Читать книгу The Sheikh's Collection - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 41
ОглавлениеELENA DIDN’T SEE Khalil at all the next day. She spent hours lying on her bed or sitting outside her tent, watching the men go about the camp and looking for Khalil.
She missed him. She told herself that was absurd, because she barely knew him. She’d only met him two days ago, and hardly in the best of circumstances.
Yet she still found herself reliving the times he’d touched her: the slide of his fingers on her jaw; the press of his chest against her cheek. She replayed their dinner conversation in her mind, thought about his lonely childhood, his determination to be Sheikh. And realised in just three days he would let her go and she would never see him again.
A thought that made a twist of bewildering longing spiral inside her.
Then the next morning Khalil came to her tent. He loomed large in the space and shamelessly she let her gaze rove over him, taking in his broad shoulders, his dark hair, his impossibly hard jaw.
‘I need to go visit some of the desert tribes,’ he told her without preamble. ‘And I’d like you to go with me.’
Shock as well as a wary pleasure rippled through her in a double wave. ‘You...would?’
He arched an eyebrow and gave her a small smile. ‘Wouldn’t you like to see something other than the inside of this tent?’
‘Yes, but...why do you want me to go?’ A terrible suspicion took hold of her. ‘You aren’t...you aren’t going to show me off as some trophy of war, are you? Show your people how you captured Aziz’s bride?’ Just the idea made her stomach churn. Why shouldn’t he do such a thing? He’d captured her, after all. She was his possession, his prize.
Khalil’s face darkened, his eyebrows drawing together in a fierce frown. ‘No, of course not. In any case, the people I’m visiting wouldn’t be impressed by such antics.’
‘Wouldn’t they?’
‘They are loyal to me. And I would never act in such a barbaric fashion.’
‘Then why are you taking me?’
* * *
Khalil stared at Elena, the question reverberating through him. Then why are you taking me?
The simple answer was because he wanted to. Because he’d been thinking about her since they’d had dinner together, since she’d shown how she believed him. Believed in him. And having someone’s trust, even if it was just a little of it, was as heady and addictive as a drug. He wanted more. He wanted more of Elena and he wanted more of the person he felt he was in her eyes. The man he wanted to be.
The realisation had kept him from her for an entire day, fighting it, fighting the need and the desire, the danger and the weakness of wanting another person. Of opening himself to pain, loss and grief.
By last night he’d convinced himself that taking her to see the desert tribes who supported him was a political move; it would strengthen his position to have Aziz’s former bride on his side.
Gazing at her now, her hair tumbled over her shoulders, her heavy-lidded eyes with their perceptive grey-gold gaze trained on him, he knew he’d been fooling himself.
This wasn’t some political manoeuvre. This was simply him wanting to be with Elena.
‘I’m taking you,’ he said, choosing his words slowly, carefully, ‘because I want you to meet the people who support me.’
Her eyes widened. Her lips parted and then curved in a tremulous smile. ‘You do?’
Khalil’s hands curled into fists. Everything in him resisted this admission, this appalling weakness. Where was his ruthless determination now? All he wanted in this moment was to see Elena’s smile deepen. ‘I do.’
‘All right,’ she said, and Khalil felt relief and even joy pour through him. He smiled, a wider smile than he’d ever felt on his face before, and she grinned back.
Something had changed. Something was changing right here between them and, God help him, but he couldn’t stop it. He didn’t even want to.
‘We should leave within the hour. Can you ride?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then dress for riding. Leila will find you the appropriate clothes.’ With a nod, he started to leave, then turned back to face her. ‘Thank you, Elena,’ he said quietly, meaning it utterly, and the smile she offered him felt like a precious gift.
An hour later Elena met him on the edge of the camp, where he was saddling the horses they would take. Khalil nodded his approval of her sensible clothing, headscarf and boots, a familiar tightness in his chest easing just at the sight of her.
‘We should waste no time in departing. It is half a day’s ride and I intend for us to arrive before nightfall.’
She glanced, clearly surprised, at the two horses. ‘We’re going alone?’
‘Three men will accompany us, but they will ride separately. We will meet up with the guards before we enter the camp, so all will be appropriate.’
‘Appropriate?’
‘In the desert, a man and woman generally do not ride alone.’
She nodded slowly, accepting, her gaze darting between the horses and him.
Khalil acknowledged he was breaching protocol in so many ways. ‘You’ll be safe with me, Elena,’ he said and she looked back at him.
‘I know that.’
‘Do you?’ He felt a smile spread across his face. ‘Good.’
‘I trust you,’ she said simply, and for a moment he couldn’t speak. He’d kidnapped her, after all. He didn’t deserve her trust, yet she gave it. Freely. Wholly.
‘Thank you,’ he finally said.
She stepped closer to him, so he caught the scent of roses. ‘Are we travelling alone because it’s safer? I mean, so Aziz won’t find us?’
She spoke without any rancour, yet Khalil felt that churning guilt once more, and more acutely this time, because for the first time something felt stronger than his burning need to be Sheikh.
He refused to name just what it was.
‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘Does that...distress you?’
Her clear gaze searched his and she smiled wryly. ‘Not as much as it should.’
He acknowledged her point with a small nod. ‘Things are changing.’
‘They’ve already changed,’ she said quietly, and something in him both swelled and ached.
He shouldn’t want things to change. Change meant losing his focus, losing his whole sense of self. What was he, if not the future Sheikh of Kadar? Everything in his life had been for that purpose. He’d had no room for other ideas or ambitions, and certainly none for relationships.
Yet he knew Elena was right. Things had already changed...whether he’d wanted them to or not.
‘Let’s go,’ he said, a bit more gruffly than he intended, and he laced his fingers together to offer Elena a foothold.
She rode just like she walked or stood, with inherent elegance and pride. Her back was ramrod straight as she controlled the excited prancing of her horse.
‘How well can you ride?’ he asked and her eyes sparkled at him.
‘Well.’
Khalil’s mouth curved. ‘Let’s see about that,’ he said, and with a shout he took off at a gallop. He heard Elena’s surprised laughter echo behind him as she gave chase.
* * *
Elena felt the kind of thrill of exhilaration she hadn’t experienced since she’d been a child riding in Thallia as she followed Khalil. It felt wonderful to be on a horse again, the desert flashing by in a blur of rocks and sand. She had had no time for such pursuits since she’d been queen. She hadn’t ridden like this in years.
The only sound was her horse’s hooves galloping across the sand. She spurred the beast on, eager to catch up with Khalil—or even pass him. Although he hadn’t said, she knew it had become a race.
Glancing behind him, Khalil pointed to a towering, needle-like boulder in the distance that Elena knew must be the finish line. She nodded back and crouched low over the horse as the wind whistled past. She was only a length behind him, and in the last dash to the finish line she made up half a length, but Khalil’s horse still crossed a beat before hers.
Laughing, she reined the animal in and patted his sweat-soaked neck. ‘That was close.’
‘Very close,’ Khalil agreed. His teeth gleamed white in his bronzed face. He wore a turban to keep out the sun and sand, and somehow it made him look more masculine. More desirable. ‘Foolish, perhaps, to race,’ he continued. ‘There is a small oasis here. We’ll let the horses drink before we continue.’
‘A small oasis? I’d thought the next one was a day’s ride by camel.’
Khalil just shrugged and Elena let out a huff of indignation. ‘So you lied to me?’
‘I wanted to discourage you from doing something foolish, something that most certainly wouldn’t end well.’
‘I could have escaped now,’ Elena pointed out. ‘I was on a horse, with water and food in my saddlebags.’
Khalil gazed at her evenly. ‘I know. But you didn’t.’
‘No.’ She hadn’t even thought of it, hadn’t been remotely tempted. The knowledge should have shamed her, but instead she felt almost ebullient.
They led the horses to the oasis, and as the animals drank Khalil gazed at the horizon with a frown.
‘What’s wrong?’ Elena asked.
‘It looks like a storm might rise.’
‘A storm?’ She gazed up at the endless blue sky, hard and bright, in incredulity. ‘How on earth can you tell?’
‘Look there.’ Khalil pointed to the horizon and Elena squinted. She could see a faint grey smudge, but that was all. If Khalil hadn’t pointed it out, she wouldn’t have noticed it.
‘Surely that’s far away.’
‘It is now. Storms in the desert can travel all too quickly. We should ride. I want to get to the camp before the storm gets to us. We’ll need to meet up with the guards as well.’
They saddled up once more and headed off at a brisk canter. The sun was hot above, the sand shimmering in the midday heat. Elena kept her gaze on the horizon, noticing with each passing hour that the faint smudge was becoming darker and wider. The stiff breeze she’d felt at camp had turned into a relentless wind.
After several hours of tense riding, Khalil guided them to a grouping of boulders. ‘We will not be able to outride the storm,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to shelter here for the night and try to meet up with my men in the morning.’
Elena slid off her horse, glancing at the forbidding-looking rocks with some apprehension. ‘Where are we, exactly?’
Khalil gave her the glimmer of a smile. ‘In the middle of the desert.’
‘Yes...’ Standing there next to her horse, the desert endless around her, the sky darkening rapidly and the wind kicking up sand, she suddenly felt acutely how strange this all was. How little she knew Khalil, even if her heart protested otherwise.
‘Elena.’ Khalil stood in front of her and she blinked up at him, nearly swaying on her feet. ‘I will keep you safe.’
She believed him, Elena knew. She trusted him, even if it was foolish. When had any other person been concerned for her safety? Paulo had said he had, but he’d been lying. Her father had, but only for the sake of his country, and he’d paid with his life.
Looking up at Khalil, Elena was struck as forcefully as a fist with the knowledge that he would keep her safe because he cared for her as a person, not as a pawn, or even as a queen. Simply because of who she was—and who he was. The knowledge nearly brought tears to her eyes.
‘You look as if you are going to collapse,’ he said gently. ‘Come. I have food and drink.’ He took her by the hand, his warm, callused palm comforting as it closed around her own far smaller one, and led her towards the group of immense black boulders.
He was clearly familiar with the territory, for he led her with confidence through the maze of rocks, coming to a stop in front of a large, flat rock sheltered by a huge boulder above it.
He drew her underneath it and she sat down with her back against the boulder, the overhanging rock providing shelter from the rising wind and swirling sand. He removed his turban so she pulled off her headscarf and ran a hand over her dishevelled hair.
‘Drink,’ he said and handed her a canteen of water.
She unscrewed the top of the canteen and took a much-needed and grateful sip of water.
‘And there’s food,’ Khalil said, handing her a piece of flat bread and some dried meat. She ate both, as did he, both of them silently chewing as the wind picked up and howled around them.
After she’d finished eating Elena drew her knees up to her chest and watched Khalil put the remnants of their meal back in the saddlebags.
He was a beautiful man, she thought, not for the first time; his sculpted mouth and long lashes softened a face of utterly unyielding hardness. As he tidied up she saw several whitened scars on the inside of his wrist and she leaned forward.
‘How did you get those?’
Khalil tensed, his mouth thinning. ‘Rope burns,’ he said shortly, and Elena stared at him in confusion.
‘Rope?’
‘It was a long time ago.’ He turned away, clearly not wanting to say anything further, although Elena wanted to ask. She wanted to know. Rope burns on his wrists... Had he been tied up?
She sat back against the rock and watched as he settled himself opposite her. ‘Now what?’ she asked.
His smile gleamed in the oncoming darkness. ‘Well, I’m afraid I didn’t bring a chessboard.’
She gave a little laugh. ‘Pity. I’m actually quite good at chess.’
‘So am I.’
‘Is that a challenge?’
His gaze flicked over her. ‘Maybe.’
Excitement fizzed through her. Were they actually flirting? About chess? ‘Perhaps we’ll have a match some time,’ she said, and realised belatedly how that made it sound—as if they would have some kind of future beyond her time here. Even though she’d accepted she wouldn’t marry Aziz, it didn’t mean she had any kind of future with Khalil. She’d be deluding herself to think otherwise.
In two days he was going to let her go.
Why did that make her feel so...bereft?
‘What are you thinking about?’ Khalil asked quietly and she turned back to him, wondering if she dared to admit the truth.
‘That in two days I might never see you again.’ She took a breath, held it, and forced herself to continue. ‘I don’t like that thought, Khalil.’
She couldn’t make out his expression in the darkness. ‘Elena,’ he said, and it sounded like a warning.
‘I know this is going to sound ridiculous,’ she continued, needing to be honest now, ‘but you’re the first real friend I’ve ever had.’
She tensed, waiting for incredulity, perhaps his discomfort or even derision. Instead he looked away and said quietly, ‘That’s not ridiculous. In many ways, you’re the first friend I’ve had too.’
Her breath caught in her chest. ‘Really?’
He turned back to her, the glimmer of a smile just visible in the moonlight. ‘Really.’
‘Not even at school? In America?’
She felt him tense but then he shook his head. ‘Not even then. What about you? No school friends?’
‘Not really.’ She hugged her knees to her chest, remembering those lonely years in convent school. ‘I was terribly shy in school, coming to it so late. And, looking back, I think the fact that I was a princess intimidated the other girls, although at the time I was the one who was intimidated. Everyone else made it look so easy. Having friends, having a laugh. I envied them all. I wanted to be like they were, but I didn’t know how. And then later, after school...’ She thought for one blinding moment of Paulo and her throat tightened. ‘Sometimes it just doesn’t seem worth the risk.’
‘The risk?’
She swallowed and met his gaze unflinchingly. It was amazing how easy, how necessary, honesty felt sometimes. ‘Of getting hurt.’
Khalil didn’t speak for a long moment. Okay, so honesty wasn’t so easy, Elena thought as she shifted where she sat. She had no idea what he felt about what she’d said.
‘Have you been hurt, Elena?’ he finally asked, and in the darkness his voice seemed like a separate entity, as soft as velvet, caressing the syllables of her name.
‘Hasn’t everyone, at one time or another?’
‘That’s not really an answer.’
‘Have you been hurt, Khalil?’
‘That’s not an answer either, but yes, I have.’ He spoke evenly, but she still felt the ocean of pain underneath. ‘My father hurt me when he chose to disown and banish me.’
‘Oh, Khalil.’ She bit her lip, remorse rushing through her. ‘I’m sorry. That was a thoughtless question for me to ask.’
‘Not at all. But I want you to answer my question. What were you talking about when you said friendship wasn’t worth the risk?’
‘I had a friend once,’ Elena said slowly. ‘And he let me down rather badly. He—betrayed me.’ She shook her head. ‘That sounds melodramatic, but that’s what happened.’
‘He,’ Khalil said neutrally, and with a dart of surprise she wondered if he was actually jealous.
‘Yes, he. But it wasn’t romantic, not remotely.’ She sighed. ‘It was stupid, really. I was stupid to trust him.’
‘So this man is why you don’t trust people?’
‘I’ve learned my lesson. But I trust you, Khalil.’
She heard his breath come out in a rush. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Do I need to remind you why you’re here in the first place, Elena? I kidnapped you.’
She heard genuine remorse in his voice and she reached out and touched his hand, her fingers skimming across his skin. ‘I know you did, Khalil, but I also understand why you did it.’
‘You’re justifying my actions to me?’ he asked with a wry laugh, and Elena managed a laugh back.
‘I don’t know what I’m doing,’ she answered honestly. ‘And I don’t know what I’d do if you let me go right now. I don’t know how I’d feel.’
She held her breath, waiting for his reply, needing him to say something—but what?
‘I don’t know how I’d feel either,’ Khalil answered in a low voice, and that was enough. That was more than enough.
Whatever was happening between them, Khalil recognised it as well. Just as he’d said before, things were changing.
Things had changed.
‘The temperature is dropping,’ Khalil said after a moment. ‘Here.’ He handed her a blanket and Elena wrapped it around herself. The wind howled; the night air was cold and crisp as she huddled against the rock, trying to make herself comfortable.
After a moment she heard Khalil sigh. ‘Elena. Come here.’
‘Come—where?’
‘Here.’ He patted his lap. ‘You’re obviously cold and I know of only one way to warm you right now.’
Her cheeks heated as she thought of other ways he could warm her. Ways she’d never even experienced before. ‘But...’
‘You’ve been on my lap before,’ he reminded her.
Yes, and she’d enjoyed it far too much. Elena hesitated, torn between the fierce desire to be close to Khalil again and the ever-present need to keep herself safe. What could happen between them, after all? In two days she would return to Thallia, and without a husband. If she had any sense, she’d keep her distance from Khalil.
It seemed she didn’t have any sense. She scooted across the rock, hesitating in front of him, not quite sure actually how to get on his lap.
Khalil had no such hesitation. Without ceremony or any awkwardness at all he slid his arms around her waist and hauled her onto him. Once there, she found it amazingly easy to curl into him just as she’d done before, her legs lying across his, her cheek pressed against his chest.
‘Now that’s better,’ Khalil said, and his voice was a comforting rumble she could feel reverberate right through her. He stroked her hair, his fingers smoothing over the dark strands.
‘Sleep,’ he said, his voice a caress, and obediently she closed her eyes even though she knew she would be less likely to sleep warm and safe on Khalil’s lap than when she’d been huddling by herself in the cold.
She was too aware of everything: the solid strength of his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing. The warmth of him, his arms snuggled safely around her, and even the scent of him, a woodsy aftershave mingled with the smell of horse and leather.
He continued to stroke her hair, pulling her gently into his chest so she snuggled in even more deeply, her lips barely brushing the warm, bare skin of his throat. Never had anything felt so familiar. So right.
She slept.
And woke in the clutches of a nightmare.
She hadn’t had one of her old nightmares in a long time, mainly because she never slept deeply enough to have any dreams at all. Now lulled to sleep in the warmth and safety of Khalil’s arms, it came for her.
Smoke. Screams. Blood. Bombs. In her dreams it was always the same: a chaos of terror, bodies strewn over the floor, shattered glass cutting into her palms. And the worst part of all: the heavy weight of her father on her back, his body shielding hers from the explosion, the last words he ever spoke whispered into her ear along with his last breath.
‘For Thallia.’
‘Elena. Elena.’
She came to consciousness with Khalil’s hands on her shoulders, shaking her gently, and tears on her face. She drew a shuddering breath and felt panic clutch at her even though she was awake, for the darkness and the howling wind reminded her of that terrible night.
‘It was just a dream, Elena.’ She felt Khalil’s hands slide up to cup her face, his forehead pressing into hers as if he could imbue her with his warmth, his certainty. ‘Whatever it was, it was just a dream.’
She closed her eyes, willing her heart rate to slow, the terrible images that flashed through her mind in brutal replay to fade. ‘I know,’ she whispered after a long moment. ‘I know.’
The touch of his palm cradling her cheek felt achingly, painfully sweet. ‘What do you dream of, Elena?’ he whispered and her throat went tight, too tight to speak. He ran his thumb lightly over her lips. ‘What haunts you so?’
‘Memories,’ she managed, her voice choked, suffocated. She reached up to wipe the remnants of tears from her face. ‘Memories of when my parents died.’
Khalil’s hands stilled on her face. ‘You were there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t I know that?’
‘It was kept out of the press, out of respect for my family. That’s what I wanted. It was hard enough, dealing with what had happened, without everyone gawking at me.’
‘Yes.’ Khalil slid his arms around her and pulled her closer to him. ‘I can imagine it was. Do you want to talk about it?’
Amazingly, she did. Normally she never talked about her parents’ deaths to anyone. She didn’t even like remembering it. But, safe in Khalil’s arms, she felt the need to tell him her story. Share her pain.
‘You know they died in the bombing,’ Elena began slowly. ‘And as far as I know, my mother died instantly. But my father—my father and I were alive after the bomb went off.’
Khalil didn’t say anything, just held her close. After a moment Elena continued. ‘I can’t remember much after the first bomb went off. I was thrown across the room and I landed on my back. I must have been unconscious for a little while, because I remember waking up, feeling completely disorientated. And everything...’ She drew a shuddering breath. ‘Everything was madness. People screaming and crying. So much blood...’ She shook her head, closing her eyes as she pressed her face into the solid warmth of Khalil’s chest.
‘I crawled across the floor, looking for my parents. There was broken glass everywhere but I didn’t even feel it, although later I saw my hands were covered in blood. It was so strange, so surreal... I felt numb and yet utterly terrified. And then I found my mother...’ She stopped then, because she never let herself think about that moment even though sometimes she felt as if it never left her thoughts: her mother’s lifeless face, her mouth opened in a soundless scream, her staring eyes.
She’d turned from her mother’s body and had seen her father stumbling towards her, terror etched on every feature.
‘There was a second bomb,’ she told Khalil, her voice muffled against his chest. ‘My father knew somehow. Maybe he guessed, or saw something. But he ran towards me and threw his body over me as it went off. The last thing he said...’ Another deep, shuddering breath. ‘“For Thallia”,’ she quoted softly. ‘He said “For Thallia” because he was saving my life for our country, so I could be queen.’
Khalil was silent for a long moment, his arms snugged around her. ‘And you think that was the only reason he was saving your life,’ he surmised quietly. ‘For the monarchy, not for you. Not because you were his daughter. Because he loved you.’
His words, so softly and surely spoken, cut her to the heart, because she knew they were true and she was amazed that Khalil had been able to see that. Understand it.
‘I never knew what they felt,’ she whispered. ‘I hardly ever saw them, all through my childhood. They were devoted to Thallia, but they never spent time with me.’ She let out a shuddering breath. ‘And then they were gone in a single moment, and I didn’t know if I missed them because they were dead or because I never actually knew them in the first place.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Is that awful?’
‘No, it’s understandable.’
‘But it seems so ungrateful. My father gave his life for me.’
‘You’ve a right to your feelings, Elena. They loved you, but how were you to know it if they didn’t show it until they’d died?’
She pressed her face even harder against his chest, willing the tears that threatened to recede. She wasn’t even sure what she was crying for. Her parents’ deaths? The lack of relationship she’d had while they’d been alive? Or simply the swamping sense of loss she felt, as if she’d experienced it for ever?
Until Khalil.
She twisted to look up at him. ‘I’ve never told anyone all that.’
‘I’m glad you told me.’
‘I’m glad I did too.’ She hesitated, because she felt a need to reassure him and, perhaps herself, that she knew this wasn’t real—that whatever intimacy had sprung between them was separate from what was going on in their lives. It didn’t really count.
Yet she said nothing, because it felt like it counted. It felt like the only thing that counted. Khalil had given her something, or maybe he’d just showed her she already had it: a capacity to share, to trust. To love.
She looked up at him, searching his face, wanting to know what he was feeling, if he felt the same pull of attraction and empathy that she did. But then she met his gaze and saw the fire burning there and her breath caught in her chest as desire, raw, fierce and overwhelming, crashed over her.
His face was so close to hers she could feel his breath fanning against her cheek, see the dark glint of stubble on his chin. His lips were no more than a whisper away from hers and, as she stared up at him and heard his breath hitch, she knew without a doubt she wanted to close that small distance between their mouths.
She wanted him to kiss her.
His head dipped and her heart seemed to stop and then soar. His lips were so close now that if she moved at all they would be touching his. They would be kissing.
Yet she didn’t move, transfixed as she was by both wonder and fear, and Khalil didn’t move either.
The moment stretched between them, suspended, endless.
His breath came out in a shudder and his hands tightened around her face. She tried to say something but words eluded her; all she could do was feel. Want.
Then with another shuddering breath he closed that small space between their mouths and his lips touched hers in her first and most wonderful kiss.
She let out a tiny sigh both of satisfaction and surrender, her hands coming up to tangle in the surprising softness of his hair. Her lips parted and Khalil deepened the kiss, pulling her closer as his tongue delved into her mouth, and everything in Elena throbbed powerfully to life.
She’d never known you could feel like this, want like this. It was so intense and sweet it almost felt painful. She pressed against him, acting on an instinct she hadn’t realised she possessed. Khalil slid his hand from her face to cup her breast, and a shocked gasp escaped her mouth as exquisite sensation darted through her.
Khalil withdrew, dropping his hand and easing back from her so she felt a rush of loss. He reached up to cover her hands with his own and draw them down to her own lap.
‘I shouldn’t have...’ he began then shook his head. Even in the moonlit darkness she could see the regret and remorse etched on his harsh features.
‘I wanted you to,’ she blurted and he just shook his head again.
‘You should sleep again, if you can,’ he said quietly and Elena bit her lip, blinking hard. She wondered, with a rush of humiliation, if she’d actually been the one to kiss him. In that moment it had been hard to tell, and she’d wanted it so much...
Had she actually thrown herself at him?
‘Sleep, Elena,’ he said softly, and he repositioned her on his lap so her head was once again pillowed by his chest. He stroked her hair just as he had before and Elena closed her eyes, even though sleep seemed farther away than ever.
What had just happened? And how could she feel so unbearably, overwhelmingly disappointed?
