Page 17

“You were bright and early today,” he says, his voice rolling out like smooth velvet, wrapping around me in a way that makes me hyperaware of my every breath.
“Ali’s health waits for no one,” I reply, tucking a stray lock behind my ear. My attempt at levity does nothing to still the flutter in my chest.
“Come, have coffee with me in the sunroom,” he suggests, stepping away from the wall with a grace that belies his powerful frame.
“Sure,” I answer, a little too quickly, perhaps a little too eager.
It’s an invitation that feels as warming as the Zahranian sun itself, but it’s also a tad confusing. Him inviting me to have a scotch the other day was linked to us having a business meeting. This? There’s no reason to have coffee together.
…Unless he has something else to tell me about? A secret wife hidden in the attic, perhaps?
God, I hope not.
Faiz leads the way, and I follow, drawn by the pull of something indefinable. The sunroom is bathed in light, the scent of coffee flirting with my senses as we enter. I take a seat as Faiz pours two cups and slides the dish of sugar cubes my way.
“Thank you.” I add a couple cubes, stir, and take a sip. Too late, I remember that I’m still not used to how strong the coffee is here. In goes another lump of sugar.
“I hope all is well at my parents’.” Faiz pauses. “You were there yesterday, were you not?”
“Yes.” I don’t know what else to say; I’m still feeling a tad guilty about working for Faiz without letting the sheik and sheikha know.
We sit in silence for another minute, a bird calling just outside. Finally, Faiz speaks. “You said you didn’t travel much growing up. Where have you been?”
I duck my face, embarrassed. “Outside of the United States? Only here.”
He blinks at me, but he looks more sad than anything else. “That’s too bad.”
“I know,” I sigh.
“Surely, your job at the main palace affords you time off?”
“It does.” I trace my fingertip along the rim of the coffee mug. “I haven’t planned any trips, though. I don’t know where I would go.”
That’s not true. There are plenty of places I want to see. The issue is that I have no one to go with, and I ache to explore the world with a companion at my side.
“You said you’ve been to most countries,” I say, eager to direct the conversation away from my own life. “What is your favorite place you’ve visited?”
He talks of cities and seas, of mountains that scrape the heavens and deserts that whisper with ancient secrets. Paris, Tokyo, Rio de Janeiro — he paints each place with words that stir a longing within me. A longing not just for the places he describes, but for the life unlived. The adventures untaken.
“You should travel,” he says suddenly, catching me off guard with the intensity of his gaze. “See the world. Throw a dart at the map and go there.”
“Maybe I will,” I admit, the thought taking root. Traveling… escaping. But what am I seeking escape from? The confines of my routine or the confines of a heart afraid to want more?
“Life is short, Tara,” Faiz continues, unknowingly threading his fingers through the fabric of my thoughts. “We should experience all it has to offer.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” I say, voice barely above a whisper, the idea blooming like the flowers outside. Outside, where the world awaits — a world vast and beautiful, but one that I’m hesitant to reach out and grab.
“More coffee?” Faiz asks.
“Yes, please.”
I extend the mug, but as I do it slips from my hands. I try to catch it but it hits the edge of the ceramic milk pitcher instead. Itcracks into two, one of the pieces getting me across the palm. A red line blooms across my skin, and I exclaim in surprise.
“Let me see.” Faiz’s voice is a low command, his hand already encircling my wrist with surprising gentleness. He inspects the small wound, his brow creasing with concern. “Stay still.”
“It’s nothing, really—” I start to protest, but he’s already on his feet, moving to retrieve a first-aid kit from a nearby cabinet with confident efficiency.
I watch him, my hand throbbing in tandem with the pulse of surprise at his urgent response. It’s just a slight cut, but the way he cares, the way he moves — it’s intimate, almost personal, and it sends an unexpected shiver down my spine.