Chapter Seven
Both Liliana and Rafiq hated that morning.
‘We’ll say goodbye here,’ Rafiq had told her.
His hair was wet from the shower, and his suit was as divine as it had been on first sight. Apart from being unshaven he looked as together as he had when they’d first met.
‘You’re better at this than me,’ Liliana said as she sat up in bed and a couple of tears escaped when she’d sworn she wouldn’t cry. Of course he was better at this than her; after all he chose not to have relationships or entanglements.
She’d known that when she’d asked him to take her to bed. Only she hadn’t known then just how badly it would hurt watching him pull on his coat and knowing this was a forever goodbye.
‘Call down to reception when you’re ready for the driver.’
‘I will.’
‘Have him take you home.’
‘I’ll get the tube.’
‘Let me do this for you. If I wasn’t getting a plane, I’d ensure you got home.’
‘Okay.’
‘And no crying,’ he said. ‘Have a sleep instead.’
‘I might do that.’ She attempted a smile. ‘Who are you flying with? I can see when you take off…’ She pulled a face. ‘That sounds a bit stalkerish.’
‘Tracking my flight?’ He smiled as he came over for a final kiss goodbye. ‘It does a bit.’
His kiss was light, not like the deeply intimate ones they’d shared last night. And it had to be that, because despite appearances, Rafiq was struggling not to reach for his phone. With one call he could delay his flight, shrug off his coat and climb back into bed.
But instead of doing that he brushed her lips with his and tried not to notice how naked and warm and willing she was.
So willing. His light kiss wasn’t enough. Liliana wanted more and so she rose up onto her knees and her arms lifted to reach for him, but he abruptly lifted his head.
It felt as if she’d been slightly told off or rather warned to stay back.
But then he relented and, lowering his head, his mouth found hers again. His kiss soft and deep, then wet and warm…and her hands were back up and holding his head and she was a touch breathless when he released her.
‘I’ll go.’
‘Yes.’
She kept in the tears, and even managed a little wave as he left and he was proud of her for doing so, because this goodbye had been hard.
Once out the door he leaned against the wall for a moment. ‘La’nat, la’nat…’ he cussed at his own weakness. Even away from her, with a solid door between them, he was fighting not to go back.
The taste of her kiss was still on his lips but he wiped it off with the back of his hand then took the stairs down. And in case she was watching, he refused to look up or back as he walked to the waiting vehicle.
Salar’s face was grim, given the man he should be guarding had been out all night.
‘Sir,’ he greeted, holding the car door open.
And when they were in the car.
‘Sir, if you can please just let me know…’
His voice faded as Rafiq closed the privacy screen.
Back to his self.
His bastard self.
‘I am sorry to hear about your brother,’ Balach said. ‘Peace be upon him.’
The other worst day of his life.
Had it been any of the other guards Rafiq would have spat—they had killed Khalid after all—but he knew the sympathy that Balach offered was genuine.
Balach was a good man.
And of course, Rafiq knew that with Khalid dead it was more imperative than ever that he got out.
His body was wasting away, his soul crushed with loss and bewildered at his brother’s betrayal, but he pushed all thought of that aside and focused on what he must.
Balach had been quiet these past weeks.
Later he had started his dinner, but it was just bread and the scents were not as tantalising, even to a starving man.
There was something wrong at home, Rafiq was sure.
As the night crept on, Rafiq looked over at the hunched figure, scooping sand and running it through his hand, and knew something was deeply troubling Balach.
‘How’s your baby?’
Balach did not respond.
‘Your daughter, she must be eight weeks old now…’
Still Balach said nothing.
‘Your wife must miss you on these long nights,’ Rafiq said a while later, willing Balach to respond, and to find out what was wrong.
‘She is worried.’ Balach had turned his head slightly.
‘Oh.’
‘The baby is not well.’
‘I am so sorry to hear that.’
Balach had nodded.
‘Is it serious?’
‘Her heart…’ Balach said. ‘She needs surgery.’
‘There is a lot that can be done these days.’
‘For you perhaps…’ Balach sneered.
Liliana had entered so willingly into one night.
So why did her heart ache with grief as she kissed him goodbye forever?
And why did her mind silently scream when the promised car took her to her door?
And why had she been so angry when a few days later a woman had arrived with a case? Liliana, her eyes swollen from crying had been about to close the door on the elegant woman, but she had said she was here on behalf of Rafiq.
Liliana had been offered to select a gift, and she stared at the baubles and any one of them might solve every problem, her financial ones at least, but her mouth had twisted in distaste.
‘Tell Rafiq—I am insulted.’
So insulted.
It had been nice to huff and puff and stay angry for a couple more weeks but then there had been another knock on the door to her little flat and she had a delivery.
A massive delivery. Two men carried in ream after ream of fabric, all covered in a protective layer of muslin, and she showed them to her study.
And this gift was not an insult…
Velvets, silks, damasks and cashmere, in soft colours and golden sheens, and she even gasped when her fingers brushed vicuna, the most coveted of fabrics, the very softest of wools.
The tears fell then for she knew what this meant. She could start to build her own business. Only she knelt on the floor and wept on silk, hating that the future he was helping her with would be without him.
Three months later
As Liliana herself had predicted, all too soon the skies were blue and the dress was pink.
A very pale blush pink in the softest organza, the hand-stitched pleats brought out a little more bust than she’d thought she had. The skirt fell in more soft pleats, and usually she’d be beyond excited and twirling in the mirror, but nothing felt quite as good as it had before Rafiq…
It had been three months since they had shared the night and her heart still ached as if it were yesterday.
‘Gordon and James are going to keep an eye,’ Margo told her as they sat at dressing tables and touched up their make-up in the ladies’ rooms. ‘If Simon makes an approach, one of them will drag you off to dance, or I’ll dash you off back here.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Liliana said, but even if the Simon problem had shrunk in proportion since losing Rafiq, it was nice that she had colleagues looking out for her. ‘Thanks though.’
‘It’s a shame he couldn’t be here,’ Margo added.
‘Who?’
‘Oh, I would love to know who.’ Margo smiled. ‘One day you’ll tell me.’
Liliana doubted it.
She didn’t even know how to explain that magical night to herself. How she’d simply lost herself to Rafiq, how she’d told him things she’d never shared with another, how they’d met and a mere matter of hours later she’d asked him to take her to bed.
How did she convey that the hours with him had been the happiest of her life, as if somehow their souls had recognised each other?
If she ever told someone and then added that he’d tried to pay her in precious gemstones they’d think she’d simply been bought.
She must have stood up a little too abruptly, because she felt the teeniest bit dizzy and had to hold on to the dressing table for a moment.
‘You’re fine,’ she scolded herself, deciding she hadn’t eaten enough in the excitement of getting ready for the ball.
Only she didn’t feel excited.
She was starting to get seriously worried, and telling herself there was no need to be. After all he had used protection as they’d made love over and over that night.
It was just something she’d been expecting still hadn’t happened.
And her breasts were definitely bigger.
The drinks were flowing and not for the first time in recent weeks, she declined.
And then near the end of the night, when she’d ducked and dived to avoid Simon, she was too busy daydreaming about Rafiq and worrying about late periods to notice that the dreaded moment had arrived.
‘Watch out,’ Margo warned as Simon made his way over, but the warning came too late for Margo to whisk her off or Liliana to subtly disappear.
‘Lili? Finally. Would you…?’
She knew what was coming—of course she did—and she even had her emergency line ready: Rafiq would not like it.
But when she thought of that deeply intimate moment, her body beneath him, the snap of possession in his voice, she knew she would not be able to say those words without weeping.
And she wasn’t going to share any of that precious night with anyone. Certainly not Simon.
‘I…’
That was all she managed to get out, for if she’d felt a little dizzy before, she felt as if she was on a carousel as Rafiq called out her name.
‘Liliana.’
The chandeliers must have exploded, or something just as spectacular, because her mind was struggling to process what was happening when she heard Rafiq’s beautiful deep voice.
‘I’m unforgivably late.’
He didn’t kiss her but as he joined her at her side, he slid his hand around her waist and looked at Simon, who simply shrivelled and stepped back.
‘Rafiq.’ She almost drooped in relief that he was near again, and with a slight stumble was straight to his arms, and he took her to the dance floor.
‘I never dreamed…’ She was almost crying.
‘I know.’
Rafiq did know.
God knows he had done all he could to stay away, but her refusal of his first gift, the acceptance of the second, the endless thoughts of her…
Yara had been right to warn him; the pressure for them to marry was intensifying. And though Rafiq was standing his ground, he knew the demands would not relent.
This morning, he had woken with dread…
His life really was a succession of anniversaries.
Today was the national day of mourning for Khalid.