Right after Khabib had left, I fell into a horrible, restless sleep. Sleep patch by sleep patch, awake hour by awake hour, I constructed my plan, and the first thing I needed to do was go see my mom. So, Saturday morning, after the strongest coffee I could make, and a banana to get me going, I went over there.

Being in her claustrophobic box of an apartment, however, with her half-knowing look and waiting silence, was harder than I’d anticipated. I sat there, silent, playing with the marshmallows in my hot chocolate, until she finally said it.

“Lucy. Tell me.”

My “What do you mean?” was even less convincing than I could’ve hoped. Yes, Mom looked at me with those blue eyes, piercing even behind her cloudy spectacles. She wheeled her chair over so her intense gaze was drilling right into me. I sighed.

“Okay, so you know that new job?”

“Yeah?”

“How I’m Khabib’s personal assistant.”

“Yes.”

“Well, Khabib’s parents, they’re worried about him. He parties a lot, and they wanted me to dissuade him from the wild life he’s been living. They’ve been having me spy on him and report back to them.”

Mom was shaking her grey head, but I wasn’t finished yet.

“And that’s not all.”

Her gaze shot back up to mine, and I felt my heart plummet. This wasn’t going to be easy— admitting just how much I’d strayed from the honest, sensible girl she’d raised me as.

“Khabib and I, we’ve been…seeing each other.”

Her blue eyes narrowed.

“Seeing.”

“Going on dates…and…yes, Mom, sleeping with each other.”

My mom’s head bowed a little.

“So, you’ve been spying on your boss, and sleeping with him.”

My head hung sadly, my gaze turned away; I couldn’t look at her. Not now.

“And this Khabib, he’s all fun and no seriousness, eh?”

I shook my head.

“He really cares about me, Mom. He wants to introduce me to his parents as his girlfriend. He’s changed his lifestyle since we’ve started seeing each other.”

When I chanced a look up at her, she didn’t look as angry as I’d feared. She pursed her lips.

“That part I understand. What I do not understand, however, is this agreeing to spy on him in the first place.”

“They threatened to fire me—I’m under contract to Khabib’s father, Ra’id, not Khabib.”

“And so what if they did? You could find another job, maybe not as good a one, but still.”

Her gaze on me had once again become piercing.

“Lucy?”

“Well, we need the money.”

After my quiet voice, hers seemed extra-loud.

“We need the money, do we?” Her voice went quiet again, and she took my hand. “My dear Lucy, do you mean to tell me that you’ve been engaging in this spying nonsense all for me?”

“Well…kind of, yeah.”

She smacked my hand lightly, then drew me into a hug.

“Silly girl. Oh, my silly, generous sop of a daughter. You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I know, I just couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to support you properly.”

“Stop worrying about me so much. I’ll always be able to manage.”

She tightened the hug, and we stayed there for a few minutes. I was breathing freely for the first time in what seemed like weeks. Finally, finally, I had told someone. Thank goodness.

Releasing me, Mom gave me a soft pat on the hand.

“Well, you know what this means, then.”

“Huh?”

Now, she was smiling at me.

“You know why you came here.”

“No, I…”

“Yes, you do.”

And suddenly, I did.

“I have to tell them.”

She nodded.

“I have to tell Ra’id as soon as I can. That it’s over. That he can fire me if he wants to, but I can’t spy on my boss—and certainly not the man that I love—for a second longer.”

Mom squeezed my hand.

“That’s my girl.”

* * *

The actual telling part, however, did not go as smoothly as planned.

“No,” Ra’id said flatly.

I glared at the image of him on my phone’s screen.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

I had rehearsed what I was going to say, and Ra’id’s possible reactions, anticipating many different scenarios. None, however, involved the simple word ‘no’. No explanation, no compromise, just ‘no’—plain and simple.

“Your job will be done soon enough; we have a trip planned soon, in a few weeks. You can finish then.”

“But I told you, I can’t keep doing this. The guilt is too much for me.”

“And I heard you. But you will have to continue working for us for the time being.”

“I don’t know if I can do this, then.”

Ra’id’s face darkened.

“A week, then. One week more—that’s all we’ll ask of you. Then you can continue your job as a PA without having to report to us.”

I exhaled, all the fight I’d built up over the last few hours sliding out of me easily.

“Okay.”

“Is everything all right?”

At Ra’id’s question, I glanced up to see that the man actually looked as concerned as he had sounded. Once again, the truth was bubbling up in me, threatening to spill out. So, instead of lying, I cited a different truth.

“Oh, yes. It’s just this party I’ve been planning for Ra’id’s 30^th birthday next weekend…it’s been a lot more work than I bargained for. Caterers, guests, decorations—it seems every day I’m fielding calls from someone who’s confused or has messed up.”

Ra’id nodded.

“I’m sorry to hear that. And thank you for all you’ve done for our son. When we do finally explain the situation to him, whenever it is, he will come to thank you, too, to see that you also had his best interests at heart.”

To my half-hearted nod, Ra’id waved.

“Goodbye, Lucy.”

Even after the video call was over, I glared miserably at my phone’s screen. If Ra’id knew the truth, something told me he wouldn’t have said that. If he had any idea of the truth at all, he would know that thanking me was the last thing Khabib would do.