Kamar wasn’t sure how he’d gone from arguing with Mikhail about Kofi to walking about Zhebair’s capital with the man in question. Sneaking glances under his black lashes at Kofi, he studied his stoic side profile.

Kofi held himself tall in his black robe, his gaze staring straight ahead, eyes never wandering to acknowledge the curious market-goers peering at them. Kamar hadn’t thought he felt more self-conscious before in the market.

It wasn’t like the Prime Minister allowed himself to stroll the city without an armored car and a slew of bodyguards. As Khalid the clerk, Kamar found in plain clothes he gained the gift of anonymity. The revolution had given him a reason to lead his double life.

A double life that was dangerously close to clashing…and, no, he wasn’t thinking of Mikhail’s signs of obvious jealousy toward Kofi. Not entirely.

“I was hoping I could convince you to re-think my party,” Kofi said, breaking their silence.

When Ali had fetched Kamar from behind the stall, Kofi hadn’t mentioned the party. All he said was he wanted to talk to Kamar, and if he’d consider walking with him for a bit. He had bought some fruit from Ali, too. The plastic bag dangled in his hand by his side.

Kamar agreed, if only because he didn’t want to head back into the stall to tell Mikhail who showed up as a freaky coincidence. A little embarrassed of his curiosity of what Kofi wanted to say in private, Kamar figured he’d go and come back to report to Mikhail later. That way he’d save himself making two excuses.

Of course the housewarming party was on Kofi’s mind.

“I know you only found out this morning, but I couldn’t say what I wanted in front of your father.” Kofi’s confession paused Kamar. Kofi halted as well. They faced each other, allowing the crowd to ebb and flow past them.

Trying to keep a level head and an open mind, Kamar asked, “What did you want to say?”

“It’d mean a lot for you to come, and I’m interested in getting to know you more,” Kofi said, his lips curving into that quasi-smile. Rather than softening his face, the gesture sharpened his eyes. It had Kamar wondering what Kofi might do if he rejected his invitation.

It also had Kamar wanting to do the exact opposite.

Instead of giving an affirmative or negative response, Kamar nodded. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll keep that in mind when I make my decision.”

Kofi’s smile disappeared, his light brown eyes brighter in the warmth of the sun. Odd that Kamar felt a shudder ripple through him the longer he stared at the vice-chair of defense. The man had a weird way of making him feel both welcome and unwelcome. It was disconcerting, and Kamar grew flustered.

Walking forward again, he felt Kofi falling into step with him.

“I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position.”

“You didn’t. I mean, you’re not.” Kamar peered up at him, noting Kofi was about the same height as Mikhail. That never boded well for his confidence. He realized that Kofi had given him ammo.

For whatever reason, Kamar believed that Kofi truly wanted him present for his housewarming get-together. He wasn’t twisting Kamar’s arm to go. With his muscles, Kamar figured he could probably do it too–force him to go, that is.

Intrigued by where Kofi came from, and desperate for a topic change, Kamar asked, “Where are you from?”

“Djanna,” Kofi said without hesitation. His mouth kicked up at the corners, but Kamar blinked, and it was gone again. Nothing new there; luckily Kofi’s reply was interesting.

“Djanna,” Kamar repeated.

Kofi nodded, his stare remaining affixed on a point far out in front of them. “My mother was from Djanna, and my father was originally from Zhebair. They met when my father travelled to Djanna for business. He was a merchant.”

Kamar couldn’t help but think about his own merchant…or stop the panging ache of longing in his chest. They had argued, and the distance was beginning to remind Kamar how silly he’d been. Making a mental note to apologize to Mikhail later, and kiss him soundly so he couldn’t hold any doubt who Kamar cared for, he tuned into Kofi’s story fully.

“…was the bravest, most beautiful, sainted woman I knew. The cancer took her, and then we packed up, my father and I, and we moved back here. A couple years later I’d completed school and I went abroad for study. I’ve been abroad since then, only returning a year ago to bury my late father.”

That made sense.

It explained a whole lot, like why the Prime Minister hadn’t jumped on matchmaking Kamar with Kofi earlier.

“I lost my mother, too,” Kamar said. It had popped out of his mouth. Something about commiserating with Kofi, and though his monotonous expression hadn’t faltered as he lauded his deceased parents, Kamar’s heart still moved for him in sorrow of a similar loss.

“I was young,” Kamar explained. “But I remember bits and pieces of the type of person she was and how she acted towards others, and I know I would have been proud to call her my mother.”

“I feel the same.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence.

“When’s the party again?” Kamar had left the invitation at home, in the kitchen, on top of a pile of junk mail he’d collected from dining in the capital in his clerk disguise. He’d been positive that’s what it was, junk he’d eventually throw out.

“Two evenings from today, and I’m aware it’s short notice. That’s why I’ve been going around in person. And why I need RSVPs to be clear, so I’m not arranging extra plate sets for a guest that won’t be there.” Kofi’s gaze pierced through him, and Kamar pushed down the creeping anxiety from being stared at so earnestly.

“Before I came to fetch you at the stall, I’d stopped by General Ishmael’s house to deliver his invitation. We got around to mentioning you, and I asked after your whereabouts, and he’d mentioned the fruit stall.” Kofi’s pause was punctuated by his laser gaze. “The General also mentioned your being close to the merchant who owns the stall.”

Kamar swallowed, his eyes shifting from Kofi. This conversation happened to be veering exactly where he hoped it wouldn’t. Kofi finding out about Mikhail and vice versa couldn’t spell anything but disaster.

“I’ll go,” Kamar blurted. Smoothing out his features, and afraid he wouldn’t come off sincerely, he said with more pep than he certainly felt, “I’d be happy to accept your party invitation.”

Kofi stared for a long beat, and then his lips lifted skywards at the corners…before his expression moved back to bland stoicism. Truthfully it was all very not reassuring, considering Kofi had seemed desperate to get Kamar to accept. Now that he had, the fanfare fell as flat as the man’s smiles.