lizzie.”

  “Oh no. Thank you.” She fans herself. “I hope you can keep up, old man,” she tells Bob, and is promptly rewarded with a smack on the bottom. They dance off happily.

  Troy clasps my fingers in one hand while the other circles my waist. Jon B’s dulcet tenor mingles with the cool vocals of Babyface. ‘Someone To Love,’ they croon.

  He leads me flawlessly, in a slow, lazy rhythm. The jacket has come off. I can feel the warmth of his body through the crisp cotton shirt—every turn, every twist, every flex of hard muscle beneath. My eyes are level with his collar, staring at the undone buttons, the tie that’s been loosened as though he can’t stand to be restrained. I keep my eyes on the silver cross resting in the groove between his collarbones. Some things never change.

  “So.” His breath lifts the tendrils off my neck. “Here we are, Mrs. Hijazi.”

  “You remember...” The words spill out before I can stop myself.

  “Of course.” Like anything else was unimaginable. “Was it a girl, with sunset red in her hair, like her mother?”

  “Yes,” I reply. “But she looks more like her father.”

  We move silently, thinking of that other night, when we danced under fluorescent lights, between rows of magazines and toilet paper and chewing gum.

  “Are you happy, Shayda?”

  A second. That’s all it takes. A single beat of hesitation on my part.

  When Natasha was a year old, Hafez and I had gone to see ‘Fright Night’. Jerry Dandridge was the dark, seductive vampire who couldn’t cross the th
reshold unless you let him in.

  Here I am, ten years later. Troy Heathgate is at my door.

  Let me in.

  I falter.

  Sometimes I wonder how many worlds unfurled in that one second.

  “Roses.” He smiles and shakes his head. “I smell roses.”

  “I’m not wearing any perfume.”

  “I know.”

  My heart quickens as his eyes roam my lips, pausing over the faint silver scar.

  “Your dates are waiting for you,” I say.

  Heather and Felicia have turned their chairs and are following our every move.

  “Let them wait.”

  We cover the floor, mingling with other couples. Dancing with him would be effortless. If I could relax.

  “What?” I ask when the weight of his stare became too much.

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he replies. “What. What is it about you, Shayda Hijazi? There’s nothing remarkable about the shape of your eyes or your nose or your face. And yet, when you put it all together, something extra-ordinary happens. Everything clashes. That cool rosebud mouth sets off whatever is percolating in your turkish-coffee eyes. Your eyebrows. Such a proud arch to them. Completely at odds with this demure nose. And when you look away, it’s as if some soot is going to fall off your lashes and smudge those chaste cheeks. You’re a mass of contradictions, Shayda. All these delicious curves, wrapped around a rod of steel.”

  “It’s called a backbone, Troy. And you don’t seem to have one. Or do you just have a thing for married women?”

  “I have a thing for women all right.” He laughs. “Delicious creatures, every one of you. Married? Maybe one...”

  “Just Jayne then?”

  I have to hand it to him. He doesn’t flinch. Or falter.

  “You saw that, did you?” His eyes gleam with hidden mirth. “Did it offend your sensibilities, Shayda?”

  “You think it’s funny?” My temper flares. “I wonder what Ryan or Bob would say if they knew.”

  “I wouldn’t mention it to anyone if I were you.” His fingers tighten painfully around my waist.

  The song ends, but the air continues to thrum between us.

  “I’d like to sit down now,” I say.

  “You know what I’d like to do?” His grip shows no sign of relaxing. “I’d like to loosen this tight little up-do of yours and let your curls fall free. I’d like to see what you’d be like if you weren’t so ruthless with yourself, Shayda.”