Stolen Life (Beauty in the Stolen 2)

He drops his arms, taking a more relaxed stance as he intertwines our fingers. “Don’t worry about it. What’s the chances of anything happening?”

I think about it. He’s right. One broken condom doesn’t mean I’ll fall pregnant. Plenty of women try for years to fall pregnant after they go off the pill. Still, I don’t like leaving it to chance.

“Come on.” He pulls me to the door. “I don’t think Anesu wants to hear all of this.”

He’s right again. The poor man doesn’t know where to look.

“Thanks,” I say in a poor effort of politeness to make up for my indiscretion as Ian pushes me back into the street.

It eats at me all the way to the general store and while Ian takes jeans and tank tops from the shelves and pushes the clothes into my arms to try on. I use a cubicle with a curtain at the back of the store and find a couple of jeans and a pair of shorts that more or less fit. I don’t bother to try on the tank tops. The fabric has enough stretch to cover a few sizes.

The underwear section is sadly lacking. While I go for a couple of cotton panties, Ian grabs a handful of slutty red and black lace thongs with matching bras. I don’t argue, because what’s the point? He’s not going to listen if I tell him to put them back.

Armed with new clothes, we make our way back to the Jeep. The sun is high. My stomach rumbles, reminding me I’ve skipped breakfast.

“What time is it?” I ask.

Ian checks his watch. “Almost noon.” He gives me an evil grin. “Hungry?”

I don’t reply. Lifting my chin, I walk ahead of him.

His chuckle follows me down the pavement. “Someone should’ve eaten her breakfast.”

Ah. He’s enjoying my discomfort now. It’s a lesson in obedience, teaching me to eat when he gives the order. I scoff.

He gets my door and helps me into the Jeep, all the while wearing that I-told-you-so smirk on his wickedly handsome face. Ignoring him, I put on the sunglasses.

After hopping in, he takes a banana from the glove compartment and places it on my lap. He doesn’t say anything to rub it in, but his smile remains as he starts the engine. Too hungry to be proud and defiant, I peel the banana and eat it in a few big bites.

Instead of heading back to the lodge, he heads in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?” I ask, remembering he told Shona we won’t be home for lunch.

He switches gears. “Lunch.”

I give up on questioning him. Anyway, the noise of the engine makes it difficult to talk. I discard the banana peel in a trash bag he keeps handy and sit back.

After a ten-minute drive, he turns into the gates of the Elephant Hills hotel. The place used to be popular when tourism was still booming. In recent years, most of the tourism has moved to the Zambian side. The big hotel building has kept its luxurious reputation and still manages to attract the odd, adventurous tourist. We park in the circular driveway where a valet takes the key to park the Jeep.

The white walls of the lobby are decorated with plaster images of elephants, their tusks painted gold. The marble floor is shiny, reflecting the birds-of-paradise flower decorations framing the door. An archway gives access to a dining room with windows overlooking the falls. It’s spectacular.

Sucking in a breath, I make my way over. I’ve seen this as a teenager, but the power of the water gushing over the ravine and the rainbow it catches in a semi-circle can never grow old.

“Like it?” Ian asks softly in my ear.

The intake of my breath takes a different turn. I shiver as his stubble grazes over my neck. This deserves the truth. “I love it.” Meaning both the vista and what his touch does to me.

“Good.” He takes my arm and leads me to a table by the window from where we have the full view. When the waiter has seated me, Ian says, “I recommend the porcini gnocchi. It’s delicious.”

Too hungry to waste time looking at the menu, I nod at the waiter. “I’ll take that, thanks.”

Ian orders the grilled sole.

The double-pane glass reduces the noise of the crashing water. Outside, it’s a loud gush in your ears. The spray mists over your face, and when you stand on the grid running over the edge of the falls and look down, you get the most terrifying rush of vertigo and fear. The falls always make me realize how vulnerable we humans are, how helpless against the onslaught of a natural disaster like a landslide or flooding.

Resting my hand on my chin, I say, “I love this place.”

He smiles. The gesture lights up his whole face, making him even more gorgeous with his rebelliously long hair and shaved half at the bottom. “This place as in the hotel or the surroundings in general?”