Читать книгу Royal Families Vs. Historicals - Annie West, Rebecca Winters - Страница 84

ANGELIQUE GLIMPSED THE velvet box on the romantically set table when she arrived at Kasim’s Paris penthouse.

She was getting to know him very well, but wouldn’t have pegged him as a man who celebrated a one-month anniversary. His sentimentalism touched her. It told her he valued what they had as deeply as she did.

“We’re staying in tonight?” she asked as she kissed him without even taking off her jacket or setting down her purse.

He had already shed his suit jacket and tasted faintly of Scotch and…tension? He lingered over their kiss, drawing it out with a quest for her response, waiting until they were both breathless and hot before drawing back.

“Do you mind?”

“No.” She tossed her purse toward the sofa then hugged her arms around his waist again. Nestled her mons into his hardness, pleased with the evidence his desire wasn’t letting up any more than hers. “It’s been a long week. I missed you. I’d rather have you all to myself.”

“Me, too.” His voice was sincere, but…off. He started to pull her into another kiss.

She hesitated. “Are you angry?”

A flash in his eyes, then, “Not at you.”

He combed his fingers into her hair and gently pinned her head back, so her neck was arched, her chin tilted up for the press of his damp lips. The stamp of hot kisses went down her throat, making her skin tighten and tingle.

“And you can’t talk about it so you want to forget it. Perhaps I can help with that,” she allowed with another press of her hips into his groin. It was her cross to bear that she was the lover of a man with great responsibilities.

His breath hissed in and he straightened to his full height, seeming to wage an inner debate. He bit out a soft curse and his hands fell away from her.

“We will have to talk about it,” he said, twirling his finger to indicate she should turn and let him help her with her coat. “Much as I’d rather make love to you first, you probably wouldn’t forgive me if I did. Let’s get it over with.”

Wary now, she watched him drape her jacket over the back of the sofa and move to the chilled wine in the bucket.

“A votre santé,” she said when he brought her a glass.

He only made a face of dismay and said bluntly, “You can’t come to the wedding.”

Angelique held the wine in her mouth until it was warm and sour. She swallowed.

“Sadiq and Hasna’s wedding?” Obviously, but she couldn’t process how he could say such a thing. “I know we can’t…be together when I’m there. I wasn’t expecting—” To stay in his room. Maybe she’d fantasized about it. “I mean, I thought I’d stay with my family and you and I could…” She shrugged. “Dance?” Steal time somewhere? They were very adept at that.

“My father is inviting the woman he would like me to marry. It would be awkward and disrespectful for my mistress to be there.”

And the hits just kept on coming.

His marriage was supposed to be some far-off thing that would happen one day, but in the mists of a distant future, like death. Unavoidable, but not something the average person worried about as an immediate concern.

“Did you explain my family’s relationship with Sadiq?” Her hand began to shake. She leaned to set her glass on the coffee table before she spilled wine all over his antique Persian rug.

“My father is still convinced you had a personal relationship with him. Bringing up the complimentary wardrobe does more harm than good.”

“I’m not going to miss Sadiq’s wedding, Kasim. He asked us to be there. It’s a big deal for all of us, especially if Trella is going to be with us. I have to be there for her.”

“I’m not happy about it either, but it’s one day.”

“Does Hasna know?”

“I’m not about to play those sorts of politics,” he said, sharp and hard. “That is my mother’s game, to stir up tears to manipulate my father. Hasna understands our father very well along with my promise to marry the wife he chooses for me.”

“Why—?” Why had he ever agreed to such a thing? But she knew. So he could rule differently. Better.

That selflessness on his part ought to inspire her to make peace here and act in the greater good, but she was too appalled at how casually and callously he was brushing aside her feelings in this.

He set down his wine and grasped her arms. “Angelique, it’s one day. Then we can carry on as normal.”

“Normal being this.” She broke away from his hold to wave at the room.

The impermanence of their association penetrated. What she had seen as a relationship, one where she could reveal her deepest thoughts and worries, was nothing more than a convenience for him.

She caught sight of the table and its narrow velvet box. Its significance struck like a bludgeon.

“Silly me, I thought that was for our anniversary,” she said dumbly.

“Anni—?” He pinned his lips shut. Such a man. One hundred percent oblivious.

She walked around the far end of the sofa and moved to open the box.

The necklace was a stunning confection of thin chains and cushion-cut emeralds set in gold.

This was all she would be left with when their affair was over. Some token of his. It wasn’t even affection, was it? Appreciation? For the orgasms she’d given him?

And this affair would end. She had managed to ignore that reality these past few weeks of meeting him in hotel rooms across Europe.

He was marrying. Sooner than later. And his chosen wife would be at the wedding.

It was absolutely true that she couldn’t meet that woman then carry on with Kasim until… When? The day his engagement was announced? Days before he married? Her heart was pulsing like a raw wound just thinking of it.

Each breath she drew felt like a conscious effort and burned both directions. In and out. Her throat closed and her eyes swam. Her voice came out strained with insult.

“I’m not a woman you buy off, Kasim.”

She looked up in time to see him flinch and avert his gaze.

“I know you’re disappointed,” he began. “That is not—”

She cut him off with a hoot of disbelief. “Is that what I am? Disappointed?” Her chest was caving in on itself. “Are you?”

“It’s one day.”

“It’s you turning me into your mistress, then letting your father call me a whore who’s not good enough to be seen in his palace. One who is paid well, I admit, but no thanks. I’m not interested.” She gave the velvet box a thrust of rejection so it tipped off the table onto the floor.

“You’re overreacting,” he bit out, trying to catch the necklace.

“No, you should have told me this could happen before you took me to your bed! That is information I needed because you know what Sadiq means to us.”

“And what? You would have passed on all of this so you could attend one damned wedding?”

“All of what?” she charged, waving at the necklace he now held. “You’ve just reduced our relationship to an exchange of sex for jewelry. Do you know what I’ve given up so I could be with you? The sacrifices I’ve made? I’ve pushed Trella away so I could be close to you. What have you given up? Nothing. And now I know why. Because I mean nothing to you. So, yes, the wedding is a deal breaker. Tell your father your mistress won’t be there because you no longer have one.”

She turned toward her coat.

He caught her arm. “Angelique—”

“Don’t,” she said in the deadly, assertive voice she’d been trained to use, free hand snatching up her pendant in warning.

His mouth tightened and he lifted his hand to splay it in the air, like she’d turned a gun on him.

“Really? You’ll call in your guards rather than have a civilized conversation about this?”

“How do you see this conversation ending? In your bed? Yes, I will call in my guards rather than let you seduce me into accepting this kind of treatment. You had chances to end this before my—” Don’t say “heart.” “Before my emotions were involved.” Her voice shook. “Did you really think, after all that I’ve shared with you, that I was only here for a necklace?”

The control that she had cultivated through a lifetime of having to buck up and be strong was never harder to find. She shot her arms into her coat and picked up her purse.

“You’re as emotionally tone-deaf as your father.”

* * *

If she had been trying to stab him in the heart, she had picked up the most efficient knife with which to do the job, then snapped it off against the bone for good measure.

As he gathered the necklace from the floor, he thought of Jamal showing it to him a decade ago. It was one of his brother’s first efforts at a big piece, not perfect, designed with more passion than attention to the finer details, but it was genuinely beautiful. Jamal had been rightfully proud and Kasim sincerely impressed.

Kasim had bought it, wanting to be his brother’s first patron, declaring, Someday it will be worn by a queen, as it should be.

But lately, as he regularly saw green and gold tones in the eyes of his lover when she woke beside him, he had decided to give it to Angelique. He had known she wouldn’t like what he had to say today, but he had hoped to soften the blow by giving her something that was genuinely precious to him, that was hard to give up because it was one of the few remnants of his brother he had.

Of course she wasn’t aware of that. There had been no point in trying to explain. He had let the door slam and the quiet set like concrete around him.

Because they had no future. His father was choosing him a wife. The goal today had been to keep her from attending the wedding and that task was definitely accomplished.

Sometimes hard choices had to be made. Jamal had been one of them and Angelique another.

It made him furious and sick, but it was done.

* * *

Angelique heard the door, but didn’t get out of bed. She was too devastated. Her eyes were swollen and gritty, her throat raw, her nose congested and her heart sitting in a line of jagged pieces behind her breastbone.

She had tried to brave it out on her own, but sometime in the darkest hours of the night, when her sister had texted, asking if she was all right, her willpower had collapsed.

Please come, she had texted.

Trella hadn’t asked why. She had only texted back that she would leave as soon as the family jet could be cleared for takeoff. Now her sister’s shoulders fell as she walked into the bedroom and took in the shipwreck that was her twin.

“What happened?” Trella asked gently.

“We broke up,” Angelique said in a voice rasped by hours of crying. “I’ve been so stupid.”

“No.” Trella came to the bed and swept away the crumpled tissues to lie down in front of her. “You fell in love. That’s not stupid.” She stroked Angelique’s hair back from where it was stuck to her wet cheek.

“I didn’t mean to.” Fresh tears flooded her eyes. “I never let anyone in. You know I don’t. It’s too painful.”

“You were always so full of my suffering there was no room for anyone else.”

“No.”

“Yes, Gili.” Trella stroked her hair, petting and soothing. “I tried not to put it on you, but you carry it because that’s who you are. I’m not surprised you fell for him when he was the first person who didn’t lean on you emotionally. When you finally felt like I didn’t need you every minute. That must have felt like such a relief.”

“He didn’t lean on me because he didn’t love me!” Angelique pushed a fresh tissue under her nose and sniffed. “And I feel so pathetic, crying like this when a bruised heart is nothing compared to—”

“Shh…” Trella said, stroking her hair. “Don’t ever compare, bebé angel.”

Angelique closed her eyes and tried to level out her breathing. “I thought I had learned how to be strong and I’m so…” Sad. Scorned. Heartbroken.

“Do you know how I get through my worst moments?” Trella’s fingers gently wove in and picked up Angelique’s hair, combing to the ends. Her voice was pitched into the tone they had used as children, when telling each other secrets in the night. “Every time I’ve wanted to give up, I’ve always thought to myself, I have to be there when she needs me. You gave me a gift, asking me to come. You’re telling me I’m strong enough to be your support. It was worth fighting through all that I have so I could be with you here, in your hour.”

Angelique had seen her begging Trella to come as pure weakness, but wondered now if she had failed to see what a comeback her sister was really making—because she’d been so wrapped up in Kasim.

“You didn’t hesitate, even though I’ve been letting him come between us.” Her lips quivered and she looked at her twin through matted lashes. “That was wrong. I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Trella crooned. “Don’t apologize for offering your heart to him. It’s his loss that he didn’t see how tender and precious it is. And no matter what happens, we will always be us. I will be here for you, Gili.”

Angelique’s smile wobbled and she let out a breath she’d been holding for years. “I love you, Trella bella.”

“I love you, too.”

* * *

Angelique wasn’t going to Zhamair. She wasn’t buckling to Kasim’s demand that she stay away, though. It was the other way. She couldn’t bear to see him, fearing she would make a fool of herself at the first glance.

Or, at the very least, have to face what a fool she already was.

She had always seen easily through men who asked her out. They wanted to date her because she was beautiful, a prize. Some had wanted to get closer to her brothers, others had been so overcome in her presence it had been a burden to live up to what they imagined her to be. It had been fairly easy to maintain a certain distance.

Kasim had been different. He was strong, confident, honest. She had felt safe with him and it had allowed her to put her true self out to him. That inner soul of hers was as shy and hesitant as she’d ever been, only coming out when she trusted she wouldn’t be hurt.

Yet he had treated her like one more mare in the stable and she should have seen it coming, which left her feeling like she’d set herself up for this heartache. She had failed herself.

Be the tough woman Trella is, she kept urging herself, but she had never managed to be that woman when it came to Kasim. That was her downfall.

So she finished drafting her email to Sadiq mentioning the “terrible flu” that had her deeply under the weather and hit Send.

She was fooling no one. Her family knew that things were over between her and Kasim. Hasna had to be aware of it, as well.

She sniffed and glanced at her red eyes in her desk mirror. She certainly looked like she was battling a serious ailment. Heartsickness took a toll.

Trella, bless her, was doing everything she could to support her.

It was the great reversal Angelique had longed for and it wasn’t nearly as relieving or satisfying as she’d imagined. For starters, her brothers looked at her reliance on Trella as a small betrayal of their unspoken pact. They had all worn the mantle of protector for so long, they couldn’t put it down long enough to see that Angelique’s pulling back had actually been a good thing for their baby sister.

Trella was stepping up on her own volition now. She had planned to attend the wedding, but it was her suggestion that she take on the wedding day with Hasna so Angelique could skip going to Zhamair. This morning, Trella had even volunteered to make a quick run to London by herself to meet in private with a certain longtime client who belonged to the royal family and had a confidential occasion coming up.

Trella was also talking of doing more of the front end work once she returned from Zhamair, which was something to look forward to, but for now the task of greeting prospective clients still fell on Angelique.

Thus, when her guard rang from the front doors, stating that her eleven o’clock was here, she could only sigh and agree to come downstairs.

As she rose, she glanced at the appointment details. Girard Pascal. Something about a gift for a bride. Since she had no other reference on this prospective client, he would be shown into the small receiving room off the front foyer.

The room was a quaint little conversation area filled with Queen Anne furniture that served as a border crossing of sorts. Technically inside the building, it was still on the perimeter. Staff and accepted clients went through a second controlled door to enter the hallowed interior.

The reception room had two doors and a window onto the foyer, giving the illusion of a more spacious chamber, but the glass was really there to allow the guards to monitor her safety if the doors happened to be closed.

Girard Pascal looked Arabic, that was her first impression, but there were many Parisians with Middle Eastern heritage who had been here for generations. With that name, she assumed he was French.

He looked like Kasim, was her second thought, as he stood to a height that was very close to her former lover’s. The resemblance was only in his coloring and ancestry, she told herself. Maybe something indefinable across his cheekbones. His eyes, too. That bottom lip. His build and the commanding way he held himself.

She ignored the leap of her heart and told herself she was making more of the superficial similarities because she missed Kasim. That was all.

Then he opened his mouth and spoke with the same accent, almost the same tone and intonation. “Please call me Girard. Thank you for seeing me.”

He smiled warmly, looking nervous in a way that she almost thought was male attraction, but it wasn’t. Nor was it the fan-based giddiness some people showed in meeting a Sauveterre. It was affection and admiration and a searching of her expression for something she couldn’t define.

“I’m Angelique. Please sit and tell me what sort of gift you had in mind. If I can’t help you, I’m sure I’ll be able to suggest someone who can.” It was her stock greeting, something to give her an out if she decided not to take on a client.

She was already leaning toward not. She didn’t feel threatened, precisely, but she did feel prevailed upon. He wanted something from her. Not just a spring ensemble, either.

He held up a finger and went to the door, waiting while one of her guards brought over a black pouch smaller than his palm.

“Nothing showed on the X-ray. It’s fine,” her guard told her.

“Do you mind?” Girard said as he stepped back into the room and started to close the door.

Angelique moved to close the second door, then joined him at the coffee table, sitting in the opposite armchair from his.

“My request is very…” He frowned, searching for words, then poured out the contents of the pouch onto the coffee table.

It was a necklace, the chain three delicate strands of white gold, the pendant complex and simple at once. The stones were blue, set into a graceful sweep that almost looked like a cursive letter.

“Arabic?” she guessed, caught by both its whimsy and the suggestion of joy.

“It means ‘with.’” His smile flashed.

“It’s beautiful.” She was instantly taken by it and moved to the settee so she could examine it more closely.

“May I?” She reached out, adding in a murmur, “You want me to design something to go with it?” She would love to. The well of her creativity began to burble just feeling the weight of the piece against her fingers. It had a certain magic that penetrated her skin right into her blood.

“I believe you already have.”

“Pardon?” She dragged her stunned gaze off the crimping on the claws, experiencing a shiver as she recognized the workmanship. “Did you make something for my brother, Henri? A tennis bracelet with pink and white diamonds?”

“I don’t discuss my clients.” His mouth twitched as if he knew that she’d said that same thing more times than she could count. “But my work is carried by a jeweler here in Paris and one in London. And I did make something like that when I first moved to France. It’s quite possible the bracelet is mine.”

“I meant to ask him where he got it,” she murmured, but her brother wasn’t speaking to her, primarily because she had dared to invade the family flat and discovered that Cinnia had left him. “I would love to work together,” she blurted. “I’m bowled over by your skill.”

He smiled with shy pleasure, eyes gleaming. “That touches me. You can’t imagine how much. But let me ask my favor first. Then we’ll see what you think of working with me on something else.”

“Yes, right. Did you see a piece of mine somewhere? You know it’s just as likely designed by Trella?” She looked at the pendant again, trying to imagine how she could have inspired something so beautiful. She was utterly in love with it.

“I made this for my sister. I was hoping you could take it to her.”

“Your—Oh, my God!” If she hadn’t been so enthralled with the necklace, she would have put it together sooner. Now she quickly dropped the pendant on the table and jerked to her feet, backing away from a ghost. “Oh, my God!”

Charles shot in.

She held up her hand.

“I’m fine. Just a shock,” she insisted to her guard. “What is today’s word? I can’t even remember. Daffodil?” She touched her forehead. “Honestly, I’m fine. I just need a moment with…”

She waved at Kasim’s dead brother. Her hand trembled.

“I’m so sorry,” Jamal said with a wince. “I thought you might know.”

“How—? No.” She had to be white as a sheet, but managed to shoo Charles out.

He continued to watch her closely through the glass.

“Oh, my God, Jamal,” she breathed. “How on earth would I know? Your whole family thinks you’re dead.” She held her hand to her throat where she felt her own pulse thundering like a bullet train.

“Kasim didn’t tell you? He helped arrange it. The death certificate and name change…”

“No he didn’t tell me!” It caused her quite a pang to admit it, but she had already processed that however much she had thought she meant to Kasim, she had actually meant a lot less.

“Good God, why?” She moved to the settee and sank down, wilting as the shock wore off and her mind jammed with questions. “I mean, he told me that your father didn’t like that you were an artist, but—”

“Is that what he said?” His smile was crooked and poignant. “Our father couldn’t accept that I was gay.”

“Oh,” she breathed. More secrets with which Kasim hadn’t trusted her. She had been so open about her own family. It made her feel so callow to think of it. Where had her precious speech gone? The one from her first dinner with Kasim, when she had told him she was reticent out of respect for her siblings. But had he entrusted her with Jamal’s story? No.

“You couldn’t just…live in exile? Here?” she asked.

“My lover was already here and beaten to within an inch of his life for…leading me into that life.”

“No! Oh, dear God. Your father couldn’t have arranged that?”

“People in his government. There are those in Zhamair who are still very prejudiced. They said they were protecting the reputation of the crown, but my father did nothing to prevent or punish them.” Deep emotion gripped him for a moment and he struggled to regain his composure, swallowing audibly before continuing. “Either way, I couldn’t risk Bernard’s life again. I feared for my own. Merely leaving wouldn’t have been enough. I was afraid to even see Kasim again, in case it made things difficult for him, or exposed us.”

He propped his elbows on his thighs, back bowed with the weight of the world, expression weary. He rubbed his hands over his face, then looked at her over his clasped fingers.

“My mother’s life is not easy. The queen is very resentful of her. If my mother had had a gay son living flagrantly abroad…” He shook his head. “No. It was terribly cruel to tell her I was dead, but if the queen picks on her now, my father stands up for her out of respect for her grief.”

“I can’t imagine,” she murmured, appalled anew at the ugly aggression Kasim had grown up in. “I’m so sorry, Jamal.”

“Why?” he said, looking and sounding so much like Kasim, her throat tightened. “You had nothing to do with it.”

“I wish I could do something, I guess.” She realized immediately that she had backed herself into a corner.

His smile was sharp and amused. “Thank you. I would like that.”

She shook her head. “You’re so much like him it’s unnerving. But I can’t take that to Hasna and tell her it’s from you. You think I was shocked!”

“No,” he agreed. “She can’t know I’m alive, but Kasim could tell her it was in my old collection and that he had been saving it for her wedding day. It would mean a lot to me for her to wear this. I know she would.”

“We’re not, um… Kasim and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.” The press hadn’t quite caught on, so she wasn’t surprised he didn’t know. The words still abraded her throat. “I’m not going to Zhamair.”

“Ah. I didn’t realize.” His expression fell. “I’m sorry. From the photos I saw, you both looked quite…” He didn’t finish, only looked at the necklace, crestfallen.

She looked at it, too.

With. He wanted to be with his sister in the only way he could.

She couldn’t tell this to Trella or one of her brothers. It was Kasim’s secret. Jamal’s life.

I am a sucker, she thought. Trella would have a far better sense of self-protection. Kasim didn’t even want her there. She would be an embarrassment. He might even throw her out.

But Jamal looked so disconsolate. And Hasna missed her brother so much. It would mean the world to her to have this…

She closed her eyes, defeated. “I’ll go. I’ll go to Zhamair and give this to Kasim.”