Unbreak Me 63 ??This Wasn't Some Sick Bet, Was It???

"You shouldn't be walking this much, Dad," I bit my lip in worry.

He waved a hand, sitting with a wince. "I have something important to talk to you about."

Immediately, I knew it was about Zayn. Had he called? My parents had been pretty chill about my divorce and had it not been for Zayn, it wouldn't have been the case. They were rea.s.sured that I would tie the knot again.

If I was being honest, I felt relieved too. A lot of burden had been taken off from my shoulders.

"If it's about Zayn," I started, "Then what he said is true. I did agree to marry him. He's a good guy." The best, I stopped myself for saying.

It dawned on me that I was crazy in love. Was I being blindsided? What if this was some prank too? A sick bet?

The food in my stomach was threatening to spill out.

"I can see your thoughts racing," Dad observed and I nervously fiddled with Abdar Rahman's feet. "For what it's worth, he seemed sincere. I don't know him that well, Leia, but I have a feeling you do. This is completely your choice. You still have time to say no."

I loved Zayn, I kept thinking. It was because of our childhood spent together, the secrets we'd shared with n.o.body else but each other, the comfort we'd sought in each other. It was his beautiful eyes. His smile. I liked his personality. We got together well. Most of the time, at least. He was so sweet. And I could go on.

There were things I disliked too, of course. Like his choice in friends. The stupid bets. His crude language—which, thankfully, he refrained from nowadays.

I opened my mouth to tell Dad that, yes, I was sure I wanted to marry him when Mom barged into the room, saying, "I think he's here."

What?

"Who's here?" I questioned, though I had my suspicions.

My heart was beating thunderously and the hair along the back of my neck stood on end. It was as if my body was already aware of his close proximity. I shivered.

Dad sighed. "That's what I wanted to tell you. Zayn called yesterday. He said he'd be here today. And well . . ." Dad pointed to the door.

In a sudden rush, I realised I was in my PJs and my hair was down. Not down like, down but I wasn't wearing a headscarf. I pushed to my feet, plucking Abdar Rahman off the sofa too.

"Is he at the door?" I screeched. "Oh my G.o.d, did he see me?"

I couldn't look back at the door. I just couldn't. What if he was standing there?

I always wanted the unravelling part to be epic—something out of a movie. Not like this.

Dad shook his head and I let out a sigh of relief. Oh wow, that was stressful.

"I'll go get ready, then," Meaning: let me go wear my curtain.

Dad offered a nod, and I fled.