Twenty-Four
TWENTY-FOUR
LUCAS
I leave Leora to get accustomed to her new office, and I can't help but think that I'll never tire of her smile. Her smile could light up the darkest of nights, and warm up the coldest of rooms. She probably doesn't even know the effect she has on people. Her ex must have screwed her up royally if she thought she needed me to feel better.
So, I decided to set a personal mission for myself: by the time our agreement ends, she will have learned to love herself as she truly deserves.
As for yesterday, once I left her at the apartment, my plan was to head to the office, get some work done, and indulge in a glass or two of my twenty-five-year-old whiskey. I needed to think and I needed to plan, but the only thing that ran through my mind while I was driving was how Leora had chosen to take the stairs. I started thinking about why . Every time we had been in an elevator together, she seemed out of it, never making eye contact with me and always fidgeting until we reached our floor. That's when it dawned on me that she must hate elevators and therefore, that’s why I decided to move our offices. Our old one needed a renovation, so I used it as an excuse to call up an old colleague of mine who is now the owner of this building, and he made everything happen. The new office space is perfect. It doesn't have the same view as the one at the hotel, but it will help Leora feel more at ease for now.
Today is slightly better than yesterday, but it’s still clear that she’s afraid, even if she’s too stubborn to admit it. While on the elevator, I tried to keep her occupied by asking her a bunch of questions about books. Her eyes lit up and she started babbling about something called tropes—apparently her favorite is something called, enemies to lovers. Sadly, it wasn’t enough to keep her from being scared. Even though she was talking, she was still shaky, fidgety, and frantically looking around. We’ll work on her fear and when she feels better, I’ll take her back to the old office to help her work through it.
That is, if it happens within a year because after that, she'll go back home. For now, the more at ease she feels, the more she’ll deliver on her work.
As I'm working, I hear a distinct knock at the door. It's not just any knock; it's a rhythmic melody of " Shave and a Haircut" with a deliberate pause at the end that waits for me to finish it. Ignoring the pause, I call out, "Come in, Liam."
He enters my office, with a laid back demeanor and a hint of exasperation in his voice, "You left me hanging."
Not in the mood for small talk, I ask, "What do you need, Liam?"
" Ammo wanted me to drop these papers off for you," he says, handing me a stack of papers concerning the office renovation.
"Great, thanks." I say dismissively, but then I remember that I need his updates. "While you’re here, you can update me on the hotels. How’s the one in Barcelona doing?"
He plops down in the chair in front of me. "It’s going well. We had a huge bachelorette a few weeks ago while I was visiting and let me tell you, those girls were wild." A chuckle accompanies his comment, and irritation wells up within me at his foolish mindset.
"The one in Porto?"
"It’s good. There was an incident but I had it under control."
I know exactly what incident he’s talking about. "You mean the incident where you lost us the largest sum of revenue we could’ve made in years because you ruined a wedding?"
"I didn't ruin the wedding."
"You fucked the bride, Liam."
"Well, she obviously didn’t want to marry the old man—I practically saved her." The nonchalance in his voice is infuriating and I try my best to not get angry.
"What a hero," I mumble before returning my focus, hoping this gets him to leave my office, but he isn’t done.
"Why didn’t you tell me you were getting married, or that you even met someone?" Liam asks, genuine hurt tinting his voice
"Why would I have done that?"
"Because I’m your brother."
"What a brother you've been," I mutter sarcastically, feeling a twinge of guilt for saying it out loud. Liam looks down at his hands for a moment before meeting my gaze. "Look, I know I haven't been the best brother, but that doesn't mean I don't care about you. I just wish you would've told me about this important thing happening in your life."
"I don't owe you anything," I retort, feeling defensive.
"What are you talking about?"
"Do you need anything else, Liam? I have a lot of work to do."
"I’m not leaving before you tell me why the hell you’re so pissed," he almost growls.
Our eyes meet, and I can feel the fire behind mine.
I’m angry.
I’m so angry, but more than anything, I’m disappointed in him. After we lost our parents, he was—still is—my only safe place. He was only three when they died, leaving me with the responsibility of looking out for him. I’ve been there for every event in his life, good and bad. It’s nothing to be proud of; that’s what brothers are supposed to do for each other. I would never use it against him, but the time I needed him to stand by me most, he left me.
"Talk Lucas. Fucking talk. God forbid you ever did that! You haven’t said a word to me for the past six months."
I stand up abruptly, my chair falling over behind me.
My voice rises with frustration, and the emotions I've been holding back finally come to the surface. " I haven't said a word to you?" I repeat, my finger pressing harder into my chest. "You left, Liam! As soon as we found out about Ammo’s cancer, you left us. I’d hoped you would step up and share some of that responsibility with me. But instead, you chose to continue living the party life with a new woman on your arm every night." My voice cracks with hurt and a sliver of jealousy over the life he has.
Liam's expression turns defensive. "I do have responsibilities. I also have a job that I’m taking care of. Who do you think watches over all of our international hotels? It’s me ! Who sends you guys all the reports? Me!"
I take a deep breath, trying to calm down before responding. "I know you have a job, Liam. But you can't expect me to believe that you couldn't make time for your uncle, the man who raised you, when he needed you the most. You didn't even bother to call or text for months, and now you're acting like I owe you an explanation for my personal life."
Liam's expression softens slightly, but I can still see the sliver of defensiveness in his eyes.
"Lucas, I talk to him almost every day. How could you think I don’t care about him?"
I didn’t know that.
I didn’t know that he took time out of his parties to speak with our uncle. Even so, this means Liam never went out of his way to reach out to me the way he did our uncle. He chose not to contact me, and that stings even more.
"I’m glad you do." I go to pick up my chair, but Liam is there before I can even attempt it.
"You don’t get to be upset about something that doesn’t involve you." He takes a step closer to me, his hand reaching out as if to touch my arm. I move away from his touch, as if it’s on fire.
"You didn't even bother to tell me that you were leaving, Liam. You left me when I needed you." My hands are shaking, and I hate that I’m getting emotional.
I hate it.
Liam takes a step back, seeming to understand my frustration.
"I wasn’t supposed to leave for that long, Lucas. I needed some space and time. Everything was so overwhelming."
"Don’t you think it was overwhelming for me, too?"
My shoulders slump. I’m tired. I’m tired of this constant battle—of the energy it takes to maintain it. It's as if the very essence of who I am is being molded by this unrelenting anger.
"I’m sorry I left and never reached out to you. It wasn’t fair to leave you to handle everything by yourself." His eyes, filled with regret, study me like they always used to do when we were younger. Liam has always been good at reading people. He feels everything they’re feeling and as good of a quality that is, I don’t like it when he uses it on me.
"How long are you staying this time?"
Liam places his hand on my shoulder and smiles, "I have no return trip planned yet."
He’s staying.
"What about the hotels?"
"I’ve got that covered. I’ll get back to them eventually, don’t worry."
"You’re staying?"
"I’m staying."
A smile tugs at the corners of my lips, relieved that Liam is planning to stay for a while. Without thinking, I hug him, ready to let go of everything. Liam hesitates for a second before his arms wrap around me and the tension between us melt away, replaced by a sense of comfort in having him back.
He whispers the words, "I've missed you, brother," I feel a lump form in my throat. The weight of his absence hits me like a ton of bricks, and I can't help but bury my face in his shoulder.
"I’ve missed you, too."
"Hello, husband.” The sound of Leora’s footsteps halts. "Oh, I’m sorry—Hi Liam."
"Hello, sister-in-law," he greets, stepping away from me and pulling Leora into a warm embrace. Leora's eyes dart toward me, a hint of surprise on her face. "Are you okay?" she mouths, and I nod, feeling relieved that things might finally be okay between us. When they break apart, her eyes go to his ring finger, and she shrieks, "My friend Sophie has a tattoo that looks almost identical to yours. What are the chances?" She laughs, adding, "Please don't tell me you also got it done at some dodgy back-alley parlor in Barcelona."
That’s weird. If I remember correctly, he did in fact get his tattoo at a questionable studio in Barcelona. I remember scolding him for risking infection by not going to a professional, and he answered back with something about finding his destiny that night and nothing would get in his way of it, not even an infection. That’s why he tattooed the word "Destiny" in Arabic on his finger. Nasib .
Liam laughs a bit nervously. "Oh, what a coincidence."
"Definitely is." Leora nods. "So, is everything good between you two?"
"Yes," both of us answer at the same time.
"Okay…" she draws out the word while casting a quick glance between Liam and me. "Great, then you’ll have to join us for dinner someday soon."
"I would love to."
"Perfect, Lucas can cook."
Liam’s smile spreads across his face as he looks at me. "I can’t wait, but for now, I have to go. I have some work to do. See you."
With that, he walks out of my office and my focus goes back to the little firecracker standing in front of me. She’s practically bouncing with excitement. I raise an eyebrow at her, silently questioning the dinner plans she’s planning without my knowledge.
"So now you decide when we’re having people over, Leora? I must say, you’re getting comfortable with being my wife."
She laughs. "Well, I have a part to play, don’t I?"
"Mhmm," I hum while I step closer to her.
She clears her throat, "I-I actually came here to talk to you about some ideas."
"Is that so?" I’m almost close enough to touch her now, but I stop myself. Instead, I sit down on my desk, facing her.
"Yes. I know we want the opening to be luxurious, but we also want it to be something the guests remember. How about live musicians? I’ve been looking around and I think we should consider this local jazz band. I found their Instagram and they’re incredible. If you want, we can go to Promenade des Anglais and check them out."
"You want us to book musicians who play on the streets for our opening?"
Her face morphs into a look of offense. "Don’t judge them before you give them a chance. They’re super talented and they play different events as well."
I nod, understanding her point. "What other ideas do you have?"
"Okay, so during an event like this, we need a little bit of ‘umph.’"
"Umph?" I ask, not understanding what she means.
"Yes, something extra, but let’s make it something personal and beautiful. What do you think about the idea of having an exhibit with art that connects to the history of the hotels?"
She approaches me, her excitement is radiating off her like a warm glow. It's almost infectious, and if it continues, I will find myself willing to agree to anything she suggests.
"Continue," I say with an encouraging smile.
"Let's make it about Antoine, for the guests to follow his journey over the years. We can add parts of where he grew up in Lebanon and how he became the hotel-mogul he is today. Let's honor him."
While Leora presents her idea, a surge of admiration and yearning fills me. Her creativity and enthusiasm are not only impressive but also deeply moving. The idea itself is brilliant, and I know that my uncle will appreciate it.
"I love it,” I finally manage to say, my voice carrying a mix of genuine admiration and something more profound.
Her eyes beam at the approval, and I can see the spark of excitement reflected in them.
Rising from the desk, a renewed sense of purpose courses through me. The prospect of bringing Leora's vision to life resonates with me on a level that goes beyond the professional.
"How about we grab some lunch? I'd love to hear more of your ideas," I suggest, a smile playing on my lips, eager to continue this conversation.