Page 92 of Twisted (Never After)

“Oh,” I reply.

I don’t really know what to say. Before last night, I would have jumped at the chance to see Aidan, but now…now things have changed, shifted. And going to Egypt with my fake husband who I let fuck me with his tongue and seeing the man I thought was the love of my life but who now feels like a distant memory is confusing to say the least.

“But go see your father first. Check in with him, see how he’s faring. If you don’t want to leave him, I understand.”

I’m surprised he’s giving me the choice, but I’m grateful for it either way. I don’t know if Icanleave with my father only having a limited amount of time left. I’d never forgive myself if he died while I wasn’t here.

But if I stay, I doubt he’d let me see him at the end anyway.

“I’ll be leaving from the office in the morning, so if you choose to come with me, Razul will bring you to the airport after you wake up. Otherwise, I’ll see you when I get back.”

I nod, watching him turn around and leave without so much as a goodbye. This shouldn’t be a big deal; it’s just a short trip, and I’m honestly surprised that he’s willing to let me stay alone, so far out of his reach.

But it feels heavy, like something will fundamentally change regardless of what I decide. A thick sense of foreboding creeps up my spine and doesn’t leave.

Not through the rest of my shower.

Not when I call Riya and fill her in on what happened last night.

And not when I finally pull out the burner phone and bring up the message that’s been nagging the back of my head ever since I read it.

Unknown number: You don’t know me, but I work for Julian. I took this number from Aidan’s phone because I know you need some help.

My fingers shake as I type out a reply, a sick feeling rolling through my stomach.

Me: Who is this?

I get an immediate reply.

Unknown number: A friend. Come to Egypt when your husband does. I can help.

The words from the last text are seared in my brain and stay there even an hour later when I’m in the car with Razul, going to see my father.

He’s awake and on the main patio overlooking the pool, a cup of steaming tea beside him when I get there.

It’s a beautiful morning, the crisp autumn air breezing through the trees that line the property, wind chimes clinking together in the distance, and the sun sparkling down on the heated pool that hasn’t been covered yet for the winter.

Something pulls in my chest as I walk over and sit down next to him, the cushioned chair soft beneath me. I don’t say anything at first, and neither does he.

This is different.Heis different.

But I guess facing your own mortality will do that to a person.

“Baba.”

He jumps slightly, his tired eyes swinging over and widening when they meet mine.

I’ve been told that right before you die, you straddle the worlds, one foot in this one and one foot in the next. It makes my stomach cinch up tight when I think about how far gone out of this life he has to be to not have noticed I was here.

“Yasmin, what are you doing here?” he asks. His voice is worn and soft, barely above a whisper.

“Baba, how many times do I have to tell you?” I choke out, trying to stem the tremble in my voice. “I’llalwaysbe here.”

A soft smile plays around the corners of his lips, and he turns his face forward until he’s staring out again at the view.

“Nice morning,” I manage.

He nods. “One of the prettiest.”