Delgano: A Dark Contemporary Interracial Romance

“You make me happy.”

She looked away, passing her fingers through the water. “Nothing happened with him. I’ve just read too many books. I’m sure things will change as I get older, but right now, I want a love story. I want to feel like I’m in Romeo and Juliet. Beauty and The Beast. Graziella.”

“I’m not familiar with Graziella,” he said.

“It’s written by Alphonse de Lamartine. It’s about a couple who are very different—their backgrounds, their culture. They fall in love,” she glanced at him, “but they keep their love a secret. Still, even though it’s a secret, it’s real love.”

“Is there a happy ending?”

“Not exactly.”

“Why is wanting a love story a problem?”

“Because I have obligations,” she explained. “And I understand that. Really, I do. And I understand that my life right now, the way it is, won’t be this way forever—I hope. The problem is, I want…”

She trailed off.

“What do you want?” he asked, moving closer.

“Something different.”

“Like?”

“Go swim and stop pestering me.”

“Tell me, Sayeda. Tell me what you want.”

Little did she know, Qasim and Ahmed had already shared some of their dreams of leaving Morocco. She had to feel the same way. He had a hard time picturing her not sharing their fantasy of a less restrictive way of life. One where ‘bad men’ didn’t show up, she had to remain hidden, and where she spent most of her time with a different kind of ‘bad’ man.

She tossed him another glance, this one briefer than the last. “Adrían, go swim.”

After talking himself out of drilling her for an actual answer, he took another lap around the pool. In the process, he thought of more ways to get her to divulge in him, but when he popped up with a few options, she wasn’t in her spot.

“Sayeda?” He swam to the pool edge, hoisted himself out, and grabbed a towel from a nearby lounge chair. In addition to a personal chef and errand runners, he now had housekeepers. “Sayeda, where’d you go?”

He spotted her hurrying toward the front of the house and sprinted to catch her before she could leave. Fate decided to choose sides—she dropped her keys, and with every effort she made to pick them up, they magically slipped from her fingers.

“Hey,” he gently gripped her upper arm, “where are you going? Did something happen? Is everything okay?”

She avoided his eyes. “I need to go home.”

“Look at me. What happened?”

He went to raise her head, but she looked up. Today, the look in her eyes spoke volumes.

“I’m coming with you. Two minutes.”

He jogged to the bedroom where “faith” intervened—Iman, the housekeeper. Iman had set out three different outfits, and he dressed in under a minute. Then, he returned to where Sayeda waited, his damp hair clinging to the back of his neck.

“All right. Let’s go.”

Her hands shook as she drove, and she gnawed on her bottom lip until it was raw. Every so often, he caught her looking at him, so he remained quiet; she wanted to tell him something, but if he struck up a conversation, she might never muster up the courage. Occasionally, however, he struggled with patience.

“He said his name is Novi,” she said, finally.

He nodded. “There was only one?”

“Five. Four showed up first, and I’m pretty sure they were from one of the gangs in the area. Novi came alone.”