‘Where are you in your cycle?’ He spoke calmly, but his eyes were like flint looking into hers.
‘What? I—I don’t know.’
‘Think.’
Somewhere off to the side, where the old version of her was still standing, she didn’t like his tone. But the stripped-down Lulu, grappling to understand what all this meant, was trying to figure out dates.
‘Lulu?’ he growled.
‘I’m a dancer—my periods are all over the place.’
‘Great.’
She really didn’t like his tone—nor the way he was telling her this in the middle of the wedding waltz. Although she guessed he had given her the option to do it in private.
‘One week in,’ she came up with.
‘That’s probably the best news we can hope for. You’re less likely to be fertile immediately following your period.’
‘How did you become an expert on this?’ Her voice had grown slightly shrill.
‘An internet search and not much sleep last night,’ he growled back.
Good, thought Lulu unhappily, let him suffer.
‘What will happen now?’
‘You’ll need to contact me if you’re pregnant.’
When she thought about last night—lying awake in the champagne-lulled heap she and Gigi had formed on one of the beds, imagining seeing him again, feeling the happiness that had been bubbling up inside her—the realisation now that the only reason he’d wanted to see her again was to check her fertility was almost too cruel for her to accept.
‘What a prince you turned out to be,’ she whispered, and whirled around and made her way across the hall.
People were staring. Well, let them stare. Gigi was the only one who mattered, and she was so caught up in Khaled she’d never know at this late stage in the day.
Lulu began to run when she was outside the grand hall. She knew where she was going because she had already set down her routine here. The same corridors, the same rooms. But she found herself pressing close to the walls—a sure sign that things were closing in on her.
It had been such a beautiful ceremony, and Gigi was so happy. Everything had gone off splendidly—only for this news to drop like a bombshell…
But surely she wouldn’t be that unlucky?
Lulu found herself pushing open the tall, heavy doors in front of her and entering the hushed, carpeted surrounds of the library.
Explicit memories from last night washed over her.
‘Lulu, you can’t run away from this.’
She jumped, plastering a hand over her chest, until she realised she was playing the role of a gothic heroine and snatched it away. ‘You followed me!’ she accused.
‘Of course I bloody followed you.’ He strode towards her, so powerfully masculine she couldn’t help shrinking back. ‘This is important, Lulu. You can’t just push this away and pretend it hasn’t happened.’
‘You think I don’t know that?’
Was he making a crack abou
t what had happened at the bed and breakfast?
She backed up against a table, gripped its edge. It only reminded her more of what had happened in here last night. She didn’t want to think about last night.