Chapter Nine #3
Kalila coughed, so he offered her an even wider smile. She was being uncharacteristically subdued, and he so badly wanted to see who Kalila Darwish was outside of her well-tailored suits and fluffy wig. If only she’d trust him enough to—
In a sudden motion, she placed her teacup on the table and asked, “How have you been liking the lecture series?”
Was she baiting him?
“Oh, I’ve been enjoying it immensely,” he replied. “And yourself?”
“I—” She caught herself with startling speed and cleared her throat.
“Ah, apologies,” he said. “I meant to ask if you knew how Rafiq was enjoying it.”
She scowled at him. “He’s enjoying it well enough.”
“Feels ever closer to publishing his paper, I’m sure.”
“As he should,” she shot back.
“I’m sure we all can’t wait to see Dameer’s work appear in the journal,” Caroline interrupted, placing her own teacup down with an audible, unladylike clink.
“Indeed,” Oliver agreed, eyes never leaving Kalila’s. “I’m eager to read the finished product so that I might finally understand Rafiq’s genius.”
She kept her face blank, any surprise she felt ghosting across her features in an almost imperceptible flash.
“Goodness,” Amelia said. “I didn’t know you thought of Dameer’s work as genius.”
“It is genius,” Caroline put in. “Well. I’ve never read it, but I am quite sure all the same.”
“What do you think, Miss Darwish?” Oliver asked.
“I think it has merit,” Kalila said after a long pause, echoing the words he had used that night outside of the Duck.
“When it is published, we shall throw a massive ball and invite everyone we know to celebrate,” Amelia said. She nodded at Oliver. “You will come, of course.”
“Of course,” he agreed.
“A massive ball?” Caroline echoed. “Here?”
Amelia pouted. “Why not?”
“There isn’t enough space.”
“We’ll make space!”
Oliver turned away from the bickering sisters to find that Kalila was examining him.
She gave him a shy, hesitant smile, unlike any he’d seen from her.
He wondered what had rendered her so meek before being struck by the fact that he’d never enjoyed tea as much as he did now, in a place that felt like a home rather than a suffocating box, surrounded by spirited Caroline, dreamy Amelia, and, in the center of it all, bright, sharp, steady Kalila.
A sudden burst of loneliness mixed with a wonderful, inexplicable ecstasy descended as his mind cycled through thinking he would never experience this again to thinking that he would, he could, and Kalila could be—would be—in the center of it all, just as she was here.
“Are you all right?” Kalila whispered as Amelia and Caroline continued to discuss the alleged impossibility of throwing a large event at the townhouse.
“I am.” He downed the last of his tea. “Are you?”
She raised her eyebrows. “What a strange question.”
“Is it?”
“Would you like another cup?” Amelia asked, having decided to drop the conversation with her sister.
“No, thank you,” Oliver said, finding it almost impossible to tear his focus away from Kalila. “In fact, I must take my leave.”
Amelia wilted. “So soon?”
“A pleasure, Mr. Booth,” Caroline said, clearly dying to be rid of him.
“Will you walk me to the door, Miss Darwish?” Oliver asked as they stood. At the slight, weary downturn of her lips, he said, “No farther, I promise.”
She wrinkled her nose and joined him in the few paces it took to get from the parlor to the entrance.
“Thank you,” he murmured, “for having me for tea.”
Kalila opened the door and handed him his belongings. “Of course.”
Placing his hat on his head, Oliver stepped over the threshold and turned to his Lady Impostor.
Leaning forward, he took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to the back of her palm.
She still smelled of the plain soap she used when she disguised herself as Rafiq, and he wondered if it was all she ever indulged in.
Her hand lingered in his as he peeked up at her from beneath the brim of his hat.
Her lips had parted, looking very much to him like an invitation.
But he had ruffled her feathers more than enough for one day, so he released her hand, despite his reluctance to do so. He gave her a polite nod and made it down a single step before saying, “I almost forgot.”
“Forgot?”
He tipped his hat at her, and her lips twitched in an almost-smile. “A tip of the hat in exchange for a kiss. Fair?”
“Yes,” she said, wrapping her arms protectively around her middle. “If you’d demanded any more, I would call you a cheat.”
“A cheat!” he exclaimed, turning to trot down the steps. Once he reached the bottom, he said, “Do you mean to flatter me, Miss Darwish?”
As he expected, she scoffed, turned on her heel, and shut the door behind her.
A gleeful energy humming in his veins, Oliver made his way to Rosewood.
For the first time in a long time, he was eager to end the day in his bed, if only because it would shorten the time between now and the next time he would see Rafiq.
Not Rafiq. His Lady Impostor.
Well, not his Lady Impostor, either.
Kalila Darwish.