When History Repeats Itself

Chapter Sixteen

"'Tis the season to be jolly!" Sumaya announced with a dramatic eye-roll as we unpacked the last of our moving boxes.

By the end of November, our parents—mine, hers, and all the extra ones in between—had "gifted" us an apartment. Technically, it was our Christmas present. They covered eighty percent of the cost and left Sumaya and me to handle the remaining fifth each. A small price for independence, apparently.

Still, I was thrilled. I was a homeowner. More importantly, I was no longer living under my parents' roof. Liberation had a smell—and it was fresh paint, pine-scented floor cleaner, and my own damn peace.

But even with that excitement, I had to agree with Sumaya's sarcasm. Dom was spending the holidays in South Africa with his father—our first major holiday apart. I told myself I was fine. Mature. Understanding. Independent. But the truth was, it sucked.

We had come a long way since the weekend that made us sign the now-infamous Work Couple Agreement. We were officially dating—and officially visible. At first, it felt bizarre being seen in public with him, watching other women size me up, wondering what I'd done to land someone like Dom. And he, of course, was completely oblivious. Didn't notice the glares, the whispers, or the women who flirted with him right in front of me.

Office life was even weirder. We were all business on the outside, but people watched us like we were reality TV. There was that time the intern came to our floor and caught Dom at my desk—he was just asking for Paba. Poor girl looked like she'd walked in on a scandal. She mumbled an apology, spun on her heel, and escaped into the elevator like the walls were on fire.

All thanks to one overly observant HR guy who connected the dots: Dom and I, exiting the HR office with our lawyers, holding a signed contract. It didn't take long for the whispers to start. The stares. The classic boss's girlfriend treatment.

Eventually, things calmed down—just in time for the holidays. My mind had new distractions. Sumaya's divorce, for one. Stupid Kobby decided to grow a conscience too late. Claimed he still loved her and even said, "I'll dump the girl I'm seeing for you in a heartbeat."

I nearly choked when I heard that one. My sister almost lunged across the mediation table to choke him too. Shockingly, it was our dad who held her back. I had expected the roles to be reversed. At the next session, he insisted on bringing Aunt Jamila for emotional reinforcement. We both knew she was there to help restrain Sumaya.

But other than that circus, November had been relatively smooth. Now, a week to Christmas, we were settling into our new apartment. Dom had even helped carry boxes—and dragged Chris along too, bless him.

We'd spent the first weekend of December painting. Dom helped design my room: light blue and white chevron walls, peach curtains, hints of bronze. Tasteful and soothing. For a housewarming gift, he got me the most ridiculously comfortable leather armchair, now nestled in the corner of my bedroom. A dangerously perfect spot for cuddling. That man knew what he was doing.

Sumaya's room was styled by Almara—who, despite everything, had great taste. She ended up doing our living room too. Almara and I were trying to get along, mostly because we kept bumping into each other at Dom's house. One awkward brunch later, the guys floated the idea of a double date. According to Dom, our RSVPs were still "pending." When hell freezes over, maybe.

"Kerry, your mother is blowing up your phone," Sumaya called from the living room. "In five minutes, she'll start calling me instead."

Right on cue, her phone started ringing. She appeared in my doorway a moment later, handing it to me. "Hold on, Aunt Seli."

"Mum, I left my phone on the couch. I'm organizing my wardrobe," I said quickly before she could launch into one of her lectures.

"I just called to say I've missed you terribly. Come visit me next weekend."