‘A lesson that I never really understood until I was twelve years old.’
She stared at him blankly.
Amir moved deeper into the room. ‘The age I was when my parents were assassinated.’
Her heart squeezed for the boy he’d been. She wanted to offer condolences, to tell him how sorry she was, but both sentiments seemed disingenuous, given the strained nature of their relationship. So instead, she said, ‘That must have been very difficult.’
He didn’t respond. His profile was autocratic, his features tight. Where was the man she’d made love to in the maze? It felt like such a long time ago. Then, she’d had no inhibitions, no barriers. To him she would have known exactly what to say, without second-guessing herself.
‘This room is completely private—for my use only, and for those guests I choose to invite here with me.’ He tilted a gaze at her. ‘I’m sure you are aware of how difficult it is to have true privacy in a palace.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, looking around. The more she looked, the more she saw and loved. In the far corner, an old rug had been spread, gold and burgundy in colour, and against it, sumptuous pillows were spread. ‘Thank you for showing it to me.’
He turned to face her, his eyes glittering like onyx in his handsome face.
‘I wanted to speak to you. Alone.’
Her body went into overdrive. Blood hummed just beneath her skin, her heart slammed into her ribs and her knees began to feel as though they were two distinct magnetic poles. She walked slowly and deliberately towards the centre of the room, where an enormous fiddle leaf fig was the centrepiece. ‘Did you, Amir?’
Using his name felt like both a rebellion and a comfort. She didn’t look at him to see his reaction.
‘It’s been two and a half months since the masquerade.’
She studied the detailed, intricate veins in the leaves of the fig tree, her eyes tracing their patterns, every fibre of her being focussing on not reacting visibly to his statement.
‘So you would know by now.’
‘Know?’
‘If there were any consequences to that night.’
Consequences? Her brain was sluggish. The heat, and having seen him again, made her feel a thousand things and none of them was mentally acute, so it took a few seconds for his meaning to make sense. Her breath snagged in her throat as she contemplated what he meant—something which hadn’t, until that moment, even occurred to her. ‘You mean to ask if I’m pr
egnant?’
The room seemed to hush. The gentle vines no longer whispered, the water beneath them ceased to flow, even the sun overhead felt as though it grew dim.
‘Are you?’
Something painful shifted in her belly. She swallowed past a lump in her throat, turning to face him slowly. ‘And if I were, Amir?’ This time, when she said his name, she was conscious of the way he reacted, heat simmering in his eyes.
‘I will not speak in hypotheticals.’
It was so like him. She felt a ridiculous burst of anger at his refusal to enter into a ‘what if?’. ‘No, that’s not fair. You asked the question, I’m entitled to ask mine back. What would you do if I were pregnant?’
His face became shuttered, impossible to read, unfamiliar and intimidating. ‘What would you have me do?’
She should have expected that. ‘No, I’m asking what you would want to do.’
‘Are you hoping I’ll say something romantic, Johara? Do you wish me to tell you that I would put aside our ancient feud and marry you, for the sake of our child’s future?’
Her lips parted. The image he painted was painful and somehow impossible to ignore. She shook her head even when she wasn’t sure what she felt or wanted.
‘Even for the sake of our child, I would not marry you. I couldn’t. As much as I hate your family, you deserve better than that.’
Curiosity barbed inside her. ‘You think marriage to you would be a punishment?’
‘Yes. For both of us.’