Chapter Nine #4
Liliana herself had lived the agony of that.
She sat up in the bath, anxious because these thoughts of a baby, their baby, were making it feel real.
And she could not afford to think like that here.
Wrapping a hammam towel around herself, she went out to get dressed, then cursed herself for rinsing her bra and knickers out. She didn’t have many options but she’d be damned if she was wearing that red velvet gown, and instead pulled on the muslin nightdress.
She reached for a shawl from the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders and headed out.
Stepping into the lounge, she walked to the screened area and there was Rafiq, dressed exquisitely in a silver robe, the evening shadow on his jaw, far darker than one day’s worth, but beautifully trimmed. He really had dressed for dinner and looked every inch the crown prince he was.
‘I was right,’ Rafiq said as she lowered herself onto a cushion opposite him. ‘You look beautiful whatever you wear.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I shall just say this and leave it there,’ Rafiq told her.
‘Go ahead.’
‘Your nightdress is see-through when you stand.’
‘Thank you for letting me know.’
‘Of course.’
She really was completely underdressed because this meal truly was an occasion, though perhaps Rafiq ate like this all the time.
The mezze was served on a copper-and-ceramic dish and Rafiq spoke her through the delicacies.
There were pillowy flatbreads and she helped herself to some baba ganoush with pomegranate seeds, and a dolma, then her hand hovered over a small pastry.
‘Fateyah,’ Rafiq explained. ‘Filled with labneh.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A cheese, very creamy.’
Were pregnant women allowed to eat cheese? She pulled her hand away and had another dolma instead.
At first, she wouldn’t meet his eyes.
But even mildly arguing, for Rafiq there was more real conversation at this table than there had been anywhere else in his life.
And even mildly arguing there was the odd smile and the meeting of eyes, and a togetherness, even if they sat apart and were both a little cross or frustrated or whatever this latest emotion that had surfaced was.
There was this bittersweet feeling, a certain warmth, even if they bristled a touch. Togetherness, for there was a slight smile of thanks from her as he served her the main course—grilled quail with saffron.
‘Try the sumac salad,’ he suggested, and she nodded.
‘Thanks.’
He topped up her drink.
Addressed it. ‘I’ve offended you.’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘You seem to think we can resume things, be together again, yet you offer less than you did that night. In fact, you regret telling me the things you did.’
‘That night was an exception,’ Rafiq said. ‘That night I wasn’t a crown prince.’
She frowned.
‘That night…’ They had both shed their skins, and he did not know how best to say that. ‘Boundaries were crossed. We were anonymous then.’
‘But we weren’t,’ she refuted. ‘I showed you exactly who I was—I told you I didn’t know how to hide when I was with you. How is that anonymous, Rafiq?’
He could be cruel; she was about to find out.
‘It was a hook-up.’ He looked right at her as he said it. ‘I put on a persona.’
Perhaps he expected her to gasp, or burst into tears, but even with her lack of experience, Liliana knew it had been far more than that.
‘So do you tell all your hook-ups about Khalid betraying you?’
‘Leave it.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m curious.’ She leaned forward, the shawl sliding from her shoulders as they met face to face. ‘Do you give all your lovers a little snippet? If we all met up, could we join up the story of your life?’
He met her angry gaze, his beautiful mouth a little surly as she won this argument.
Not that he would admit it.
‘Liliana, maybe in time I might…’ He shrugged.
‘We don’t have time, Rafiq,’ she told him. ‘I have a life. I need to be back at work.’
He fixed her with his glare, the one that could stop asteroids, except she reached for her goblet and took a sip, then angrily put it down.
‘Okay, maybe I was insensitive about Khalid, but do you know what I don’t get? The bit I can’t work out—why are you so beholden to Yara?’
‘I am not beholden.’
‘Rubbish,’ she snapped. ‘Her uncle kept you a prisoner, her country is responsible for the death of your brother, you have every reason to refuse this marriage.’ Hot tears were spilling down her cheeks, but they didn’t embarrass her because they were angry ones.
Tears of pure fury. ‘I can only assume that you do actually love her and I am being fed more lies.’
‘No. Yara has her career. I don’t want to be tied to anyone, and politically it makes sense.’
‘Politically.’ She made a scoffing noise.
‘It matters,’ he responded. ‘You have this romantic notion about marriage, when it is more a business transaction. That is why the edicts allow for lovers. They protect the wife. That is why we got in trouble—we were seen in public twice.’
‘That’s forbidden?’
‘Strictly.’
‘So, we couldn’t be seen out.’ Her lips moved into an incredulous, utterly mirthless smile. ‘Or would I be passed off as one of your staff.’
‘We would never be seen together.’
Wow.
He did not mince words.
‘I shan’t be showering Yara with affection, believe me. I offer you everything except one day being queen.’
‘No, you offer me a life of being second, of being the other family, of watching you with your chosen one.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t want love.’ She could see it. ‘You don’t want it from Yara, from me, from anyone.’
‘Correct,’ he said, ‘I don’t.’