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She liked Amit, but the reminder of her husband’s virility when she was coming to terms with her own failure to fall pregnant made it difficult to smile with any authenticity.
“Are they?”
She went towards him slowly.
“They were planted as a reminder that looks can be deceiving.” He gestured with his hands to the spiky palms. “That sharpness and strength can be hiding behind all that pink.”
“You know a lot about it.”
“I like gardens,” he said.
“And rock skimming?” When she reached his side, she saw that he’d been sketching the flowers, and that they were truly excellent representations. “You’re very talented.”
“Rock skimming is not so hard,” he assured her. “I’ll show you again some time.”
Now she smiled more naturally. “I meant the drawing. But thank you.”
“Oh.” He looked down at the page with a frown. “Something’s missing.”
She sat on the grass beside him, and ridiculously, the simple act of being close to another human sent emotions crashing through her. She felt the sting of tears at the back of her eyes and blinked to clear them. She would not cry! And not in front of Amit – or anyone! Perhaps when she was alone, back in the city, in her own bedroom with space and privacy, she would indulge her ridiculous sense of grief and shame. But not here, not like this.
“Chloe.”
His voice cut through her grief, through the companionship of being with Amit, through the sun itself. Raffa strode towards them, his manner imposing, his frame larger than any man’s should be. His hair was up, and his eyes were watchful.
She focused on Amit’s drawing. Her smile was brittle. “Aren’t these sketches good, Raffa?” She murmured, looking for something to say that was normal. That would avoid any kind of emotional conversation. Hadn’t she hoped to avoid seeing him at all? Wasn’t that why she’d had an aid deliver her note?
Damn it, she should have left immediately.
“Leave us a moment, Amit,” he said, softening the words with a tight smile directed at his son.
“Yes, your highness.” Amit stood and bowed first to Raffa, then to Chloe, before disappearing into the palace.
“You didn’t need to chase him away like that,” she said huffily.
“I wanted to speak with you privately.”
“Then you could have asked me to come with you –
he was drawing.”
“You are Sheikha. It is not for you to remove yourself from others.”
Chloe didn’t have the energy to argue with such absurd logic.
“Did you want to speak with me?” She asked.
“I received your note.”
“I presumed as much.”
“You cannot go away.”
“Why ever not?” She asked with surprise. “I’m not your prisoner, I’m your wife.”
“And you may very well be carrying my baby. You must be kept safe. Protected.”
“I’m going to the city, not out into the deserts on camel’s back,” she pointed out with tart acidity. “Besides, I’m not.” She cleared her throat of its aching rawness. “Pregnant, I mean.” Her fingers pulled at a blade of grass and she stared at it as though it were the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen. She didn’t observe the look that passed over Raffa’s face. First of surprise, and then of something much deeper and darker. Something like the unprecedented sadness that was in her heart.
