Scarred For Life

Chapter 64

*
Dinner was a stately affair at the L'artusi restaurant on 10th street. Afrah ordered the spaghetti with garlic, parmesan cheese and chilies, while Adnan ordered the Sweetbreads A La Plancha with lemon, capers, olives and currants. Both eyed the other's dish with a look of resigned contempt, but neither said a word.

"You've been quiet all evening," Adnan spoke for the first time since they'd left the hotel. "What's wrong?"

"It's bad manners to speak while eating," she replied, twirling her fork around the spaghetti.

"Not to your husband, it's not," he said. "Talk to me."

"Ever heard the phrase 'Silence is golden', dear husband?" she asked, a mocking smile on her face.

"Well if silence is golden, then conversation is priceless," he replied.

"Touché," Afrah said, laughing. Adnan laughed as well, reaching for his drink. "I've been thinking about getting a place here," he said, raising the drink up just to stare at it. Afrah sensed that he was trying to avoid her gaze.

"You're free to, of course," she said. "But may I ask what for?"

"Well, you seem to love it here," he said. "It could be like our nice little getaway. We come up here once a year, spend some quality time, and then we go back to dear old Nigeria."

"Real estate is expensive in New York," she said, bringing her fork up to her lips.

"You're forgetting that I used to live here," he said. "I know my way around town. I can get a place for a few hundred thousand dollars."

"Don't think you can fool me, Adnan." She glared at him. "What's the price for a 3-bedroom apartment in this city?"

"You look lovely this evening," he said, a guilty smile stretching across his face. "I've never noticed how your skin glows at night. It's even more beautiful than when it glows during the day."

"Stop avoiding the question," she said, although she felt a queasy eruption in her midriff at his compliment. "How much does it cost?"

"I told you already," he mumbled. "A few hundred thousands."

"How many hundreds are we talking about?"

"About five or six," he said. "Give or take seven."

"Which rounds up to?"

"About one hundred and eighty million."

"There you have it," she said in a tone of finality. "Wouldn't you rather do something else with that amount?"

"I'm doing this for you," he said. "You said you love New York."

"I never asked you to do all this for me, Adnan," she said, forcing herself to hold his gaze. Sometimes, she forgot just how wealthy he was. It was hard to remember that when he was sitting right across from her, wearing a plain white shirt that hugged his body in all the right places. He was far too young to have become so financially stable. It was a commendable feat on his part, and she was not about to let him squander his wealth just to please her.

Wordlessly, Adnan reached across the table and took her hand in his. Afrah sighed at the contact, staring down at the table.

"I know you didn't," he said. "But I need you to understand that all I ever want to do is make you happy. It's the single reason for my continued existence. What would I do with my life if I don't spend every single minute of it showing you just how much I care? I need you to know that I do."

She did know. Even though they rarely had a heart to heart conversation, Afrah knew that he cared about her immensely. She was reminded of it everyday, by little actions such as him waking her up for Fajr, or when he woke up very early on Saturdays to make her breakfast in bed. She saw it every time he looked at her, and felt it every time he touched her or kissed her cheek.