Page 15 of The Desert Prince's Jewel
She beams at me brightly, all mother bear again. And I can’t help the small smile on my lips as she drags herself up my chest to hug me firmly as if she’d just finished scolding a wayward child. Layla pats my broad back. I know it is, it’s not a boast, as she struggles to hold me around the middle. And while it does not remind me of my mother’s touch, it’s been so long since I’ve been comforted like this that I pretend it does. She rubs soothing circles for a while, and I stiffen, assaulted by emotions that feel foreign to me now.
When she pulls away, I devote the rest of the night to work and ignore the memory of Mateo. But by morning, he’s all I can think about.
I make my mid-afternoon humiliation ritual of visiting the cafe, waving at Seero, who is removing scum from the base of the statue in the middle of the fountain. He’s chatting with another man, who I believe is a lifeguard, though I can’t be sure. I’ve done my best to memorize faces here because of my employment status, but it’s hard to keep up.
It’s then that I feel the intensity of their gazes aimed at my hip. I tuck the portrait in my arms closer to me and keep moving, not wanting to explain. There’s no time to waste. I apologize to Mateo now, or I will find out how much the gold left on me is worth so I can branch out, and hunt for the stone without steady food or shelter because I can’t stay here in the awkward, messy middle that is life with Mateo on his bad side.
When I finally reach the cafe’s entrance, my courage falters as Mateo turns around, with dark circles under his eyes and a neutral expression.
“What’s up?” he asks, his tone unfriendly, but that might as well be jumping for joy given our nonexistent relationship status.
“You look tired,” I say, at a loss for words that he greeted me without an ounce of hostility.
“And you look the same,” he responds, eyeing the portrait and then my face. “So what’s up? And why are you dragging around, erm, an illustrated murder scene?”
“I would like…” I trail off, the feeling of apologizing like sandpaper being rubbed against my tongue. “I would like to apologize and attempt to start over with you, Mateo, if you’d allow me to. And as a gesture of my commitment to turning a new leaf, I am offering something original. A portrait from Thar. It’s not worth much, seeing as it’s a replica. But it is a sincere peace offering...”
I trail off as Mateo gapes up at me. Indeed, the portrait isn’t worth much, seeing as it’s drawn by a disgraced family,the Singh Clan, but it’s still gorgeous nonetheless. They were exquisite artists, related to my mother’s ruling clan through marriage. Now, they mainly run in television and film entertainment circles, living as close as they can to royalty in the human world.
Licking my lips, I glance down at the painting in question. It may even be worth money on the human black market. It was easy enough to acquire for free once I revealed that I would report the dealer to the authorities for providing a fake, since the real thing was in storage back in Nagat. Sometimes my hideous security uniform comes in handy. I’d kept it to barter my way into an upcoming exhibit, potentially. But yet again, making friends has its perks. I received an invitation outright from a distant cousin.
Mateo’s tired eyes gleam as I hand it over. Closer to him now, so much so that I can smell the familiar mocha and ink scents on his skin, I frown, noticing the perpetual dark circles look even darker against his almond skin today. At the rate he’s pushing himself, he’ll keel over before he makes the money he so desperately needs. I discovered that he has debts during my investigation. He’s a hardworking, straightforward, down-on-his-luck guy I accused of…
Enough feeling sorry for yourself. Apologize like a real man. He’s the one who’s been wronged.
“I’m listening,” he whispers, shocking me out of my thoughts.
“Ah…” dumbfounded, I struggle to find words. “What?”
He quirks an eyebrow—always quirking a damn elegant eyebrow—and smirks.
“Where’s my apology?” he says slowly, like I can’t understand English. “I’m sorry are the words I’m looking for here, man.”
“You’re accepting it?” I ask, and he slaps his forehead.
“Yeah? Isn’t that the point of giving me this big ass, bloody portrait in the first place? So I’m waiting,” he offers, confused.
“Can I be honest with you?” I ask.
He shrugs, “I didn’t think we were getting deep at 6 a.m., but here we are. Go for it.”
“I didn’t expect you to be so reasonable. So I didn’t prepare myself to actually apologize. To say the words,” I admit.
Mateo snorts, “Me? Unreasonable? Please don’t piss me off after starting off so well. I’ve had two long nights in a row, and you’re the guy who dragged me into a dark alleyway, threatening my livelihood the first night we met, not the other way around.”
“You struck me first!” I spit, defensive when I know he’s correct.
He rolls his eyes, setting the painting on the ground so it leans against his leg. “You called me a thief at my place of work, so you’re lucky I only had my fist to strike you with.”
I must have suffered a concussion when Mateo hit me, because my conscience can’t fully comprehend how the thought of him striking me again turns me on. I step back, suppressing a hiss, just as he approaches me, giving chase.
“Let’s stop for now. I feel an argument coming on,” and a headache, I add silently. “I will sleep, regroup, and apologize properly tomorrow. Thank you, Mateo, for being willing to move on.”
“Wearearguing. But whatever. Sleep it off, big guy,” Mateo murmurs with a soft smile. “I’ll wait for the ‘I’m sorry,’ from you soon.”
“No, we aren’t,” I say.
“Yes, we are,” he responds, rolling his eyes so hard that I can see the whites.
