“I just wish you knew him better.”
His eyes hold mine without giving me a hint of how he feels.
I sigh. “If you knew my dad, you’d know he could never do what you think. And if you didn’t suspect him, you would never suspect me.”
“I don’t suspect you. The note was – alarming, but I acted without thinking. The fact it was found in your clothing means nothing. There was no time during the day that you were left alone. You didn’t meet with anyone.”
My heart turns over and for a moment, something like ice washes over me. “You know this because you checked?”
Sensing my displeasure, he nods slowly. “It was important to put the matter to bed. I verified your movements for your own sake, Amy, not because I didn’t believe you.”
It’s not reassuring. “Oh.”
He presses a finger to my cheek, his touch gentle.
“But you don’t trust me.”
His eyes ravage mine. I look away, unable to bear the intensity of his scrutiny.
“I trust you more than I should.”
It rings with an earlier sentiment he expressed. I do not think you would bother me so much if I didn’t want you like this.
It hurts, but I ignore that, too. It’s not productive.
“What would it take to change your mind about my father?”
“Nothing that is within your power to give.” He leans over and presses a kiss to my forehead.
It’s supposed to be placating, I suppose, but it whips frustration through me. I press a hand to his heart, the solid thumping there pressing into my own.
“I want this marriage to work,” I say quietly, catching his hand and moving it to my stomach. “I understand why you need an heir, and I want that too.” I flush a little, the confession something I’m still grappling with, even when I know it to be completely true. “But Zahir, he’s my dad, and he’s kind and patient and generous and thoughtful and I know if you gave him a chance, you’d like him a lot.”
Zahir’s eyes flash with anger. “No.”
It’s so abrupt, so final. Something clutches in my chest. “But you don’t even know –,”
“I know enough.” He presses a kiss to my lips, a kiss to silence me and rebuff this conversation. “He is your father, and believe me, little one, I will never forget that he is the reason for our marriage. But when he returns to Qabid, he will still be nothing to me.”
Realisation is like an anvil in my side. “But he’s…”
“Yes?”
Zahir is ruthless now, beneath an exterior I know so well, and with a voice I can tell he’s trying to soften to avoid upsetting me.
“What about if we have a baby?” I can’t believe this hasn’t occurred to me before now. “He’ll be the baby’s grandfather. Obviously I’ll want him to be a part of our child’s life.”
“This is also unlikely.”
For the smallest moment I’m buoyed by his use of the word ‘unlikely’ but then I understand: he’ll say anything to delay this confrontation.
“It has to be,” I demur, pushing out of bed, the pleasure of a moment ago completely evaporated, a wave of disbelief cresting through me. “I can’t bring him to Qabid and cut him out of my life!”
“You may see him,” he says quietly, and kindly, but the very idea I’d need his permission sets my teeth on edge.
“Oh, gee, thank you very much,” I respond tartly, dragging a silk dressing gown around my body, cinching the tie at my waist. “How generous of you. What else ‘may’ I do as your wife
?”