* * *
She stared at the painting, marvelling at the depth of colour. As always, a sense of awe swirled around her. Their time was running out. Soon she would need to head back to her apartment and this little slice out of reality would come to
an end.
“This is one of my favourite places to come when I have spare time,” she said to the man beside her. He stood like a sentinel. Were he cast from marble, he would have looked perfectly at home in the halls of this building. So strong and large, so muscled and patrician.
“You would love to see the art of my palace. We have renaissance masters, early religious carvings. Breathtaking pieces.”
“For your family’s private enjoyment?” She asked, surprised and a little disapproving.
He understood. “Our collection is extensive. At any time at least a third of it is on loan to art institutes around the world. We have a curator who oversees the management of this.” He put a hand in the small of her back, guiding her to the next painting. “It would not be right to keep such precious works for our own enjoyment alone.”
“I agree.” She moved closer, enjoying his nearness, taking strength from his proximity. “What was it like? Growing up in a palace?”
He stroked her hip absentmindedly, enjoying the contact. “It’s all I knew,” he said finally. “I suppose it was a rarefied way to grow.” He thought back; slices of his childhood clipped into his memory. “My mother wasn’t from Dashan.”
“Wasn’t she?”
“No.” His smile was nostalgic. “She was English.”
“Oh!” She stopped walking and looked up at him. “Like me?”
He lifted his hands and cupped her face. “In some ways, you are a lot like her.” His smile made her heart flip and flop in her chest. “She had the same zest for everything she did in life, just like you.” He stared into her eyes with an intensity that flushed her skin. “And until I met you, I did not know another soul who could be so graceful and kind.”
Tears – happy ones – began to dance in her eyes. “Thank you.”
He shook his head. “Thank you.” He smiled, breaking the mood that had wrapped around them.
“When did she move to Dashan?”
“When she met my father.” He began to move again, guiding her into the hall that housed the renaissance masters. “She was an intrepid explorer. She had been all over the world and had come to Dashan to visit some of our ancient sites. He saw her and, so the story goes, fell in love instantly. They were married within a week.”
“A week! Can you imagine?”
“I couldn’t. Until I met you.”
CHAPTER TEN
“It’s so big!” Jordan marvelled, staring at their work with a look of complete bemusement. “Do you think he’s going to like it?”
“He’s going to love it,” she promised, imagining Ra’if’s face when they turned up with the homemade offering.
Jordan reached for some more icing, spooning it over the roof joint.
“It’s soooo gloopy!” He cried, his laughter ringing around their small flat.
“It’s meant to be gloopy,” Melinda responded, concentrating hard on propping the gingerbread walls into place. “That’s what makes it stick.”
“It’s all over my fingers!” He lifted one to his lips, tasting the incredibly sweet royal icing mixture.
“Don’t do that,” Melinda chided gently. “It’s full of sugar.”
“It tastes so good.”
“Of course it does. It’s basically a creamed sweet.” She sent him a look that had been intended as admonishment and came across as amusement. “Go and wash your hands, lovey.”
“Why? I just did.”