The Sheikh's Virgin Bride(105)

I tore out of there, down the road. Pressing my foot into the gas was the only way to quiet the yelling inside my head, the flashing faces of my parents and Lucy all screaming at me to listen. All liars, yelling their lies over each other.

Now, my car couldn’t go any faster, but I had to. The thoughts were catching up, dogs with gnashing teeth. I needed a drink, more speed, anything to get away from this feeling. I couldn’t take it. I let up on the gas a bit to whip around a corner, barely made it, but didn’t care.

As the next corner came, I slammed my foot down on the gas, no slowing down—not again, not ever. I couldn’t slow down; I was a fool to try.

And, as I went barreling around the corner I wouldn’t make, as everything went black, finally, I felt at peace.





Chapter Twenty





Lucy




As soon as Khabib left, I made my exit. The last people I wanted to face right now were his parents, with their loathing stares locked on me. Although, Ra’id, as I walked away, didn’t fail to call out to me.

“And Lucy?”

I turned to see him glaring at me as intensely as ever.

“You’re fired.”

I stared at him a minute, but he was already turning away, heading with his wife and the woman to their car. Now, I was alone, just how I deserved to be.

I stood by the curb for a few minutes, letting the tears fall, far enough away from the party to not be seen and yet close enough to hear the fun I was missing. The joy I would never have again. Not without Khabib, no.

My last hope for happiness had come and gone with him. He had taken me out of my shell and, now that he was gone, I was stuck in my same old despair, for good. As I deserved to be. I had betrayed the man I loved, time and again, and now, I had paid the price. And, more than that, I had betrayed myself. How many times had I ignored the inner voice screaming at me to tell the truth?

Every wiping away of tears just inspired a new storm of them. If I had done the right thing, if I had told Khabib the truth, who knew where I’d be now. Really, time and again, Khabib had proven himself kinder and more understanding than I could’ve hoped. He probably would have been just as understanding when I confessed the truth to him, too.

Who knew—maybe right now, we’d be back in there, in that hall with all Khabib’s friends and family, dancing the night away, an official couple for the first time.

Finally, the only thing to do was call a taxi. It took its time coming, though I hardly minded. The driver wasn’t talkative, which suited me just fine. He zipped along street after street, going the long way—maybe on purpose—but it wasn’t like I cared much, anyway.

As we pulled up into my driveway, my phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Lucy Morrison?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“My name is Magda, and I’m a paramedic at the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. A Mr. Khabib bin Samara was involved in a car accident a few minutes ago. His parents didn’t answer the call, so as his personal assistant, you were next in line as his emergency contact.”

“Oh my God, what happened?”

“We’re not sure, as Khabib is now unconscious. What I can tell you is that he was in a single-car accident, where his car collided with a tree, and that he is now in an ambulance on his way to the hospital.”

“Okay, thank you for informing me. I’ll be right there.”

As soon as I hung up, I remembered. Was I really going to speed right over there, when I was probably the last person Khabib wanted to see right now, or ever again? Wouldn’t it be better to somehow get in touch with Khabib’s parents, one of his friends, or just about anyone else?

The pounding of my heart gave me the answer. I didn’t have a choice; I had to make sure he was all right—if not for him, then for myself.

Resolute, I addressed the cabbie.

“Turn around. We have to go to Cedars-Sinai Hospital, and make it quick.”





Chapter Twenty-One





Lucy




The hospital was a massive complex, with several sky-high towers—none of which indicated where I was supposed to go. Mercifully, when I wandered into the first tower, a kindly grey-haired receptionist informed me that I was actually in the right building, and just had to go up a few floors. Before I left, she gave me a kind-smiled warning.

“Just so that you’re aware, Mr. Khabib may not be in a stable enough state to see you.”

I nodded, then hurried away before she could see the tears forming in my eyes. If anything had happened to Khabib, I’d never be able to forgive myself. Once I got to the right floor, the nurse looked surprised to see me.

“We have no indication of his state, since he’s only just arrived. You can go to Room 5A, but if there are personnel inside, you will have to come back.”

So, I hurried down a hallway of florescent blinding lights, to the door of 5A, which was at the end. Inside, there appeared to be no people, so I knocked.

A bald man in nurse scrubs answered.

“Yes?”

“I’m here to see a Khabib bin Samara. Is he okay?”

“I don’t know about okay, but he’s awake,” came the honeyed voice from over the man’s shoulder.

I looked beyond the nurse, and there he was. Khabib, sitting up, looking sleepy, as if he’d just taken a nap—but otherwise unharmed. At the sight of me, his face darkened.