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The buzzer from the stove sounded.

“If you set the table, I’ll bring dinner through.”

Cas stayed on the sofa after she left. Beatriz inspired him to design and made him feel his dreams could be real. He wanted to hold her, to love her, but it wasn’t fair to ask her to take a risk on him. Was it?

Al’ama. Maybe they needed to change the rules.

He rose and set the table, then helped carry the meals from the kitchen to the table.

“I’ve been wondering about your competition. I haven’t found a lot in my searches, but do many companies use organic textiles?”

“A growing number. Mo and I decided we could work with that for a start, although the samples we took them were on organic wool and cotton using natural dyes and printing methods. Silk’s harder to source, but becoming more available.”

“I’ve never heard of organic silk.” She sounded fascinated, the perfect sounding board for his ideas.

“It’s a much smaller part of the market. It’s called peace silk, and you can source it from India.”

“How do you know it’s legit?”

“Good question.” He imagined she asked insightful questions of clients every day, making sure whatever marketing plan she crafted was truthful as well as credible. “There are certification organisations.”

“That’s a large part of why you two wanted your own business, isn’t it? The right to source the textiles as well as design and print them.”

“It’s been my dream for as long as I can remember.” And that was the honest truth. “This is probably my last chance.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Aweek since theirweekend away, Beatriz was still pinching herself. She and Casildo had made love in every room in the apartment, even the hall! She was amazed at herself. She was insatiable, as if all the passion in her soul had been waiting for Casildo.

He spent every night in her bed, seduced her with slow, lazy thrusts until she screamed his name. They held hands in the kitchen, cuddled on the sofa, whispered nothings to each other and giggled at memories of the various functions where they’d crossed paths in the last few years.

In her heart she was sure, but she hadn’t used theLword. It was far too dangerous.

He looked at her sometimes as if about to raise something serious, like what next? And she distracted him. She was searching for the right words to tell him the truth, hampered because she could imagine the disillusion in his eyes.

A fling. All I promised was a fling. I’m lying to him, by omission.