Chapter 21: Secrets and Lies
William and Miranda had been walking the streets of Marrakech for a while in a sort of strange silence. Strange, because Miranda wasn’t sure why he wanted her to accompany him after the awkward conversation at dinner and silent, because William had dutifully kept his gorgeous mouth shut while his mind seemed to drift towards his own private thoughts. She tried not to concern herself with what had just occurred between him and his father and just enjoy the scenery. The busy quarter they’d walked to was filled with musicians and storytellers, souks and children, yelling at them to purchase their goods. Miranda had come here hundreds of times before but for some reason, being there with William made it seem fresh and new, as if she were experiencing it for the first time again.
Even in his quiet stoicism, she could see his flickering eyes absorbing everything with enthusiasm yet holding back as if feeling any sort of joy would result in punishment. She wondered if that was a priest thing or a William thing. Either way, it made her feel sad for him that he was restraining himself from enjoying the beauty and excitement of Morocco, of traveling to a world so different from his own, restricting the emotions he was sure to feel every time the citizens prayed en masse. She wondered how he felt to see such dedication to a God he didn’t believe in. Five times a day they prayed, got on their knees in worship, no matter where they were, even if they were working they closed down shop for as long as it took to pray.
She wondered if he had that sort of dedication before he released his vows. Probably not, since Catholics and Muslims weren’t exactly something you could compare to one another…
“So, is this the part where I ask you what you’re thinking about or are there still a few more minutes that need to pass before I do?” he asked suddenly, breaking her from her thoughts.
She looked over at him, shocked that he was smiling. “I wasn’t thinking about anything.”
“Right,” he chuckled and turned around to a small kiosk in the quarter that was selling cigarettes. “Your mind is going a million miles a minute. Two please,” he said to the souk, holding up his fingers to indicate the quantity he required before craning his neck to speak to her over his shoulder. “Why don’t they sell them by the pack?”
“Because they make more money this way. And my mind is not going a million miles a minute,” she said defiantly, avoiding his eyes that had already figured her out.
He tucked the spare cigarette into his shirt pocket and placed the other in his mouth, smiling around it as he lit it.
“Besides,” she continued with a smirk, “you just got ripped off.”
His eyes grew wide as he turned around to face her. “What?”
“He just charged you four dirham for two cigarettes.”
“So?” he took a deep drag of his overpriced smoke, closing his eyes for a fraction of a second as he savored the mellow flavor.
“So? It shouldn’t have cost more than two. You have no idea how to haggle. These people thrive on it. Here, watch me.” She smiled and passed him, walking to the souk who’d just swindled her new friend. In her native tongue she said, “Two cigarettes.”
“Three dirham,” the merchant replied.
“One.”
“These are the best! Three dirham!”
“And I said one. There is a merchant two blocks from here that sells them for cheaper than you.”
“Then why don’t you go see him?” he said angrily.
William watched the exchange with a slight expression of amusement. He had no idea what they were saying, but it was growing in intensity as their volume increased.
“Or I could tell everyone that you are a rip off and that everyone should see the man down the street for cheaper tobacco.” She folded her arms and smiled at him.
“Two dirham.”
“Done,” she said happily and handed him the money, shooting a triumphant grin at William. “Here’re your cancer sticks,” she joked and slid them into his shirt pocket with the other one.
“How’d you do that?” he chuckled, falling into step beside her when she walked away from the counter.
“I told him that you would put a white curse on his family if he didn’t charge me the correct price.”
His cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth as he stared at her incredulously. “Why the bloody hell did you say that to him?”
She turned her head towards him and winked, smiling in mirth that he was so gullible.
“Ha, ha,” he said sarcastically, following her towards another kiosk in the Djemaa el Fna. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s completely funny,” she said casually as she trailed her fingers down a swatch of silk that hung from the wooden rungs on the side of a booth. “And you’re easy.”
“How was I supposed to know what you said? You were shoutin’ at him, weren’t you?”
She sighed and smiled. “I just threatened to go somewhere else. That’s all. These people get off on haggling, trust me. The angrier and more demanding you are, the more they respect you and will eventually back down. Unless your counter price is unreasonable. Ooh, these are pretty,” she said abruptly, squatting down to look at a pair of embroidered slippers. “Holy crap, these are cheap!”
“They’re a bit gaudy,” he said with a scrunched up face, exhaling another drag. “Got elephants on ‘em.”
“I happen to like elephants,” she said, pulling out her wallet to purchase them. “Hold these,” she slipped out of her heels and dangled them in the air.
“Uh, how about you hold them?” he shook his head, wanting no part of her footwear.
“Be a gentleman.”
“Fine,” he sighed and tucked them under his arm while she haggled with another merchant for a pair of shoes he was sure had more sequins and silk thread on them than was necessary.
“God, so much better,” she sighed happily, sliding her aching feet into the slippers. She relieved him of her heels and rolled her eyes, stuffing them into her purse where they awkwardly stuck out from the top. “Thank you.”
“Welcome,” he mumbled, looking around the square. “They sell coffee anywhere nearby?”
A grin slowly spread across her face. “You’ve never had coffee like this before. Follow me, kind sir.”
~*~*~*~*~
It was fascinating watching William move. He was such a quiet and almost timid person, and yet when he moved, it had a sort of anxious grace to it, hurried and frantic yet completely deliberate and poised at all times, like a swan startled by something beneath the water. Except for when he took his first sip of Moroccan coffee.
“Whoa,” he said, twisting his mouth and winking one eye as a strange combination of flavors permeated every inch of his tongue. He exhaled a steady stream of air as if he’d just bit into a chili pepper and then his whole body shuddered.
“Good, right?” Miranda smiled, taking a small sip of her hot beverage.
“Don’t know yet,” he furrowed his brow and dared another taste, his body shivering again with the same vigor as before. “This is definitely not Maxwell House.”
“No,” she giggled, “it isn’t. Can you decipher the different flavors in there?”
“Cinnamon for sure,” he said thoughtfully, taking another small sip. “But I can’t be right thinking there’s black pepper in it.”
“There is,” she smiled in surprise that he’d noticed.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Cumin, cinnamon, ground black pepper, ginger, cardamom and hot milk. And of course, coffee. Has pep to it, doesn’t it?”
“That’s an understatement. Might take some getting used to on this side of the table,” he smiled and set his cup down, folding his hands in his lap as he suddenly didn’t know what else to say. Walking was easier, because then he could avoid conversation that would assuredly lead somewhere awkward. Now that they were sitting across from one another in a café, he wasn’t so sure he could find an easy way out when the questions began. So he pretended to need another cigarette, lighting one up for a short distraction as she twisted the bulk of her long brown hair to one shoulder and tilted her head. He knew she’d start up soon.
“So, what happened to Mrs. Giles? Rupert never talks about her.”
Yup, it was inevitable. “You really have a knack for asking the exact questions I don’t want to answer.”
“Sorry,” she lowered her head as she traced the rim of her coffee mug. “I’m nosy.”
“It’s ok,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Still not answering you.”
She pouted playfully. “You’re no fun. You’re filled with all these secrets and I don’t get to know any of them.”
His tongue darted out to pull his bottom lip into his mouth and he narrowed his eyes. “Why do you want to know?”
She shrugged her shoulders and blew on her coffee to cool it some before taking another sip. “Why does anyone want to get to know anyone? It’s just human nature, William.”
“Well,” he leaned forward, flicking the ashes off his cigarette and placing one elbow on the table, “you can ask me anything. Except for personal questions, like my family or my religious exodus. How’s that?”
“So, basically…I can ask you anything that will tell me nothing about you.”
“Not so,” he cocked an eyebrow and took a long drag of his cigarette, realizing how short she was for the first time. “You can determine all sorts of things about a person from a simple question. For instance, I could ask you…where you grew up.”
“My accent didn’t give it away, huh?” she joked.
“Well, I know you’re English but you could have grown up anywhere.”
“If I answer you, you have to answer my next question,” she said cleverly.
“Fine.” He knew there wasn’t a way out of her interrogation.
“I was born in Rabat and lived there only a couple of months before my parents were disowned by my grandparents, and because of that, we then moved to Kent. I went to boarding school, Rochester, of course, and once I was ready for Uni, I decided to study my native history, which is where I met your father. The end.”
“Wait,” he raised a hand in the air. “What do you mean your grandparents disowned your parents?”
She chewed on her lip with a smile and tilted her head. “Now isn’t that interesting,” she set her coffee cup down. “You mean you can’t determine enough about me from that simple question? William, I’m surprised you would need to dig further and ask me something personal,” her tongue nestled against the inside of her cheek with rightful victory, her almond eyes twinkling with mischief.
Not wanting to give in to her so quickly he said, “Fine. Don’t want to know.”
“Oh, come on,” she rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you in the least bit curious? I’ll tell you if you tell me something personal. It doesn’t even have to be juicy.”
He snorted with a tiny smile. “All right, but I decide if the particular question you have in mind is one I’ll answer. Some things I reserve for myself and other things I might be at liberty to discuss.”
“Oh, you’re so kind, William. Thank you for gracing me, the humble and lowly one, with a fraction of your incredibly sordid and insanely interesting past, one I’m sure I’d be flabbergasted, appalled and shocked to hear.”
“You’re one sarcastic bitch, aren’t you?” he laughed.
“You haven’t seen the bulk of it. So. Here’s my story. Ready?”
“Ready.” He shifted in his seat and folded his arms over his chest, sparing a glance at his coffee that he didn’t have the heart to tell her he hated before he looked at her again.
“My grandparents are extremely old fashioned. They’re Muslim and very traditional about things, you see. However, my father, a guy you’d probably get along well with, was looking into Christianity.”
“Why would I get along with him?” he was curious as to what she’d already assessed about him, having only known him a week.
“Because he’s a prick,” she said simply.
“Hey, I’m not a prick!”
“That has yet to be determined, oh secretive one,” she smiled. “No more interruptions.”
“Saucy bint.”
“Anyway,” she giggled, “my dad was all into this New Age shit. Like crystals and finding your inner Jesus or what have you. Needless to say, Gran and Gramps weren’t too keen on it. But when my parents were baptized in secret and the old folks found out about it, to say there was a rift in the family’s pool of serenity would be the fucking understatement of the year. We were all shunned and banished, for lack of a better word. They were fucking devastated by it, but if you think about it, both parties were betrayed in a way. I was too young to care anyhow and my parents are ridiculously wealthy and happy now so who gives a fuck, right?”
“Wow,” he tilted his head and studied her silently.
“What?” she asked, suddenly uncomfortable with his odd scrutiny.
“Dunno. It’s something, though,” he nodded slowly and rubbed his chin as if he were on the cusp of one hell of a discovery.
“Ok, now you’re just trying to freak me out.”
He smiled a bit at that, glad he could make her as uncomfortable as she had made him. After years of teaching spoiled rich girls, William had learned to pick up on a few things. Like when someone was lying or withholding key elements. “It’s just…I mean, don’t get me wrong. Was a good story an’ all that. But you’re hiding something.”
One perfectly plucked black eyebrow arched challengingly even though she chewed on her lip for just a second, showing a hint of insecurity. “I’m not hiding anything.”
“In the short time I’ve known you, you’ve barely said a curse word. Not that I’m offended, mind, but I think it’s interesting that when you told me all of that you were cursing like a sailor. It’s telling, you know.”
“Maybe I just felt at ease with you,” she shrugged casually and picked up her coffee mug with both hands, holding it in front of her mouth.
“Or maybe there’s more to the story,” he said knowingly and smiled at her. “I’ll let you off this time. On account of my secrecy and what not.”
“Whatever,” her eyes darted to the opposite end of the café, notably avoiding his gaze. “So, tit for tat, right?”
“All right. Ask away.”
She grinned in excitement, wiggling a bit in her seat. “Are you a virgin?”
William immediately blushed and looked away, scratching the side of his head in a way she found extremely adorable.
“No,” he said softly, clearing his throat as he lowered his eyes.
She gasped and started giggling. “Naughty! Was she pretty? Did she totally rock your world? Oh my God, did you have sex with a nun?”
“Miranda,” he hissed, embarrassed that she was speaking so loudly. “Lower your voice!”
“Holy. Shit.” Miranda sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, shaking her head from side to side. “I can’t believe you screwed a nun.”
“I didn’t,” he clenched his jaw and tried again. “I didn’t have sex with a nun. Christ, what kind of man do you take me for?” His cheeks were burning at this point and he tried his best to reel it in but her giggling and inquisitive gaze was making it near impossible.
“I don’t know you so it’s entirely possible. It would have been hot though,” she smiled. “A priest and a nun? Fuck, that’ll last a girl a few weeks.”
William sighed through his nose as his lips tightened. As he tried to ignore her, he immediately thought about when Buffy dressed up as a nun and he grew warm for a completely different sensation. Luckily, it was enough to get him to calm down a tick. “Well, it wasn’t a nun, so you can latch onto a different fantasy, thank you.”
“So, who was it?” she finished off her coffee and realized he hadn’t touched his in a while. “Don’t waste that, you’ll insult everyone in this café.” A lie, but she wanted to see him shudder again. It really was amusing.
He reluctantly picked up his mug and took a large gulp, using all his strength not to retch at the taste of it. “That’s none of your business.”
“Oh, please? Pretty please?” she batted her eyelashes, begging him to tell her.
“It was a student,” he blurted out.
The silence that stretched between them was abrupt and long, too long, William thought. She merely sat there staring at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.
“Forget it,” he waved his hand in the air and reached for another smoke. “See? This is why I don’t like talking about myself.” God, if she’d only say something, anything!
“You had sex with a teenager.” She blinked.
He pursed his lips and scoffed, angrily lighting his cigarette. “You don’t understand and frankly, I don’t think it’s fair for you to pressure me into revealing things about myself only to pass judgment on me when I finally do say something personal.” William was starting to get angry. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut about Buffy, but he had hoped that maybe talking about it would make being away from her a little easier. He should have known better than to assume that their relationship would be easily accepted.
“I’m sorry,” she said with a deep inhalation of breath. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Hey, we all make mistakes, right?”
He slowly closed his eyes and then stood up. If it went any further, he might say a few things he’d regret later. “Yeah, we do,” he said pointedly, referring to the fact that he’d trusted her with private information and just wanting to be done with it. It was none of her business, anyway, and it wasn’t like he had to defend himself to this person who didn’t know the first thing about him. She could think what she wanted and it was no sweat off his back. “Ready to head back?”
So why did it hurt so much when she nodded and stood up, avoiding his eyes and kept a noticeable distance between the two of them as they walked back, as if she didn’t trust him? It made him feel like a letch, like he was some sort of pedophile or sexual deviant to throw stones at. Buffy was eighteen. Yeah, she was young, but she wasn’t a child and he didn’t appreciate her judgment without knowing the story. Not that she’d ever hear it now, given her initial reaction.
When they were only a few blocks from their temporary residence, she turned to him and said, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled, picking up the speed of his steps.
“William,” she pleaded, grabbing his arm to stop him. “I mean it, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”
“You reacted the way you reacted,” he shrugged. “It’s over now.”
“But I hurt your feelings and I’m a complete bitch.”
“Yeah, you are. But you’re also ignorant to the situation.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” She looked desperate at this point and he didn’t know why it was so important for her to apologize for a reaction that was honest. Yeah, it hurt his feelings but he’d get over it.
“Don’t think talking about that with you will do any good, Miranda. I know how you feel about it now. Think what you want, I don’t really care.”
She stood on the sidewalk and watched as he turned around and walked away from her. She’d finally gotten somewhere with him, finally pulled him out of his shell for a bit, only to freak out and make him think the worst of her. But really, how was a girl supposed to take that sort of admission? He was in his thirties and fucked a teenager, one of his students, no less! It sort of grossed her out at first and she wondered if he’d forced himself on the girl or if it was consensual. She’d had enough history of her own pertaining to guys who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves so she automatically assumed the worst.
But now she felt awful. He’d been a priest, a very loyal one according to his father, for years. Maybe he’d snapped. Maybe he’d been too tempted to say no.
Or maybe she should quit assuming and let him tell her when he was ready.
With a frustrated growl she stomped her slippered foot and followed after him, feeling like a complete ass.