Kemora Archives

SERENA

“What did you do?” I’m trying to make sense of the brown mass sitting on my sister’s countertop in a cake-baking mold.

“It’s a boxed recipe. You don’t even have to measure. How did you get that wrong?”

Amber glares at the cake as if she’s had enough of the confection’s shenanigans. “I did everything the box said.”

I pick up the empty box and read the back. “You added eggs?”

“Of course.”

“Water? Oil?”

“I’m not a moron, you know.”

“How much?”

“Rina.”

“It’s hard as a brick. You could smash someone’s head with it.”

“I will yours if you don’t stop insulting me.”

“I love you, but you’re a horrible cook.” I toss the box back on the counter and rest my hands on my hips. “Now what?”

Before she can answer, her eye catches a blue Audi pulling up in the driveway outside her massive kitchen window.

“I don’t have a plan B. I’m going to take a bath,” she yelps and dashes for her bedroom upstairs, leaving me and that mess of a cake behind to greet my brother-in-law with.

The door slams behind her before I can even negotiate my circumstances, and five minutes later a lean and tall glass of handsome bounds into the kitchen carrying a bright smile and a bouquet of red long-stem roses.

The smile dims when he sees me, because as polite as he is, let’s be honest, I’m not the one he’s home so early from work for.

Seeing my face probably quashed many of his plans and urges for the evening.

“Hey…Rina…?” He says it like he can’t believe his luck is this bad.

“Hey, Mohib.” I lean against the counter and smile. “So very generous of you to invite me over for your anniversary dinner tonight.”

“Oh?” His face pales slightly.

“Amber didn’t mention… I mean you’re welcome, of course, I just… I’m sorry, it must have slipped my mind, the day was just so busy, I nearly didn’t make it home in time to…to…”

He swallows. “So you’re staying. I mean, of course you are. What I meant was…”

Yeah, I’m going to hell for torturing this nice man.

“I was kidding.” I laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave. I’m not a cockblocker.”

His face reddens, and another chuckle escapes my lips.

Of all the men in the universe who would have suited Amber’s flamboyant personality, she had to lose her heart and mind to the one good boy that God ever created for our generation.

And why not? No one could have made my darling, impetuous sister happier.

“You sisters have a way with words.” He smiles in his unique shy way and walks over to the coffee table in the family room and places the ginormous bouquet there.

“But really, Rina, you’re always welcome. You know that, right? I was rude just now. It was just that I saw you and I wasn’t prepared—”

“I know, and it’s fine. Really.” I give him a look to please drop it. “She called me for help. With that.”

Mohib turns around to follow with his gaze to where my hand is pointing, and his eyebrows jump. He leaves his keys and wallet next to the roses and walks to my side. “She was baking?”

I nod. “She is upstairs soaking away her disappointment.”

We both sigh, because that’s classic Amber.

“Were the instructions accurate?” He picks up the empty box and reads. “Maybe they missed a step or gave wrong measurements.”

“Are you seriously blaming the recipe that’s literally cake-for-dummies in a box just so you don’t have to blame your wife?”

He draws his eyebrows together. “She tries to cook for me. People think it should come naturally to women as if they’re born with that gene.

“But it’s a hard skill. Like cutting sheet metal or drilling in a bolt.”

“Really? Sheet metal and bolts?”

It is immensely adorable and hilarious that he would compare the complications of his shipbuilding with mixing the prepared powder with water and oil and popping it in the oven.

But that’s Mohib when it comes to Amber. Mush like cooked lentils.

He rolls his eyes, tosses the box in the trashcan, and picks up the cake. Still wearing his custom-made business suit, he looks like a snooty host on one of those shows on the cooking channel.

Needless to say, some of those hosts look just as delicious to eat as the dishes they handle. Mohib would fit right in.

“If you eat that”—I point the finger at the brown chunk—“I’m officially writing you off as brainless.”

Mohib chuckles, shaking his head. “I love my wife, but lines have to be drawn.” He holds out the cake to me so I can have a better look. “Say farewell to it, Rina. It endured much.”

I clasp my hands in prayer. “May it rest in one big inedible piece.” There’s a thud as the cake ends up in the depths of the trashcan and a muted clang as the lid slowly drops back into place.

“Please tell me you have dinner reservations at the best restaurant in town, because she’ll need to be severely wooed and wowed tonight.”

“Oh, I have that covered,” he says without thinking, then blushes when his eyes catch me grinning. “What? It is our anniversary. I have plans.” The blush deepens.

“I know, but you’ve been married for three years now. Will you stop acting like such a shy new bride?”

“Someone has to. Your sister sure as hell doesn’t,” he chuckles then narrows his eyes at me playfully. “I can bet it wouldn’t be Zavyar in your relationship though. You’ve been warned, child.”

My smile falters, and I can feel the muscles of my face tense up.

Mohib instantly notices, because of course he does. That’s his thing.

Perceptive beyond normal, it wouldn’t be surprising one bit if it was ever discovered that Mohib Sen could read minds too but chose to hide it so that people wouldn’t freak out…

…and because he considers it a curse rather than a gift and would donate his kidneys, lungs, and all limbs as penance for lying.

However, he would never give away his heart, because he gave that away a long time ago to a neurotic control freak taking a bath upstairs to wash away the bad vibes of baking.

“He made quite an impression at lunch the other day.”

Instead of being direct, Mohib chooses to tackle the tension this way so that I don’t feel pressured into answering why my face crumples like paper every time Zavyar Velshi’s name is mentioned.

See? Perceptive.

“That’s kinda his thing.” I try to keep the sting out of my voice. “You should read the tabloids.”

“You know most of those stories are fake.” Mohib’s eyes search my face. “Hyped gossip for more sales.”

“They aren’t blatant lies.” I level my gaze with him, and this time I let displeasure color it.

“He was sitting there, asking me such obnoxious questions like… The man has no manners, he is completely uncouth.”

My hands fly to rub my temples of their own volition. “And then he just up and left like what the fuck?

“I had to schedule my entire Sunday around that stupid picnic, because Mama would blow a gasket if I didn’t sit with her in her car, because she was sure I would bail.

“And now I’m thinking maybe I should have. I should have left too, as that Neanderthal did, but I couldn’t. Because I’m supposed to behave and be nice at all times.”

“Rina…” Concern drips from Mohib’s voice. “You know you can say no, right? We’ll stand by you. No one can force you into this.”

“Not even your father” is what Mohib wants to get across to me but doesn’t have the guts to say out loud, because we all know the truth of it. Ba gets what Ba wants. And he wants Zavyar Velshi for me.

My hand goes to my necklace and clutches the pebble pendant there. I rub my thumb over it, feeling its smooth surface and the warmth that invades my being.

The warmth of an island, of the surf and the sun, of palms that sing in the breeze, of love.

Was it really that long ago…?

I catch Mohib staring at me reminiscing, and my hand instantly drops to my chest, then to my side. I swallow, not knowing how to deny it if he were to question.

“Tell me it’s not—”

“It’s not.” It comes out more hastily than intended.

Mohib takes a step closer, his gaze traveling up to where his bedroom is and then back at me. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Damn it, Rina, you can’t let Amber see this.”

“She doesn’t know what it is.” My grip around the pendant becomes protective. “She thinks it’s something I bought.”

“That’s not the point. It’s from there. From ~that~ ~time~. We’ve talked about this.”

Heat blurs my vision, and my jaw stiffens. I lean away from the counter and grab my bag. “I think I should leave. You have an anniversary to celebrate.”

“Rina, don’t do this. I only ever want the best for you.”

“Like you did ten years ago?”

The barb leaves him speechless, and I don’t stop the mean smile that colors my face. I contemplate saying goodbye, but no, he doesn’t deserve my courtesy right now.

He deserves the main door slamming in his face when he comes after me as I storm out to my car.

He wants the best for me? No one knows what is best for me.

And the one who did…I lost him ten years ago.