Why does that simple statement make my pulse race?
I clear my throat but my voice still emerges as a hoarse whisper. “My mom was sick a long time. We had lots of hospital bills. I had a part-time job through school, but we never seemed able to make inroads.”
“Your father worked?”
“Low paying jobs, despite his education.” I bristle. “He didn’t speak much English, and found it hard to get employment. He’s not great with technology, so that rules out a lot of occupations. We got by, but that’s about it.”
Zahir’s eyes glitter as they meet mine.
“He used to talk about the wealth he had in Qabid. Wealth that’s still tied up here.”
“Because of me,” he finishes my thought.
I lower my eyes so he doesn’t see the accusation there.
“Starving your father of resources was one way to ensure he didn’t cause more trouble.” Something shifts across his face, a look I don’t quite understand. “I had no intention of you experiencing the ramifications of that.”
“You couldn’t have known my mom would require such a lengthy hospitalisation, nor that we’d be crippled with sky-high bills ‘til kingdom come.”
“Is your debt paid now?”
I bite down on my lower lip, thinking of the stress of that, the angst I’ve felt at needing to clear the ledger. “No.”
“You will be able to remedy this with your wedding settlement.”
Too bad I’d already resolved not to touch the money. I grimace, shaking my head. “I didn’t marry you for money, Zahir. I think that unnecessarily confuses matters. The only thing I ask of you is that you allow my father to return. That’s the sum total of what I want from all this.”
His eyes burn me with their intensity. “And yet, you can relieve yourself of this debt immediately, removing that worry for yourself and your father. Why would you not do that?”
I lift one shoulder. “I just – don’t like the idea of it.”
His frown pulls at something in my gut, so I find it hard to look at him and impossible to look away. It isn’t just that he’s handsome, it’s that he’s fascinating and mysterious, all at once. Before he can question me further, I change the subject.
“Why doesn’t Aliya like me?”
His eyes widen. “Your aid?”
I nod.
Beneath the table, he shifts his legs, capturing mine again. I fight a wave of desire, concentrating on our conversation with all my might.
“She is traditional.”
“And I’m American.”
“It has less to do with that than the fact you’re a Hassan. Her parents served my parents. She’s seen too much to welcome you with open arms.”
I consider that. “So why did you appoint her to me?”
Again, he shows surprise. “She is one of the most senior female members of the household staff. It was appropriate, given her experience.” He pauses, considering that for a moment. “If she makes you uncomfortable, I will have her removed from duties.”
“No, no,” I shake my head, instantly mortified at the idea of the other woman losing her job
because of me. “Don’t be silly. I can handle it. She does her work well, it’s just apparent that she doesn’t think very highly of me.”
“She doesn’t know you,” he points out. “All she has to go on is your parenthood, and the ancient hatred that exists between our families.”
“Much like you,” I remind him quietly.