She said in a strangled voice, ‘I think we look totally different too, but she worked for what my father wanted and so he paid her to behave like a spoiled socialite and then tipped the press off that it was me.’
Sharif—thankfully—lifted his gaze back up to Liyah’s face. ‘Why would he do that?’
Liyah tried to ignore the familiar pang of hurt. ‘Because telling people I was misbehaving all around Europe was preferable to admitting that I had left Taraq to try and live an independent life, which is all I’ve ever wanted.’
‘What were you doing?’
Liyah’s heart was beating fast. She hated it that it mattered to her what Sharif thought. ‘I got a place at Oxford. I did a Master’s in Economic and Social History over two years.’
‘A Master’s? Had you done an undergraduate course?’
Liyah shook her head. ‘No, I’d studied for the Baccalaureate with a tutor in Taraq, and I did an interview, and they accepted me.’ Liyah’s mouth twisted. ‘I’m sure being an international student with ready funds helped.’
Sharif shook his head. ‘They’re more discerning than that at Oxford. How many languages do you speak?’
‘Arabic—obviously. English, French, and passable Italian and Spanish.’
‘And if you were here for the summer holidays, and not falling out of clubs and onto yachts, what were you doing?’
‘One summer I worked in a vineyard in France, picking grapes, and I also worked in the library at Oxford.’
‘And your family were angry that you were doing that?’
‘My father is conservative. He doesn’t approve of my desire for independence. To be honest, I didn’t expect them even to notice that I was gone.’
Liyah looked directly at Sharif, daring him to pity her. This wasn’t about self-pity—even if her family’s disregard for her had brought pain.
‘My father turned his back on me a long time ago—after my mother died. He moved on with his other wives and children.’
Sharif said tautly, ‘That’s why I have no intention of having children. I’ve only known a father to be a destructive force, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone else.’
Before, Liyah would have agreed with Sharif, but something rogue made her say now, ‘We’re not our fathers.’
‘Do you want children?’
In all honesty, Liyah wasn’t sure any more. ‘I want a life of freedom and independence. I don’t see how children fit into that. And I’m aware that’s selfish.’
Sharif shook his head. ‘It’s not selfish to want what most people take for granted. You’ll have all the freedom you want within a year at the latest, Liyah. You’ll be wealthy enough to do whatever you want, wherever you want.’
Once again, instead of relief, Sharif’s words precipitated an ominous ache inside her. It was the same hollow sensation she’d felt when he’d laid out so succinctly that he didn’t want a relationship...
There was a low beeping sound and Sharif picked up his phone, which had been face-down on the table. Liyah blinked and looked around. She’d been so caught in the bubble of Sharif’s focus that she hadn’t noticed that the restaurant had emptied around them.
He was speaking into his phone now. ‘Okay, we’ll see you there.’ He put his phone away and said, ‘That was my brother Nikos. He and his wife Maggie will also be at the charity ball tonight, so you’ll get to meet them.’
‘They live in Paris?’
Sharif nodded as he gestured to one of the staff for the bill. ‘They also have a house in Ireland, and they spend a lot of time there. Maggie’s Scottish, but was brought up in Ireland. They have a son, Daniel, who is about eight months old, and Maggie is pregnant with their second child.’
Liyah squinted at Sharif. ‘So, you have a nephew and another one, or a niece, on the way?’
Sharif made a face. ‘It’s a girl, apparently. And my other brother Maks has just announced that his wife is pregnant too.’ He stood up. ‘I’m afraid I have to go back to the office, but my driver can take you to the apartment. We’ll leave for the ball at seven p.m.’
Liyah stood up too, still absorbing the fact that Sharif’s brothers seemed to be well on their way to creating families. Surely if they had only got married for appearances’ sake, like her and Sharif, they wouldn’t be actively having babies?
As they walked back outside Sharif put on his overcoat and sunglasses. Liyah saw the women nearby—and the men—doing double takes. And then third takes. She rolled her eyes.
Sharif said again, ‘Take my car.’
Liyah said, ‘It’s okay. I’ll walk back to the apartment.’
‘Suit yourself. A stylist will bring some dresses by for you to choose from. It’s a black tie event.’
Liyah was turning away when Sharif called her name. She stopped. He came and stood in front of her. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark shades.
He said, ‘Don’t let them touch your hair. Leave it loose.’
Liyah’s heart hitched. ‘Why? It’s so messy—’
‘Just...don’t touch it.’
He turned and walked away, long strides putting distance between them within seconds. Liyah looked after him, afraid of the very tender sensation she could feel near her heart because he wanted her to look like...her. Especially after what she had just revealed—the truth about her European trip. The truth of who she was.
A bit of an academic nerd. Someone who wanted to travel. And read. And be independent. Someone most of her family didn’t really care about.
The fact that Sharif had realised himself that she wasn’t the girl in the photos had hit Liyah in a very deep and secret place, where she hid her hurts and vulnerabilities. It was all too seductive to read a deeper meaning into Sharif’s comment about leaving her hair in its natural unstyled state.
But then Liyah castigated herself and turned abruptly and walked away in the opposite direction. She was being ridiculous. There was no deep or hidden meaning in Sharif wanting her to leave her hair alone. Absolutely none. No matter how much she might want there to be.
And that
