He growled, cursing himself for bothering to make conversation when all he wanted was to bury himself in her body. He wasn’t interested in hearing her lame excuses again. ‘You didn’t look sorry at the time! You didn’t sound sorry.’
‘I don’t… I can’t expect you to believe me.’
‘And how can I believe you? You keep saying you had no choice.’
If she’d looked away he might have felt differently. If she’d looked away he might have thought she’d had something to hide. But she held his gaze from under lids slumberous with intent, her eyes fixed level upon his. ‘I had a choice,’ she started, and he flinched and wished she had said something different. ‘A choice that was made plain to me. I could protect my family’s honour, with the promise of a plush job for my father, or he would ruin them for ever.’
‘He would ruin them? Who do you mean?’
‘Who do you think? Was he not there, gloating at the wedding, knowing it had all gone even more perfectly than he’d imagined?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Your father, Rafiq. Your own father threatened me, told me that a match between you and me would come to nothing. I already knew how badly Kareef had suffered, but when your father visited me, told me that he had plans for you, plans that included better than me, and that my entire family would suffer if I did not marry Hussein, what choice did I have? Do you really think I could have married Hussein otherwise? Do you really believe that?’
But Rafiq was still reeling from the discovery his father had had a hand in his betrayal. That it was his father who had been the one to force them apart. His own father.
Ever since their argument at the oasis yesterday it had bothered him. Sera had said then that she’d had no choice, that she couldn’t bring the shame of Jasmine’s family on her own, and in the white-hot heat of his fury he had refused to listen, refused to see her point of view.
But he had lived in Australia a long time. He had forgotten what life was like here—had failed to remember the expectations a father had for his daughters, had disregarded what it must have been like to live with the ever-present risk of shaming one’s family by one’s actions.
And he had never for a moment considered a father’s expectations for his sons. His father had wanted to control every aspect of his sons’ upbringing, had made every decision, and he had been beyond furious when Kareef had been rescued in the desert with Jasmine.
Of course he had wanted to choose their wives. Of course he would have considered it his choice. He had wanted to control their lives. Instead, he had driven them all away, one by one.
It made some kind of sense. Even his own mother taking Sera in. No wonder she felt responsible. No wonder she wanted to make amends.
Rafiq dragged fingers through his hair, nails raking his scalp. He had been blinded by his own hurt. His own pain. Rendered himself incapable of seeing anything else.
And while his mind reeled with his own inadequacies, another snippet managed to filter through. His mind spun backwards, desperate to replay the words…
‘…when your father visited me, told me that he had plans for you, plans that included better than me, and that my entire family would suffer if I did not marry Hussein, what choice did I have? Do you really think I could have married Hussein otherwise?’
A tidal wave could not have hit him with more force. ‘You didn’t want to marry him. You didn’t love him.’
And this time she did turn her head away, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him while she spoke of her husband. ‘I never loved him!’
There was a chill in her words that he didn’t understand, couldn’t compute, but there was no time to analyse that now, no time to think of anything but the incredible satisfaction of knowing she had never loved her husband. ‘And when you told me, in front of everyone, that you had never loved me…’
She dropped her face into her hands. ‘I lied.’ Her voice was as thin as the golden thread that held the tiny gems to her gown, and he felt her words run ice-cold through his veins.
He thrust his hands once more through his hair, the pain of his nails raking his scalp nowhere near enough to wipe away the pain in his heart. He wanted to believe her. So much. But still it wasn’t enough. Because it hadn’t just been the words she’d spoken. It had been the evidence of his own eyes that had damned her, and still did.
‘But it wasn’t just what you told me, was it? I saw you at the reception! I saw him pull you to him. I saw him practically thrust his tongue down your throat, his hand mauling your breast. And I saw you reaching out your own hand to his lap, squeezing him like you’d never touched me! Everyone was busy watching the dancers, but I witnessed it all. And I wanted to tear him limb from limb. It was only Kareef who managed to talk sense into me, holding me back and telling me to go, to leave you, to get out while I still could.’