“And I’m so close to being able to take care of her,” Annabelle said, her voice cracking with emotion. She swallowed a knot in her throat. Would her father still agree to take care of her mother’s expenses if she annulled the marriage down the road? Maybe she’d have to postpone the divorce until her mother got better. And when would that be? Maybe never.
Annabelle’s gaze slid to the mountain of papers in front of her. Panic flared up like a dust storm. “Be honest, Marian. How bad is it?”
Marian hesitated. “It sounds really serious. And I’m not sure, but it sounds like her medical history might pose a problem. Like her billing history. With so many unpaid bills, they’re hesitant to move forward.”
A heavy silence settled between them. Annabelle wiped away a few tears that had spilled out.
“I need to come home,” she whispered.
“I think you should. Even if it’s only for a few days,” Marian said.
Annabelle sniffed hard, trying to compose herself. Enough to form a game plan, at least. “I don’t have a few days. But I’ll see what I can do.”
14
Imaad was mid-sentence when his phone rang during the morning meeting with his father. He slipped it out of his pocket, leaving his father watching him with an arched brow.
“It’s my fiancée,” he said with a smirk at his father, answering the phone with a swipe of his finger. “Hello?”
Annabelle’s voice was tight. “Imaad, I have a problem.”
He sat up in his chair, furrowing a brow. “What is it? Tell me.”
Annabelle sniffed hard, like maybe she’d been crying. His chest tightened. “My mother is ill. Very seriously ill. She was sent to the hospital last night, and now they’re wanting to schedule some sort of surgery for her.” Her breath hitched. “I have to go home.”
“Wh—? Wait. Hold on.” Imaad popped out of his chair and took to pacing in the far corner of the office. “Do they know what the problem is?”
“I don’t know exactly what the problem is, but she couldn’t breathe,” Annabelle said, her voice wavering. “And the whole thing is just a clusterfuck. I have to go be with her.”
Imaad’s mouth went dry and he stared at the gray carpeting of his father’s office, struggling to piece together a reassuring response. Of course she should go. It was just that he wanted to go with her. To make sure she had the help she needed. To be able to hold her when she cried.
“When will you leave?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I have to make some calls, find out some information. But I’ll go as soon as I can.”
“Wait for me,” he said, his voice coming out gruff. “I can help. I—”
“Listen, I gotta go. Marian is calling me on the other line. We’ll talk later.”
The line went dead, and he stared at his phone for a moment, unsure which of the roiling emotions inside him was the closest to the truth. Panic tremored through him, while protectiveness raged. He needed to be there for her—that was the only thing he knew for sure.
Imaad turned to his father, approaching the desk. “Annabelle is in a bit of trouble.”
His father looked up at him, squinting. “The merger?”
“No.” Imaad cleared his throat. “Her mother is ill and scheduled for an emergency surgery of some kind. She has to return to the States to be with her.”
His father grumbled something, slamming his pen down on the desk. “Absolutely not. We’re in the middle of the merger! Is she insane?”
Protectiveness licked through him and he straightened his stance, holding his father’s gaze. “If you were in the same sort of trouble, I’d be there in an instant. This is no different.”
“That’s completely different. You’re my son!” His father’s jowls quivered with the force of his words. “A son’s place is by his father’s side. A daughter’s place is by her husband’s side.”
“She is not my wife yet,” Imaad countered, balling his fists. “And even if she were, I’d support her decision to go.”
“The shareholders have more questions,” his father spat. “It will look bad if she leaves and returns, no matter what the reason is. Their confidence is already tenuous. Do you want to do this to my company?”
Imaad’s shoulders prickled with tension. He let a long, tense silence creep by, and then he turned to leave.