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“I was raised to emulate him.” He frowned, h
is eyes clouded with recollections he tried his hardest to ignore.
“Yes?” Chloe prompted, her expressive gaze lifting to his. Something shifted between them, something that almost took Raffa’s breath away.
It was the two of them; Chloe and Raffa, alone in this grand palace on the edge of an ancient desert, the shifts of sand moving only for them, the morning sun their only intrusion.
“I told you my parents married for love,” he said grimly, after a moment, wondering at the words that seemed to be coming from his lips without his consent. “But they did not love for long.” His mouth twisted in a harsh imitation of a smile.
Chloe furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry. I don’t know much about them but I presumed they were happy together. Any of the photographs I’ve seen have shown a couple who seemed…in love,” she finished weakly.
“People would no doubt say the same about us,” he responded darkly. “But photographs can be easily faked, no?”
“I guess so.” Her eyes shifted back to the morning view. “What happened?”
“Does it have to be anything in particular?”
“No. But for you to still be angry about it, I gather it was something important.”
He expelled a sigh, frustrated with her perceptiveness, and her unfailing ability to read him. She was unique in this way, and he wasn’t sure he liked having someone with such an insight to him in his life.
“He cheated on her,” Raffa said finally. “When I was five years old.”
Chloe’s jaw dropped. “Malik cheated?”
Raffa rubbed his palm over his jaw, his chest squeezing. It was strange that even having revealed this, he could feel defensive of his father at the same time as angry. “My mother suffered after my birth. Post-natal depression, only it was not as well understood then as it is now. There was a lot of shame for her, a lot of judgement from all those around her, including my father. People expected her to be able to shake her head and feel better, but she couldn’t. It swallowed her alive.”
“I’m so sorry,” Chloe murmured, and the hand she placed on his forearm was gentle.
“It was a long time ago,” the words were gruff. “She moved to the southern provinces and lived her life quietly. Away from the palace, away from my father.”
“Away from you,” Chloe said softly, her expression full of sympathy.
Raffa hated it and somehow, on some level, needed it too. “I was too busy to notice.”
“Liar.” She shifted her body, angling herself so she was in front of him completely, her back framed to the view of the dawn, her nearness intoxicating on every level. “She rejected you.”
“She was sick,” he corrected warningly.
“But you were a child. Five years old, you said. How could you have seen it as anything other than rejection?”
Raffa stared at her without speaking.
“And she died when you were fifteen.” Chloe swallowed, her eyes showing hesitation and despair.
“Say it,” Raffa demanded. “Ask what you want to know.”
Chloe bit down on her lip, her expression apologetic. But when she spoke, it was with confidence and conviction. “Was it an accident?”
“That’s what the press says,” he muttered thickly.
“But was it?”
“My mother’s car crashed into a tree. She shouldn’t have been driving, she didn’t drive often. I believe it was an accident, Chloe, yes. I believe she got behind the wheel and lost control.”
Chloe nodded. “I believe it too.” But anguish was obvious in her expression. She lifted up on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It was a small, simple gesture, but it was a first for them. Not the first time they’d kissed, but the first time it had been borne out of a need to comfort and reassure, rather than driven by passion and lust.
“But he did kill her,” Raffa said after a moment, when Chloe was still close enough that his chest was brushing her soft, round breasts. “He gave her his love and then took it away. He replaced her, after she’d given him an heir, and she never moved on. She never recovered. She was miserable for the rest of her life.”
