The Fine Print

Rowan

I guess I didn’t do too bad. Zahra’s had a permanent grin plastered across her face since she found out about the book signing. My only mistake was not swearing Juliana to secrecy about the reason behind the event. 

I don’t want Zahra to look too much into things. But part of me wonders if it’s too late for that based on the way she smiles at me like I make her genuinely happy. 

My driver drops us off back at the penthouse. 

This elevator ride is different from the last, with Zahra cracking open her books like she wants to double-check for any water damage after our tumble. She’s done it twice already, but I don’t fault her for being protective over her new prized possessions. 

We stroll into the apartment, and Zahra scurries away to put her books back in her luggage and take a shower. I do the same, changing into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a faded Dreamland logo. 

“So, what’s the plan?” She walks down the stairs in a matching jogger set. The fabric outlines every curve on her body, and I find it difficult to be a decent man and look away. Except I’m not anything close to proper when it comes to Zahra, so I take the time to check her out. 

She rounds the counter and looks up at me. “You’re going to burn a hole through my clothes if you keep staring at me like that.” 

“Remove your clothes then. Problem solved.” I grab onto her hips and tug her closer. 

She places a hand against my chest, right above my heart. It races faster in my chest at the registration of her touch. 

Her stomach lets out the loudest protest ever. She slaps a hand over it. “How embarrassing.” 

I cringe at my lack of thinking. We haven’t eaten anything since the quick lunch on the plane. 

I release her and walk to the drawer filled with takeout menus. “Take your pick.”

She flips through the brochures and mini menus before plucking out one for pizza. “When in New York?” She lifts a shoulder. 

“You pick that when you could have Ruth’s Chris takeout?”

“Who’s Ruth Chris?” 

I groan. “Pizza it is.” 

Di

“So you said this was one of your properties. How many do you have exactly?” She takes a big bite of her pizza. 

I do the mental math. “Twenty-eight.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“Yes.”

Her cheeks lose some of their color. “Okay. Wow. Which one is your favorite?” 

I take a bite of my pizza to give me enough time to consider her question. “Honestly, I don’t have one.” 

Her mouth gapes apart. “None of them feel like home?”

“Home is wherever I’m needed for work.” 

She gapes at me. 

“There’s some climates I prefer more than others. Like Chicago is great in the summer but my dick is subject to frostbite during the winter.” 

“And Dreamland?” 

I toe around her question carefully. “Dreamland is different.” 

“How so?” 

“There were a lot of bad memories there for me.” 

Her brows pull together. “Oh. It’s surprising you wanted to become the Director then.” 

“I was interested in taking the park to the next level. It was in my best interest to move past the issues holding me back.” 

It’s not technically a lie. Yet her smile still feels like a punch to the gut. 

You have no choice but to keep the whole truth from her. You’re too close to finishing to jeopardize everything now. 

She smiles. “Do you feel better about being there now?” 

“I met someone who makes my time there tolerable.” 

The flush spreading across her cheeks makes my stomach roll. It’s hard to eat anything. “Tolerable? I’ve got to step it up.” 

She’s done more than enough. I clear my throat. “Enough questions about me. I’m curious about something.” 

“What?” 

“Tell me about your pins.” 

Her entire body language changes from the one question. “It’s not a cute story.” She looks out at the view behind me. 

“I didn’t ask for one.” I grab her hand like she’s done for me every time I need to talk about something difficult. 

Her body loosens, and she releases a deep breath. “The first day I attended therapy was the same day I got my very first pin.” 

I could never imagine someone like Zahra going to therapy. My father told me it was for weak people who were so pathetic, they needed someone else to solve their problems. 

“You went to therapy? Why?” 

“Because I realized that I couldn’t fix myself without putting in the hard work.” 

“But you’re—” I get stuck on finding the right words. 

Her laugh sounds sad. “What? I’m nice? Happy? Smiling?”

“Well, yes.” Isn’t that how it works? Why would anyone who’s happy go to therapy? 

Her eyes drop to her lap. “Everyone has bad times. And for me, I—there—” She lets out a heavy breath. 

Zahra feeling distraught? That’s new. 

“About two years ago, I fell into a deep depression.” She stares down at her hands. 

I blink. “What?”

Her cheeks flush. “It’s true. I didn’t know it at the time, but Claire was the one who officially told me I needed to get help. She even helped me search for a therapist and told me to try to talk to someone about how I felt.” 

“I—I don’t know what to say.” 

She sniffles. “I don’t even know why I’m crying right now.” She furiously wipes her damp cheeks.

I swipe away a tear she missed.

“I know I’m in a better place. But…God. When Lance broke my heart, I could hardly get out of bed. I used up all my vacation days for the year because I wasn’t sleeping much and it felt like a chore to even get up. It was like I was going through the motions of life but not really living. Barely even eating. And the thoughts—” Her voice cracks, and I swear I feel it like a punch to the heart. “I hated myself so much. For months, I blamed myself. Because what kind of stupid woman wouldn’t realize a man was cheating on her? I felt pathetic and used.”

“You’re many amazing things, and pathetic isn’t one of them.” My blood heats at the idea of her thinking anything bad about herself.

She sniffs again. “I know that now. But at the time, I felt so weak because nothing I did could stop this feeling of hopelessness that took over. I tried. God, I really did because I never knew what it was like to be anything but happy. But the harder I tried to put on a face, the worse things got. I eventually hit a scary point where I wondered if life was worth it.” She looks down at her trembling hands. “I—I never thought I would be the kind of person who thought I might be better off gone. I’m ashamed I ever even considered it.” 

I’m tempted to find Lance and pummel his face to match a fraction of the hurt Zahra went through because someone as sweet as her wouldn’t need a semicolon pin if it wasn’t for him. 

“This is me now. But who I was before, when everything happened—I was a broken shell. I forgot to believe in myself when it mattered most.” 

The hurt in her voice chokes me, making every breath difficult. Her eyes, always expressive, show every ounce of pain she’s felt because of that asshole.

I crawl over to her side of the table and pull her into my lap. She buries her face into my shirt, fisting the material of it as if she needs to hold on.