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‘I didn’t spend enough time with Elena to discover whether we were attracted to one another,’ Aziz finally said. ‘The two times we met were akin to business meetings. Neither of us was interested in anything else.’
‘But weren’t you curious if you’d even like each other, never mind desire—?’
Aziz sighed. ‘Why are we talking about Elena?’
‘Because you were planning to marry her,’ Olivia shot back. ‘And, if by some miracle she walked through the door right now, you’d still marry her.’ She shook her head, scrambling for self-preservation. ‘Although, you’re right, I’m not sure why we’re talking about Elena, or any of this. I’m not going to marry you, Aziz. I can’t.’
He raised his eyebrows, a small smile playing about his mouth. ‘Can’t or won’t?’
‘Both.’
Aziz gazed at her thoughtfully, his face calm, his whole being utterly unruffled. ‘Are you happy in Paris, Olivia?’
‘What?’ Her nails dug into her arms as she hugged herself then, realising what she was doing, she dropped her arms and glared at him. ‘What kind of question is that?’ A good one, she thought with something close to panic. And one whose answer she refused to give.
‘Because you admitted to me in the garden today that you chose the life you live because it’s safe. Because anything else is too hard.’
‘So?’ she demanded, her voice raw, and Aziz smiled gently.
‘So I’m offering you an alternative. One that is still safe but might be more pleasant, more enjoyable, than the life you currently lead. Aren’t you ever lonely?’
‘You don’t marry someone just because you’re lonely.’
‘I’m sure lots of people marry for precisely that reason.’
‘Well, I don’t.’ He didn’t respond, just sat there, watching her. Waiting. ‘Your suggestion is absurd,’ she burst out. ‘As if I would marry you simply because I’m a little lonely sometimes!’ She shook her head, furious now. ‘You’re unbelievably arrogant.’
‘Arrogant? But I don’t mind admitting it, Olivia. I’m lonely too.’
‘The Gentleman Playboy?’ she scoffed. ‘Lonely?’
‘None of the liaisons I’ve had have been remotely satisfying except in the most basic way.’
‘And you want more than that?’
‘Not exactly, which is why I think we’ll suit each other so well.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Don’t you?’ Aziz gave her a fleeting, almost sad smile. Olivia shook her head, not wanting to understand. Not wanting to concede any point to Aziz.
‘We’re friends, I hope,’ he resumed. ‘And we’re attracted to each other—both a solid basis for a marriage.’
‘Maybe,’ she allowed, but even that felt like conceding too much. Was he going to argue her into agreeing? Knowing how persuasive he could be, and how tempted she was, he just might.
Rather frantically she reminded herself of all the reasons she shouldn’t entertain this idea: she barely knew him, for one. He was a playboy, for a second. And third, he was ruler of a country. She’d have to be a queen, a public figure, and just that thought nearly had her breaking out in hives.
There was no way she wanted to bind herself to a life like that, never mind the man involved.
Of course she wasn’t thinking of it. Not for one second.
She shook her head again and Aziz smiled. ‘In a moment,’ he said teasingly, ‘I think I’m going to see smoke coming out of your ears.’
‘I just find it so incredible that you would ever suggest such a thing,’ Olivia forced out.
Aziz tilted his head to one side, his gaze sweeping over her. ‘Do you really find it incredible, Olivia?’
‘You mean because you’re desperate,’ she answered flatly. ‘I’m the only choice you have.’
‘That’s not quite true. I’m sure I could find someone else at short notice if I really needed to.’
‘Am I meant to be flattered that you chose me?’
‘Flattered, no. But I would like you to seriously consider the idea instead of rejecting it out of hand, outraged that I even suggested such a thing.’
She felt some of her anger leave her, and she missed the certainty it had given her. When you were so busy being angry you didn’t have time to think, to wonder.
To want.
She took a breath, let it out slowly and then sat on the sofa across from Aziz. ‘All right, fine. Tell me what you’re thinking, Aziz. Tell me just how you envision a marriage between us working.’ If she couldn’t dissuade him through outrage, Olivia thought, she’d do it through cold, hard logic. She’d argue him into rescinding his offer.
Liar. The only person who was likely to change her mind was her. She was playing with fire, having this conversation. Entertaining the idea of marriage to Aziz even for a moment made it far more likely that she’d end up with burned fingers—and a broken heart.
Because, while Aziz was waking her up to ideas of life, love and happiness, she was under no illusion about what he still wanted: a convenient marriage. A cold one.
‘I confess, I haven’t thought through every detail,’ Aziz told her, his voice low and steady. ‘But that’s something we can do together.’
‘Don’t jump ahead,’ Olivia answered sharply. ‘I just want to hear what you’re thinking, Aziz. For curiosity’s sake.’
‘For curiosity’s sake,’ he repeated, his eyes and smile both gleaming. ‘Very well. I imagine it would look something like this. Tomorrow we both show up in the Gold Salon here in the palace. We say some vows. We become husband and wife.’ He spread his hands. ‘The rest is up for discussion.’
Not everything, Olivia thought. Although, why she even cared she didn’t know. She’d been thinking about taking a class, for heaven’s sake. Not getting married.
‘Don’t make light of it,’ she told him. ‘It’s a serious thing. I’d take any vows I said seriously.’
‘So would I, Olivia. But are you seriously thinking about saying them? Or are you really just curious?’
She stared at him, unwilling to answer. Why was she pursuing this conversation? Actually thinking... ‘It’s mad,’ she said finally and he nodded.
‘I know.’
‘I don’t want to be a queen, a public figure.’
‘Your appearances could be kept to a minimum. Your privacy and comfort would be paramount.’
She shook her head. ‘The last thing I want is to live in a strange country, far from everything I’ve known.’
‘Something we can discuss. If you married me, you could divide your time between Paris and Kadar.’
‘But you would be in Kadar.’
‘Yes.’
So he really was suggesting the kind of arrangement he’d had with Elena: convenient, cold, coming together only for special engagements or state functions.
And yet in the space of about five minutes, against all sense, not to mention her better judgement, she had been spinning some other fantasy. Picturing herself waking up in Aziz’s bed, halfway to falling in love...
‘I’m not sure,’ she said as crisply as she could, ‘What I am meant to gain from such an arrangement.’
‘Companionship, for one. Physical affection.’ His smile was gently teasing but Olivia just stared him down.
‘Companionship, Aziz, with half the world between us? Besides, what kind of companionship can two strangers really hope to have? I said it last night and I’ll say it again—you don’t really know me.’
He tilted his head, his smile almost sad, somehow. ‘Don’t I?’
He knew her better than anyone else did, but that still wasn’t saying all that much. ‘No,’ she said, her voice still crisp. ‘You don’t.’
‘I know you prefer coffee in the mornings but tea in the afternoons. You can’t stand the smell of fish. You dress in dark colours but you like bright ones. You jiggle your left foot when you’re nervous.’ Both of their gazes moved to her jiggling foot and with an exasperated breath she placed both feet flat on the floor.
‘I commend your powers of observation, but none of that is really knowing me.’ Although she was more shaken than she would ever admit at how much he’d observed about her. How did he know all those things? She didn’t think she could say she knew the same about him, and she had a feeling Aziz liked it that way.
‘Fine.’ His expression was bland and yet somehow challenging. Or perhaps she was just feeling remarkably raw. ‘You like a quiet life.’
‘I told you that.’
‘But you didn’t always. You loved someone once, and you don’t ever want to love again. You have secrets but you want to pretend you don’t. You have a deliciously dirty laugh but no one ever hears it.’
‘Stop,’ she whispered.
‘You bought a red and purple scarf but you won’t wear it out of the house. You hum pop songs from ten years ago when you’re working, but you couldn’t tell me a single hit song from today. You don’t play the piano very often, but when you do your soul and all its sorrows pours right out of you.’ He sat back on the sofa, his arms folded, one eyebrow arched. ‘Well? How am I doing so far?’
