The Royals Collection. Rebecca Winters
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‘He really caught her,’ the proud father had said when he’d found Kamel looking at it.
* * *
His sarcastic drawl set her teeth on edge. ‘I left home at eighteen.’
And by then Hannah had been a very good cook, thanks to her father’s chef at Brent Hall. Sarah Curtis had an impressive professional pedigree, she had worked in top kitchens around Europe and she had a daughter who had no interest in food or cooking. When she’d realised that Hannah did, she’d encouraged that interest.
For Hannah the kitchen was a happy place, the place her father came and sat in the evenings, where he shed his jacket and his formality. She had not realised then why...now she did.
‘Yes, I can imagine the hardship of picking out an outfit and booking a table every night must have been difficult. What taxing subject did you study?’
‘Classics,’ she snapped.
‘So you spent a happy three years learning something incredibly useful.’
‘Four actually. I needed extra time because I’m dyslexic.’
‘You have dyslexia?’
‘Which doesn’t mean I’m stupid.’
It was a taunt she had obviously heard before, and taunts left scars. Kamel experienced a swift surge of anger as he thought of the people responsible for creating this defensive reflex. In his opinion it was them, not Hannah, who could be accused of stupidity...ignorance...cruelty.
Kamel was looking at her oddly. The silence stretched. Was he worried their child might inherit her condition? He might be right, but at least she’d know what signs to look for—he or she wouldn’t have to wait until they were a teenager before they had a diagnosis.
‘You have dyslexia and you got a degree in Classics?’ Now that was something that required serious determination.
‘Not a first, but I can make a cup of tea and toast a slice of bread, and at least I don’t judge people I don’t know...’ She stopped and thought, Why am I playing it down? ‘I got an upper second and actually I’m a good cook—very good.’ She’d be even better if she had accepted the internship at the restaurant that Sarah had wangled for her: awful hours, menial repetitive tasks and the chance to work under a three-star Michelin chef.
For once she hadn’t been able to coax her father around to her way of thinking—he had exploded when he’d learnt of the plan. It hadn’t just been to please him that instead she had accepted the prestigious university place she had been offered; it had been because she had realised that the contentious issue of her career had become a major issue between her father and his cook.
His mistress.
The smile that hitched one corner of Kamel’s mouth upwards did not touch his eyes; they remained thoughtful, almost wary. ‘I have married a clever woman and a domestic goddess. Lucky me.’
Her jaw tightened at what she perceived as sarcasm.
‘Lucky me,’ he repeated, seeing her in the wedding dress, her face clustered with damp curls, her lips looking pink and bruised, her passion-glazed eyes heavy and deep blue, not cold, but hot. He rubbed his thumb absently against his palm, mimicking the action when he had stroked her cheek, feeling the invisible fuzz of invisible downy hair on the soft surface.
The contrast with the cold, classy woman before him could not have been more dramatic; they were both beautiful but the woman last night had been sexy, sinfully hot, available—but married. He didn’t sleep with drunk women; the choice was normally an end-of-story shrug, not hours of seething frustration while he wrestled his passion into submission, cursing his black and white sense of honour.
The same honour that had made him push Amira into Hakim’s arms.
He was either a saint or an idiot!
Hannah gave a mental shrug and turned a slender shoulder, telling herself that it didn’t matter what he thought of her...she still wanted to hit him.
Or kiss him.
Dusting an invisible speck off her silk dress, she gave a faint smile and thought about slapping that expression of smug superiority off his hateful face.
‘Relax, we leave at twelve-thirty.’
Relax, no. But this was the best news she had had in several nightmare days.
‘Where are you off to?’ She didn’t care but it seemed polite to ask.
‘We.’
Her expression froze. ‘We? What are you talking about? There is no we!’
‘Please do not treat me to another bout of your histrionics. Behind closed doors there is no we.’ Lips twisted into a sardonic smile, he sat on the edge of the desk. ‘But in public we are a loving couple and you will show me respect.’
‘When you stop lying to me. You said we would not have to live together.’
‘You didn’t really believe that. I said what you wanted to hear. It seemed the kindest thing at the time.’
She let out a snort of sheer disbelief—was this man for real? ‘Perhaps I should thank you for kindly lying through your teeth.’
He glanced at the watch on his wrist, exposing the fine dark hairs on his arm as he flicked his cuff. ‘Quite clearly we have things to discuss,’ he conceded.
Hannah, who was breathing hard, flashed a bitter smile. ‘Discuss’ implied reasonable and flexible. It implied listening. ‘You think?’
He refused to recognise the irony in her voice. ‘Yes, I do think.’
‘You are giving me a time slot?’ She was married to a man she was expected to make an appointment to talk to? Now that really brought home how awful this entire situation was. She had walked into it with her eyes wide open and her brain in denial. The fact was that deep down she had never stopped being a person who believed in happy ever after, who believed that everything happened for a reason.
A spasm of irritation crossed his lean, hard features.
She shook her head and gave a laugh of sheer disbelief. ‘Or should that be granting me an audience?’ she wondered, letting her head tip forward as she performed a mocking curtsey.
The childish reaction made his jaw clench.
‘You’re used to people dropping everything when you require attention. But I’ve got a newsflash...’ He let the sentence hang, but the languid contempt in his voice made it easy to fill in the blanks as he glanced down at the stack of papers spread out on the inlaid table.
It wasn’t that she wanted to be important to him, but a little empathy—she’d have settled for civility—would have made him human. Instead he intended to map out just how insignificant she was in the scheme of things from the outset. Did he really think she didn’t know she was on the bottom rung of his priorities?
Hannah could feel the defensive ice forming on her features. ‘Sorry,’ she said coldly. ‘I’m still living in a world where people have marriages based on mutual respect, not mutual contempt! It was unrealistic of me, and it won’t happen again,’ she promised. ‘I won’t disturb you any longer. Have your people talk to my people and...’ The ice chips left her voice as it quivered... My people. I have no people. The total isolation of her position hit home for the first time.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
‘I need an hour.’
She opened her eyes and found he was looking right at her. Her stomach immediately went into a dive.
‘I could postpone this but I assumed you would prefer to arrive early at Brent.’
Her eyes flew wide. ‘Brent!’ She gave a shaky smile. ‘You’re taking me home?’
‘This