CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
W AS THIS WHAT it was like, being so absolutely consumed by a woman that it drove out all other thoughts?
It was as if Desmond was floating above the realities of both their lives, elevated by the magic of the evening. His self-imposed seclusion from the world didn’t come into play. The fact that this whole thing was built on a lie. Her marriage, for goodness’ sake. He’d meant to stay away from her as much as he could, but he couldn’t keep his hands—his lips—from devouring her skin and mouth any more than he could keep from breathing. He smelled vanilla and sun-warmed flowers and the distinct sweet musk of her skin—a sweetness that had clung to him in memory since their first encounter.
He didn’t know how long they kissed in the darkness outside that palace of gold; all he knew was that it was something he’d longed for. When the doors creaked open and they sprang apart just in time to make themselves decent, and both laughter and applause spilled out onto the entryway, he glanced at her face, her lovely, starry-eyed face, and for the first time in almost a decade he wondered. He wondered if this wasn’t something he might want after all, although he knew in his heart that he didn’t deserve it.
Sheikh Rashid’s round benevolent face beamed out at them; Hind was at his elbow, resplendent in rainbow-colored silk that drifted round her in bright waves. At her elbow was a gaggle of young women that Desmond recognized vaguely from local social media; the curly-haired girl, he knew, was from Egypt and married to a Jamaican real estate mogul, and a tall, thin Emirati woman in a lavender pearl-studded abaya had her own skincare line…
“Some pictures, please, maybe?” Hind suggested, and they were lost in a haze of flashbulbs. Hind told them breathlessly that she was lighting up her stories with clips of the party.
“Don’t tag me in anything!” Val yelled, to Desmond’s amusement, but she might as well have been calling to the wind. Her charge was off in a cloud of Tom Ford and yet another bevvy of rich housewives were there to kiss her cheeks, to look critically at her dress and to whisper behind jeweled hands to their friends about the nobody from nowhere who’d managed to entice this handsome, wealthy young entrepreneur into marriage. They’d googled him of course. Aside from some very well-curated photos, his profile was as scanty as hers.
“Just let the girl have her fun,” he whispered in her ear after the last of the well-wishes had been shared and the ladies melted into the crowd.
“I can’t.” He could tell that Val’s teeth were gritted, even under the layers of contour and highlighter she wore. Her fingers were tight on his arm. “I’m married, in case you forgot!”
“You’re also in Asia,” he said dryly. “And trust me, almost nothing that happens in this region is going to register over there.”
“I’d thank you not to make any generalizations about my country. And you’re wrong.” Val looked about ready to faint. “There was the World Cup, don’t forget, and I was just approached by a producer from Dubai Bling .”
“So?”
“So? It’s on Netflix!”
“I’ll ensure any stories stay buried,” he said.
“You can’t. That’s not how social media works.” She looked resigned now, although she was still fingering the sapphires at her neck as if they were choking her. “I hate secrets,” she said, her voice wavering as if she were near tears.
Desmond paused as his stomach constricted into a knot. He grabbed her wrist to get her attention, and she turned to face him.
“I hate parties,” he said, and smiled down at her. The corners of her mouth flickered up in return.
“Ask Hind not to mention you by name or post anything with your face in full shot. People do it all the time. It’ll be okay.”
She didn’t look convinced, but at least she nodded.
“Now, come on. The least you can do is enjoy your own party, honey.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? You’re warm. You’re sweet. And, sometimes, yes, you’re quite sticky—”
“Desmond!”
“I’m only a man, and you’ve left me with some absolutely delightful memories.”
She let out a mortified snort, but her eyes had brightened. He sighed in relief.
Bullet dodged, at least for now. And the absurdity of this party would do much to remind him that this was all fake.
And that the fact that he was in love with Valentina—he couldn’t think of her as Val again—could not matter. He mentally ran through the list of justifications he’d been turning over in his mind for days.
He was a mess.
Valentina was finally escaping one horrible relationship. It wouldn’t be fair to ask her to get into another, especially when he had so little to offer.
* * *
Sheikh Rashid had spared no expense on this event; the older man loved to host, and every moment had been carefully curated to ensure that his guests had the best possible time. A string orchestra with harps, tinkling bells and traditional strings played in the palace’s lush gardens. There was the main hall where dancers, jugglers and illusionists wandered through groups of people, entertaining as they went, and small hidden corners for guests that wanted more private conversation, and a women-only hall for some of the more conservative female guests to meet, gossip and adjust their scarves to show off the magnificent dresses they wore underneath.
Instead of a big sit-down dinner, tables set for eating were scattered throughout the ground floor so attendees could load their plates and cluster round their friends and family members. It felt, all in all, like a real wedding. The sheikh blustered through an overlong but good-natured, fatherly speech and released his guests to an evening of entertainment.
Desmond shook hands until his own felt quite numb. He kept an eye on Valentina the whole time. She was as serene as always, beautiful in her gown, and gracious toward everyone who greeted her. She did not protest when he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, and instead leaned into him, her warm body relaxing against his body as it had done so many times before.
Mine.
It wasn’t true though, was it? Not by a long shot. And yet, this, tonight, felt very real. He squeezed her waist—he loved the way her body curved, the valley of softness and warmth that was there—and felt the stirrings of arousal. He grasped for a line of conversation that would distract him.
“How does it feel to be the center of attention?” Desmond said.
“Awful,” Val said, and he was surprised to see that she was very near tears. He put his arms around her, turning ever so slightly to shield her as much as he could. He began to sway gently to the music of the harp, and pressed his cheek close to hers.
“You look so beautiful,” he said. It was honestly the first thing that came to his mind.
“Desmond!” her eyebrows came together.
He laughed, but the sound had no humor behind it. “Perhaps we should go somewhere quieter so we can talk?”
Val stared at him disbelievingly for a minute, then picked up her skirts and strode off as quickly as they would allow. It wasn’t easy finding a place; it seemed that the party had grown fuller by the moment. Val finally shooed away a teenage couple who were canoodling in a palm tree–festooned corner and they scuttled away like rabbits. She turned on Desmond.
“Well?”
“You’re free. Officially. Your debts have been paid.”
Val’s hand flew to cover her mouth; her eyes were wide and dark. “That’s impossible.”
“No, it’s not. I facilitated it myself a few days ago.”
“A few days—” Val’s voice broke off. “But how—?”
“We had a bargain, sweetheart.” The endearment rolled off his tongue so easily; he almost bit it at the slip.
Val hadn’t noticed. She pressed her hands to her face then jumped a little when she was greeted by one of the daughters of the sultan of Brunei.
“Not here,” she replied softly. She greeted people, posed elegantly for a couple of pictures, and made small talk. She went to Sheikh Rashid and kissed his wrinkled cheek, and hugged Hind.
“ Mabrook , dear,” Sheikh Rashid said warmly. “You know, Desmond, she’s a very good girl. I’ve often wished she would settle down with someone like you who can take care of her.”
Val’s polite smile was fixed.
“You’ve hit almost half a million followers,” Hind said excitedly, thumbs racing frantically over her mobile’s screen.
“Oh, Hind.” Val’s face settled into the first genuine smile he’d seen since they’d spoken in the alcove. “Stop making reels for a minute and look at me, lovely.”
Hind’s eyes were bright above her pointed chin. “Thank you for making this night so beautiful,” she said, and the girl beamed.
“Oh, Val, I know I’m a brat sometimes, but I hope I’ll have what you have one day.” She paused. “Well, not like him exactly, he’s not my type at all.”
Excuse me? Despite his discomfort, Desmond raised his brows.
“No offense.”
“None taken.”
“I mean, you’re tall and all, but you’re also very slim and I like men who are—”
Sheikh Rashid tactfully cut off Desmond’s sputtering defense about green juice and CrossFit. “Desmond, I’ll see you first thing tomorrow, so we can put this bride to bed. You can deal with the other bride tonight.” And, chuckling at his own wit, he walked off with Hind, who made a gagging face over her left shoulder.
The party had reached that lazy, languid point where people are softened by food, drink and conversation. Even the music seemed quieter. It was a good time to leave, and Desmond placed his hand on her lower back and bent to speak in her ear.
“Now?”
She nodded, and they headed outside.
Unlike the rather sedate, elegant gathering inside, the outside held the more cheerful partygoers; Hind had done her work well. People were milling about on the lawn of the palace entryway, taking pictures in front of the lanterns, dancing and eating canapés circulated by waitstaff in white jackets. All he could focus on was her face, however, and the fact that she looked—
“Valentina…”
She smiled a little, and he knew. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, a dull knot in his chest tightening.
“London?” was all he said, and quietly.
She shook her head, once, quickly, and the first of several tears broke loose from her eyes. “Desmond—I’m sorry.”
“I understand.” And truly, he did.
She could not commit to him, not without the assurance of his love. And it was the only thing, despite his fortune, that he was too broken to give.
“Malik responded to your team,” she managed, wiping her eyes. “I’m going to go home, Desmond, and finish what you were kind enough to start. But Sheikh Rashid–”
Desmond shook his head. He was the least of their worries. “I’ll figure something out.” At this point, to his surprise, he barely cared one way or another whether they kept the deal. It all seemed so—juvenile now, so unimportant. “Do you plan to quit?”
She nodded. “He’s expecting it, I think, and expects that I’ll be leaving to—your home. To be your wife. He’s not going to ask any questions, Desmond. You’re fine on that front.”
So he’d be returning to London alone, after all. He felt his shoulders sag with the type of weariness he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a very long time.
He should have told her this. He should have said it out loud, but his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and the words didn’t come.
“You’re right,” she said. The anger had gone and now her face was drawn and sad. “I’m not ready. You’re not ready. I should actually thank you. You’ve made me less of a fool than I could have been.”
“Valentina—”
“I understand you think it’s for my own good, Desmond. Perhaps you’re right.”