The truth was, she was still a little afraid to be truly vulnerable in front of him. Sharing what had happened to her as a girl, telling him about that terrible night that had scarred her forehead and taken her mother from her—it wasn’t such a dramatic story, in itself. No more than his own confession in the rose garden had been, and it had happened a long time ago. She had only been twelve at the time. But both events had shaped her life, as well as the lives of her sister and her father. They’d come together very purposefully around the loss, like trees intertwining as they leaned upon one another. Laine had devoted her life to being the support structure to the remains of her family, and both she and her father had done everything in their power to ensure that little Emma had all she could need or want in love and security.
If he were to ever mean anything to her, anything more than a good time and a generous employer, he would have to understand her family’s importance. But, she mused as her cheeks burned in humiliation, he’d essentially shown her that they would never be more than that. He didn’t even feel that way toward most of his own family. He got along well enough with Hadiya, but their relationship did not seem to be like the one Laine had with her sister. Frankly, during her time there, Hadiya had become more of a sister to Laine than she was to Aziz.
Lost in thought, Laine hurried back to her office. A strong hand caught her wrist and jerked her still forcefully.
“You little American slut!” Amin spat at her.
Laine blinked up at him with a mixture of bewilderment and indignation. “What?”
“I saw you, harlot, through the window! Bending over to Aziz, spreading your filthy legs, and not even married!” Amin was livid, his eyes twitching and his jaw held rigid. “How dare you come into our home and so brazenly spread your sin?”
Laine pulled her hand back, but could not free herself. “Aziz was hardly complaining.”
“You are singlehandedly bankrupting our family of our traditions!”
On an instinctual level, Laine was afraid. Amin was nowhere near the height of his brother, but he was larger than she by a few inches. On a rational level, however, she laughed.
“I’m just one woman. How could I possibly be the grain of sand to destroy this utterly fucked-up machine?”
He smacked her. Hard. She touched her cheek and blinked dizzily.
“You are responsible for your own actions,” she managed, struggling to lift her gaze. “And so is Aziz.” He might come after her again. And this palace was so large that she couldn’t count on Aziz to hear and come to her defense.
“You do not speak back to your betters, woman,” Amin said.
Laine moved to get away from him, and he grabbed her arm again.
But a well-dressed New York woman didn’t get through life without taking a self-defense course or three. Especially not one who has a dad checking up on her every day. In one motion, she turned her arm in his grasp, grabbed his arm, and twisted it behind his back.
“What? What are you doing?!”
“I could break your elbow from this angle. That would be fun explaining to your wife, wouldn’t it?” Laine laughed softly. “Somehow, I have a feeling the women in this family would not be impressed with what you’ve done here, even if they agreed in sentiment with my ‘low’ nature.”
“You should not be—!”
“I will be perfectly honest in saying that I don’t give a fuck what you think I should or should not do.” Laine put more pressure on the joint, getting a bit of pleasure in hearing Amin groan. “Tend your own damn garden, Amin. If you want more responsibility, show Aziz you can take it on. Start your own business. Make your own path. Don’t come into this house stomping around like the world owes you anything! And don’t you dare put your insecurities onto me!”
In a calculated risk, Laine let Amin go and pushed him away from her before she turned and walked swiftly down the hallway. Amin had proven himself a bit of a coward. He’d taken a blow from Aziz with no recourse, and he’d waited until Aziz was out of earshot before confronting her. He didn’t follow her.
Laine retreated to her room and sat on the bed, finally beginning to breathe easily again. She curled her legs underneath her, wondering how all of this had fallen apart so damn fast. Maybe it was inevitable. Any interior decorator knew you needed a solid foundation or structure to build on. How many dreams had she shattered when clients came to her with plans that didn’t match the bones of the house? It was her job to sell them a new dream, to translate their dreams into the possible.
She hadn’t been prepared to be the impractical one.