Mad, Bad & Dangerous to Know - Samira Ahmed Page 0,67

move down a notch. Though, I guess, Alexandre already took over the number one spot. With a bullet.

Still, I get what my mom says about love and work and forgiveness. I get that it’s not always perfect. And I understand what she means about me making my own choices for myself. That’s where my head needs to be right now.

If only my heart weren’t going rogue.

Leila

The wind roars in my ears as it rushes past us.

Pasha speaks as we gallop. We both know his are the last words I will ever hear. “In a way, I am sorry it had to end like this. You have brought me much satisfaction. But you should never have been disloyal. Valide always despised your strong-willed temperament, yet that never bothered me. It made you less of a bore than the others. But to give yourself, willingly, to the Giaour? You were never worthy of being haseki. It turns out you are a common concubine after all.”

The horse comes to an abrupt stop, nearly throwing me to the ground. I smell the salt air and hear the siren call of the ocean’s deepest waves. I know what awaits me. I squeeze my eyes shut and say a silent prayer: Lighten my journey, O God. Make this distance an easy one. In you, I seek refuge.

Pasha dismounts and throws me over his shoulder.

He speaks to a fisherman whose reverence makes clear he knows that it is Pasha who commands him and that he must obey. He rows us out in his little craft. Pasha keeps me on his shoulder, even as the fisherman draws us out into the inky black sea and small waves rock the boat. The fisherman stops. I hear Pasha mutter words under his breath, a prayer for mercy.

I do not know for whom he prays.

Khayyam

After bidding my parents bon voyage, I didn’t want to stay in the apartment alone. Instead, I’m spending the afternoon getting jostled by tourists in the courtyard of the Palais Royal, weaving around the Colonnes de Buren. It’s unlikely that I’ll run into Alexandre here. I kind of hope I do, though. Part of me wants to yell at him for the sucker-punch shock of seeing him with his ex, and part of me wants to come clean about Zaid because obviously I get it. Also, I still need to get all the information his family has about Leila. Maybe I can finally focus only on finding her. It shouldn’t be such a challenge to do the right thing for myself, but with my heart and mind in constant battle, there’s no clear winner.

Alexandre appeared, a potential real-life deus ex machina—the key to my revenge on Celenia Mondego and to turning around my failure. Then he became a gorgeous distraction from Zaid. An Instagram jealousy magnet. And then more. But what, exactly?

My phone buzzes. It’s Alexandre again: Mes yeux ne brillent que pour toi. My eyes only shine for you. Ugh. The beauty of the French language makes it hard to stay mad sometimes. I get a messy breakup, but seeing him with her, right there in front of my eyes . . . flowery words can’t erase that image or take the hurt away. I slip my phone back in my pocket without responding.

For now, my best option is to eat my weight in macarons, but I can’t even do that, because my brain is elsewhere, and I’ve forgotten my wallet at home.

By the time I get back to our building, I’m desperate for macarons. But somehow, as I trudge up the winding stairs, my resolve not to text Alexandre softens, like I’ve stomped out my anger and want to give him a second chance. Don’t we all deserve one? After all, I haven’t been totally honest, either. As far as he knows, my life in Chicago begins and ends with a failed essay, and if I’m mad at him for what he hid, I guess I need to tell him the truth, or else I’m a hypocrite. As I approach our landing, I reach into my bag to grab my phone—I stop short. I let out a little gasp.

What the—

Zaid is sitting cross-legged in front of our door. He’s so engrossed in his phone he doesn’t