A Whisper of Disgrace

He raised his eyebrows, as if she had somehow overstepped the mark. ‘Obviously we’ve spoken about the film crew. How else would I know his feelings on the subject?’

The faint sarcasm which edged his words was new but Rosa wasn’t going to give up, because this was the first opportunity she’d had in ages. ‘I don’t mean about that. I mean, about … about what happened to your mother.’

She saw him stiffen before his eyes suddenly became cool and watchful. Like a snake’s eyes, she found herself thinking as a little flutter of trepidation whispered over her skin.

‘Sorry?’

‘I just thought—’

‘Well, don’t,’ he snapped. ‘Because there’s nothing left to say on the subject, Rosa. I thought we’d already decided that.’

His words were steely—they sounded like a metal door being slammed—but Rosa wasn’t going to give up. She knew the danger of locking away painful things. You locked them away and they festered and then one day they all came bubbling out in a horrible mess. Wasn’t that what her own mother had done? ‘I just get the feeling that there’s so much between you which isn’t resolved. That maybe—’

‘Maybe nothing,’ he clipped out, and now his words were coated with ice. ‘I told you those things because.’ Kulal felt a brief flicker of anger, but it was directed at himself as much as at her. What the hell had possessed him to tell her all those things? To open up his heart in a way which was unheard of? ‘Because you’d given me a brief glimpse into your own sorry family saga and I decided it was only fair to try to redress the balance. But I didn’t tell you so that you could suddenly decide to “fix me.”‘ He stared at her. ‘You have enough things to worry you, Rosa—and if you feel the need for some sort of redemptive programme in your life, then I suggest you might try working on your own stuff first.’

His attack had come out of nowhere and it startled her. Rosa stared into his hawk-like face and thought that his expression looked cruel and almost … unrecognisable. Except that wasn’t strictly true, was it? He had looked at her that way when she’d woken up in his villa. When she’d found herself alone in his bed and discovered him staring at her as if he didn’t like her very much… .

She fished around for something to say. Something which wouldn’t involve bursting into tears and demanding to know why he’d felt the need to spoil everything with his cruel words. But instead, she fixed him with a questioning look which was very polite and utterly shallow. ‘What kind of documentary?’

He nodded, as if approving her sudden change of subject. ‘A groundbreaking one, with not a camel in sight.’

She gave the smile she knew was expected of her before walking into her dressing room to choose something to wear. Her hands were shaking as she pulled open the closet door, but she tried to tell herself that she couldn’t heap all the blame on Kulal.

Because in a way he was right, wasn’t he? She hadn’t worked out any of her own stuff. She still felt bitter and hurt by what she had learnt about her parentage. She had run away from her family, but it seemed that her family had been happy to let her go—and she was surprised by the sharp pain she felt as a result. Had she thought she was still their precious Rosa who could do no wrong? That they’d come seeking some kind of reconciliation or to comfort her, when the reality was that they would have been furious and humiliated by her desertion?

She began to riffle her way through her clothes, picking out an ankle-length dress, which Kulal had chosen for her himself. It was a simple red dress, but the beauty was in the fabric which clung like molten syrup to her curves. Skyscraper heels in ebony leather and loose hair completed the look, though impulsively she clipped a scarlet silk flower behind her ear at the last minute.

Kulal’s reaction to her appearance was gratifying, although she had to reapply her lipstick after he’d kissed it all away, and still glowing from the sweetness of that kiss, she decided that she was going to forget the bitter words he’d spoken. What was the point of ruining the evening ahead, especially when he looked so … gorgeous. His dark, sculpted features were highlighted by the fact that he was newly shaved and his ebony hair gleamed in the early-evening sunshine as they stepped into the official car.

Was it normal to feel this way? she wondered. To want to touch him at every given moment and run her fingers over each inch of his body? But she didn’t give in to her desire—just sat serenely beside him on the back seat of the large car, asking him intelligent questions about the proposed documentary, so that by the time they arrived in the trendy Marais area of the city she felt composed. As if she had been born to walk into swish restaurants by the side of a man who had caught the attention of every person in the room.