Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
“You have made up your mind then?”
She turned to him, her smile cheeky, her voice challenging. “Are you going to stop me?”
”
But her eyes –
Her fucking eyes were too damn sad, and it was this that made the sheikh slowly shake his head. “No.” He cared for her too much to lie to her. “I will not stop you.”
A tremulous smile formed on her lips. “Is it weird that I dreaded hearing you say it – but I also love you even more for saying it?”
He only looked at her, saying nothing, and her smile grew a bit wobblier. How like him to do that, too – the sheikh did so despise wasting words when the situation already spoke for itself.
Smoothing one shaking hand over her abaya, she took her time lifting her gaze to his, knowing that it could be the last time they might see each other again this way.
“Goodbye, Rayyan.”
“Goodbye, Hyacinth.”
Twenty-One
Fuck Being Politically Correct: He Says, She Says was an unqualified success, much to everyone’s surprise, and that included its own two hosts, Hyacinth and editor-turned-partner (in crime) Marwan Bseiso. Lauded for its pioneering format, the web-based series had the two debating about political and social issues, but instead of showing two opposing sides, the pair typically represented contrasting strategies for the same side.
It was, in a nutshell, definitely not the politically correct thing to do, but it was also for this very reason that the show appeared to do so well, with ratings so high that they rivaled those in traditional media. In just two short months, Hyacinth and Marwan had more than made back the money they had invested in their admittedly risky venture. Aside from purchasing expensive recording equipment and high-end laptops, they had also decided to take a leap of faith by relocating to Washington in hopes of improving their chances of scoring live interviews with the political figures they were most interested in.
With advertising revenue steadily increasing and additional income coming in from a variety of high-profile speaking assignments, life was looking very good, and it was also guaranteed to look even better after tonight’s award show.
A representative of Kastein Inc. had contacted them by phone, saying Fuck Being Politically Correct was the company board’s unanimous choice as the recipient of their annual Digital Innovation award. Aside from the amazing publicity, the award also came with a generous sum of money – which was just enough for the two of them to finally move out of their shared flat – a 200 square meter attic that only afforded them second-hand accordion doors to create the semblance of having separate rooms.
Remembering the look of horror on her sister’s face at Anisah’s first glimpse of her place made Hyacinth smile, and seeing this, Marwan grimaced, saying, “Nice to know one of us isn’t likely to throw up.” All this waiting was just making his stomach feel queasier, and Marwan couldn’t help but look at the backstage door one more time, wondering if maybe it wasn’t too late –
“Don’t even think about it,” Hyacinth warned, seeing the object of her co-host’s glance of longing. “And how many times do I have to tell you it’s going to be okay—-”
“Easier for you to say,” Marwan hissed under his breath. “You’re used to hobnobbing with the folks outside, but I’m not.”
“The folks outside are our ticket to Phase 2, so just stop and stick to the script.”
The cue finally came, and Hyacinth and Marwan stepped out together, both of them dressed to make a statement; her in a two-toned abaya with a cotton belt to cinch the dress around the waist, and Marwan in a suit with a checkered keffiyeh held securely on his head by a double circlet of agal.
The crowd rose to their feet, their applause thunderous, and despite her own strict reminders about not being emotional, Hyacinth couldn’t help feeling a little overwhelmed by the audience’s warm show of support. It was a very nice balm, she thought absently, to all the heartache she had suffered in the past months – and still secretly cried over.
Members of Ramil’s royal family and the palace staff occupied most of the front row. There was Tarif and Anisah at the very center, and even Gadi, who waved at her enthusiastically even as he struggled to hold back his tears.
Dear old Gadi.
She was glad to see he hadn’t changed.
Marwan made a desperate gesture for her to come up to the mic and make a thank-you speech, but she shook her head, her gaze sly. It’s your turn to start hobnobbing.
After shooting her a glare that promised retribution afterwards, her co-host cleared his throat, stammering, “On b-behalf of my partner, I – I mean we – we would, err, like to thank the One Above for His grace...”
Despite Marwan’s worst misgivings, he ended up executing a near flawless and absolutely moving speech that was guaranteed to have more of the crowd shedding tears and, more importantly, reaching for their checkbooks. When he stepped away from the microphone, she flashed him a thumbs-up. Good job!