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He invited Rio to dine with him at the palace and without hesitation chose the same evening that Polly invariably spent with her grandparents, Hakim and his wife. The less Polly was exposed to Rio, the better, he decided with pious resolve.
*
‘You did incredibly well tonight,’ Rashad told Polly on the drive back to the palace. ‘You didn’t once look to me for backup either.’
A sensation of unease niggled at the base of Polly’s skull. Why did he make that sound more like a negative than a plus? Why had he kept his distance throughout the evening? Was she ever going to understand the man she had married? The minute she believed she had solved the mystery of Rashad he would do something she wasn’t expecting and confuse her again.
‘I thought you wanted me to be independent—’
‘I do,’ Rashad confirmed. ‘I can’t always be by your side and sometimes you will have to attend such events alone.’
‘So why am I still getting a mixed message here?’ Polly queried a shade tartly.
Rashad shrugged a broad shoulder as he sprang out of the limo, relieved to be back on palace ground. He knew he was being difficult, he knew he was being too emotional but he was a seething tangle of conflicting feelings inside himself and struggling to hide the fact. In truth, Polly had shone like the brightest of stars at the dinner and without the smallest help from him. He had been very impressed by the natural warmth she exuded. Yet she had still somehow managed to maintain a certain amount of royal distance and formality, a formality which in no way came naturally to her for she was one of the most unstudied personalities he had ever met. In short she had contrived to be the public success that Ferah had always longed to be but had never managed to be. That cruel comparison stopped Rashad in his tracks and yet another surge of guilt and regret bit into him.
Polly sped after Rashad into the palace, wondering what the heck was wrong with him. By the time she actually caught up with him he was poised by the window in their bedroom. He flashed night-dark brooding eyes over her lovely face as she entered. Brilliant dark golden eyes screened by ridiculously long black lashes. Her heart skipped a sudden beat, her breath catching in her throat. Her hand flew up to her constricted throat and rested on the weight of the amber necklace. With a sigh she stretched her fingers round to the clasp at her nape to undo it.
‘Let me,’ Rashad urged, taking her by surprise as he strode forward.
The ornate collaret lifted and he settled it down in a careless heap on a tall dresser. ‘Don’t wear it again,’ he urged her in a roughened voice.
‘Wear what?’ Polly queried as she reached up and unhooked each earring in swift succession before looking at him in the mirror for further clarification.
‘The ambers. I’ll buy you another set,’ he promised curtly, his lean dark face shuttered.
Her violet eyes kindled with curiosity. ‘What’s wrong with this set?’ she asked bluntly.
Rashad tensed, dark lashes sweeping down to screen his expression. ‘It was Ferah’s favourite.’
‘Oh…’ Polly gasped as if he had punched her and deprived her lungs of breath, and in a way that was exactly what he had done. He didn’t like seeing her wearing his first wife’s much-loved jewellery? What was she supposed to take from that admission?
‘It awakens unfortunate memories,’ Rashad declared abruptly.
He had loved his first wife and clearly he couldn’t bear any reminder of her, Polly assumed, thoroughly discomfited by that awareness. ‘I’m your wife now,’ she reminded him flatly, wishing that that timely reminder didn’t sound quite so childish.
‘I’m well aware of that,’ Rashad said drily.
‘And maybe I don’t brush up as nicely as Ferah did in the ambers but you’ve just made me want to wear them every darned day!’ Polly admitted in a helplessly aggressive tone. ‘After all, she is gone and I’m here and I have feelings too!’
‘This is a crazy conversation.’ A questioning black brow elevated, doubtless urging her to think more carefully about what she was saying.
But Polly had had enough and she didn’t feel like pretending or indeed lying to save face. ‘No, I’m a possessive woman. Either you’re mine or you’re still hers!’ Polly fired at him in angry challenge.
‘Ferah is my past as you are my present and my future,’ Rashad countered in exasperation.
Polly’s violet eyes widened and glittered and she planted her hand truculently on one slender jutting hip. ‘But your past is raining on my present so I’m not getting a fair deal,’ she told him accusingly.
Rashad groaned out loud, frustration gripping him. ‘What am I supposed to do about that? I cannot help my past. I cannot forget my memories—’
‘No…’ Polly conceded. ‘But you could share them.’
‘Share them?’ Rashad exclaimed, an expression of appalled fascination stamping his lean, darkly handsome face. ‘What man would do that?’
‘A man who wants a normal relationship with his wife. If your memories are coming between us, you need to share them,’ Polly told him abruptly, for in actuality she was none too sure of the worth of what she was proposing. After all, she didn’t really want to think about Ferah. She preferred to forget that his first wife had ever existed, which was probably distinctly mean and ungenerous of her. Would it be worse for her to have Ferah fleshed out as a person? Ferah, the woman he had loved who must have loved him too?
‘My memories are not coming between us,’ Rashad assured her with brooding ferocity. ‘And I prefer to keep my memories to myself—’
‘Oh, tell me something I don’t already know,’ Polly scoffed in a helpless rush of bitterness. ‘It’s like when you were made someone locked you up internally and threw away the key!’
