Page 40 of The Marriage Deal

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They too leave, though I see two remain on the other side of the doorway.

I wait, on tenterhooks, for whatever he wants to say that requires me to be on my own. “You did well.”

I shake my head, instantly demurring. “I just sat at your side. It was hardly a masterclass in diplomacy.”

“You’re wrong.” His eyes flare. “All I require is the visual messaging you just provided. They’ve seen you sitting with me, supporting me. That’s very powerful.”

That rankles on so many levels. I hate being reduced to an ornamental accompaniment, but that’s all I am to him. He didn’t marry me for my brain or any insight I might be able to offer on Qabid

i matters. He needs me to show that the Hassan and Al Adari families are at peace. I square my shoulders. “So I’ve outlived my usefulness?”

He bares his teeth in a wolfish smile. “For now.”

My eyes narrow. “Then I’ll leave you to it.” I turn to leave but his voice stills me.

I don’t turn back to face him, instead, I stand waiting, my head tilted ever so slightly to catch his words. “Remember, Amy, there is danger here. Try to behave yourself.”

I stifle the response I want to give, a curse flooding my mouth. I leave without issuing it – or any other word.

“We should not wander the streets too much longer.” Aliya’s warning is strict, her impatience obvious. I almost feel sorry for the older woman. It’s hot, after all, and this has been far less fun for her than it has for me. I’ve been walking down memory lane, finding signs and shops that have hammered me with unexpected, thrilling recollections, unlocking parts of myself I hadn’t realised I still possessed. At a small store – little more than a window in a wall, really – I bought a box of alum habi, the small treat the older man mentioned earlier; it’s something I haven’t tasted since I was a girl. The aroma of it – saffron, pistachio and honey – makes my heart float, and as I lift one to my lips, I almost sob for the joy that floods me.

“Please, have one,” I offer Aliya, holding the box to her.

She eyes them cautiously.

“They’re delicious,” I promise.

Still she hesitates.

“Have one and I’ll find us somewhere cool to sit,” I suggest, so she sighs and reaches for the box. I move from ‘almost’ feeling sorry for her to feeling actual pity, as well as guilt. I’ve kept her out too long. It’s nearing night fall, and I barely realised.

“I’m sorry, Aliya,” I say as she takes a bite of the small orange disc. “I didn’t mean to be out so late. You’re right. It’s time to leave.”

The concession is obviously unexpected.

“Can we walk back to the car this way?” I nod down another alley.

Mollified by my agreement, she nods.

“Our house was near here,” I say, though I couldn’t find it for sure. Not for a million dollars. I know it’s out of the town, on the edges. We had a garden, with a small swimming pool. I used to find stones on the edges of Thakirt and bring them home, pitching them into the water so that I could watch them sink to the bottom, and stare at them deep under water, their beauty both marred and improved by ripples in the aqua surface.

“Was it?” I hear her disapproval and sigh.

“Why don’t you like me, Aliya?”

Her eyes flit to mine, her manner immediately uneasy.

“I am not in the custom of liking anyone I work for,” she says quietly. “I have never considered it to be a quality required for my job.”

“It’s not,” I agree. “But you actively dislike me.”

She doesn’t respond, which is all the answer I need.

“My dad isn’t what you believe. He’s really not.”

Her lips compress and she is silent, apparently determined not to answer.

I echo her sigh and continue walking. There is a market at the end of the street and our security detail of four men tightens around us in a uniform manner, keeping others from coming too close. Despite this, as we cross an intersection, a young boy cycles past, almost knocking Aliya over. He swerves to avoid her, his bike hitting the ground, and I forget for a moment the money and power inherent to my title and scoop down to pick him up, making sure he’s okay. An adult joins us, speaking in rapid-fire Qabidi to the boy, then me, crouching beside me to check the boys’ leg. It’s the work of a second before the security guards are ushering them away, reminding me that I’m different, not simply a woman walking through an ancient town.


Tags: Clare Connelly Billionaire Romance