It was Jag.
He had changed clothing as well.
No longer did he wear the full traditional Hayat-style clothing that he’d been wearing in the various photographs she’d seen of him from throughout the day, though he still wore his white ghutra and agal.
Paired with his bespoke suit, he was a sight to see.
The deep black of his suit set off the constantly burning fire in his eyes.
As always, he was captivating, commanding her attention and focus like a machine made for just that function.
His eyes shone as he took her in, gaze falling on her hand and, impossibly, flaring even more before returning to her face.
“Ravishing,” he said.
The wonder in his voice worked its way around her heart and squeezed.
“Not so bad yourself,” she said, awkwardly, wishing she had a greater lexicon for this moment than the one she’d picked up from romantic comedies.
Unfortunately, there was not another genre that could lend her vocabulary for the situation she found herself in.
What compliments did you give to a man who was your husband but not your lover?
What level of physical appreciation was appropriate with someone you were not allowed to be attracted to, but were?
How could she not be, when he looked like that? How could she resist when he was a force for his people who accepted nothing less than excellence from everyone around him, and gave back tenfold in response? Jag was dedicated, and shrewd, and hardworking, committed to providing the very best for those he was responsible for, and loyal to his core.
He was everything her mother would have told her to hope for in a husband. The kind of person it was possible to fall in love with.
Rita didn’t know how long they stood like that, staring at one another, but it was long enough that it was a jolt to be reminded of what they had come here to do.
“Are you ready?” he asked, offering his arm.
Was she ready?She wasn’t sure it was possible to be ready.
They were going in there to tell the world that she was his wife, and not only that, but that she was NECTAR.
And only half of it was true.
They might be married, but she was not his wife.
Hands trembling faintly at her side, Rita shook her head. This was a terrible idea.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, concern deepening the timbre of his voice as he drew her to him, interlacing her chilled fingertips with his warm ones.
“This isn’t a good idea. We can’t pull this off. No one will ever believe the two of us are really married.”
Tilting her chin up, Jag faced her, expression serious. “You are so brilliant and beautiful that they will believe anything you tell them just for a chance to be in the same room with you. You don’t go in there to be shamed, but to shine in front of an adoring crowd.Yourfleet was the surprise hit of the exhibition,yourcar irrefutably attested to the world the power and speed potential of electric, and your reveal tonight is the first step in getting the world to reconsider how it gets around. You’re the star of this exhibition, whether the world knows you are or not. We don’t have to do this this way, Rita. The results of the exhibition were better than even expected. I can close the exhibition myself and we can create a more formal debut for our marriage with an altered origin story. But you will never again have another opportunity like tonight with which to step on stage and transfix the globe. The choice is yours, Rita.”
Rita stared at him, unable to even settle on an expression, let alone a course of action. He was willing to let her keep her secret identity but unwilling to let her off the hook.
Like her dad had been, before the whole matching thing.
He would let her hide, but he wouldn’t do it without letting her know the consequences.
She knew Jag was right, not because he said it, but because she herself had seen her reach expand over the course of the exhibition. Her work had caught the attention of the international community.
What she did now would determine whether they forgot about her as soon as her moment had passed or stuck around to listen to what she had to say.