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“I see,” he said slowly. “And he never tried to contact you?”
“Not that I know of. He gave mum a heap of hush money and she used it to start a new life for herself. She was happy. We were happy. He’s just the man who gave us life. Nothing more.”
“You’re not remotely curious about who he might be?”
“No.”
“You might have other sisters and brothers out there …”
“So?” She smiled, but it was practiced. He could tell, because her real smile transformed her face into a glowing beacon of delight. This was far more staid. “I already have two sisters and believe me, that’s enough.”
He kissed her back, because he knew she needed it. He understood that her pain was something she preferred to cover with an easy smile and an air of calm. That she needed distraction in the same way he had when he had first propositioned her.
That felt like a lifetime ago now, but only a month had passed. A month of knowing Olivia. Two weeks of which he’d spent devouring her in every way.
He had never known someone to affect him in such a way. He woke her in the middle of the night, bursting with things he needed to discuss. And instead of complaining, she would roll over and speak to him and share her thoughts. She was generous with her body and mind; she was his complement in every way.
The initial belief he’d had, that he might get her out of his system, had faded fast. He would leave her, eventually, but it would not be easy.
It would hurt, and he would do it only because it was in the best interests of Dashan.
She laced her fingers through his. “You know, you’re really not making the most of being in Vegas.”
His smile was slow. “Aren’t I?” He squeezed her hands. “I feel like I am doing the one thing I want to be doing most in the world.”
Olivia’s heart turned over in her chest. “But this city has so much to offer. So much of interest.”
He expelled a breath. “To me, it will always be associated with two extremes of memory. The worst, and the best.”
She understood without any further explanation. “How is Ra’if?”
He shrugged. “It’s slow progress. He’s so angry.”
“With you?”
“With me, yes. With the world. With our father particularly.”
“Why?”
“He sees the throne as his birth right. Though he loves me, he resents me for my place in the line of succession. And my father for making it so.”
Olivia tilted her head to the side in a gesture that was particularly ‘Olivia’. “I don’t mean to be unsupportive, but is it really something to want so badly?”
His expression was blank. “Meaning?”
“Only that it seems like your life must be very … different to most. Look at this. You’re here undertaking something intensely personal, and yet you cannot do it without a veritable army of guards.”
His frown was contemplative. “That’s true, and yet of the two of us, I have fared far better in our fates.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Of course.”
“How so?” She prompted, fascinated by his perspective on the confines of his life.
“I grew up without the expectations of greatness that dogged Ra’if’s every step. He was expected to be better, faster, smarter and wiser than his contemporaries. His failures were seen, not as small steps backwards that could be corrected, but as egregious faults that might result in the demise of our nation’s prosperity.”
“Surely you’re exaggerating.”
