Crowned For His Desert Twins by Clare Connelly

CHAPTER NINE

INDIATHOUGHTSHE’D attended fancy balls before, but she very quickly realised that nothing within her experience prepared her for something of this magnitude. The modern façade of the high-rise was exactly that—a façade—behind which a centuries-old building stood wrapped in a lush, overgrown courtyard, the gardens of which had been strung with fairy lights overhead, and, on the ground, covered in a delicate carpet of tea lights, so it looked like something out of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. An orchestra played and, while their song was unified, they stood throughout the gardens: a cluster of three violinists here, a pianist there, an ensemble of flutists and a clutch of harpists, so that the delightfully ethereal music wafted and breezed on the wind—both all-consuming and delicate at the same time. The details took on a new importance to India as a sort of coping mechanism, and she immediately understood why Khalil had presumed their kiss at the bar in New York might have been photographed.

Here, he was the star of the ball, every eye on him at all times—which meant that every eye was also on her. It wasn’t simply about attention, but also appraisal, as dozens of women eyed her with barely concealed envy.

So he was considered to be that much of a catch, huh? Well, she could see why, from the outside at least. He was devastatingly handsome, wealthy, powerful, and on the first night they’d met, he’d been charming—if, oh, so arrogant. But he was the last man on earth she would have chosen to marry if it weren’t for their situation! She had to remember that. Only, when Khalil offered his arm, she placed hers in the crook of it, and a blade of desire pressed hard to her breast, so she forgot, for a moment, that she wanted to dislike him...

‘I’m suddenly regretting the impulse to bring you here,’ he muttered sotto voce, so her eyes skittled to his.

‘Oh?’ Her lips, painted red for the occasion, formed a perfect ‘O’ and his eyes dropped to them with obvious desire.

He swore softly, drawing her close. ‘We won’t stay long. It’s only a matter of being seen together, then we can leave.’

‘What if I’m having fun?’

‘I promise you will have more fun alone with me.’

She smiled, and, despite the tangle of emotions pulling at her, surrendered to the sheer sensuality of being near him, of his words, and the power that came from knowing how much he wanted her. It was—for that moment—enough.

‘We’ll see,’ she teased, and he laughed, a soft, throaty noise that made her ache to turn on her heel and slide right back into his car, to leave the crowds behind and be alone with this man. All night, just the two of them...

He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing the back of it as though he couldn’t help himself. Flashes went off—not the paparazzi lenses that had snapped them outside, but the flashlights of phones every guest at the event carried.

‘In New York, that would be considered very bad etiquette,’ she said under her breath.

‘The kiss, or the photos.’

‘Both.’ She slid him a sidelong glance. ‘But I meant the photos.’

‘Here too,’ he agreed. ‘Under ordinary circumstances, but you are the first woman I have been seen with publicly since my engagement ended, so it is natural that your appearance has sparked a flurry of fascination.’

India stared at him, his words not making sense at first. ‘I’m sorry, did you just say...you were engaged?’

‘Was, yes.’

‘What? When? To whom?’

He lifted a brow at her numerous questions. ‘Our engagement ended six months ago. It was a mistake.’ His voice was stony suddenly, as though he were pushing her away physically. ‘And this is not the place to discuss it.’

‘Six months ago? So the night we met, it had only been four months—or just over three and a half, in fact,’ she clarified, nodding slowly.

‘So?’

So, she was a rebound girl. That night had been meaningless to him, even before Ethan had informed him of what he believed India to be. Until that moment, she hadn’t realised how hard she’d been clinging onto the spark of what they’d shared, as though it stood in a little box outside normal time, just him and her and a connection that had formed spontaneously and urgently, that had actually meant something.

But it had been nothing. A chance to push his ex-fiancée from his mind, nothing more.

‘Dance with me,’ he murmured.

‘Now?’

‘Why not?’

‘Because no one else is dancing.’

‘We want the world to see us together, do we not?’

‘I think your kiss accomplished that.’

He laughed, softly drawing her into his arms, the moonlight above cutting a pale silver swathe through the garden, so her dress sparkled like fairy dust.

‘It was barely a kiss,’ he reminded her. ‘Just a chaste sign of affection.’

‘Nonetheless, it will be all over Twitter by now.’

‘Perhaps.’ He shrugged, beginning to move in time to the music, his body’s rhythm captivating hers, so she was dancing along with him even before she realised it. His eyes were the most fascinating shade of brown, and she found her gaze drawn to them, her mind solely occupied in the cataloguing of the flecks of gold. It was tempting to relax into the moment completely, but there was danger in letting down her guard with Khalil, so she forced her brain to keep working, her mind focussed.

‘Why did you break up?’

He stiffened, his movements stopping for a moment, earning India’s fascination. But at least he didn’t ignore the question.

‘It would never have worked.’

‘That tells me precisely nothing.’

‘As I intended.’

India considered that. ‘Why? Is it a secret?’

‘It is something I prefer not to think about, let alone discuss. And it is part of a past that doesn’t affect us—nothing good can come of bringing it out into the open.’

It was India’s turn to miss a step, so Khalil’s arm tightened around her waist, offering necessary support.

‘I believe most things benefit from being brought into the open, in fact.’

‘Then let’s talk about you,’ he quietly cajoled, his words just a whisper in her ear. To anyone looking, they would have seemed like a couple so in love they couldn’t stand to have any distance between them whatsoever, but for India, their proximity was a convenient necessity—only at this distance could they speak so frankly without risk of being overheard.

‘My response hasn’t changed since the first night we met, you know. My life story isn’t particularly interesting.’

‘Let me be the judge of that.’

‘Fine,’ she sighed. After all, they were getting married. Of course they should spend time talking, getting to know one another better. Except, India had the strangest feeling that she already knew Khalil, even when there were clearly still so many secrets in his past. ‘What would you like to know?’

His response was lightning fast. ‘How did someone like you end up doing what you do?’

‘A woman like me?’ His hand lifted to the flesh at the top of her back, his fingers trilling over her spine slowly, so every cell in her body began to quiver with awareness.

‘You are smart, India. You are clever, too, and yet because you are beautiful, you took a job that trades solely on your looks. Why?’

‘That’s a mischaracterisation, for a start. Making conversation with strangers from varied walks of life is not easy,’ she responded with a tilt of her head.

He swayed her sideways, and though there was a crowd of people at the event, she was conscious only of Khalil; his overwhelming charisma absorbed her completely.

‘For you, I think it would be.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘For the reasons I enumerated already. You are smart and clever.’

Pleasure spread through her, the compliment disproportionately pleasing. She had to remind herself that tiny compliments from Khalil did nothing to erase his enormous insult.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, her fingers toying with the hair at his nape on autopilot, so she wasn’t even aware she was doing it.

‘Who were you going to marry?’

He lifted a brow. ‘I thought we agreed not to discuss my ex-fiancée,’ he said with quiet determination.

‘No, you decreed that we wouldn’t discuss her, and because you are used to saying one thing and having it be obeyed, you think that counts as “agreement”,’ she said calmly, unaware of the way his lips curved in a quick, appreciative smile that he flattened almost immediately. ‘But I didn’t mean her, anyway. You have to marry before your coronation. I presume there was someone else you had decided to propose to, before this...situation...unfolded?’

‘No.’ He moved his hand lower, down her spine, to the curve just above her bottom, his fingers splayed wide, holding her close to him so she was aware of his strength and hardness, so that she was aware of all of him. ‘There was a shortlist.’

India couldn’t help smiling at that, but it was a sad smile, pricked with remorse. ‘I see,’ she murmured. ‘No wonder you’re so...’

‘So?’ he prompted.

‘Arrogant.’ She lifted her shoulder unapologetically. ‘You have a queue of women desperate to marry you. It wouldn’t even occur to you that some women don’t value marriage to you as the highest prize imaginable.’

‘On the contrary,’ he responded, and she couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed. ‘You made it very clear that this marriage is the last thing you want.’

‘I feel sorry for the women who were hoping you’d turn to them,’ she said. ‘They’ll be heartbroken.’

‘I’m sure they’ll get over it.’

Silently, India disagreed. If she had loved Khalil, and thought he might want to marry her, she would have had a hard time moving on. He was incomparable. But she didn’t say that to him—his ego didn’t need any more stroking. His certainty spoke more of his belief that women were fickle and unfeeling. As though he couldn’t comprehend true, unfaltering love. Why? What had happened to him? Was it because of his ex-fiancée?

‘As for being arrogant,’ he said, ‘I think that has more to do with how I was raised than anything else.’

Curiosity had her gaze sharpening. ‘And how were you raised?’

‘With the certainty that I would be master of all I survey.’ He said it in a jocular tone, yet India detected a hint of something beneath the surface.

‘Specifics, please,’ she murmured.

‘What would you like to know?’

She cast about for one of the many questions that were swimming through her. ‘Well, did you live at the palace, even as a boy? Or did your parents have somewhere a little less...intimidating...when you were younger?’

‘The palace has always been my home.’

‘So your parents live there now?’

‘They do.’

‘Where?’

‘In the East Wing.’

‘Of course.’ She narrowly avoided rolling her eyes. ‘So you see them often?’

‘I see them as infrequently as you likely see your parents.’

Her step faltered, and her hand on his hip dug in a little, as though grabbing hold of something tangible. ‘My parents are dead.’ She offered a tight smile to put him at ease, as most people would feel regret at having made such a faux pas. Her heart ached, as always, because she missed her parents so much it was like a physical injury.

‘When?’

Most people would also choose to sidestep the issue, but not Khalil. His insatiable need for answers overrode everything. And yet, despite her first reaction, India realised she wasn’t upset to discuss her parents with him. If anything, she felt that talking about them now was a way of bringing them into her life. ‘A little over a year ago. It was a car accident,’ she forestalled his next question. ‘They died immediately.’

‘I’m very sorry to hear it. Were you close?’

India stopped dancing, pain lancing her now. ‘Very.’ Her voice was croaky; she looked away. ‘I think we’ve done what we needed to here, don’t you?’

But a muscle jerked low in his jaw and he didn’t release her. ‘My cousin Astrid lost her parents,’ he said, stroking her back, the comforting touch almost kind, except ‘kind’ wasn’t a word she would use to describe Khalil. ‘She was much younger, so it is not really a comparison—she never really knew them actually, so it’s more the idea of them she misses. It’s a pain that doesn’t seem to get easier.’

‘No.’ India nodded gently. ‘It doesn’t. At least, not in my experience.’ She found herself pressing her cheek to his chest. Not looking at him made it easier to talk. ‘My mother had actually been sick for a couple of years before the accident. Cancer. It was aggressive, so we were prepared for the worst. Though she’d been granted special permission to take a drug that wasn’t approved for treatment, and it was helping. I thought I’d made my peace with losing her, but I hadn’t. It was an awful time in my life.’

He kissed the top of her head and butterflies spread inside her, buzzing through her limbs. It was just an act, he was playing a part, but the effect of his attention was very, very real. She lifted her face to his, and when their eyes locked, it was as though nothing existed beyond them. Their past no longer mattered. Except it did, her brain interjected swiftly. Nothing about what she’d just revealed to Khalil changed a damned thing.

‘Before my mother married my stepfather, we were alone, and I was lonely. Then, overnight, I had a father—a real one, who truly cared about me—and soon enough, a little brother for me to dote on.’ Her smile was ethereal, so Khalil’s gaze dropped to her lips.

‘You have a brother?’

‘Yes. I was very lucky. I had, for a while, the most perfect family.’ She pulled her lips to the side, lost in thought.

He ran a finger over her cheek, saying nothing, promising nothing. What could he offer, anyway? He’d been completely honest with her. Love would have no part in their marriage, and it was love that had made her family perfect. Love between her mother and stepfather, and both parents and children. They had been a team. She and Khalil would never be that, but with luck, they could love their children enough to compensate. She had to cling to that hope because she had always sworn she would never get married unless she could find someone who made her as deliriously happy as her stepfather had her mother.

‘Excuse me, Your Highness.’ A servant appeared as if from nowhere. ‘The Prime Minister is asking for you.’

A scowl—unmistakable and fierce—crossed Khalil’s face. ‘I’m sure he can wait until tomorrow.’

‘He says it’s important.’

‘It’s fine.’ India took a step back, the appearance of the servant offering her a reprieve from their play-acting.

Khalil’s frustration was palpable, though, and she understood it: he didn’t like to be interrupted. ‘Tell him I’ll be a moment. There’s someone I’d like to introduce India to first.’

Astrid was a very kind and thoughtful companion. She spoke flawless English, courtesy of having attended university in London, and while beautiful and immaculately dressed, she was also friendly enough to set India completely at ease.

‘It’s a whirlwind, isn’t it?’ Astrid laughed as India’s eyes skimmed the crowd, mesmerised by the beautiful dresses and elegant guests.

‘It really is. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful.’

‘Then you should ask my cousin to take you to see the fireflies of the Athani Caves. They will captivate you more than you can imagine.’

‘I’ve never seen a firefly.’

‘At Athani, you will see thousands. They are blinding in their beauty.’

‘I’m sure they are,’ India said, almost wistfully, because she suspected Khalil would have little interest in taking her to some caves to see the insect life. After all, what would the point be? There was no chance of being photographed to substantiate their relationship somewhere so remote, and that was what this dating charade was all about—giving his people a chance to adjust to the idea of his girlfriend before she became his wife.

‘Khal seemed to enjoy dancing with you. It’s nice to see him happy again,’ Astrid said with a gentle smile, flagging down a passing waiter. ‘Would you like a champagne?’

‘Just a juice would be great, thanks.’

Astrid gave the order to the waiter then turned her attention back to India.

‘Was he ever unhappy?’ India asked, feeling a hint of guilt for prying. After all, if Khalil didn’t want to discuss his break-up then she shouldn’t try to extort information from his cousin.

‘Has he told you about Fatima?’

India hazarded a guess that this must be the name of his fiancée. ‘His fiancée,’ she said with a soft nod. ‘He’s mentioned her, in passing.’

‘I see.’ Astrid’s manner changed, her expression growing more circumspect. ‘It was a messy break-up. He wasn’t himself afterwards. I was worried he might suffer the effects of her...choices...for a long time. But you seem to have brought him back to life, India, and for that I am most grateful.’

The waiter returned with two glasses of juice. India thanked him in his own language, having been listening to tutorials since arriving. After all, her children would speak this as their native tongue, so naturally she needed to learn the language also.

As their conversation moved on, India found herself dwelling on Astrid’s final remark, surprised to realise how much she wished that were true—that she could have been responsible for bringing Khalil back to life. The truth was, though, he was still as cold as ever before; he was simply acting out a role tonight.