Chapter Nine: The Questions We Don't Ask
1119 Words
Zara Okafor-Briggs
London
9:06 a.m.
I spend far too long deciding what to wear.
Not because I care what either family thinks.
Because they do.
Every color.
Every expression.
Every detail will be noticed.
Judged.
Interpreted.
I settle on a tailored ivory blouse and charcoal trousers.
Professional.
Neutral.
No one can accuse neutral of making a statement.
I pin my hair into a low twist.
Light makeup.
Gold earrings.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing vulnerable.
When I leave my room, Emeka is already in the study.
A laptop sits open on the conference table.
The camera has been positioned carefully.
Naturally.
He glances up.
"You look ready."
"I look prepared."
"They're not always the same thing."
"No."
I meet his eyes.
"They aren't."
For a brief second, I wonder if he's speaking about the call.
Or something much larger.
The hour before the meeting passes quietly.
He works.
I pretend to read emails.
Neither of us says much.
The silence between us has changed again.
Not comfortable.
Not uncomfortable.
Familiar.
Like we've both accepted that the other person exists in our space.
At exactly eleven o'clock, the screen lights up.
One by one, familiar faces appear.
Chief Obiora Okafor-Briggs.
Perfectly dressed.
Perfectly composed.
Beside him sits my mother.
Elegant as ever.
Not a strand of hair out of place.
Then another window appears.
Chief Dominic Adeyemi.
His expression could have been carved from stone.
Several executives join.
Lawyers.
Advisers.
People whose names I immediately forget.
Everything feels painfully formal.
Until the final participant joins.
The name appears first.
Michael Adeyemi.
Then the camera connects.
I stop breathing.
He looks nothing like I expected.
There is a family resemblance.
The same dark eyes.
The same height, perhaps.
But where Emeka is sharp edges and careful restraint...
Michael is softer.
Not weak.
Open.
His smile comes naturally.
His shoulders aren't permanently tense.
He looks like someone people talk to without planning every sentence first.
For one impossible second, I understand why someone might trust him.
Then he looks directly into the camera.
His eyes meet mine.
Something flashes across his face.
Recognition.
Shock.
No...
Not shock.
Pain.
Then guilt.
Then—
Nothing.
Gone.
So quickly I almost convince myself I imagined it.
Almost.
But I know what I saw.
He knew me.
Before today.
Before this meeting.
Before this engagement.
The certainty settles quietly inside me.
My pulse begins to climb.
The meeting starts.
Business.
Formalities.
Wedding timelines.
Public appearances.
Charitable foundations.
The language of powerful families.
I barely hear any of it.
Because I can't stop watching Michael.
He speaks occasionally.
Always respectfully.
Never interrupting his father.
Nothing like the ruthless executive I expected.
Then, halfway through the meeting, someone asks about travel arrangements.
My father turns toward the screen.
"Zara will continue working in London."
Chief Dominic nods once.
"Good."
A pause.
Then Michael speaks.
The first time since joining.
"Zara..."
Just my name.
Nothing more.
Just—
"Zara, congratulations."
The words themselves are ordinary.
But the way he says my name...
Gentle.
Familiar.
Not intimate.
Not inappropriate.
Simply...
Recognizable.
As though he has said it before.
Many times.
As though it has existed in conversations long before this one.
Every nerve in my body tightens.
Because now I know.
Without question.
Adaeze spoke about me.
To him.
He knew who I was.
Long before I became Emeka's fiancée.
He smiles politely.
I return the gesture.
"Thank you."
Neither of us says anything else.
But something invisible has already passed between us.
Something no one else in the meeting seems to notice.
Or perhaps they do.
Perhaps everyone notices different things.
The call continues another thirty minutes.
I contribute when necessary.
Smile when expected.
Listen without listening.
Eventually my father announces,
"Excellent. We'll speak again next week."
Goodbyes follow.
One by one, the screens disappear.
First the advisers.
Then Michael.
His image vanishes before I can think about what I would have asked if given the chance.
Finally our parents disconnect.
Silence.
The study suddenly feels enormous.
I remain seated.
So does Emeka.
Neither of us reaches for the laptop.
Or moves.
Or speaks.
Rain taps softly against the windows.
London continues without us.
Several long moments pass.
Then—
"He noticed."
I turn toward Emeka sharply.
"You saw that?"
"I saw both of you."
My pulse quickens.
He closes the laptop carefully.
Not rushed.
Never rushed.
Then he looks at me.
Not as my fiancé.
Not as an opponent.
Simply...
At me.
"You've started drinking your coffee before speaking in the mornings."
I blink.
"What?"
His expression doesn't change.
"When we first arrived, you'd talk before your first sip."
I stare.
"You've stopped."
Silence.
"I didn't realize."
"I know."
Another pause.
"When you're anxious, you read the same page three times."
Heat rises unexpectedly to my face.
How—
"You've noticed all that?"
"Yes."
The answer is immediate.
Matter-of-fact.
No pride.
No embarrassment.
Just fact.
I don't know why that unsettles me.
Maybe because I haven't been paying nearly as much attention to him.
Or maybe because I have.
Just differently.
"You observe everyone like that?"
He considers the question.
"No."
The word lands quietly.
Then—
"Only people who matter."
The room becomes strangely still.
He says nothing else.
Neither do I.
Because I don't know what that sentence means.
Whether he intended it to mean anything at all.
Whether I'm reading too much into it.
I stand first.
"I have work."
"So do I."
We leave the study together.
Then separate at the hallway.
As though the conversation never happened.
But it did.
And somehow...
The apartment feels smaller afterward.
Night falls early.
London rain continues.
I shower.
Change into an oversized T-shirt.
Read the journal again.
Nothing new reveals itself.
Only the same questions.
The same unfinished sentences.
The same warning.
Don't let them make you into what they made me.
I hide it away once more.
Turn off the bedside lamp.
And finally lie down.
Sleep begins to creep closer.
Then—
Three soft knocks.
I sit upright immediately.
No one has ever knocked on my bedroom door here.
Not once.
Another knock.
Gentle.
Measured.
"Zara."
Emeka.
I hesitate.
Then cross the room and open the door.
He stands in the hallway.
No jacket.
Dark sweater.
Hands in his pockets.
His face is unreadable.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
Then he asks one question.
Quietly.
Carefully.
"How much do you know?"
My heartbeat stops.
Not because of the words.
Because of what they mean.
He isn't asking whether I know.
He already knows that I do.
He's asking...
How far I've gotten.
As though he's been waiting.
Watching.
Patiently.
For me to catch up.
And somehow...
He has decided tonight...
I finally have.
- Writer
