Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Johnny,” she mimics his tone.
“A business owner, a karate belt, and now a waitress. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Strangling billionaires. But I’m thinking about adding that to my resume.”
I burst out laughing and she does, too. Jonathan merely narrows his eyes as we follow her.
The Hussaini restaurant has gotten a lot of renovations during the years I’ve known Layla. It’s a traditional one that serves North African and Pakistani recipes. Their speciality is the kebab and couscous, which I love to death and always bug Kenza to give me takeouts, even though she says it needs to be ‘decorated’ right.
There’s a homey feel to the restaurant and its cosy decor with Moroccan cushions and traditional colourful Tunisian carpets. Each table is half-obscured from the other with thin curtains. There are spaces fit for sitting on the floor and the others have tables with cushions instead of chairs surrounding them. The soft white lights add a certain type of ambience, a peaceful one.
The word ‘Halal’ is written in both English and Arabic at the top of the reception area.
I lower my head to avoid getting caught in the curtains, whereas Jonathan simply pushes them out of his way. He’s such a tyrant who doesn’t appreciate beauty.
“Aurora.” We’re stopped by the voice of Malik, Layla’s lawyer brother and the only other Hussaini sibling currently living in England.
He’s a lot taller than his sister, has brown skin like his father, and inherited the striking hazel eye colour of his mother. His body is fit and muscular, and I always thought he was hot as sin.
Only from afar, though. Because he’s my best friend’s brother and I didn’t want to lose her, which I would’ve if her brother had ever found out how much of a mess I actually am.
So I usually just settle with harmless flirting.
“Malik, how are you doing?” I smile.
“I’m brilliant. How about you?”
“Great. Is it just me or did you gain some muscles?”
“Totes, mate,” Layla offers on his behalf. “He’s been slaving at the gym.”
“Stop talking like a gangster, Layla,” he tells her.
She makes a face at him, but he ignores her and focuses back on me. “How have you been, Aurora? You haven’t come around in a while.”
“I’ve been kind of busy.”
“With what?”
“With me.” Jonathan wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me to his side in one firm grip that offers no room for movement. He then offers his hand to Malik. “Jonathan King.”
“Malik Hussaini.” He shakes Jonathan’s hand with the same firmness.
I’m kind of impressed that he didn’t cower in front of Jonathan’s god-like presence. He must know who he is — everyone in this country does — but he’s not intimidated by him. God, I knew there was a reason why I loved Layla and her family.
“Don’t be a stranger, Aurora,” Malik says as he releases Jonathan’s hand and grins at me.
I nod in response.
Layla leads us to a table at the back. One of those with chairs, thank God. I can’t imagine Jonathan sitting cross-legged on the floor. He’d probably leave before doing so.
She gives us menus. “I’ll come back in a few. Oh, and, Johnny. Mum and Dad say thank you for the donation you made the other day.”
He barely nods in her direction, focusing on the menu. His face is blank, completely unreadable.
While that might appear good on the outside, it actually isn’t.
Jonathan is the type who becomes eerily quiet when he’s either calculating or angry, and both are bad news.
“Remember,” I say. “No alcohol or pork. They don’t serve those here.”
“I have Muslim associates. I know their dietary laws.”
“I’m just saying in case you didn’t know.”
“You seem to be well versed in this restaurant,” he’s speaking to me, but his attention is still on the menu.
“Yeah, I come here all the time.” Hell, before I knew him, all my dinners and weekends were spent here.
His piercing eyes pin me down. “To not be a stranger.”
Oh. God. It’s about Malik.
Now it’s my turn to focus on the menu. “Kind of.”
“Do you also wear red lipstick when you come here?”
“Most of the time.” Never. I only started to wear it regularly since I noticed Jonathan’s interest — or rather, obsession — with it.
“You’ll stop doing that. Effective immediately.”
“Doing what?”
“The red lipstick. Coming here the entire time. Noticing that he grew muscles. All of it. Be a stranger.”
He’s jealous.
Ha. Jonathan King is jealous. That’s not something I thought I would ever witness in this lifetime.
I know he’s possessive and doesn’t hesitate to remind me that he ‘owns me’, but judging by the distaste in his tone, he’s also jealous.
Since this is as rare as a passing unicorn, I need to use it to my favour.
Holding on to my nonchalance, I say, “No.”
He narrows one of his eyes. “What do you mean by no? This is part of the deal.”