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Yes, that was what was itching her skin. It wasn’t just disappointment – it was an overwhelming sense of failure. Why hadn’t her body done what it was meant to? Why?
“Would you have this delivered to my husband, please, Aysha?” She murmured, not waiting to hear the response.
Her maids would take care of packing, and yet Chloe itched to have something to do, something to distract her.
“I’ll go for a walk,” she said with a nod, to no one in particular. “We’ll leave in an hour.”
She moved with her head bent, through the palace and down a set of marble steps until she emerged into one of the gardens that surrounded the building. A fragrant vine scrambled over the wall on this side, and palm trees spiked towards the blue sky, surrounded at their base with pretty, vibrant flowers. She walked slowly towards one of the garden beds and plucked a blossom from it, lifting it to her nose.
“They’re poisonous, you know.”
She startled, looking around for the source of the voice. Amit sat on the grass nearby, a large white pad in his lap and a pencil in his hand.
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.
