Page 37 of Because of Me

It feels a little like she’s pulling out the threads of my heart instead of the cotton of the blanket. But the hardest part is knowing she could unravel every inch of me and I’d still worship the ground beneath her feet. I want everything with Amira. Not just the fake in public and not just the real in private. I want her to know I’m hers and I always will be. I want to know she’s mine. That we’re a team in every way.

But for whatever reason, she can’t give me that. Or she doesn’t want to. And that burns behind my eyes more than I thought possible.

“Why?” I force myself to stand, moving towards her only to drop to my knees again in front of her. “What are you afraid of?”

I ball my hands into fists by my side, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around her as her lower lip trembles.

“Me,” she admits. “I don’t know what this is, Noah. I’ve never felt this before and I’m terrified I’m going to fuck it up. For so long, I’ve turned up my nose at my father’s expectations of me. I refused to even consider settling down with one person. It was my own private rebellion, and I was enjoying myself. I never expected to find someone who makes me want to forget it all. I don’t know what that means forme, for the person I thought I was.”

“We can figure it out together, Amira.”

“I want to. Just … without the pressure.”

“Without the pressure.”

Giving in, I stretch up to kiss her forehead, then along her nose before planting a firm kiss on her mouth.

“But with everything else, right?” She teases my mouth with her tongue and I part my lips to let her deepen the kiss.

“Yeah,” I breathe when we part. “With everything else.”

Amira kicks the blanket off her lap and stands in front of me. Her hand finds the back of my head, and she tugs on my hair so I stand before her. Looking up at me, her eyes glisten with the moisture of her tears. I wipe it away with my thumb, kissing her forehead again.

“I need you to know something,” I whisper in her ear.

She hums in response, fingers teasing the hair along the nape of my neck.

“It’s always been you. From that day Cassidy first moved in here and I saw you watching me. I’ve been obsessed with you. And fake or not, I will gladly be whatever you need, for as long as you need me.”

By the time Ella comes home, Amira and I have gone our separate ways, even though we’re still in the apartment. I’ve spread out once again on the table, over analysing my proposal for the hotel and Googling architectural designs to show as examples. Amira has taken over the kitchen, as she often does, to bake for the boutique. Cookies a few days ago, macarons today, possibly cupcakes tomorrow.

And entering the apartment, Ella sneaks down the hallway as though we might not notice.

“Oh fuck.” When she sees us, an exaggerated sigh escapes her. She gives up tiptoeing with her shoulders hunched, instead rolling her shoulders back and marching into the living space in what I can only assume is last night’s dress.

The sparkly navy fabric drapes from her upper body before clinging tight around her hips and thighs. Large gold hoops hang from her earlobes, matching the strappy shoes hanging from her fingers.

“You really thought you were going to get away with that?” Amira jests as she pulls a tray out from the oven.

The sweet, sugary scent I’ve grown to associate with Amira’s baking wafts from the kitchen, spreading through the room until I’m all but drooling onto my keyboard.

Ella covers her face as she slouches into the chair opposite me. “Don’t tell my mum?”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Leaving her trays to cool on the counter, Amira sets a timer before joining us at the table.

I’ve learned everything to do with baking is so delicately timed. It’s not just how long something is in the oven, but how long it restsbeforegoing in the oven and how long it cools after being cooked. It reminds me of the wine making process and how intricate every step is. There’s a reason I continued to leave that side of the business to the oenologist and vintner my grandmother hired many years ago. They are the reason our wine continues to sell exponentially well. Not me.

And just like they know their art better than they know their own hands, Amira understands her baking better than anyone I know. She thinks she just ‘makes the treats’ for the café portion of the boutique, but I can see it’s more than that. Her homemade sweets are what sets the little coffee cart apart from every other café in Melbourne.

It was hard enough to work with Amira distracting me from the kitchen, but with her seated next to me all I can think about is touching her again. Holding her again. I close my laptop in defeat and drop my hand under the table to rest on her thigh. The muscles in her leg tense at first, but then she places her hand over mine and gives my wrist a short squeeze.

Ella tracks the movement, arching her eyebrows.

“So,” Ella draws out the word. “You’re welcome.” She giggles to herself before adding, “Although I have to admit I was thinking selfishly when I didn’t come home.”

I glance at Amira, but she shrugs her shoulders ever so slightly and curls her lips down.

Turning back to Ella, I lean back in my chair. “What do you mean?”

---