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‘The first reference to persimmon tea comes from one of our earliest texts. In the year forty-seven AD, a Bedouin tribe brought it as a gift to the people of the west of my country. Their skill with harvesting the fruit late in the season and drying them in such a way as to preserve the flavour made them popular with traders.’
He poured some into a cup and held it in front of him, waiting, a small smile on his lips that did funny things to her tummy.
She forced her legs to carry her across the room, a tight smile of her own crossing her expression as she took the teacup. ‘Thank you.’
He was watching her and so she took a small sip, her eyes widening at the flavour. ‘It’s so sweet. Like honey.’
He made a throaty noise of agreement. ‘Picked at the right time, persimmons are sweet. Dried slowly, that intensifies, until you get this.’
She took another sip, her insides warming to the flavour. It was like drinking happiness. Why had she resisted so long?
‘Are you going to have some?’
‘I don’t feel like sleeping tonight.’
Her stomach lurched and she chattered the cup against the saucer a little too loudly, shooting him a look that was half apology, half warning.
She had to keep this professional. It was imperative that she not forget who she was, who he was, and why her job mattered so much to her. She was lucky with this position. She earned a salary that was above and beyond what she could have hoped, by virtue of her untarnished ability to provide exemplary customer service. One wrong move and her reputation would suffer, so too would her job, potentially, and she couldn’t jeopardise that.
It helped to imagine her manager in the room, observing their conversation. If she pictured Henry watching, she could keep things professional and light, she could avoid the gravitational pull that seemed to be dragging on her.
‘You were at the United Nations today, sir?’
A quirk shifted his lips, but he nodded. ‘It was my first official speech as ruler of the RKH.’
‘How did it go?’
He gestured towards the sofa, inviting her to sit. She chose one side, crossing her legs primly and placing the cup and saucer on her knee, holding it with both hands.
He took the seat beside her, not opposite, so she was aware of his every movement, the shift of his body dragging on the cushions on the sofa, inadvertently pulling her towards him.
‘I was pleased with the reception.’
She sipped her tea, forcing herself to relax. ‘I can’t imagine having to do that,’ she confided with a small smile. After all, he wanted to talk to her—sitting there like a petrified automaton wasn’t particularly conversational. ‘I’m terrible at public speaking. I hate it. I feel everyone’s eyes burning me and just want to curl up in a ball for ever.’
‘It’s a skill you can learn.’
‘Perhaps. But fortunately for me, I don’t need to.’
Silence prickled at their sides.
She spoke to fill it. ‘I don’t feel like you would have needed to do much learning there.’
He frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Sorry, that wasn’t clear.’ She shook her head. ‘I just mean you were probably born with this innate ability to stand in front of a group of people and enthral them.’
She clamped her mouth shut, wishing she hadn’t come so close to admitting that she was a little bit enthralled by him.
He smiled though, in a way that relaxed her and warmed her. ‘I was born knowing my destiny. I was born to be Sheikh, ruler of my people, and, as such, never imagined what it would be like to...avoid notice.’ His eyes ran over her face speculatively, so even as she was relaxing, she was also vibrating in a way that was energising and demanding.
‘I don’t think you’d be very good at it.’
‘At being Sheikh?’
‘At avoiding notice.’
‘Nor are you, so this we have in common.’
