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And, again, it’s not a lie. The paparazzi guy that was there has disappeared, likely having got the shots Lacey needed. They never stay for too long – only the amount of time Lacey has signed them up for.
‘I wasn’t –’
‘You did a good job, Zayan,’ I continue desperately. ‘I’m sure the paparazzi shot is going to look so great tomorrow.’
He drops his hand, jaw tightening, a storm thundering over the crevices of his expression. He sighs, a full-body motion, and shakes his head. ‘Let’s meet up tomorrow.’
The sudden change in conversation confuses me so much that my only response is a garbled ‘Huh?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Zayan repeats slowly. ‘I want to take you somewhere.’
‘But we’re not scheduled for anything,’ I reply tiredly.
I really want nothing more than to go home and sink into a hot bath. I want to wash today off and forget everything that’s happened.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Zayan says dismissively, and then the tone of his voice turns warm, low, velvety. ‘Come on, Farah. Let me take you out. I promise you’ll enjoy it. You deserve it too; you’ve been working so hard.’
His body is angled towards me, his eyes bright with mischief. I realize, belatedly, that if he looked at me like that all the time, there would be very little I wouldn’t agree to.
‘Fine,’ I concede. Triumph touches Zayan’s lips, a dimple popping in his cheek. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Oh no.’ Zayan shakes his head. ‘That’s a surprise.’
Zayan’s text message sends me into a spiral of panic.
Zayan (The Actor)
I’ll pick you up at 5.30. Dress fancy.
I end up in Maha’s closet, where I borrow a dress that has these long, romantic sleeves a skirt that tapers round my ankles, and is made of fabric that reminds me of pink starlight. Because I’m so nervous, I finish getting ready a whopping three hours before Zayan is picking me up, but I distract myself by practising Heer’s death scene again.
And it’s while I’m kneeling on the floor, arms outstretched, echoing a cry, that Zayan rings the bell for the flat.
‘Uh …’ Amal says, poking her head round the door. ‘Zayan is here, but if you need a minute –’
I stand up quickly, brushing non-existent lint off my dress. ‘Nope, I’m good. Great. Very good.’
Amal smiles knowingly, and I’m reminded of a moment just like this. Except it was Amal getting ready, and me standing in the doorway, back when she and Owais hated one another. And now look at where they are. Something hopeful flutters in my chest as I race out of the flat and into the cool air to greet Zayan.
I find him leaning against his car with his hair swooped to one side, in a black turtleneck and grey trousers. A brown belt is narrowing his waist and accentuating his broad shoulders, which have a stylish indigo-coloured corduroy jacket thrown over them. He looks painfully handsome, and it makes my chest hurt.
‘You know, you’re making the stars bright with envy, looking like that,’ Zayan says, as I approach. The reverence and softness of his words make my body warm, my cheeks heating quickly.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask, avoiding his compliment and the feelings that come with it.
His grin widens, and he opens the car door for me. ‘You’ll see soon enough.’
Our ride is filled with conversations about anything and everything, and it’s a welcome respite from having to think about the LSDCATS. In fact, it’s the exact break I needed.
But that all ends abruptly when I see where we are.
‘No way,’ I say, clutching Zayan’s arm in excitement. ‘You got us tickets to The Phantom of the Opera?’
‘Not just any tickets,’ Zayan replies, all smug. ‘Royal Circle seats.’
‘This is my favourite musical!’
‘I know.’
