Enemies in Embrace: Episode 6 – The Silence Before Bethlehem

 

By Julia M Cross

"His eyes—his eyes were what stopped me cold. They were dark, not just from worry but from something else—a kind of decision that told me love was about to turn into war."

The first thing I heard that morning was silence. Not the calm kind—the kind that wraps itself around your throat like a noose. The whole house felt like it was holding its breath. I sat up, blinked into the pale light spilling through the old curtains, and reached for Yousef. But he wasn’t beside me. My hand landed on nothing but a tangle of blankets that still held his warmth.

I called his name once. Quietly. No answer. My stomach tightened.

I found him in the kitchen, already dressed, staring at his phone like it might open a door to a better reality. His jaw was clenched. His hair still damp from the shower. But his eyes—his eyes were what stopped me cold. They were dark, not just from worry but from something else. A kind of decision.

“He’s staying in a hotel near the checkpoint,” he said without looking at me.

“Eliav?”

He nodded.

“How do you know?”

“Because he posted a photo this morning. Said he was visiting ‘holy sites.’ The Walled-Off Hotel was in the background. That’s five blocks from here.”

My knees weakened. I sat down on the edge of the table.

“Do you think he knows we’re here?”

Yousef finally looked at me. “I think he’s waiting for you to come to him.”

I shook my head. “No. I won’t.”

He set the phone down. “He’s not just here for revenge, Leah. He’s here because you made him bleed—and men like Eliav don’t let their scars go quiet.”

“I didn’t betray him,” I said, voice shaking. “I left.”

“You embarrassed him. That’s worse than betrayal to a man like him. Especially in uniform. Especially after the engagement party. Your parents paraded him like a war hero.”

“He’s not a hero,” I snapped.

“I know that. But the world you left? They don’t see him as anything else.”

The words hung in the air, thick with everything we didn’t want to admit. Eliav wasn’t just an ex. He was a wound the entire country had watched me open.

I wanted to cry but didn’t. Instead, I made tea—because sometimes, doing the smallest normal thing is the only way to stop yourself from falling apart. I poured it into chipped mugs and handed one to Yousef.

“What now?” I asked.

“We stay quiet. We stay inside. We wait.”

“We can’t hide forever.”

“No,” he said, “but we can hide today.”

The next few hours moved like syrup. Every sound outside made me flinch. The bark of a dog. The slam of a car door. The shout of boys kicking a soccer ball in the alley. I kept replaying the last time I saw Eliav—how his hand shook when I took off the ring. How he said nothing as I packed my suitcase. How he stood in the doorway like a monument to everything I was expected to worship.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

I didn’t want to open it, but I did.

A photo.

It was me—taken from behind—walking out of the market yesterday with a bag of oranges in my hand and a scarf wrapped around my hair.

Beneath it, a message: “We need to talk. No uniforms. No threats. Just you and me. Don’t make me come find you.”

I stared at the screen, numb.

Yousef walked over and read the message. He didn’t speak. His body stiffened like a wire pulled too tight.

“Don’t answer,” he said.

I didn’t.

But deep inside, something stirred—anger, yes. But also guilt. Not because I missed Eliav. I didn’t. But because I knew I had brought him into our world. A part of me—some quiet, foolish piece—had thought we could outrun everything. But men like Eliav didn’t live in the past. They carried it like armor.

“I want to go see him,” I said suddenly.

Yousef turned slowly. “What?”

“Not alone. Not recklessly. But I have to know what he wants. If he’s going to be a threat, I need to look him in the eye.”

“You’re not a soldier, Leah.”

“No. I’m a woman who deserves peace. I can’t live looking over my shoulder.”

He paced the room once, twice. Then stopped. “Then I’ll go with you.”

“No,” I said. “If he sees you, he might react.”

“I don’t care.”

“But I do.”

He stared at me for a long time. Then he nodded. “Fine. But not today. Let me talk to my cousin first. He knows some people in town who can watch his movements.”

“Like spies?”

“Like friends who’ve survived worse.”

He left that evening to meet his cousin at a small café near the church. I stayed behind, staring at the orange photo still glowing on my phone screen.

When he returned, his face was flushed with cold and worry.

“He’s not alone,” he said. “He’s meeting with someone. Possibly a journalist. Possibly an officer.”

My stomach dropped. “Why would he do that?”

“To make noise. To be seen.”

“Why?”

Yousef sat down beside me. “Because your disappearance hurt more than just his pride. It made him look weak. A captain who lost his bride to a Palestinian? That’s not just gossip—it’s scandal. He’s here to rewrite the story.”

“So what do we do?”

Yousef leaned in, voice low. “We take control of it.”

That night, I dreamed I was back in Miami, by the Fontainebleau pool. But instead of water, the pool was filled with soldiers. Their guns pointed at the sky, and Eliav stood in the center, holding a rose. When I reached for it, it turned into a knife.

I woke up drenched in sweat.

The next morning, I wrote him back.

“Tomorrow. Noon. Church of the Nativity courtyard. Alone.”

He responded in two words: “I’ll be there.”

Yousef wasn’t happy, but he didn’t stop me. He gave me a burner phone, wrapped me in a coat two sizes too big, and kissed me on the forehead.

“If anything feels wrong, you run. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

I walked through Bethlehem like a ghost—every step familiar, yet foreign. The church loomed ahead, quiet under the morning sun. Tourists milled around the edges, snapping pictures. A nun fed pigeons on the steps.

And then I saw him.

Eliav.

Same sharp jaw. Same cropped hair. But his eyes—they were darker. Not just angry. Wounded.

He didn’t smile when he saw me.

“I came alone,” I said.

He nodded. “So did I.”

We stood facing each other in silence, two people tied together by a history we both wanted to burn.

“You look… different,” he finally said.

“I am.”

“You ran away.”

“I left.”

“For him?”

“For myself.”

He didn’t flinch.

“Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

He exhaled. “Then I guess there’s nothing left to say.”

But he didn’t leave.

I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you here, Eliav? Really.”

He looked past me, at the old stone church, at the people. Then back at me.

“Because someday, your name’s going to come up. In a file. On a list. Someone’s going to ask where you went, and I’m not going to lie. I’m not here to kill you, Leah. I’m here to remember you.”

“That’s not your right.”

“I loved you.”

“And I don’t owe you for that.”

His jaw tightened. “No. You just owe me the truth. Why him?”

“Because he saw me. Not who I was raised to be. Not who they wanted me to be. Just me.”

He looked down. “I never stood a chance, did I?”

“No.”

He nodded once. Then turned and walked away.

I stood there long after he was gone.

And when I finally returned to Yousef, I held him like he was the only thing real in a world full of shifting shadows.

He asked, “What did he say?”

“That he’s not coming after us.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I believe he doesn’t know how.”

We didn’t speak again that day.

But that night, we made love like survivors. Desperate. Quiet. Holy.

And outside, Bethlehem slept, unaware of the battle that had just ended—without a single gunshot.

 

 

From the romance series by Julia M Cross. Next episode releases Monday at 8 PM.