Page 233 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

She hadn’t seen Desmond since that night, at her own request. She needed time to nurse that bruised tender thing that had emerged from that night’s conversation, and he said gently that he understood.

And she’d gotten her period, too, much to her relief.Thatwas a complication that might have had her lose her grip on reality, at this point.

More than once she slid the solitaire off her finger, looking at it as if it were some foreign object. The thingwouldsparkle, despite all her doubts, even in the dark.

She’d never owned something so beautiful in her life. Desmond, it seemed, had a talent for making things beautiful, whether it was rings, or planes, or kisses, or—

You miss him.

Having seen this part of himself that he’d revealed only made her feelings all the more tender.

He couldn’t love her the way he may have wanted to.

But that was practically adeclaration, wasn’t it? And Val had no idea what to do with it, only knew that her cheeks burned whenever she thought of it or of his face when he’d said it.

In love withher?

The thought was not nearly as terrifying as it might have been. If he cared for her in that way, couldn’t she…? Didn’t she…?

She countered this by trying to convince herself that he was right.

He was right, and she was practical to the core, even if her common sense had occasionally failed her. She would be sensible. She would ignore the throb between her legs. She would ignore the fact that she wanted nothing more than to follow him back upstairs, to wrap her arms around him, to let him hurt within the comfort of her embrace, to ask him to make love to her. She would ignore how much she wanted to sleep curled around him and wake in his arms. Part of her wanted to cry out that it could work, that she could make herself part of that life…

Are you delirious?

She’d finally been handed freedom, and here she was, doing her best to enter into another kind of bondage. The bondage of being wanted, but not being loved.

How could she settle, again?

And anyway, weren’t all men disappointing, in the end? Even if they didn’t mean to be?

Val was jolted from her reverie when the doorbell rang. Her hand flew to her throat as she hurried to answer it, then groaned inwardly when she looked through the peephole. Hind was on the doorstep with two attendants holding large metal boxes and a rolling case. Even through the peephole she could see that the girl was vibrating with excitement.

She sighed and pulled the door open, then yelped as the younger girl practically leaped on her.

“Aren’t you excited? This is Gifty, to do your makeup and give you a facial—she worked for the Ugandan first lady,” she stage-whispered. “Joyce will help you with your nails and hair, and we’ll both help you get dressed. Ladies, come on,” she ordered, kicking off a much-abused pair of designer mules at the door.

“Hind, this is absolutely not necessary.”

Hind snorted. “Of course it’s necessary. I’ve seen what you wear to Baba’s parties.”

“Hind!”

“Sorry,” the girl said conciliatorily. “You’re very pretty, though.”

Val could only roll her eyes.

Taking this as assent, Hind commandeered every square inch of Val’s modest sitting room, throwing open the blackout curtains to let natural light pool on all surfaces, lighting a Diptyque candle, setting up makeup lights and an enormous mirror, pulling out a tiny JBL speaker that flooded the space with a mix of American hip-hop, Khaleeji music and, bizarrely, Robbie Williams.

“I just love this song!” Hind declared, spinning about till the ends of hershaylafanned out like the wings of a bird, setting everyone in the room laughing.

Val was touched by the girl’s display of affection. It was something a cousin or a younger sibling might have done for her with just as much excitement at one point in her life, before she’d cut off her entire family for a man who’d done nothing but take advantage of her from the beginning. Afterward, she’d shut other people out as a result of the shame that had characterized her life. She had no close friends. She socialized occasionally with fellow staff members or members of the many expat WhatsApp groups she was in, but there was certainly no one who would go as far as to do this.

Val’s bathroom was quickly transformed into a mini spa. Her hair was washed and oiled with products that smelled of lavender and the sea. Tingling preparations were smoothed onto her skin, left to sit and wiped off with soft cotton pads that left her feeling cooled and soothed as air penetrated her skin. Her hair was sectioned and then styled into soft twists and pinned into an elegant updo that framed her face with shining black curls. Hind’s chatter required little response; murmurs were enough, and most were lost beneath the relentlessly cheerful pop music, anyway.

Dear Hind. In an odd way, her sweetness made up for every moment of exasperation Val had endured during the girl’s teenage years.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so indulged.

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