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Her gaze lengthened over his dominant profile. She’d been candid in her description of his outward assets. Was it advisable to be her painfully outspoken self in expounding on what she thought of his more essential endowments?
Oh, what the hell. He must be used to fawning. Her truthfulness, though only her objective opinion, wouldn’t be more than what he’d heard a thousand times before.
She opened her mouth to say she’d use adjectives like enervating, like a bolt of lightning, and engulfing, like a rising flood—and as if to say the words for her, thunder rolled and celestial floodgates burst.
He didn’t press her to elucidate, because even with the efficiency of the automatic wipers, he could barely see through the solid sheets of rain. Thankfully, they seemed to have arrived at the destination he’d chosen. The Plaza Hotel, where Johara had mentioned Aram stayed.
As he stopped the car, she thought they should stay inside until the rain let up. They’d get soaked in the few dozen feet to the hotel entrance. Then he opened her door, and lo and behold…an umbrella was ingeniously embedded there. In moments, he was shielding her from the downpour and leading her through the splendor of the iconic hotel. But it wasn’t until they stepped into the timeless Palm Court restaurant that she felt as if she’d walked into a scene out of The Great Gatsby.
She took in the details as she walked a step ahead among tables filled with immaculate people. Overhanging gilded chandeliers, paneled walls, a soaring twenty-foot green-painted and floral-patterned ceiling and 24-karat gold-leafed Louis XVI furniture, all beneath a stunning stained-glass skylight. Everything exuded the glamour that had made the hotel world famous while retaining the feel of a French country house.
After they were seated and she opted for ordering the legendary Plaza tea, she leveled her gaze back on him and sighed. “Is that your usual spending pattern? This hotel, that car?”
“I am moderate, aren’t I?” At her grimace, he upped his teasing. “I was eyeing a Bugatti Veyron, but since there are no roads around to put it through its two-hundred-and-fifty-miles-per-hour paces, I thought paying three times as much as my current car would be unjustified.” He chuckled at her growl of distaste. “Down, girl. I can afford it.”
“And that makes it okay? Don’t you have something better to do with your money?”
“I do a lot of better things with my money. And then, it’s my only material indulgence. It’s in lieu of a home.”
“Me
aning?”
“Meaning I’ve never bought a place, so I consider my cars my only home.”
This was news. Somewhat…disturbing news. She’d thought he’d been staying in this hotel for convenience, not that he’d never had a place to call home.
“But…if you’re saying you don’t splurge on your accommodations, it would be far more economical—and an investment—to buy a place. A day here is an obscene amount of money down the drain, and you’ve been here almost a year.”
His nod was serene. “My suite goes for about twenty grand a night.” At her gasp, his lips spread wide. “Of which I’m not paying a cent. I am a major shareholder in this hotel, so I get to stay free.”
Okay. She should have known a financial mastermind like him wouldn’t throw money around, that he’d invest every cent to make a hundred. It was a good thing their orders had arrived so she’d have it instead of crow after she’d gone all self-righteous on him.
She felt him watching her and pretended to have eyes only on the proceedings as waiters heaped varieties of tea, finely cut sandwiches, scones, jam, clotted cream and a range of pastries on the table.
They had devoured two irresistible scones each, and mellow live piano music had risen above the buzz of conversation, when he broke the silence.
“This place reminds me of the royal palace in Zohayd. Not the architecture, but something in the level of splendor. The distant resemblance is…comforting.”
The longing, the melancholy in his reminiscing about the place where he’d lived a good portion of his youth, tugged at her heart…a little too hard.
Suddenly his smile dawned again. “So ask me anything.”
Struggling with the painful tautness in her throat, she eyed him skeptically. “Anything at all?”
His nod was instantaneous. “You bet.”
It seemed Johara had been correct. He did need someone to share things with that he felt he could no longer share with his sister or brother-in-law. And as improbable as it was, he seemed to have elected her as the one he could unburden himself to. His selection had probably been based on her ability to say no to him, to be blunt with him. That must be a total novelty for him.
But she also suspected there was another major reason she was a perfect candidate for what he had in mind. Because he didn’t seem to consider her a woman. Just a sexless buddy he could have fun with and confide in without worrying about the usual hassles a woman would cause him.
She had no illusions about what she was, how a man like him would view her. But that still had mortification warring with compassion in her already tight chest. Compassion won.
Feeling the ridiculous urge to reach across the table for his hand, to reassure him she was there for him, even if he thought her a sprite, she cleared her throat. “Tell me about the rift between you and Shaheen.”
He nodded. “Did Johara tell you how we came to Zohayd?”
“Oh, no! You’re planning to tell me your whole life story to get to one incident in its middle?”
