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“Oh my God.” I clamp a hand to my mouth. “You’re embarrassed. Because that’s what you were planning to do! Just put me in a room somewhere and forget I exist?”
“Yes,” he agreed, embarrassment replaced by a look of steel. “That was my plan.”
“Wow.” I nod slowly, reaching for the juice-filled glass with fingers that are shaking slightly. I can’t say why that hurts so badly… except, yes, I can. I feel like a commodity, useful only in a very finite way. The fact I’m a grown woman with my own wishes and needs seems not to matter to Zahir. Then again, hadn’t I planned to marry him and let him get on with his own life? Perhaps he’s simply trying to implement the same approach. I look down at the tabletop, surprised to feel tears thickening in my throat.
His sigh is heavy and a moment later, he’s standing right beside me. I look up, and up, until I find his eyes. Their emotion is locked to me.
“One more night,” he agrees grudgingly, moving to the seat opposite then. “And I reserve the right not to answer any question I find unpalatable.”
I can’t help it; I roll my eyes.
His fingers reach out, curling around my wrist, drawing my attention sharply to his face. “Has anyone ever told you how wilful you are?”
I blink, not entirely sure if he means that as a compliment or not. “Stubborn,” I nod slowly. “You don’t like it?”
He considers that for several moments. “I can’t say. I thought I wouldn’t.”
Pleasure flickers in my gut.
“So? First question?”
I lean back in the chair, considering that. “That’s easy. Where did you go to school?”
“I had tutors.”
“For junior or high school?”
“Both.”
“College?”
“More tutors.”
I frown.
“I didn’t have the luxury of being able to study full time, habibti. My education was tailored to my work.”
“So you studied…politics?”
His smile is quick and searing. My heart leaps. “Economics and environmental management, actually.”
I blink, surprised. “See?” I stretch out my legs, unwittingly kicking his calves beneath the table. I startle, and go to pull back, but his legs capture mine, holding them where they are.
“Think of it as a little incentive,” he says quietly. “To endure your interrogation.”
I resist an impulse to roll my eyes again, heat shifting through me at the intimacy of the contact.
“So your degree is in economics?”
“And environmental management.” He repeats. “But what you would consider senior school was a very tailored programme of learning. I studied world history in depth, as well as Qabid history going back centuries. I toured our cities and learned about each of the peoples that came together to form them, the building materials that were unique to each area, the foods that defined these individual cultures.”
I exhale softly. “That sounds fascinating.”
“Does it?”
“Of course!” I half-laugh. “I know only what I’ve learned from my father. My own memories are patchy at best. I would love to know more about this country.”
His eyes narrow for a moment and then he nods. “Fine. You shall have a tutor for this.”
