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“Millie! You look wonderful! Where are you?”
“Well, that’s a bit of a funny story,” she said with a wrinkle of her nose, before giving her mother the briefest possible outline of events. In the end, she went with a version that was close to the truth: she couldn’t mislead her mother, even when she didn’t want the argument she sensed would be inevitable.
“So you’re not in love with him?”
“We’re very good friends,” Millie crossed her fingers beneath the table. “And given his situation, it makes sense to marry.”
“But you don’t love him.”
“No, but we both love the baby,” she reminded her mother.
Francesca sighed. “I understand that, but darling, you can’t marry a man you don’t care for.”
Millie’s heart trembled. Care for. It was such a lukewarm sentiment but it reverberated inside Millie. She did care for Zafar. She always had. First, he’d been Farrah’s brother, and she’d been fascinated by him in that guise, but then she’d got to know him properly and he’d become a building block in her heart. Even though she knew loving him would lead to irreparable damage, and she’d never be so stupid again, she could admit privately that she did care for him.
“We care for each other,” she said, fingers still crossed. “And we’re already married. I’m sorry, mum. I didn’t want to upset you like this but I had to make a decision that was best in the circumstances.”
“And this is really it?”
“Yes,” she responded immediately, with a confidence she genuinely felt. “We’ve done the right thing.”
“Was it really so hard, darling?”
“What, mum?”
“The way I raised you. Not knowing your father. Was it really something you wanted to avoid? So much so you’d marry a man like this?”
Millie’s throat grew thick. “You have always been a wonderful mum,” she said gently. “If anything, seeing the way you coped with everything showed me that I could do this. I’m not marrying Zafar to avoid your fate, I promise.”
“I’m glad. Because I love our family, Millie. You, Jack, me. We’ll always be a team.”
Sadness throbbed in Millie’s gut. “We’ll always be a team,” she repeated the mantra, as the door pushed inwards and Zafar entered the room. Everything seemed to tighten, and all she was aware of was her husband, his presence overtaking the space entirely.
“Well, if you’re happy, I suppose congratulations are in order.”
“Thanks, mum. I’ll call you in a few days. Love you.”
Millie disconnected the call and replaced the phone on the tabletop to her right. Zafar watched, a brow lifted in a silent question.
“It was fine,” Millie cleared her throat to wipe away the last vestiges of uncertainty.
“I’m glad.” He stayed right where he was, watching her with a different expression on his symmetrical face now, a look that was half-admiration and half-something else altogether. Surprise?
“What is it?” Millie ran her palms down the front of the beautiful gown. “Is something the matter?”
His eyes undertook a slow inspection, from the top of her head to the transparent fabric that wrapped around her shoulders to her waist and right to the ground, before travelling the length of her body once more. Heat spread with his gaze, and then goosebumps followed. Millie was powerless to look away.
“No,” he said after a long pause. “You look perfect.”
She bit down on her lower lip, flattery giving way to butterflies in the pit of her stomach. “Thank you.” Her fingertips lifted to her smooth hair at the same time his eyes flicked sideways, to where the tiara was resting on a red velvet fabric.
“I hope you don’t mind that I chose this one, instead of one of your mother’s.”
Perhaps he did mind though? There was a look in his eyes of fierce concentration, and his lips seemed tight, tensed for no reason she could think of, unless she’d made some drastic error of protocol? He moved towards the tiara, lifting it slowly from the table.
“It was my aunt’s.”
His voice was strained and Millie leaned a little closer, concentrating.
