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“Amit,” she said again, more confidently this time, wanting to reassure him.
He was so like Raffa, and yet different too. He had Raffa’s intelligent eyes and assessing gaze, his generous lips. But he was gangly and tall, slim and uncertain. Even as a teenager, Chloe doubted Raffa had ever been anything other than muscular and warrior-like.
“No one usually comes up here,” the teenager said defensively, echoing so many of her own teenaged resentments that she could do nothing but nod.
She tried to marshal her thoughts, to quickly recollect all that she knew of her husband’s love child. He’d been conceived when Raffa had been only twenty years old, and the woman was rumoured to be the love of Raffa’s life. They’d never been able to acknowledge their relationship, but though it remained shrouded in secrecy, she’d been living at the palace, leaving little doubt as to their bond.
A frisson of emotion trickled down her spine. That was all palace gossip, whispered between her maids when they’d thought she hadn’t been listening. Talk of how the Sheikh’s marriage had always been destined to fail, given that he was still in love with the other woman. And now she was face to face with the physical proof of that love.
“What are you doing?” She asked, with natural curiosity, moving closer to the boy.
He eyed her thoughtfully, the intensity of his gaze so like Raffa’s that she felt almost as if she knew him already. “Skimming rocks,” he said after a moment, evidently deciding to trust her.
“I see.” She had two options. Leave, or stay.
“Have you ever done it?”
“No,” she shook her head, moving forward, her mind made up.
“The Sheikh taught me,” he said, causing Chloe’s lips to momentarily twitch downwards, into a small frown. “He used to come here to do this, when he was my age.” He wrinkled his nose. “Or a bit younger, I guess. He taught me two years ago. On my tenth birthday.”
“Did he?” Chloe murmured, seating herself with care on the large rock beside Amit. It was not easy in the robes she’d been wrapped into that morning.
“He’s better at it than I am.”
“Show me,” she commanded, but softened the words with a smile. Their eyes met and her heart lurched. This young man was her step-son. Why had she never thought to get to know him before this moment? How come she’d neglected her responsibilities to him? Shame flushed through her but she didn’t reveal, even for a moment, the direction of her thoughts.
“You need to have the right stones, to start with. Smooth, like this. Not too big or they’ll sink. Here. Feel it.” He extended his hand, palm-side up, with one of the pebbles in it. She took it, running her fingers over the edges.
“See what I mean?”
She nodded. “It’s smooth.”
“Yes.” He reached for another one. “You need to imagine the water is a plane, with nothing beneath. You want to throw the rock so that it lands square on the water’s surface, and the tension bounces it to the next spot.”
“That sounds almost impossible.”
“Watch.” He lifted his hand and then, with the action of someone who’s done something many times, he expertly cast the stone onto the water. It did just as he’d said, bouncing four times before thudding into the water and sinking from view.
“That’s impressive,” she said truthfully.
“Not really. The Sheikh once made a pebble skin all the way across the stream. I counted ten jumps.”
“Ten?” She lifted her brows. “Seriously?”
He nodded. “He’s had a lot longer to practice.” The words rung with such arrogant pride, so like Raffa, that Chloe had to stifle a laugh.
“Let me try.” She fingered the rock once more, the tip of her tongue poking out of her lips as she recalled Amit’s throwing motion. She drew her arm backwards, eyed the water carefully, and then released the rock.
It sank immediately, and she laughed, turning to face Amit. A reluctant smile was on his own lips.
“That was pathetic, your highness,” he said with a rueful shake of his head. “But no worse than my first dozen or so attempts.”
Her gaze jerked to his. “You know who I am?”
“Of course. You’re the Sheikh’s wife.”
“Why do you call him that?” She asked slowly.
