CHAPTER TWELVE

      VERONICA took the call on the terrace after hurriedly dragging on her clothes and wrapping an elastic band around her tangle of hair. Her chief of staff was in attendance, as well as her secretary.

      Raj watched them all as Veronica sat like a queen—a rumpled queen, he thought with a surge of possessiveness—and spoke to the former president in French. Raj didn’t understand French, but he could tell that Veronica was cool and professional.

      The sun was a bright orange ball now, the sea beneath it purple and black. High above the setting sun, bright stars were winking into existence like sequins against the midnight-blue background of the night sky.

      But Raj was focused on Veronica, and on the two people watching her so intently.

      Martine glanced up at him, then quickly looked away. Her fingers hooked together in front of her body, her knuckles whitening. She was afraid.

      But Veronica’s eyes widened and Raj’s attention snapped to her. Her chief of staff thrust a fist into the air in triumph as Veronica said something to the man on the phone, her voice laced with shock.

      Martine seemed pale, her big brown eyes blinking in surprise. And then Veronica was speaking rapidly, smiling openly and nodding. Another few moments and she put the phone down again. Then she jumped up and hugged Georges and Martine before throwing herself into his arms.

      “Brun has denounced the police chief,” she said. “He is about to hold a press conference and publicly come out in support of me.” Her eyes were shiny with tears. “He loves Aliz and wants the best for her, just like I do. Oh, Raj, this means I can continue working for my people. This is truly the best day ever.”

      He should be happy, and yet he felt as if she’d thrust a hot knife into his chest and twisted it. He’d begun to enjoy having her here, having her to himself. But when she returned to her life as president, he would return to his life, as well.

      And it wasn’t a life that included her.

      “That’s wonderful,” he said, because he had to say something.

      She squeezed him, pressing her cheek to his chest. “We can go to Aliz now,” she told him. “It’s not quite like here, but I think you’ll like it. I want to show you everything, and I want you to have Christmas with me. It’ll be wonderful.”

      He was numb. Absolutely numb. “Of course,” he replied. Because now was not the time to say anything different. Now was not the time to hang a dark cloud over her happiness. There would be time later to talk, time to explain. Time to return to reality.

      She hugged him again, then turned and started talking with her people. He watched her, watched the gestures of her long, slim fingers, the slide of her throat as she spoke, the way she talked so fast and excitedly that Martine could barely take the dictation.

      For her sake, he tried to imagine it. Tried to imagine himself in Aliz, with her. She would live in the presidential palace, of course. He would visit her there whenever he had the time. It could work.

      But it couldn’t work. She deserved better. She deserved a man who could love her and give her the family she wanted. Without hesitation or reservation. He loved being with her, and he could happily spend the next several months—years, maybe—in her bed without ever wanting to leave.

      But it wasn’t fair to her. He knew what she wanted out of life because she’d told him.

      He did not want the same thing, and it wasn’t fair to let her believe he did. He’d known it wasn’t going to last. He just hadn’t thought it was going to end so soon.

      It was late when Veronica wrapped up her meetings with her staff. There were more phone calls to be made, plans to discuss and Monsieur Brun’s speech on CNN to watch. The chief of police hadn’t surrendered yet, but he would soon. He had no support, and his last lifeline—the hope that Brun would be reinstated—was gone.

      Veronica had done a set of interviews by phone, speaking with several news reporters live on various television and radio programs, and now she was exhausted. The situation in Aliz had exploded onto the international scene in greater force with Brun’s speech.

      Everyone wanted to know where she was, but she’d kept that information private. She just couldn’t bear to have the press show up at Raj’s door after everything they’d shared here together.

      She found Raj on the terrace, a laptop computer open and glowing as he studied the information there. He looked up when she arrived, his eyes flickering over her before settling on her face again.

      The hunger she usually saw in his gaze was missing. Her stomach did a somersault. Resolutely, she walked over to his side and touched him, stroked her fingers along his jaw. He caught her hand in his, then removed it from his skin with a quick kiss to her palm. He stood and moved away before she could reach for him again.

      She stood there, stinging with the ache of rejection, hoping she was reading the situation wrong.

      Knowing she was not.

      “So this is how it ends,” she said, her throat aching.

      He looked up, as if he was surprised she’d said it instead of pretending. And then he pushed his fingers through his hair. “I think it’s best, don’t you?”

      “Why is it best? What rulebook says there is a specific way we have to do this? We—” she swallowed, knowing she couldn’t say the word she really wanted to say, especially since she only knew it was true on her part”—enjoy each other.”

      “We hardly know each other, Veronica.” He looked away, his jaw firming. “We’ve had sex, nothing more.”

      Sex, nothing more.

       Oh, God.

      “I thought there was more.”

      He swore. “This is why I tried not to be so weak, why I tried to deny myself when I wanted you. Because it won’t work, Veronica. We both know it.”

      She clenched her fists at her sides, her eyes blurring. Angrily, she dashed the tears away. She was not about to cry. Not now, not when she’d just gotten a second chance in Aliz. She should feel happy, triumphant—instead, she felt desolate, ruined, as if nothing mattered.

      It was too similar to the way she’d felt a few months ago. And that angered her far more than anything else ever could.

      “I