And those men last night...they would look at her—every night if they wished. And taunt Arkim with the knowledge that they’d seen as much of his lover as he had.
He realised his hand had tightened so much around the glass that he risked breaking it. He forced himself to relax, to focus.
Sylvie continued. ‘The truth is that I don’t know if I should do it or not. I’ve been thinking...about doing something else.’
Relief vied with something much darker inside Arkim. Sylvie was looking at him far too carefully. As if his response mattered. As if she wanted him to tell her what to do.
The sheer volatility of his emotions was like acid in his stomach, inhibiting his response. If he told Sylvie he cared what she did she would have control over him...she would know his vulnerability. It would make a statement about what was happening here, would demonstrate a possessiveness of her that had already earned him a black eye. In public. In front of his peers.
He went cold—because he hadn’t even contemplated that side of it yet.
He’d just weathered one public scandal...was he now in danger of being dragged into another one?
It was too much. Too reminiscent of that day when he’d lost his innocence and his self-respect. When he’d been found, literally, with his pants down and that woman’s mouth around his— He blanked the poisonous memory. He wasn’t going back there for anyone.
Carefully, he took a sip of his drink. He didn’t even feel the burn. His voice when he spoke was cool. Calm. Belying the tumult underneath. ‘I don’t really know what you want me to say. It’s your life, Sylvie. You should do whatever you think is best for you.’
She looked at him for a long moment, but it was a kind of dead-eyed stare. She was so pale that Arkim almost made a move towards her, but then she seemed to break out of her trance-like state and uncrossed her arms, her gaze narrowed.
‘Yes, it is my life, and I do know what’s best for me. Which is why I’m going to leave now.’
Arkim frowned. ‘Leave...?’
Sylvie glanced down to where Omar was sitting at her feet, looking up at her adoringly, his tongue hanging out. But she didn’t bend down to pick him up. Arkim saw her hands form fists, as if to stop herself.
She looked back at him, her jaw tight. ‘Yes, leave. The new show opens in a week and there’s a huge PR campaign starting tomorrow. In light of what happened last night I think it’s best if we call it quits now.’ Her chin lifted. ‘I would prefer not to be responsible for any further public incidents, and when the new show takes off... Well, it’s only more likely to happen.’
Something hard and dark and cold settled into Arkim’s belly. ‘So you’re going to do it, then? Take Pierre up on his offer?’
Her face was like a pale smooth mask. She shrugged lightly. ‘It’s all I’ve ever known. They’re my family... I’d be a fool not to want to progress in one of the most famous shows in the world.’
‘By taking off your clothes?’ Arkim almost spat the words.
Sylvie’s gaze sparked. ‘What’s it to you? I have to worry about my career, Arkim. If I don’t take this opportunity now there’s a million girls coming up behind me who’ll do the job.’
Arkim had to grit his jaw. He wanted to say, What about the way you were dancing that day when I found you again?
She had been so passionate and beautiful. But that wasn’t really her, was it? If she was prepared to do this? Take the last step over the line...? Something within Arkim snapped and the words spilled out before he could stop them. ‘What if I asked you to stay?’
A flare of colour came into Sylvie’s cheeks. ‘How long for? Another week? A month? Two months? We both know what this is...impermanent. Unless...’
Unless it’s more.
The implication of her unfinished sentence made Arkim say harshly, ‘Unless it’s nothing.’
‘It’s nothing, then,’ said Sylvie faintly.
She walked over and picked up her bag and a jacket, shrugging into it in jerky movements. She was avoiding Arkim’s eye as she walked to the other side of the room, where he saw that a larger bag was waiting. So she’d packed already. Because she’d known how he would react? The knowledge sent a sharp pain through his chest.
She turned around to face him, looking very petite and young. Delicate. He thought of her just a couple of hours ago, astride him, rocking her body against his. She’d been like a fearsome warrior, claiming her pleasure with a ferocity matched only by Arkim’s desire to give it to her.
The image was so vivid that it took him a second to realise she’d gone.
No.
He put down the glass, uncaring that it fell to the floor, spilling dark golden liquid. When he got to the hall, he saw her holding Omar close, burying her face in his body before putting him down carefully. Something was constricting Arkim, like a band around his chest.
She didn’t face him. She put her hand on the knob of the door and said tautly, ‘I can’t take him with me—it’s not practical... But you will take care of him, won’t you?’