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“You’re right,” she said. The anger had gone and now her face was drawn and sad. “I’m not ready. You’re not ready. I should actually thank you. You’ve made me less of a fool than I could have been.”
“Valentina—”
“I understand you think it’s for my own good, Desmond. Perhaps you’re right.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
VALENTINA LEFT BAHR-AL-DAHABas soon as a replacement could be trained to help with Hind, clearance letters from the bank in hand. She squeezed Desmond’s hand in a sisterly fashion, the same fashion they’d adopted since the night of their party, living on opposite sides of their villa, meeting in the middle for a strained meal once or twice, trying to prove to themselves that they were both unaffected. Promised to be in touch.
Desmond dropped her off at the airport himself. He didn’t ask what her destination was, he didn’t use any of his resources to find out, and she didn’t volunteer the information. Her beautiful face looked drawn and there were hollows beneath her eyes. She didn’t kiss him. She barelylookedat him.
“I’ll come back for any events you deem necessary,” she croaked.
He shook his head. “I’ve put you through enough, don’t you think?”
At that, she laughed, but it was a raspy, painful sound. “Yeah.” She reached out a hand for him to shake as if they were business partners wrapping up a deal. In some ways, he supposed they were. He took her small, soft hand in his, and felt something hard against his palm. When he looked at it he had to clear his throat.
It was the vintage solitaire she’d picked out on that flight from London, what seemed like an age ago.
“You could keep it, you know,” he said.
She shook her head. “You’ve given me enough.”
It was true, in some respects, but it hadn’t been enough, had it? He shoved his hands in his pockets and watched her hips sway gently as she walked away, disappearing into the airport security line. She’d refused his offer to fly her wherever she wanted to go, no questions asked.
It was probably for the best.
So Desmond went home and he got to work. Now that his relationship with Val had been completely dissolved, he saw clearly that the only thing that had been fake was his conviction that he’d be able to leave unscathed. Whatever they’d had, it had been as real to him as the blood running through his body.
Worse than that, he missed her. Missed her enough to wonder for the first time in ten years if there was something that could occupy his mind more than the Flight 0718 disaster, or the deal that was already pumping hundreds of thousands into his accounts. Never had doing the right thing felt so wrong.
He used long nights in the office and back-to-back meetings to keep thoughts of her at bay. But then, inevitably, his body would succumb to tiredness and he’d wake up dreaming of her.
He lay there hard and aching, his longing for her pushing out the faces of the victims from his memory that he’d spent so many years obsessing over. They were gradually being replaced by memories of laughing with her in his office in London, of sipping champagne with her in a gilt opera house, of chasing Hind all over London. And most vividly, that last night, when he’d pinned her down in the cool darkness of her bedroom, where she’d gripped him as if—
Something had broken in him that night that had allowed her to seep through the cracks and take hold somewhere deep inside. Part of him wondered if his bruised mind had merely replaced one obsession with another. The other part of him wondered if—and he could barely even allow the thought to skim his mind—if he had grown to care for her, if hecoulddeserve her…
He could not complete the thought. Instead, he dove into the Sheikh Rashid project with an energy that left his team looking on helplessly half of the time as he tore through deliverables and made Sheikh Rashid look pleased every time he submitted a report.
“I knew you were the man for the job,” he said, patting Desmond’s arm, his face florid with satisfaction. He did not ask about Valentina, who he assumed was in her new bridal home, preparing it for their new life together; he did not comment on Desmond’s sunken face or wild eyes. Hind, however, who had resumed her internship, did look at him from under heavily mascaraed eyes that were dark with curiosity. The teenager had surprised him these past few weeks. She’d showed up on time, paid attention and actually contributed to her team’s project. His social media marketing manager had approached him about giving her more responsibility and perhaps featuring her in some content—she was the daughter of the owner, after all!
He avoided her to the best of his ability, but she lingered after a team meeting.
“Val hasn’t been answering my messages,” she said, by way of an opening.
Desmond had prepared for this. “She hasn’t seen her family in a few years. I told her to go and enjoy this time off, and I’ll join her later after your father’s project wraps up.”
Hind compressed her lips; she did not look convinced at all.
“You must miss her.”
“You have no idea,” he said truthfully.
Hind was still standing there, twisting her rings round and round on her fingers. She looked very young and very apprehensive. He sighed, inwardly. What did she want from him? Praise? He’d give it if it got her out of there quicker.
“I’m pleased with your work,” he said after a beat. “Very fresh and quick-witted.”
“Oh.” She looked surprised, as if she hadn’t been thinking of that at all. “Thank you,” she said almost shyly. “I like it.”