Chapter Thirty-Four
Sadie
I struggle to concentrate after Dad leaves. Just when I think my opinion of him can’t get any lower, he does something like this.
Riley doesn’t help.
“You never told me your dad was so charming,” she titters as we climb onto the bus that’s waiting to take us back to the boat.
“Charming is one word for it, I guess.”
Bart pulls my hat off my head and ruffles my hair.
“Not as charming as you, Amira.”
“Aww, thanks, Section Buddy.” I give him a playful shove.
“Far-Future Husband, I think you mean.” Bart references our conversation by the river.
I laugh, but it’s kind of sad. Because maybe that is my future. Whatever kind of way I might be feeling about Ethan—and the kiss he planted on my forehead in the tent really nailed it—no matter how appealing Ethan might be, Dad’s impeccable timing has reminded me what getting involved with your professor can do to your career.
And whatever else I become in my life, I will not become my mother.
As our little boat motors towards the dock at El Minya Riley lets out a scream. Nestled in the rocky cliffs above the strip of green bordering the river is a Hollywood-style sign.
“Oh, this is going to be so much fun !" Riley squeals.
Unfortunately for Riley, the sign is pretty much the only thing El Minya has in common with Hollywood. Sure, there are shops and probably nightclubs. Oh, and palm trees. But it’s not quite the sophisticated cosmopolitan hub she was hoping for. It’s exactly what I was hoping for, though. Because there are also tombs, a fabulous museum, and the famed City of the Dead.
“Haven’t we had enough of sand and tombs and museums?” Riley whines to Garret as we’re climbing out of the taxi at the Mallawi Museum. I look over her shoulder to see Ethan right behind her, frowning.
“Tombs and museums and ancient things are why we’re here, Riley. If you’ve had enough, I can certainly arrange to get you on an early flight back to Sydney.”
His tone is serious, but there’s a glitter in his eye giving away his amusement if you're perceptive enough to spot it. Riley's eyes pop wide. Oops , she mouths to Garret before turning to Ethan.
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant …” she trails off, unable to think of a plausible explanation.
“I know exactly what you meant.” Ethan strides to the front of our straggly group and addresses everyone. “If you’d rather hit the markets, feel free. But don’t do it alone. Two together at all times. And let either me or Ashraf know where you’re going and when you expect to be back on the boat. Anyone who wants to see the museum, follow me.”
Even Riley follows Ethan without another word.
“If you’re hoping to get Ethan to notice you, I think you might be going about it the wrong way,” I suggest as we file through the narrow doorway, although I’ve noticed a distinct absence of flirting from her recently.
“We can’t all be stars like you, can we, Princess ?” Riley has barely spoken a word directly to me since the camel incident. Which makes sharing a room with her challenging. But there’s too much going on, and I’m too happy to care what she thinks. I’m determined not to let her spitefulness ruin this dig for me. As long as she keeps her suspicions to herself.
“Anyway, if being with Ethan means putting up with all this heat and dust for months every year, I’m not sure it’s worth it.”
I can’t believe what I’ve just heard. I stop and turn to look at her.
“We’re in Egypt. What were you expecting?”
“Well, hot running water and an ensuite for one.”
I laugh.
“You obviously hate it here. Why did you even come?”
“It was this or getting cut off by my parents. There are worse things in life than being abandoned by your father, you know.”
And she turns her back on me, feigning interest in an exhibit.
I don’t know what to say. Which would be worse? A father who tries to control you through his wallet, or a father who doesn’t care what you do? It’s a shocking thing to be feeling sorry for Riley. But I am.
After a few hours in the museum, Ethan takes pity on Riley, and we hit the marketplace.
Even though shopping wasn’t at the top of my list of things to do this weekend, I do love the markets. There’s so much life in the hawkers calling you to their shops, haggling with you over what turns out to be a few cents difference in price. The piles of colourful spices. The smell of the hookah pipes being smoked by gossiping men clustered on stools lining the narrow laneways. I could lose myself here just as easily as at the museum or on the dig.
Riley heads straight for a clothing and jewellery shop, and I follow. We won’t ever be friends, but maybe if I make more of an effort, we can reach some kind of peace.
I have to admit they have some lovely things, and I leave the shop with a gorgeous beaded headdress and a pretty top.
After a couple of hours wandering the maze of laneways at the market, we go back to the boat for a quick wash and change before dinner. I decide to wear the things I bought today. Digging is dirty, sweaty work, and I haven’t had time to do any laundry, so most of my shirts are in desperate need of soap and water. I do manage to locate one last pair of clean jeans, at least.
The headdress has a crochet-style cap, with long strands of beads that hang down over my hair and short ones on my forehead. The beads are a beautiful turquoise blue and gold and match the blue in the top perfectly. I even swipe on a little eyeliner and some tinted lip gloss.
“Wow. Sadie. You look sensational.” Jeremy whistles when I meet them up on deck.
I smile my thanks, but I only have eyes for Ethan, who also looks sensational in chinos and a white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his muscular forearms. Or maybe it’s the look of appreciation he shoots my way, then quickly shutters, that makes him look so delectable. I give myself a mental slap and chant two words silently to myself. Derek Montgomery. But they don’t seem to have the effect I was hoping for. Because the way Ethan had my back today, without treating me like a child who couldn’t make their own decisions, proved how unlike my father he is.
The sun is setting as we make our way to a little restaurant with a terrace overlooking the Nile. The light is glowing gold on the hills behind us, and the strip of green that runs along the riverbank is bright in the last rays of the early evening sun.
Dish after dish of fabulous food comes out from the kitchen, along with many icy bottles of local beer. I don’t think I can eat another bite until tagines of something smelling like heaven are brought to the table. Baked golden brown, sprinkled with bright green pistachios, and bubbling with sweetness. I nearly whimper. I’m so full. But sweets are my weakness.
We all look at Ethan, whose eyes have lit up.
“This is Om Ali. A traditional Egyptian dessert.”
The whole table falls silent, except for the scraping of spoons, as we eat.
“Ggrmmm,” I groan as I finish, licking my lips to gather up the last deliciously sweet taste of the dessert. “This is sooo good.”
“You have a sweet tooth like Ethan, do you, Sadie?” Bart, who is shovelling the flaky, milky, nutty goodness into his mouth, asks.
Guilty. Yes. I do have a sweet tooth. I didn’t realise Ethan did, though, and I wish I didn’t know. Because every new thing I learn about him seems to make him even more perfect for me. And he can’t be. We can’t be. I chant those two words again. Derek Montgomery. Or maybe I should be chanting Rebecca Montgomery. Because I cannot, will not, make her mistakes.
But maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be like that with Ethan, my traitor of a brain—or maybe some other organ—suggests. And these thoughts are dangerous.
My cheeks are burning, probably from the heated stare Riley shoots my way, reminding me it’s not only Ethan I need to be wary of, but the judgement of others. Luckily, I’m prevented from answering by a loud drumbeat, drowning out all ability to hear anything else.
The lights go out, leaving only the table candles and the moon illuminating the terrace. A spotlight hits a red velvet curtain beside the bar. A cheer goes up around the restaurant, and into the light dances a woman in a glorious red and gold belly dancer’s costume. The top is covered in jingling coins and bells, the full chiffon skirt flying and whipping around her legs. Her hair is long and lush and as dark as the kohl around her eyes.
Not a soul in the restaurant can take their eyes off her as she spins and twirls between the tables, teasing the men with her scarf, swinging her hips and crooking her finger, inviting people to dance.
It’s no surprise she spots our table. We have more than our fair share of good-looking young guys. Simon is the first to be pulled up, followed by Bart and Jeremy. Then she spots me. It’s impossible to say no, and I wouldn’t want to. She indicates I should copy her movements, and what I do might be a pale imitation of her sexy moves, but I’m doing it.
Our whole table is up. Even Ethan. Dancing and laughing, hands clasped, crushed together, moving through the restaurant tables like a Middle Eastern conga line.
And because the universe hates me, my hand is held firmly in Ethan’s when the line breaks up and everyone pairs off at the dancer’s instruction.
The music is frantic. The space between the tables is packed with dozens of willing apprentices to a mesmerising teacher. Over the delicious smells of garlic, roasting meat, and rosewater-soaked sweets, I’m hit with the peppery scent of a familiar aftershave. My eyes are level with the small, tanned indent at the base of his throat, exposed by the open collar of the white linen shirt. I dare not look up. Because I don’t want to meet his gaze. Not when I’m pressed against the hard chest, and even harder dick, of the one man in the world I need to stay away from. And can’t.