“You should schedule a luncheon with those ladies and all the rest of the wives,” Fatim said decisively, sweeping his dark gaze up toward her. Nervousness rippled through her. “Hear them out, and then report back to me. And then this could be my very first step in delegating.”
He flashed a grin, dimples and all, and all she could do was smile in return. The thought of hosting a formal luncheon with these ladies scared the crap out of her. Not only was she the new girl in these parts, but she still feared she stuck out like an obviously-hired thumb. But if it would please Fatim, then she’d do it in a heartbeat.
Maybe facing these ladies would be her own necessary step in asserting herself both in this palace and in her life at large.
12
Fatim made sure not to miss dinner with the family that night, as both children were well again and it seemed like a cause for celebration. When he walked into the brightly lit dining room, his kids were gathered around Calla, who was staring pointedly at her plate.
“Children,” she said in a warning voice.
“But, Callaaaaa,” Nara pleaded.
“We want caramel!” Rashid chanted.
Fatim cleared his throat as he strutted toward the dining table. He pulled out the chair facing Calla’s, sending his children a severe look. “What is this that I hear?”
The tone was more for show than anything. But his children straightened as if they’d been caught. He only needed a moment to gather that they’d been pressuring Calla for something they knew they weren’t allowed to have.
“She didn’t tell us we couldn’t!” Nara’s automatic defensive tone tipped Fatim off right away. But more than that, it brought up a really good point: did Calla ever say no?
Fatim sat down, sternly suggesting to his children that they take their seats as well, while his mind swirled over the revelation. He tried to think of any instance when Calla had said no to him. Or the children. Or really to anything suggested to her at all.
He couldn’t think of one time. As he and Calla fell into lighthearted conversation, the back of his mind was working overtime to grapple with this new idea.
He’d been certain that when he’d posed the idea about nannying, and eventually marrying him, that she’d said yes with full conviction.
But was that truly the case? He wanted to test it out. Test her out. See if he could get her to say no to him. Because if she hadn’t truly wanted to say yes to all of this, then that changed everything.
“So, Calla, tell me—did you have a good rest of your day?”
“Yes, I had a great day, actually.” She smiled at him as she forked a salad. “Lots of work on my new designs.”
“So I take it you were pleased by what the women said to you earlier today?” This was just blatant now. She would have to say no.
Her face fell slightly. “I’d say I was rather…enlightened.”
So she was an expert dodger of the word no. He’d just have to try harder. The cook brought out his plate—curried beef and jasmine rice. He took a few bites, watching as she quietly course-corrected the children as they ran circles around the table. She was gentle and terribly sweet. But maybe too much so.
Calla finished her meal before he did, and based on how the kids were acting, it was clearly getting close to bedtime. She sent him an apologetic look and said, “I need to get them upstairs and showered.”
“Meet me in my bedroom for a nightcap afterward,” he said over his shoulder as she herded the kids out the door. He glanced back just in time to catch a flush in her cheek.
Fatim ate his meal in deep thought, bouncing between Calla and the idea of delegating tasks and what was on tomorrow’s docket with the tribal leaders.
But one thing rose above all the rest. One pervasive thought that he couldn’t totally extinguish, not now, nor throughout the day, nor really since it had first happened.
The feel of Calla’s lips against his.
Fatim finished his dinner and went to his bedroom. He beelined for the liquor cabinet, pouring himself two fingers of whiskey. American whiskey was his favorite, and the homage to Calla’s first homeland seemed appropriate. He tossed it back and then poured two more: one for him, one for Calla. He took his tumbler to the far window, where he looked out at the dark garden, lit only by twinkle lights along the paths.
Lost in thought, he wasn’t aware of how much time passed. Only that when Calla’s smooth voice interrupted his thoughts, he jolted.
“Are you ready for me?” Her sweet smile bordered on mischievous as she came in, somehow sparkling and dewy even in the low lighting of his room.
He gestured to the arm chair at his side, and her waiting tumbler on the low table. “More than ready.” His cock pulsed as his gaze swept up her tightly cinched taupe wrap-around dress. Embroidered, abstract floral patterns at the neckline gave it a special touch. He didn’t have to guess that it was one of her creations—he could already tell.
“This is a nice treat,” she murmured, swirling the amber liquid in her tumbler before taking a sniff. “Let me guess—whiskey?”