He’d waited for her to convince him there was some error, that her blatant betrayal of trust was a mistake. He’d wanted her to persuade him.
Even with the evidence of his eyes and the reports of his staff he hadn’t wanted to believe she’d betrayed them.
He’d wanted to believe in her.
A flash of light filled the air, a thunderous explosion that turned heads and made bystanders jump. Asim whipped his head around, relaxing when he realised it was one final sally from the pyrotechnics.
But with the realisation came something else. Something disquieting.
Only now with a cooler head did he recall a detail he hadn’t registered before. When he’d approached Jacqueline and the reporter, he’d been intent on their words, on what secrets she might give away. Now memory conjured up her tight, defensive stance, the way she’d flinched at the fireworks.
She had a fear of sudden loud noises. She’d admitted it herself, and he’d seen it the day they’d turned a corner in one of the palace gardens and frightened some birds that had shot up into the air with a loud clap of wings. The sound had been like a muffled gunshot and Jacqueline had dived for cover, only his grip on her arm stopping her.
She still suffered from the trauma of that explosion. Hadn’t he soothed her more than once when she’d cried out in her sleep, her skin hazed with heat and her limbs twitching in terror?
Would she have submitted herself to the trial of a fireworks display for a cash payoff from some magazine?
His ingrained distrust told him, yes, people did remarkable things for money.
Instinct told him the scenario was wrong. Jacqueline wouldn’t corrupt herself like that. She appreciated beautiful things, but her idea of beauty was more likely to be a faded, romantic mural than riches. The usher who’d shown her the crown jewels had reported she’d been as fascinated by the intricately embroidered silks worked by the harem women as by the fortune in gems they’d worn.
Asim frowned. If she’d wanted to sell her story, why do it here?
His gaze moved to where his sister sat with her friends and grandmother. To a casual eye Samira looked bright and cheerful. But Asim had known her all her life. He’d seen her pull on that smiling mask too often. This evening taxed her to the limit.
Doubt shivered through him.
No. Not doubt. Certainty.
He recalled the times he’d seen Jacqueline and Samira, heads together, chattering like long-lost friends. The way Samira, with her usual impulsiveness, had opened her arms to this stranger. And Jacqueline’s rare, glowing smile when the pair were together.
She’d done this for Samira.
She’d braved the crowd and the barrage for her new friend.
How often had she said Samira needed to stop running and face the world? And he, so used to protecting his kid sister, had known it was too soon.
Whatever the rights of the matter, he had his answer. Loyalty, not personal gain, had motivated her.
What else would have got Jacqueline up on the dais in front of cameramen, dressed in one of Samira’s sexy creations? This was the woman who still couldn’t quite believe in her own physical allure.
Asim scrubbed a hand over his face as the enormity of what he’d said to her sank in. Her glassy stare and the stark whiteness of her features in the moonlight as she’d refused to explain told their own story.
‘Asim?’ He turned.
A lifetime’s practice at hiding emotion came to the rescue. ‘Had enough, Samira? It’s been a big night.’
‘It has. But a success, don’t you think?’
‘A huge success. And it was an unexpected pleasure having you present. Thank you, little one. I’m proud of you. It took a lot to face everyone and you did it in style.’
If only he’d thought sooner about what the effort had cost Jacqueline.
Samira shrugged. ‘It was time I stopped hiding. After all, I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘On the contrary!’ His sister had been a victim, first of her scumbag of a boyfriend and then of the paparazzi.
‘That’s what Jacqui said. She said I should hold my head up and look the world in the eye.’
‘Did she?’
Samira nodded. ‘That’s what she does when things don’t work out. She said sometimes pretending to be confident, even when you felt horrible inside, is enough to get you through the tough times.’
Asim’s chest squeezed.
That was what Jacqueline had been doing, parading herself in that slithery silk dress in front of the media, surely her worst nightmare come to life. And then to do it under a cannonade of fireworks! What guts that had taken.
Had her proud defiance as she faced his blistering accusations been her pretending to be confident when she felt horrible inside?