Page 47 of What Hurts Us

It didn’t go unnoticed how he artfully avoided offering information in a conversation by asking leading questions. Maybe it was the police officer in him.

“Let me get that for you, Lay,” he said as he lifted the bowl of roasted squash and grapes out of my hands.

For a moment, his fingers brushed mine before he turned and carried the dish into the dining room.

My mom and aunt joined Karim in a symphony of humming while my dad nodded proudly.

The front door slammed as a gaggle of cousins and two neighbors piled in. Cal and I were wedged together in the middle of the long farmhouse table. Our plates were piled high from the spread of food covering every square inch of the table.

Murmurs of, “Bismillahi wa barakatillah,” were said as the crowd dug in.

Callum’s arm brushed mine as he reached for a piece of naan. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I clipped as I pushed a bite ofKoresh Morgh-e Torsharound on my plate.

His hand found my thigh under the table as we settled into the meal. By the time I had finished two bites of chicken, Callum’s plate was clean, and he was going for seconds. My mother gave me a nod of approval as she snatched his plate and loaded it up.

The conversation shifted to my brother and the empty seat my mother always saved for Karim’s nonexistent significant other.

“You sure you’re okay, honey?” Cal was discreet as he murmured into my ear.

I looked up from my plate. “I told you. I’m fine.”

His lips turned down at the corners. “You’ve barely touched your food. Do you feel alright?”

“I’m fine, Cal,” I hissed under my breath.

He wiped his mouth and dropped the napkin beside his plate. “Honey, will you show me where the restroom is?”

There was no room for argument. Not when he stood, took my hand, and yanked me out of my chair. His grip was a shackle. Struggling against him was useless, and I didn’t want to cause a scene.

We slipped around a corner, passing two doors before entering the bathroom. I reached in and flipped the light on. “Here.”

I turned to head back to the dining room when Callum yanked me inside and locked the door.

“What is your prob—”

“I just asked your father for his blessing to marry you. Your aunt is sitting right across the damn table. When this meal is over, they’ll sit us down and make sure we’re on the same page. If we’re going to pull this off, I need you to at least act like you don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I croaked. It wasn’t really my fault he had stolen my ability to speak. I blamed the way his shirt stretched across his chest. Or maybe it was because he had the sleeves cuffed just below his elbows. That had to be it. The male forearm turned my brain into a puddle of melted gray matter.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he clipped. His usually cool silver eyes flared with a spark of irritation.

I stared at the tile floor. “I’ve never brought a guy home like this.”

“And you’re regretting the first one being your soon-to-be fake fiancé?”

“Yeah.” It was a weak defense, but it was the truth. My family was the greatest. They welcomed anyone and everyone with open arms. The fallout when we called off the engagement would hurt them more than me.

He pulled me into his arms. It didn’t go unnoticed that this was the first time we had really embraced each other. That kiss we had shared last night was passionate, but hugs were intimate. “Come here,asal,” he murmured as he held me against his chest.

I sniffed. “Did you run out of terms of endearment in English and decide to switch to Farsi?”

His chest rumbled as he laughed softly into my hair. “I asked your dad how to call you ‘honey’ in Farsi.”

“You could have just Googled it.”

“Yeah, but the look on his face when I asked was priceless.” His hand splayed across my back, rubbing gently. “I’m sorry I asked you to do this. But think of it like a practice run. Maybe the next guy you bring will be the one, and you won’t look like you’re going to barf up your lunch every time he touches you.”

---