It didn’t matter. She had ordered room service and the hotel staff had set it up at the foot of her king-size bed, metal domes covering the plates and cutlery wrapped in linen. After they left, she opened the domes, putting them aside in a rough stack. The plates were filled with fried yam and plantain, pepper stew, snails and gizzards, skewers of suya, two bowls of crème brûlée. Souraya turned on the television and watched a reality show while picking at the plates, the blue silk of her dress crumpled around her in the bed. When Ahmed called, she stared at her phone until it stopped ringing. He called again, and after a few moments, Souraya answered.
“What do you want?” she snapped.
“Tell me your room number,” he said. “I’m here.”
“What?”
“I’m at the elevators. Tell me where you are.”
Souraya told him her room number out of shock more than anything.
“See you in a bit,” he said, then he hung up. Souraya looked down at her phone, her brain moving slowly in confusion. Why had he come back? Why did she let him come up? Was she going to let him in or would she just yell at him in the corridor and send him away?
She reached for a spoon and cracked the bubbled sugar in her bowl of crème brûlée, sinking the metal curve into the soft pale yellow below. It melted on her tongue, a smooth ephemeral, crystals of sharp sweetness breaking between her teeth. On the TV screen, an enthusiastic girl was jerking her shoulders around as she gave a horrible audition, the judges staring aghast. She was moving like someone who didn’t worry about the faces around her. Souraya thought she had a point.
There was a knock on her door, and she paused the reality show, putting down the bowl before sliding off the bed and padding barefoot across the room. She peered through the spyhole and Ahmed’s jawline fell into view, his head turning as he looked down the corridor. He knocked again, calling her name softly this time. Souraya leaned her forehead against the wood, sighing as she unlocked the door, the latch clicking under her fingers. She pulled the door open, and Ahmed looked at her. His eyes were alive again, if a little shattered. They stared at each other without speaking for a few moments.
“May I come in?” he finally asked.
Souraya stepped aside so he could pass, then closed the door and folded her arms across her chest. Ahmed looked at the plates of food heaped on the tray.
“I’m sorry about lunch,” he said, trailing his fingers against the edge of her bed.
“It’s fine,” Souraya said, finally hunting down her voice. “You didn’t eat either. Help yourself.”
Ahmed inclined his head in gratitude but didn’t touch the food. He stalked through her suite, his eyes cataloging everything. It felt a little proprietary and it annoyed her, even as she noted the tightness of his shoulders and the way his hands intermittently shook.
“Why did you come back?”
He looked surprised at her question. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Souraya growled softly. “If you leave, maybe you should stay gone.”
Ahmed stopped pacing and narrowed his eyes, sliding his hands into his pockets.
“Are you going to ask another promise of me?”
This time, she was the one surprised. Was she going to shove him away again? It would be the smart thing to do. Ola would scream at her to do it.
“I don’t like inconsistency,” she replied.
Sorrow crossed his face, so naked and clear that it shocked Souraya to her core.
“Ahmed?” She took a step toward him, but he stepped away.
“What can I even offer you?” he asked, almost to himself. His shoulders bowed forward.
Warning crept over the back of her neck. “What happened, Ahmed?”
He shook his head and when he looked at her, his eyes vacillated between wild and cold. “First things first,” he said. “I’ll always come back for you, Souraya. Unless bound by a promise that stops me.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Something happened after you dropped me off. Tell me, Ahmed.”
A raw laugh spilled from his mouth, and he leaned against her bathroom door. “You know, after Joburg, I thought about this city when I thought about us.”
Souraya frowned. “Why?”
“Because you hate this place. Because I am this place. You did the right thing forcing me away.” He pushed off the door and came toward her. “Otherwise I would have tracked you down, darling. I know I’ll corrupt you and still, here I am.”
Ahmed stopped right in front of her and raised his hands to cup her face in his palms. Souraya sighed at the contact, the sound slipping out of her mouth unbidden. He bent his head to brush his mouth against hers and she swayed into him, her hands finding his biceps.
“Ahmed,” she whispered. “Stop trying to distract me.”
He kissed her deeper and backed her up against the wall, his hips pressing against hers. “I did something terrible,” he said against her lips. “That’s what happened after I left.”
“You’ve done many terrible things.”
“And you don’t care?”
“I didn’t say that.” She kissed down the column of his throat and her body thrilled as he slid a hand up her thigh, under her dress. It had been so long since she’d felt his touch and Souraya was surprised at how badly she craved it, how much she wanted to hear the sounds of wonder and gratitude that he made each time he was inside her. “Ahmed.”
His hand dipped between her legs and her back arched, a hungry cry crawling out of her mouth.
“Yes,” he crooned. “I missed you, darling.”
Souraya fought to gather her mind as he stroked her. “Tell me what you did.”
Ahmed’s hand stilled and his breath passed over her hair.
