Chapter 2: Champagne and Shattered Expectations
The silence between them stretched, elastic and charged. Nabil could still feel the ghost of her forehead against his collarbone, the imprint of her words—see me in a bikini—branded onto his mind. He opened his mouth, then closed it. What was there to say? That the idea was insane? That it was the most compelling thing he’d heard in over a year?
The spell was broken by the aggressive click of heels on marble. Fatima was back, a flute of champagne in each hand, her smile a brittle, determined thing. She thrust one glass toward Nabil, deliberately placing herself between him and Shaheena.
“I thought you might need this,” she said, her voice sugary. “You looked like you were having a very serious discussion.” Her eyes flicked toward Shaheena, dismissive.
Nabil took the glass automatically, his fingers cold against the stem. The bubbles seemed frantic, pointless. He felt cornered, the two women representing two entirely different futures—one a familiar, empty numbness, the other a terrifying, unknown precipice.
Shaheena watched Fatima with an amused, almost pitying expression. She didn’t move, just took a slow sip from a glass of water she’d procured from somewhere.
“We were,” Nabil said, his voice rough. He was tired. Tired of the performance, tired of the grief, tired of Uncle Omar’s glares from across the room. He looked past Fatima’s shoulder, directly at Shaheena. “We were talking about Dubai.”
Fatima’s polished smile didn’t slip, but it became fixed, a mannequin’s grin. “Oh? A business trip?”
“Not exactly,” Shaheena said, her tone light. “A holiday. My sisters and I.”
An idea, reckless and fully formed, detonated in Nabil’s mind. It was an escape hatch. A way to prove—to her, to himself, to the ghost of his wife that haunted the empty rooms of his house—that he was still capable of something impulsive. Something alive.
He spoke before the sane, cautious part of his brain could intervene. His voice was louder than he intended, cutting through the ambient chatter of the nearby guests. “You shouldn’t fly commercial. It’s a pain. Use my jet.”
The words hung in the air, stark and absurd.
For a second, there was only the clinking of glasses and the distant thrum of the band. Then Shaheena let out a shocked, sharp burst of laughter. It wasn’t a polite titter; it was a genuine, incredulous sound that made several heads turn. Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with disbelief and a spark of pure, unadulterated delight.
“Your what?”
Fatima, however, had gone very still. The calculation in her eyes was replaced by a dawning, cold understanding. This wasn’t just a wealthy man being generous. This was something else. Something personal. She was being erased from the equation right before her eyes.
Nabil held Shaheena’s gaze, a slow, reckless grin spreading across his own face for the first time all night. The feeling was foreign, like using a forgotten muscle. “The Gulfstream. It just sits there. You might as well use it.”
The delicate stem of Fatima’s champagne flute slipped through her fingers.
It didn’t fall in slow motion. It dropped like a stone, shattering on the marble floor with a violent, high-pitched crash. Golden liquid splashed across their shoes, a shower of crystal fragments skittering between them like tiny, sharp accusations.
The small circle of people around them fell silent.
Fatima stared at the wreckage at her feet, her face pale. The sound had been the physical manifestation of her shattered opportunity. The illusion of her fleeting conquest lay in pieces on the floor.
A waiter was there instantly with a towel, murmuring assurances. The moment of stunned silence broke, replaced by a wave of concerned murmurs and sideways glances.
Nabil looked from the broken glass to Fatima’s stricken face, a pang of guilt cutting through his recklessness. But when his eyes found Shaheena’s again, she was still watching him, her laughter gone, replaced by a deep, unsettling intensity. She wasn't looking at the mess. She was looking only at him, as if she’d just seen a completely different person step out from behind the familiar, grieving facade.
She took a slow step forward, carefully avoiding the glittering shards. She moved close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes.
“A Gulfstream,” she repeated, her voice a low, intimate murmur meant only for him. The words were not a question, but a confirmation. A point of no return.
She didn’t smile. She just looked at him, her expression unreadable, and waited.
The silence stretched, thick with the sweet-sharp smell of spilled champagne and shattered crystal. “You’re serious,” Shaheena finally said, her voice low. It wasn’t a question.
Nabil just nodded, the reckless high from his offer still buzzing in his veins. He pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb already finding his assistant’s contact.
“Texting your guy right now?” Shaheena asked, a faint smile playing on her lips. She watched his fingers fly across the screen, delegating the entire extravagant plan with a few terse messages.
“He’ll handle it,” Nabil said, slipping the phone back into his pocket. The deed was done. “He’ll need your sisters’ passport details. And yours.”
“I’ll get them,” she replied, her eyes never leaving his. “This is insane, you know that, right?”
“Probably.” A ghost of his wife’s disapproving frown flickered behind his eyes, but he pushed it away. This felt like breathing after being underwater for a year. “But it’s just a plane.”
She laughed then, a real, unguarded sound that made a few of the remaining onlookers turn. “Right. Just a plane.” She glanced down at the last remaining shards of glass being swept away. “I should go find my mom. And process the fact that my cousin apparently owns an air force.”
He watched her weave through the crowd, the deep green of her dress cutting a confident path away from the wreckage he’d left behind. For the first time in months, the heavy weight in his chest felt a little lighter, almost like anticipation.
A week later, Nabil stood on the tarmac, the jet’s engines whining softly. He’d meant to be early, but a last-minute call about the sale of his old company’s building had held him up. Now he was the last to arrive, his carry-on bag feeling stupidly small in his hand.
He climbed the air stairs, the hum of the aircraft feeling both familiar and entirely new. The cabin door was open, a funnel of cool, conditioned air hitting the warm, fuel-scented breeze.
He stepped inside, and the world narrowed. Shaheena was already there, curled in a plush leather seat near the front. She wasn't dressed for a commercial flight. Tight, faded denim shorts hugged her hips, and a simple black crop top exposed a strip of smooth, olive skin along her midriff. On her feet were a pair of intricate, strappy sandals that seemed both impractical and utterly captivating.
“You’re late,” she said, without looking up from the magazine in her lap. Her tone was light, teasing.
“Traffic,” he lied, his voice slightly rough. He dropped his bag into a seat across the aisle.
She finally glanced over, her dark eyes taking in his slightly flustered state. A slow, knowing smile spread across her face. “Sure it was.” She stretched her legs out, crossing her ankles. The delicate straps of her sandals wrapped around her slender feet like deliberate, elegant bonds.
The cabin attendant moved to secure the door, the seal hissing shut with a definitive thud. The outside world vanished, replaced by the intimate, pressurized silence of the cabin. It was just them, the quiet crew, and the vast, empty sky ahead.
The gentle hum of the jet enveloped them, a private world suspended above the clouds. Shaheena kicked off her sandals, tucking her feet beneath her on the spacious seat. "So, this is how the other half lives," she mused, tracing a finger along the polished wood of the armrest. "It's a bit different from the 7 AM economy class to Istanbul."
Nabil smiled, a real one this time that reached his eyes. "The legroom is marginally better." He watched her explore the cabin with a teacher's curious gaze, her earlier boldness softened into quiet wonder. It was a side of her he hadn't seen since they were kids, before life and his success built its invisible walls.
"Marginally?" She laughed, gesturing to the vast emptiness around them. "I could do cartwheels in here. My sisters are probably already filming their own music video in the back." She grew quiet for a moment, her expression turning thoughtful. "Thank you for this, Nabil. Really. It's... it's more than a flight."
He knew what she meant. It was an escape for both of them, from different kinds of ghosts. "They're welcome," he said, his voice low. "It's just metal and fuel until it has people in it."
The cabin lights dimmed automatically as they crossed into the night, transforming the space into a intimate, shadowy cocoon. Shaheena shivered slightly, rubbing her bare arms. The air conditioning felt suddenly colder, the vastness of the sky outside more profound.
"You know," Nabil said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. He gestured toward the rear of the aircraft. "There's a proper bedroom back there if you get tired. It's more comfortable than these seats."
Shaheena looked toward the darkened corridor, then back at him. Her dark eyes were unreadable in the low light, but he could feel the intensity of her gaze. She bit her lower lip, a fleeting moment of hesitation.
"I am tired," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. It wasn't just a physical admission. "But I don't want to sleep alone in there." She held his gaze, her offer hanging in the pressurized air between them. "Will you come with me? Just to hold me. For now."
Nabil was captivated. The simple beauty of her in the dim light, the raw honesty of her request, it dismantled every defense he had carefully rebuilt. The memory of his wife was a quiet ache in his heart, but in this moment, it was overshadowed by a profound, piercing need for connection.
He didn't speak. He simply nodded, unbuckling his seatbelt with a quiet click that sounded like a lock turning. He stood, offering her his hand.
She took it, her fingers cool and certain in his.
He led her down the narrow, dimly lit corridor, the jet’s gentle vibration humming up through the soles of his shoes. The door to the bedroom was already ajar, revealing a space that was surprisingly spacious, dominated by a large bed made up with crisp white linen. It felt like stepping into a silent, pressurized secret.
Shaheena moved past him, her shoulder brushing his chest, and sat on the edge of the mattress. She looked up at him, the playful glint from the main cabin replaced by a searching, sober intensity. The only light came from a single recessed fixture, carving her features out of the shadows.
“Close the door,” she said, her voice soft but not a request.
Nabil pushed it shut, the click of the latch echoing faintly in the small room. The sound sealed them in, amplifying the intimacy, muffling the world outside. He leaned back against the cool wood, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands, with this moment, with the woman watching him from the bed.
She smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips. “You know, I always wondered.” She patted the space beside her. “After the wedding… all that drama with the champagne… I started remembering things.”
“What kind of things?” he asked, his voice lower than he intended. He stayed by the door, a few feet of plush carpet feeling like a canyon between them.
“That summer I was sixteen,” she said, her gaze drifting to the window and the infinite blackness beyond. “You were home from university. You’d follow me around the pool with your eyes, but you’d never say a word.” She looked back at him, her head tilted. “You used to blush if I caught you looking.”
A hot flush crept up his own neck now, a stupid, adolescent reaction he thought he’d outgrown. He remembered that summer, the agonizing, sweet torture of it. He remembered the specific shade of her bikini, a turquoise blue.
“That was a long time ago,” he managed, the words feeling inadequate.
“Was it?” She shifted, turning to fully face him, drawing one knee up onto the bed. The movement made the mattress dip, a subtle invitation. “So, tell me, Nabil.” She held his gaze, her dark eyes unwavering. “Do you still have a crush on me?”
The question hung in the air, direct and disarming. He opened his mouth, a denial or a deflection ready on his tongue, but no sound came out. His mind went blank, wiped clean by the sheer audacity of her asking. Every rational thought, every memory of his wife, every shred of caution evaporated under the heat of her stare.
His body, however, answered for him. A familiar, insistent warmth bloomed low in his groin, a heavy, undeniable heat that spread through him, tightening his pants and rooting him to the spot. It was a visceral, stupidly honest reaction, a truth his mouth could never form.
Shaheena’s eyes dropped, just for a fraction of a second, and then flicked back up to his. She saw it. She knew. A playful, husky giggle escaped her, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the confined space.
“That’s what I thought,” she whispered.
Then she shifted her weight, turning her back to him slightly and leaning back. She pressed herself against him, wiggling her hips, her ass making firm, deliberate contact with the growing evidence of his answer. The denim of her shorts was rough against the fine wool of his trousers, a thrilling, crude friction.
He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands coming up to rest on her hips almost of their own volition. His fingers dug into the soft give of her flesh through the fabric. He was hard now, fully, achingly so, and there was no pretending otherwise.
She let her head fall back against his shoulder, her hair smelling of jasmine and the clean, sterile air of the jet. “See?” she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. “You can’t hide everything with a sad story and a big bank account.”
Her words, so blunt and accurate, left him exposed. He could feel the frantic beat of his own heart, a wild drum against the steady, deep hum of the jet’s engines. His hands were still on her hips, holding her there, an admission in themselves.
“So what happens now?” he murmured into her hair, his voice rough with a want he’d forgotten he could feel.
Shaheena laughed softly, a low, vibrating sound against his chest. She pressed back against him once more, a slow, deliberate roll of her hips that made him suck in a sharp breath. “Now?” she said, her tone shifting from playful to something more deliberate, more possessive. “We have five hours before we have to pretend to be normal people again.”
She turned in his arms, her face inches from his. The dim light caught the determined spark in her eyes. “Five hours where my sisters are happily watching rom-coms and drinking mini-prosecco, completely oblivious.”
Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt straight through him. “And I don’t intend for them to find out a single thing about what we’re doing back here.”
Nabil’s mind, usually racing with a dozen different scenarios and consequences, went quiet. There was only this room, her scent, the pressure of her body. “This is insane,” he breathed, but he was already leaning into her touch.
“It’s a holiday,” she corrected him, her voice dropping to a whisper. She captured his lower lip between her teeth, biting down just enough to make him gasp. “My rules. On this trip, you are mine.”
She pulled back slightly, her gaze locking with his, ensuring he understood this was not a game. It was a claim. “And just so we’re perfectly clear,” she added, her hand sliding down his chest, over his stomach, making every muscle clench in anticipation. “I am yours.”
The finality in her voice, the sheer audacity of it, shattered the last of his resistance. There were no more questions, no past, no future. There was only the five-hour silence of the sky and the woman unbuttoning his shirt with steady, certain hands.