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As he talked, his hands gestured wildly. He was a natural storyteller, hitting the right pauses, pulling me in despite myself. I stared at his face, a study of hollows and sharp lines. His cheeks sloped at a harsh angle, and the curve of his mouth hinted at someone who knew how to tell a lie. Altogether, his face displayed an outward affability that disguised a wary bitterness hidden in the depth of his pale, wolflike eyes.
I pulled out my sketch pad from within my purse. My fingers itched to capture the way he looked right this moment. The portable size made it easy to bring with me wherever I went, and its pages were filled with drawings of my fellow passengers on the steamship and the balcony of my suite, overlooking the gardens. In seconds, I drew the Mr. Hayes I knew the best: a steady stare that didn’t fully disguise the turmoil he kept just out of reach. I used a napkin to smudge the harsh charcoal lines, softening the tension he carried across his brow.
When I finished, Mr. Hayes pulled my pad over to his side of the table and flipped through the pages.
“Not bad,” he mused, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth.
“Not bad wasexactlywhat I was going for,” I said.
“Stop fishing for compliments,” Mr. Hayes said, still flipping through my drawings. “You respond to the wrong ones, anyway.”
I lifted a brow, but he didn’t notice. It struck me, then, that he kept expecting me to act one way and my refusal to do so infuriated him. I vowed not to alter my behavior.
He let out a laugh and held up a page. “Is this supposed to be me? You’ve drawn my jawline too stubborn.”
I regarded the sharp line of his squared jaw. “No, I haven’t.”
“There are no pictures of you in here.”
“What for? I like to draw people who interest me.”
He stilled and I realized what I’d said. Frantically, I tried to think of a way to take the words back, but nothing came to mind. A slow realization trickled through my mind, moving like honey. I’d spoken the truth,and whether I liked it or not, Mr. Hayesdidinterest me. For all the things he didn’t say, the thoughts he kept hidden behind a quicksilver grin. Despite myself, my attention was frequently caught by his muscled forearms, and the blunt fingers edged around a strong palm. His bottom lip drew my notice, squared off and cut with immaculate precision.
“So, you find me interesting.”
I said nothing, curious to see what game he’d play. He was always playing one.
“What is itexactlythat interests you?” A wicked gleam lit his eyes. He leaned forward, curling over the table, taking up too much space to ignore. His nearness quickened my pulse. “Have you thought about kissing me?”
He uttered that irritating question with a straight face.
But I knew he was drawing battle lines. Firing where he could and warning me away. Resolve hardened me. He chose the way of the mask-wearing charmer, wanting to rile and provoke me. I wouldn’t be ensnared in his plan, the same way he kept everyone else continuously at arm’s length. His strategy was simple and brilliant; by flirting, he kept the conversation from anything meaningful.
“If you haven’t guessed,” I began quietly, “I have a lot more in common with my parents than you might think. Like them, I like to discover the truth. Hidden things have always fascinated me. And you, Mr. Hayes, have a secret. It’s long since been buried, but I know it’s there. And one day, I will uncover it. Mark my words.”
He looked down at his fingernails. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“I traveled here all on my own,” I said. “Lied through my teeth to anyone I met, disobeyed my uncle at every turn. What makes you think that I’m wise?”
Mr. Hayes lifted his face and glowered at me. “I’m telling you to stay out of my business. You won’t like what you find, I promise you.”
“I’ve always been too curious for my own good.”
“Well, it’s a good thing that you’re leaving in a matter of hours.”
My mood soured and I abruptly changed the subject. “What brought you to Egypt? You never said.”
Mr. Hayes flipped the cover of my pad in place and pushed it back to me. “Duty.”
I gestured for him to continue, but our food arrived, and Mr. Hayes busied himself by plucking one of the croissants and putting it on his plate. With little fanfare, he bit into it and moaned. “This is the first thing you have to try.”
He cut half of another one and slid it onto my plate. I took a bite and found myself making the exact same sound he did. Somehow, the pastry was both sweet and salty, creamy and decadent.
“Does it live up to your expectations?”
“Everything here has. I can see why my parents couldn’t get enough.” I looked around wistfully, taking in the various patrons situated around us, enjoying their ice cream and enormous slices of cake. “I wish my uncle would give me more time.” I popped another bite of the dessert into my mouth.
“He has none to spare.” Mr. Hayes wiped his fingers with a cloth napkin. “We’re leaving tonight.”
