“We’ll have to move in together. My preference would be for you to move to this apartment – there are five bedrooms, more than enough for our children as well – but if you’d prefer, we can take over the family suite upstairs. It covers the entire floor of this wing, and would afford even more space, if you desired it.”
Fireworks were detonating behind her eyelids. “Wait a second. I just need a moment to understand this. You expect us to live together? And did you say children?”
“Of course.”
Her lips parted. “You don’t even want this baby,” she said with a rough shake of her head, then a jerky gulp of her iced tea. “How can you talk about more children so calmly?”
“I didn’t want children, you’re right. But from the moment I discovered you were pregnant, I have wanted our baby.”
It was a reassurance she didn’t know she needed. She dipped her head forward to prevent him from reading that in her face.
“My preference would be for our child to grow with a sibling, someone who understands what this lifestyle entails. But if you strongly disagree, then we will have one child. Fine.”
She hadn’t expected him to make the concession. It surprised her that he would be so reasonable, even as something like disappointment cut through her. Had she wanted that particular argument? Was it possible she too wanted their baby to have siblings, but she wasn’t ready to admit that to either of them? After all, her relationship with Jack had been so special, they’d been so close. Could she deny her own child the chance to have that bond with another human?
“Let’s just – shelve that issue for now,” she mumbled. “We hardly have to make that decision at this point in time.”
He dipped his head in agreement. “Then you simply have to choose which apartment you’d prefer.”
“My own,” she responded acerbically. “I can’t see why we have to live together.”
“Because we are to be married, and it is tradition, and because our child should have as much normalcy as possible.”
“I don’t know if a marriage between two virtual strangers is ever going to be any kind of ‘normalcy’.”
“Are we strangers now, Amelia?”
Her eyes danced away from his. “Honestly, I think we always were.”
If she’d been looking at him, she might have seen the look of warning that crossed his gaze, the look of intention that hardened around his lips. “Why do you say that?”
“Because everything I thought I knew about you was wrong.”
He sipped his drink, eyes locked to her face. A shiver ran the length of her spine.
“I thought I knew everything about you, inside and out, just like I thought you knew me. But the thing is, it was all just make believe. I didn’t get that then. I was nineteen and it was so easy to be swept up in the romance of it all – a secret affair, the discovery of sex and how great it can feel, horse rides across the desert on moonlit nights, new foods and flavours, the sound of your voice in my ear when you whispered to me in your native language.” She sighed again. “No wonder I thought I was falling in love with you.”
“But you were wrong.” His tone was flat, his eyes probing hers.
In response, she curled her lips into something like a sneer. “Obviously. Everything I thought I knew about you and us was based on my particularly naïve viewpoint.”
“And are you less naïve now, habibi?”
“I’m mature enough to know I don’t want you calling me terms of endearment that mean nothing to you. My name will do just fine.”
He dipped his head forward, so she was robbed of the opportunity to see what effect, if any, her declaration had on him.
“And in the years we’ve spent apart, you’ve undoubtedly known many men, many nights,” he prompted, so her heart tightened and a fine bead of perspiration moistened her nape.
“That’s not relevant to this conversation. We’re here to discuss the shape our marriage will take, not my love life.”
He looked as though he wanted to fight the point, but after a moment he shrugged his broad shoulders. “If that’s your preference.”
“It is.”
“Why? What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid. I just don’t want to talk about it with you. We’re not friends, Zafar, and this isn’t a real relationship. My personal life is exactly that – personal. Private. Off limits to you. You don’t see me asking for a catalogue of all the women you slept with after I left, do you?”