The beauty of his grin surprises me. I hadn’t expected it and it’s like the sun cutting through the tent, bathing me in warmth.
“Actually, I was going to point out that you are at least a foot shorter than me, and half my body weight. I could pick you up and carry you to the car over one shoulder without any difficulty.”
My eyes narrow and I work to conceal my first response to this; I hope he doesn’t understand how the idea of what he’s described has sent my heartrate through the roof. “But you won’t,” I say unevenly.
“No?”
“No,” I agree, formulating a plan on the fly. “Because this is our honeymoon and there are other things we can do besides…” the words falter on my lips. Damn it, he’s right. I do act like some shy little virgin around him, and it’s starting to drive me crazy. I force myself to level a stare at him. “That. Sex.” I clear my throat. Smoothe. Really smoothe.
“Such as?” He drawls, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Such as getting to know one another,” I say firmly, moving into the kitchen and pulling two glasses from the shelf. I fill them with the Pomegranate juice I spied the night before, placing them on the tabletop with determination. “You can tell me about Qabid, all the things I don’t know but should.”
He’s standing there, immovable, like a brick wall.
“You can tell me about yourself,” I push, sitting down, fixing him with a determined look. “Tell me about your childhood and your life as Sheikh, what you like and don’t like. Tell me about the tattoos on your chest – when you got them, what they mean. Your favourite foods, likes, dislikes.”
His expression doesn’t change for a long time, then finally he lifts one thick, dark brow. “Why?”
It’s so absurd that I laugh. Lifting my left hand to show the enormous ring on my finger, I point to it. “Because I’m your wife. I don’t know how long we’ll be married, but shouldn’t we have at least a passing knowledge of one another? Or do you plan on ignoring me completely once we return to the palace?”
His features change; it takes me a second to understand what I’m seeing written across his face.
“Oh my God.” I clamp a hand to my mouth. “You’re embarrassed. Because that’s what you were planning to do! Just put me in a room somewhere and forget I exist?”
“Yes,” he agreed, embarrassment replaced by a look of steel. “That was my plan.”
“Wow.” I nod slowly, reaching for the juice-filled glass with fingers that are shaking slightly. I can’t say why that hurts so badly… except, yes, I can. I feel like a commodity, useful only in a very finite way. The fact I’m a grown woman with my own wishes and needs seems not to matter to Zahir. Then again, hadn’t I planned to marry him and let him get on with his own life? Perhaps he’s simply trying to implement the same approach. I look down at the tabletop, surprised to feel tears thickening in my throat.
His sigh is heavy and a moment later, he’s standing right beside me. I look up, and up, until I find his eyes. Their emotion is locked to me.
“One more night,” he agrees grudgingly, moving to the seat opposite then. “And I reserve the right not to answer any question I find unpalatable.”
I can’t help it; I roll my eyes.
His fingers reach out, curling around my wrist, drawing my attention sharply to his face. “Has anyone ever told you how wilful you are?”
I blink, not entirely sure if he means that as a compliment or not. “Stubborn,” I nod slowly. “You don’t like it?”
He considers that for several moments. “I can’t say. I thought I wouldn’t.”
Pleasure flickers in my gut.
“So? First question?”
I lean back in the chair, considering that. “That’s easy. Where did you go to school?”
“I had tutors.”
“For junior or high school?”
“Both.”
“College?”
“More tutors.”
I frown.