Page 51 of Good As Hell

“Do you think she’ll want to see me?” I’m already nodding. I’d made sure she looked good when I came in this morning. We made a promise to each other back when we were thirteen that if either of us ever went into a coma, the other would make surewe always had our hair and faces done. I was always okay with a natural look but Fi maintained she wanted the full treatment. So in keeping with that promise I came in here and did her makeup after her morning skin care and made sure every night I did her five step routine. My bestie is vain as hell.

“I think she’ll love that.” I assure him pouring us both a coffee. It’s sweeter than I remembered, but I could be the new beans. The distinctive taste I’m used to seems a little off, but having my coffee perfect is the least of my priorities right now.

He nods somberly before looking around in a little awkward manner. As much as we have passed each other on our way to and from Fi’s room, this is the most we’ve ever spoken to each other.

Handing him a coffee, I offer, “Perhaps you will be able to go back to your detail once you’ve gotten the all clear.”

He quirks a brow at this, shaking his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve been compromised.”

“Excuse me?” My tone elevates in disbelief at Hassan being biased against his relationship with my friend.

“Oh, nothing like that.” Waving away my assumption, he cracks a rare smile. “Palace intrigues and the subsequent fall out is not good for our Fi.”

Immediately, I knew he was referring to Fi’s escape attempt.

“She told you?” My shock is real. Fi keeps secrets better than anyone save me.

“There is little in my household that I don’t know, Mistress.” He cooly informs me.

“Well, I hope they put you on the case to find out who attacked us.” Taking another sip of the coffee, I let the unexpected sweetness flow over my tongue. The staff knows how I take my coffee — full fat with cream and no sugar. Having enough of the brew, I put it back down just as the doctor emerges from the suite with the staff.

“Mistress?” Dr. Aaziz references me, but her gaze touches on Fariq’s stoic form as well. As the other woman draws near, she crosses her arms over in her chest in a manner she’s does often when giving us an update.

“She remembers nothing of the incident, but that is a trauma response we often see. Over the next few weeks and months, she may regain her memory or she may never recall them. It is paramount she is not pressed to remember anything. If her memories ever return, they should be organic. Her strength after this ordeal is as fragile as a child. She says she was never one to exercise fearing that she would get even skinner if she did, also doesn’t she want to bulk up.” Rolling her eyes in much the same way I did when Fi told me her reasoning in the past. “A smattering of yoga she informed me is all she does.” The doubt in her gaze is almost laughable.

I smirk in response as Fariq huffs.

“Regardless, she will need to establish a routine to fully regain her health.”

“I’ll take care of that matter. As a member of my household, that responsibility falls to me.” Schooling my expression at Fariq’s declaration, I simply nod. I don’t insist because though Hassan left the other day with us on good terms before he headed out to an international conference, I don’t want to chance what his reaction will be if he ever discover that it was Fi and note working with Prosper.

Dr. Bint Aaziz drones on more about diet and exercise, promising to send written instructions to Fariq’s household.

She turns back to me when Fariq excuses himself to go check on Fi, his expression fraught with worry. “As for the other girl.”

“Indigo,” I supply.

“Yes, Miss Indigo.” She steps closer and my tummy twists tightly at the graveness darkening her stern features.

“As you know, she suffered a bisymmetrical laceration on her face.”

“Yes?” I raise my brows as I’ve been by both lady’s side since the attack. She’s kinda acting like I’ve neglected Indigo — whose name she couldn’t even seem to say. Carry on, ma’am. I think to myself. She can think what she likes. Maybe she’s in the category of people who think I only volunteered to help the earthquake survivors for publicity. Which is being splashed all over the tabloids now that I’ve not been allowed to return. Despite the statement put out to the press by Hassan’s staff saying the prince had literally forbidden me form any more activities until the culprits are capture the speculation still runs amok.

I have major opps in this fucking palace that’s becoming more and more obvious. When he returns, I’m thinking of asking him to take us with him when he goes back to Marrakesh.

“Ahem,” the doctor clears her throat and even tugs on her collar. “Well, this is highly improper because you are not her relative, but since she was acting a member of your household in her role and primary translator?—”

Ah, now I get it. He’s concerned with violating her privacy.

“It’s okay, Dr. Bint Aaziz, mum’s the word.” I press my forefinger to my lips, showing I’ll keep her secret.

She beams. “Ah, well. Miss Indigo has stated that she does not want her beauty restored. She’s refusing to go forward with any preparations to ready her skin for reconstruction. Claims her beauty has been a burden her entire life. She actually smiled when she saw herself for the first time after the bandages were removed.” The shock and horror she feels is conveyed in her expression. Taking a handkerchief out of her pocket, she dabs his forehead.

“It’s her decision, of course.” She quickly adds. “It’s just that His Royal Highness charged me with the young women’s care. This is would be a grave disappointment and failure.” Her eyesare imploring. She doesn’t want to displease Hassan. Doesn’t want the prince’s wrath to fall on her.

Am I the only person not scared of this man?

“I’ll talk to Indigo. If she still stands by her decision. I will let His Royal Highness know it is solely her decisions and that we both tried to convince her otherwise.”

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