Chapter Thirty-Three #2
It was an expression that made my chest yearn with everything I’d spent years trying to bury: the loneliness of being the family’s success story but never the favorite, the exhaustion of having to earn every ounce of devotion I was given, the constant disbelief that I’d ever belonged among the accomplished.
I should’ve looked away, buried the warmth before it took root, but I couldn’t. Because for the first time in a long time, pride didn’t feel like pressure. It felt like sunlight.
When I got back to my seat, the band began to play a slower song. Couples started drifting toward the dance floor, dresses brushing against tuxedo pants, laughter melting into music.
I was halfway through pretending to check my phone when Khalifa turned to me. “Dance with me.”
I blinked. “What?”
He extended his palm. “One dance. You worked really hard, you organized the entire night, you won—you should at least enjoy it.”
“You want to dance? In front of people? You won’t even dance in the living room with me.”
“I’m pretty sure I did dance with you.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, “for, like, half a second.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Okay. Fair. I’ll make sure this one lasts for at least a full second.”
Every instinct told me to refuse, to make a joke, to deflect before he could chip away at the trembling part of me that still wanted things from him.
But then I saw it—the faint hint of sincerity beneath his usual restraint, the almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth that wasn’t quite a grin but wasn’t indifference either.
And against all reason, I put my hand in his.
He led me toward an empty corner of the dance floor, his grip settling against my waist, his palm igniting through the thin fabric of my dress, fingers pressing just firmly enough to remind me that he was real, that we were real, at least for this one time-stopping moment.
I rested my other hand lightly against his shoulder, and we began to move.
It wasn’t graceful. He was too tense, I was too clumsy, and we stumbled once when he turned us too quickly, but none of that seemed to matter. The room faded—the voices, the lights, the music—all dimmed to a hum in the background, and I could only register him.
“See?” he murmured, his thumb tracing a faint circle against my hip. “Not so bad.”
“You’re full of surprises. I wouldn’t mind seeing the rest of them.”
“Some surprises aren’t meant to be seen,” he said. “They tend to explode the moment they’re exposed.”
“Why don’t you let me decide that for myself?” I countered, lifting my chin, refusing to let him retreat behind silence again.
He stiffened, just barely, before he said, “I know you, Lillian. I know you’re not going to like all the surprises. I’d rather you hate me for the things you know now than for the things you don’t know yet.”
His gaze stayed locked on mine, searching, almost daring me to keep holding his stare. I leaned in until my lips were near his ear, until I could feel his breath hiccup against my cheek.
“You’re underestimating how much I can handle,” I whispered, every word laced with defiance and exhaustion and something far more dangerous than both.
“I really hope that’s true.”
And beneath his calm, beneath that careful restraint he wore like armor, there was a flicker of fear, telling me that whatever he was hiding wasn’t small.
Robert appeared beside us. “The woman of the night,” he said. “May I have a dance?”
A surprised laugh threatened to rise, but I managed a polite smile instead. “Oh, I—”
Before I could finish, Khalifa’s arm tightened around me. “No. My wife is good.”
I turned to him, disbelief slicing through the heat. “I don’t need you to speak for me.”
Robert’s brows lifted slightly. “It’s all good. Have a great rest of your night.” He nodded once, then slipped back into the crowd.
The second he was gone, I said, “You didn’t have to be rude. He’s my coworker.”
He let out a scoff. “Yeah. A coworker who has feelings for you.”
I snickered. “Excuse me? Robert? He flirts with every human that breathes. It’s called a bad personality, not a love confession.”
“And you have no problem letting him think that’s okay?”
My mouth fell open. “Wow. I can’t decide if I should be insulted or shocked by the absolute hypocrisy,” I snapped.
His eyes narrowed. “How am I a hypocrite?”
“Oh, a couple of different ways,” I said, voice trembling from how hard I was trying not to yell. “But let’s start with how you have the audacity to accuse me of leading someone on when that’s exactly what you’ve been doing to me since the day we got married.”
His hand dropped from my waist, his face shuttered. Then he looked at his watch and said flatly, “Twelve-oh-one. Pretending’s over.” He turned, walking toward the table, collecting his things without another glance.
I followed, grabbing my bag, my heels clicking loudly on the marble floor. He was already halfway to the car by the time I caught up, practically sprinting. He didn’t open my door, didn’t even wait for it to close before the car lurched forward, tires biting the road.
For a moment, I just watched the lights smear past the window, my pulse a steady roar in my ears. Then I couldn’t help it. “I should congratulate you, Khalifa. I didn’t think you were capable of not being an irritating asshole for more than a few seconds. You really outdid yourself tonight.”
He said nothing. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
“God,” I said, shaking my head, “you’re such a typical, toxic man. Is that it? You feel threatened? Is that why you won’t divorce me? You want to keep me locked in, like some possessive little claim, so no one else can have me?”
His jaw flexed, but he just kept driving.
“News flash, Khalifa,” I continued, my voice breaking into anger, “you never had me. I am not yours.”
The car jerked to a stop at our building. He was out before I could unbuckle, his door slamming behind him.
I matched his pace to the elevator. When the doors closed, I exhaled sharply.
“You know,” I said, “you have some nerve getting mad at a man for speaking to me when half the women in that room were undressing you with their eyes, and you didn’t seem to mind.
Not once. I guess my attraction’s the only one you hate. ”
He finally looked at me, and in the hush between us, the air cracked. His chest rose once, his throat working like he was trying to swallow something he didn’t want to say. Then, without warning, his hand shot out and slammed the emergency stop.