The next morning, Aïcha woke up to an empty bed. Tom had left very early for a day trip to Hever Castle, a little more than an hour outside of London. She smiled as she remembered the note she slipped into his trousers, hoping he would find it eventually before coming back in the evening.
Tom had a shooting and an interview scheduled with Vanessa, all part of promoting their upcoming movie. He had told Aïcha about this. He had also told her his co-star was going to attend the summer party on Saturday.
His co-star and ex-lover.
What she had suspected had been true. Tom had eventually told Aïcha about his past romance with Vanessa and that he had slept with her - once - while they were filming in Morocco. But Aïcha hadn't held any of this against Tom, and she had told him that.
What she hadn't told him was that she was not looking forward to seeing her in the flesh interacting with Tom. She had seen her once at Casablanca airport, although from a distance. A one-time that had been more than enough. She had looked unapproachable, inaccessible to the world around her, eyes only on Tom.
The office was still closed when Aïcha arrived at work before everyone else. She showed her badge to the security guard who opened the door for her then headed straight to her workstation not losing a second, planning to leave work earlier than usual. She wanted to surprise Tom with a Moroccan tajine for dinner and needed supplies that could only be found on Edgware road.
An hour later, as the office leapt into life, Aïcha felt like crawling out of her skin. She blinked a few times and cursed under her breath as she clicked on yet another link and scrolled past miles and miles of pictures of Vanessa and Tom on movie sets and red carpets and premieres, walking down the street, strolling in a park, having dinner at a restaurant. She clicked through old and more recent pictures of them together in Marrakech, Florence, London, Paris ...
She leaned back in her seat and let out a long shaky breath. The damn little gremlins. She had let them take over in her head. Look how pretty she is. Look how tall and slender she is. Look how graceful she is! Did you see how Tom looks at her? How he holds her hand?
Aïcha closed down the dozens of browser tabs and pop-up screens, locked her laptop computer and went to the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, she wet her hands and rubbed cold water on her face and neck.
Enough.
She was a grown ass woman and didn't have time for jealousy over some Hollywood star taking over the wheels of her life. There were way more pressing matters to attend to.
In the early evening, as the sun set softly over the city, Aïcha climbed to the top of Primrose Hill. She put down her computer bag and groceries and sat on one of the benches enjoying the light breeze and the smell of warm summer grass.
Tom had called in the afternoon after he had found her surprise note. They were running a little late, but he would definitely be there for dinner, he had said. He couldn't wait to be back home.
Aïcha smiled recalling the phone call, his voice deep and warm. Even hundreds of miles apart, Tom always found the right words to make her feel like she was the only one in the world he cared about. She called her daughter and her parents and sat there until the night began to cast its shadow.
It wasn't before eleven that Tom stepped into his house. He had planned on being back earlier but that was not counting Vanessa insisting on taking the ride with him back to the city. She was staying in West London where he had to drop her first and politely, but firmly, decline one last drink in her hotel room.
Tom was tired but a sense of peace radiated from his body as soon he opened the door. "Aïcha?" he called out. No one answered. Leaving his jacket on the nearest chair, he entered the living room and found Aïcha sleeping on the couch, her dress tangled between her legs. He sat on the coffee table watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and for a while, he was quiet.
Lightly snoring, she sighed in her sleep as she turned on her side, her hair now covering her face. He reached out to push a wisp of it from her eyes, tucking it softly behind her ear. And then she opened her eyes. "Hey, you're back." Her whole face lightened up with her smile. Her hand reached out and softly run along his scruffy jawline.
And he knew.
It didn't make sense that of all the women he had dated, Aïcha was the one he wanted. She didn't want anything to do with his world, she had a life of her own, with a kid to take care of. She was three years older than him, lived in another country. They didn't share the same education or culture, hadn't watched the same cartoons or movies when they were little, hadn't read the same books, hadn't celebrated the same holidays.
But it didn't matter.
It didn't matter because he was falling in love with her. He was falling in love with her grace and fierceness. With her kindness and courage. With the little dimple just at the corner of her mouth that came out every time she smiled. With the small mole on the top of her left breast. With her laugh, her touch. With the way she looked at him, with the way she said his name and the way her face couldn't hide any of the emotions she felt.
His hand landed softly on her thigh, running up and down.
She cleared her throat as she sat on the sofa, rubbing her eyes. "How was your day?"
"Very long, but glad to be back." He kissed her lightly on the lips and added, "It smells good in here."
"Oh yes, I made us a lamb and apricot tajine for dinner. Surprise!"
Tom smiled as he helped her stand up.
"So, the table is ready, but I need to heat the tajine. Can you take care of the drinks, please?" Aïcha asked.
Dinner was exquisite. The mixture of lamb, apricot and spices melted in his mouth as he savoured each bite. She really was a good cook, Tom told her as he helped himself to a second serving, much to Aïcha's delight. She took great pride in her Arab heritage and cooking was a big part of it. And there was no bigger compliment than a second helping.
They continued their conversation as they cleaned the kitchen and headed upstairs, both exhausted on this very late Friday evening. As Tom started to undress, he turned around and watched Aïcha already changing into her pyjamas. He found it amusing as he had every intention of taking them off her the moment she would finish.
He looked at her, her hands following a rehearsed ritual, oblivious to everything around her. Movements so precise, yet so sensual. How she absent-mindedly caressed her arms while adjusting the straps of her tank top. How she bent down retrieving his own pyjama bottoms she had unilaterally claimed her own. How she brushed her hair and examined her own face in the mirror, narrowing her eyes at something only she could think of as an imperfection.
He spotted her camera on the nightstand and took it in his hands. He was no photographer, but he was deeply moved to see her in his dimly lit bedroom. He pressed the shutter button and pressed some more, long after she finally turned around, looking quizzically at him.
But he didn't stop.
He continued to press the shutter button, turning around her, facing her, and capturing little bits and pieces of her. She stood there, slightly embarrassed before a Mona Lisa smile chased the shy one, her eyes following his every movement, her hand silently reaching out for his.
Tom laid the camera back on the nightstand, pulled Aïcha into his arms and kissed her. Tenderly. Passionately. He closed his eyes and sighed of contentment as Aïcha fiddled with the buttons on his shirt, slipping them open. He sucked in a breath as she touched his chest, her fingers following a downward path.
Tom stopped her hand from moving further, his fingers circling her wrist like a burning bracelet, and placed it over his heart. She could feel it drumming under her touch. "Look at me Aïcha," he finally said. She shuddered at his words and when she looked at him, her eyes met the most intense set of blue eyes she had ever seen.
"Today, all I did is think about you. I couldn't wait to be home and see you." He bent closer and whispered as her skin prickled under his warm breath, "I want you Aïch. I want you more than I've ever wanted another woman."
She didn't answer. Not right away, trying to swallow the lump she felt in her throat. Her eyes glistened as his words touched her very heart. She knew he wasn't only talking about being with her in bed, being in her. His words went beyond all that, tugging at the string of that invisible yet growingly strong connection she felt was there between them.
Tom furrowed his brows as Aïcha remained silent. Maybe he hadn't said the right words, maybe they didn't carry enough weight. So he wanted to say them again, and again, differently or not, until she believed him. "Aïcha, I –"
Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him fully on the lips and buried her head in his neck. "Tom, I want you too. All of you." She felt her feet leaving the ground as he pushed her gently on the bed.
* * * * *
Several hours later, Tom and Aïcha lay in bed. He listened to the quiet of the house, to Aïcha's soft and regular breathing. Heat radiated from her soft body as his chest pressed against her back, his arm lazily draped around her waist. She was peacefully asleep oblivious to the swirl of emotions and thoughts in his head.
Tom wasn't sure of much, but there was one thing he was sure of.
He was tired of waiting.
He had always been waiting for someone, something. For his parents to pick him up when he was a kid from boarding school on weekends.
For a call for an audition. For callbacks.
For a plane to catch.
For a movie set to be ready for his scene.
For his work to gain the recognition he craved.
He had been waiting too much and too long.
And through all that waiting, he lost sight of what life really was about. Having someone to connect with, to come home to.
He wanted that with Aïcha. She made him want different things, things he never wanted before.
He didn't want to wait to see her the next time they could, between two projects, hiding in a hotel room or in his house.
He didn't want to wait anymore.
Once he admitted that to himself, he knew the most difficult part was yet to come. He needed to find the right words, and the right time, to let her know how he really felt without scaring her away.