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“I can wear a different one, if it’s a problem,” she said. “It’s no big deal. I’m sure Bashir can bring another —,”
Zafar frowned, moving closer, his eyes scanning her hair before lifting the tiara into place. Standing like this, so close they were almost touching, she was aware of only his physical presence. He lifted the jewel towards her head, his attention focussed on the task as he pressed it into place. Millie didn’t realise she was holding her breath until afterwards, when his hands had dropped back to his sides.
But Zafar didn’t move away. He stayed right where he was, so close that if she were to lean forward, even slightly, they would brush together.
“It’s fine,” he said belatedly. “You should wear the tiara you chose.”
Millie frowned. “You’re sure?”
He continued to stare at it, and Millie, for so long that goosebumps prickled across her skin. “Are you close to your aunt?”
His eyes seemed to withdraw from her, as if physically pushing her away. They turned to flint as she watched, so Millie shivered, but she didn’t retract the question. Nor did she look away. It was as though a storm cloud was rolling across his face, darkening his features, making him grow taut, and while she didn’t understand the reason for it, somehow instinctively Millie knew it was important.
“I’m not,” he said eventually, in a tone that suggested it was the end of the conversation.
“She came to your coronation,” Millie pointed out.
He dipped his head. “And wore that tiara.”
“I know, Bashir told me.”
His smile was yet another brick – a suggestion he wanted to move on.
“Does she live near here?”
“No.”
Millie sighed. “You’re acting as though there’s some great feud between the two of you. Is there?”
“No.”
She resisted rolling her eyes – just. “Then why are you acting so weird?”
“I wasn’t aware I was arriving for an interrogation. Should I have a lawyer present?”
Millie compressed her lips. “I’m simply asking questions about your heritage – a heritage our baby will share. Is that such a big deal?”
His eyes flashed with darkness once more and he turned away from her abruptly.
“There will be time to talk afterwards. For now, the photographer is waiting. Let’s get this over with.”
And even though he offered a tight approximation of a smile as he said it, the words tripped Millie up mentally, because they were spoken with a hint of mockery, and a lack of enthusiasm – the perfect blend to remind Millie that despite the costume, she wasn’t a real princess. At least, she wouldn’t be for very long. Every part of this was a performance, no part of it was real, and no matter how she was dressed, she had to remember that.
