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His words made Leila’s sense of disorientation increase because she came from a culture where men didn’t cook. Where they had nothing to do with the preparation of food—unless you counted hunting it down in the desert and then killing it.
She told herself that he wasn’t listening to what she’d said—and she’d said she wasn’t hungry. But it seemed rude to sit here on her own while he ate and so she followed him into the dining room.
This was not a comfortable room either. He was clearly a fan of minimalism, and the furniture looked like something you might find in the pages of an architectural magazine. Tea and sandwiches sat on a table constructed from dull metal, around which was a circle of hard, matching chairs. The table sat beneath the harsh glare of the skylight, which made Leila think she was about to be interrogated.
And maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. She certainly had a few questions she needed to put to the man now pushing a plate of food towards her.
She held up the palm of her hand. ‘I don’t—’
‘Just try,’ he interrupted. ‘Is that too much to ask, Leila?’
The hard timbre of his voice had softened into something which sounded almost gentle and the way he said her name suddenly made her feel horribly vulnerable. Or maybe she was imagining that. Maybe she was looking for crumbs of comfort when all he was doing was being practical. She realised that she felt weak and that if she didn’t look after herself she would get weaker still. And she couldn’t afford to do that.
So she ate most of the sandwich and drank a cup of jasmine tea before pushing away her plate. Leaning back against the hard iron chair, she crossed her arms defensively over her chest and studied him.
She drew in a deep breath. ‘You can rest assured that I don’t expect anything from you, Gabe. You’ve made your feelings absolutely plain. That afternoon was a mistake—we both know that. We were never intended to be together and this...this baby doesn’t have to change that. I want you to know that you’re free to walk away. And that I can manage on my own—’
‘What are you planning to do?’ The question fired from his mouth like a blistering fusillade of shots. ‘To get rid of it?’
The accusation appalled her almost as much as the thought that he should think her capable of such an action, and Leila glared at him. He doesn’t know you, she realised bitterly. He doesn’t even like you.
‘How dare you make a suggestion like that?’ she said, unable to keep the anger from her voice. ‘I’m not ready to be a mother. I’m not sure I ever wanted to be a mother, but it seems that fate has decided otherwise. And I will accept that fate,’ she added fiercely. ‘I will have this baby and I will look after him—or her. And nothing and no one will stop me.’
Some of the tension had left him, but his mouth was still unsmiling as his gaze raked over her face. ‘And just how are you planning to go about that?’ he demanded. ‘You who are a protected and pampered princess who can’t move around freely unless under cover of darkness. What are you going to tell your brother? And how are you intending to support yourself when the child comes?’
She wished there were some place to look other than at his eyes, because they were distracting her. They were reminding her of how soft and luminous they’d been when he had held her in his arms. They were making her long for things she could never have. Things like love and warmth and closeness. A man to cradle her and tell her that everything was going to be all right.
But she didn’t dare shift her gaze away from his, because wouldn’t that be a sign of a weakness? A weakness she dared not show. Not to him. Not to her brother. Not to anyone. Because from here on in she must be strong.
Strong.
‘I have jewellery I can sell,’ she said.
His smile was faint. ‘Of course you do.’
She heard the sardonic note in his voice. Another rich princess reference, she thought bitterly. ‘Things my mother left me,’ she added.
‘And how do you propose getting your hands on this jewellery?’ he questioned. ‘Are you planning to take a trip to Qurhah and smuggle it out of the safe? Or perhaps you’re thinking of asking your brother to mail it to you?’
‘I could probably...I might be able to get one of my servants to get it to me,’ she said unconvincingly. ‘It would be risky, of course, but I’m sure it could be doable.’
Gabe gave a short laugh. Of all the women who could have ended up carrying his baby, it had to be her. A spoiled little rich girl who just snapped her beautiful fingers and suddenly money appeared. Did she really think it was going to be that easy?
