Thread of Glass

Chapter 6

Melissa noticed. "He's called me too. And the house."

Zoya lowered the heat under the pot, taking more care with the knob than it required. "He calls."

"Not like this," Melissa said.

Zoya reached for another spice even though the dish didn't need one. "What does he want?"

"He hasn't said," Melissa replied.

"Then there's nothing to talk about." Zoya put the jar back and returned to the pot.

Melissa watched her for another moment. "Zoya."

"Not today, Aunt." Her voice stayed calm, but she kept both hands around the spoon now. "Please."

Melissa's expression softened. She didn't push again.

…

The air in Zayed's study smelled of old leather and the sharp cologne he had worn for forty years.

Raiyan sat there. He hadn't been in this room in years. Everything was the same: the amber light, the heavy oak desk, even the silence.

"So, you finally came," Zayed said. "After two and a half years. For us? For the case? Or for her?"

Raiyan's attention went to the photograph in the corner of the desk instead. Liyana at eighteen months, her dark curls messy, her eyes so like her mother's it was hard to look at for long.

"My home is in London," Raiyan said. "With Liyana. I'm only here for the case."

Zayed studied his face for a moment, but Raiyan ignored the look.

"She has caused enough damage," he continued. "I won't let her ruin what you've built. Not this time."

"Good," Zayed said simply, closing the file in front of him.

Raiyan got up. He'd already spent longer in this room than he wanted to. He needed to see Liyana.

…

That night, after dinner, Zoya was looking for the Henderson brief in Joseph's study.

She found something else.

It was half under a file on the corner of the desk, cream paper that had clearly been handled more than once but carefully preserved. She almost missed it until the names caught her eye.

Mr. Raiyan Al Mansoor and Ms. Zoya Al Fayez.

Their wedding invitation.

The card was still perfect.

The marriage hadn't even made it to two years.

The card had done better than they did.

She set the card down and didn't look at it again.

Joseph found her in the study.

She was standing by the bookshelf without reading anything, her attention somewhere else entirely.

"You still kept it," she said.

"Yes. I couldn't throw it away," Joseph replied, looking at the card.

She didn't ask why. She already knew.

"I'm going to win this case," she said. She needed at least one thing in her life to feel under control.

"I know. The case is against his grandfather, not him, Zoya," he said.

"To me, it's the same thing, Grandpa," she said, then looked away.

Joseph's expression changed for a second, but he didn't argue with her.

"Goodnight, Grandpa," she said.

He watched her leave. He left the card exactly where she had put it down.

She stepped out into the hallway.

Her Call to the Bar photo hung first. Middle Temple, wig and gown, a pride in her own eyes she barely recognized in herself anymore.

Beside it was another photo from Oxford, Zoya laughing with her friends, someone's arm slung over her shoulder. She looked younger there, like smiling had once been easier.

A whole wall of them. Years of her, from high school to Edinburgh, Oxford, and finally her Call to the Bar. Joseph never forgot a single milestone.

Then came Riyana's photographs, and Zoya looked away before she could stay there too long.

She walked faster, past the foyer, through the French doors, into the garden. She sat down in one of the chairs near the terrace.

The cold air hit her as soon as she stepped outside, and with it came a memory she hadn't meant to revisit.

Four years earlier, at Middle Temple in London, she had stood inside the Great Hall in her wig and gown with the other newly called barristers. There were people everywhere that day, all the speeches and ceremony she had spent years working toward, but what she remembered most was how proud she had felt.

She had done this.

Nobody had handed it to her. Edinburgh, Oxford, all the exams and long nights before this. She had worked for every bit of it, and it was hers.

Joseph was in the gallery. She found him before she found anyone else.

He was sitting very straight, the way he always did, looking so proud that she smiled the second she saw him.

She mouthed, thank you.

Joseph smiled and mouthed back, your mother would be proud.

Zoya looked away before she cried.

Her phone buzzed in her hand a few minutes later.

Unknown number.

*Congratulations.

Remind me never to end up on the other side of a courtroom from you.*

Zoya stared at the unknown number.

Another message arrived.

*Raiyan.*