Kiran,Family Friend of the Bride
I’m not trying to be a diva, but seriously—what’s with these local tours? I live five miles from Las Olas. Water. Beach. Glitzy shops. Been there, done that. I get the out-of-towners wanting a peek, but couldn’t she have organized other options for us local guests?
I got bored halfway through, so I told the group I’d meet them at our pickup spot. Figured I may as well knock out a few errands while I’m here. I stocked up at that Korean skincare shop, grabbed a bite at Havana—still the best Cuban sandwiches in town—then headed to our meeting spot at that new coffee shop that just opened up.
So I’m getting a café con leche (mid, by the way, and of course they spelled Kiran totally wrong. Seriously, three e’s?), and just as I’m about to sit down, I saw this guy outside the shop. I know this is going to sound weird, but he was the spitting image of Nasir. You know, Hena’s missing fiancé? Speaking of which, poor girl. People act like she had something to do with whatever happened to him, but that’s not fair. She doesn’t deserve half the crap people say about her.
Obviously, I knew it wasn’t Nasir out there today. I’m not a conspiracy theory auntie. And this guy was thinner. Super-short hair, which was never his style. And speaking of style, this guy had none. Zero. Nasir was the sort to turn heads—the man knew how to dress. This dude was straight-up Walmart chic. The Nasir we knew would not be caught dead in those ridiculously oversized sunglasses.
I was going to write it off—too much gossip on the brain—but when he turned and I saw his profile, I’m telling you, I nearly dropped my cup. I scrambled for my phone to snap a picture, but by the time I grabbed it, he was gone.
I hurried out. I scanned the sidewalks. It’s like he evaporated into thin air.
I know he was probably just some rando. It was bright outside, so it’s not like I could see all that well. We all know Nasir’s dead. Even his mother has said it.
Except.
They never found a body, right?
So…maybe?
8
•
Lulu’s penthouse suite was silent when Hena stepped inside; the soft hum of the air-conditioning was the only sound. Save the extra bedroom, the space was nearly identical to her own. Same layout. Same maroon walls. Same brass fixtures. Same stainless-steel kitchen—though Lulu’s currently had a stunning cream-colored five-tier wedding cake resting on its island.
Hena walked toward one of the bedrooms as Gita emerged from the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel. She startled at the sight of Hena.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Hena said. “I was checking in on my mother.”
“She actually just fell asleep,” Gita told her. “She had a rough night.”
“I’ll be quiet,” Hena promised. It wasn’t as though she’d come for a heart-to-heart. The truth was, her mother being asleep was probably for the best.
Gita pursed her lips but said nothing as Hena stepped into the bedroom. This space, too, was an uncanny mirror to Hena’s own suite, except for one glaring difference: the stiff hospital bed by the back wall. The one with metal railingsand IV bags set on stands beside it. The one where her mother lay motionless as machinery beeped in the background.
The overcast light slanted through the windows, pooling shadows against her mother’s sleeping form. Hena took a tentative step toward her and spotted an empty vial on the nightstand. Lifting the bottle, she read the fine print:morphine sulfate.
Unease settled in her stomach. Her mother was taking morphine? Growing up, she refused to take so much as an Advil. How much pain was she in?
Hena gripped the cool metal bed railing and, for the first time since she’d arrived, truly took in her mother. Her thin arms. Hollowed-out cheeks. The fragile jawline, once set in stone. It was like staring at a stranger.
She still remembered her final day in Florida. When Ammi had stepped into Hena’s bedroom and caught her zipping up her luggage.
“What are you doing?” her mother had asked, her voice sharp.
Hena’s insides had knotted. She’d hoped to be gone before anyone noticed. She’d already written a note to stick on the fridge on her way out.
“The police said I’m free to go, so I’m leaving,” she said. “My flight is in three hours.”
“You’re leaving,” her mother repeated. “You’re running away in the middle of this mess?”
Hena couldn’t speak. She watched her mother’s face harden.
“No goodbye,” Ammi said. “Not even for your sister. She’s not here, you know.”
“It’s better this way,” Hena said, knowing it was a lie even as she said it.