Royal Families Vs. Historicals

“What happened?” Trella asked gently.

“We broke up,” Angelique said in a voice rasped by hours of crying. “I’ve been so stupid.”

“No.” Trella came to the bed and swept away the crumpled tissues to lie down in front of her. “You fell in love. That’s not stupid.” She stroked Angelique’s hair back from where it was stuck to her wet cheek.

“I didn’t mean to.” Fresh tears flooded her eyes. “I never let anyone in. You know I don’t. It’s too painful.”

“You were always so full of my suffering there was no room for anyone else.”

“No.”

“Yes, Gili.” Trella stroked her hair, petting and soothing. “I tried not to put it on you, but you carry it because that’s who you are. I’m not surprised you fell for him when he was the first person who didn’t lean on you emotionally. When you finally felt like I didn’t need you every minute. That must have felt like such a relief.”

“He didn’t lean on me because he didn’t love me!” Angelique pushed a fresh tissue under her nose and sniffed. “And I feel so pathetic, crying like this when a bruised heart is nothing compared to—”

“Shh…” Trella said, stroking her hair. “Don’t ever compare, bebé angel.”

Angelique closed her eyes and tried to level out her breathing. “I thought I had learned how to be strong and I’m so…” Sad. Scorned. Heartbroken.

“Do you know how I get through my worst moments?” Trella’s fingers gently wove in and picked up Angelique’s hair, combing to the ends. Her voice was pitched into the tone they had used as children, when telling each other secrets in the night. “Every time I’ve wanted to give up, I’ve always thought to myself, I have to be there when she needs me. You gave me a gift, asking me to come. You’re telling me I’m strong enough to be your support. It was worth fighting through all that I have so I could be with you here, in your hour.”

Angelique had seen her begging Trella to come as pure weakness, but wondered now if she had failed to see what a comeback her sister was really making—because she’d been so wrapped up in Kasim.

“You didn’t hesitate, even though I’ve been letting him come between us.” Her lips quivered and she looked at her twin through matted lashes. “That was wrong. I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Trella crooned. “Don’t apologize for offering your heart to him. It’s his loss that he didn’t see how tender and precious it is. And no matter what happens, we will always be us. I will be here for you, Gili.”

Angelique’s smile wobbled and she let out a breath she’d been holding for years. “I love you, Trella bella.”

“I love you, too.”

* * *

Angelique wasn’t going to Zhamair. She wasn’t buckling to Kasim’s demand that she stay away, though. It was the other way. She couldn’t bear to see him, fearing she would make a fool of herself at the first glance.

Or, at the very least, have to face what a fool she already was.

She had always seen easily through men who asked her out. They wanted to date her because she was beautiful, a prize. Some had wanted to get closer to her brothers, others had been so overcome in her presence it had been a burden to live up to what they imagined her to be. It had been fairly easy to maintain a certain distance.

Kasim had been different. He was strong, confident, honest. She had felt safe with him and it had allowed her to put her true self out to him. That inner soul of hers was as shy and hesitant as she’d ever been, only coming out when she trusted she wouldn’t be hurt.

Yet he had treated her like one more mare in the stable and she should have seen it coming, which left her feeling like she’d set herself up for this heartache. She had failed herself.

Be the tough woman Trella is, she kept urging herself, but she had never managed to be that woman when it came to Kasim. That was her downfall.

So she finished drafting her email to Sadiq mentioning the “terrible flu” that had her deeply under the weather and hit Send.

She was fooling no one. Her family knew that things were over between her and Kasim. Hasna had to be aware of it, as well.

She sniffed and glanced at her red eyes in her desk mirror. She certainly looked like she was battling a serious ailment. Heartsickness took a toll.

Trella, bless her, was doing everything she could to support her.

It was the great reversal Angelique had longed for and it wasn’t nearly as relieving or satisfying as she’d imagined. For starters, her brothers looked at her reliance on Trella as a small betrayal of their unspoken pact. They had all worn the mantle of protector for so long, they couldn’t put it down long enough to see that Angelique’s pulling back had actually been a good thing for their baby sister.

Trella was stepping up on her own volition now. She had planned to attend the wedding, but it was her suggestion that she take on the wedding day with Hasna so Angelique could skip going to Zhamair. This morning, Trella had even volunteered to make a quick run to London by herself to meet in private with a certain longtime client who belonged to the royal family and had a confidential occasion coming up.

Trella was also talking of doing more of the front end work once she returned from Zhamair, which was something to look forward to, but for now the task of greeting prospective clients still fell on Angelique.

Thus, when her guard rang from the front doors, stating that her eleven o’clock was here, she could only sigh and agree to come downstairs.

As she rose, she glanced at the appointment details. Girard Pascal. Something about a gift for a bride. Since she had no other reference on this prospective client, he would be shown into the small receiving room off the front foyer.

The room was a quaint little conversation area filled with Queen Anne furniture that served as a border crossing of sorts. Technically inside the building, it was still on the perimeter. Staff and accepted clients went through a second controlled door to enter the hallowed interior.

The reception room had two doors and a window onto the foyer, giving the illusion of a more spacious chamber, but the glass was really there to allow the guards to monitor her safety if the doors happened to be closed.

Girard Pascal looked Arabic, that was her first impression, but there were many Parisians with Middle Eastern heritage who had been here for generations. With that name, she assumed he was French.

He looked like Kasim, was her second thought, as he stood to a height that was very close to her former lover’s. The resemblance was only in his coloring and ancestry, she told herself. Maybe something indefinable across his cheekbones. His eyes, too. That bottom lip. His build and the commanding way he held himself.

She ignored the leap of her heart and told herself she was making more of the superficial similarities because she missed Kasim. That was all.

Then he opened his mouth and spoke with the same accent, almost the same tone and intonation. “Please call me Girard. Thank you for seeing me.”

He smiled warmly, looking nervous in a way that she almost thought was male attraction, but it wasn’t. Nor was it the fan-based giddiness some people showed in meeting a Sauveterre. It was affection and admiration and a searching of her expression for something she couldn’t define.

“I’m Angelique. Please sit and tell me what sort of gift you had in mind. If I can’t help you, I’m sure I’ll be able to suggest someone who can.” It was her stock greeting, something to give her an out if she decided not to take on a client.

She was already leaning toward not. She didn’t feel threatened, precisely, but she did feel prevailed upon. He wanted something from her. Not just a spring ensemble, either.

He held up a finger and went to the door, waiting while one of her guards brought over a black pouch smaller than his palm.

“Nothing showed on the X-ray. It’s fine,” her guard told her.

“Do you mind?” Girard said as he stepped back into the room and started to close the door.

Angelique moved to close the second door, then joined him at the coffee table, sitting in the opposite armchair from his.

“My request is very…” He frowned, searching for words, then poured out the contents of the pouch onto the coffee table.

It was a necklace, the chain three delicate strands of white gold, the pendant complex and simple at once. The stones were blue, set into a graceful sweep that almost looked like a cursive letter.

“Arabic?” she guessed, caught by both its whimsy and the suggestion of joy.

“It means ‘with.’” His smile flashed.

“It’s beautiful.” She was instantly taken by it and moved to the settee so she could examine it more closely.

“May I?” She reached out, adding in a murmur, “You want me to design something to go with it?” She would love to. The well of her creativity began to burble just feeling the weight of the piece against her fingers. It had a certain magic that penetrated her skin right into her blood.

“I believe you already have.”

“Pardon?” She dragged her stunned gaze off the crimping on the claws, experiencing a shiver as she recognized the workmanship. “Did you make something for my brother, Henri? A tennis bracelet with pink and white diamonds?”

“I don’t discuss my clients.” His mouth twitched as if he knew that she’d said that same thing more times than she could count. “But my work is carried by a jeweler here in Paris and one in London. And I did make something like that when I first moved to France. It’s quite possible the bracelet is mine.”

“I meant to ask him where he got it,” she murmured, but her brother wasn’t speaking to her, primarily because she had dared to invade the family flat and discovered that Cinnia had left him. “I would love to work together,” she blurted. “I’m bowled over by your skill.”

He smiled with shy pleasure, eyes gleaming. “That touches me. You can’t imagine how much. But let me ask my favor first. Then we’ll see what you think of working with me on something else.”

“Yes, right. Did you see a piece of mine somewhere? You know it’s just as likely designed by Trella?” She looked at the pendant again, trying to imagine how she could have inspired something so beautiful. She was utterly in love with it.

“I made this for my sister. I was hoping you could take it to her.”

“Your—Oh, my God!” If she hadn’t been so enthralled with the necklace, she would have put it together sooner. Now she quickly dropped the pendant on the table and jerked to her feet, backing away from a ghost. “Oh, my God!”

Charles shot in.

She held up her hand.

“I’m fine. Just a shock,” she insisted to her guard. “What is today’s word? I can’t even remember. Daffodil?” She touched her forehead. “Honestly, I’m fine. I just need a moment with…”

She waved at Kasim’s dead brother. Her hand trembled.

“I’m so sorry,” Jamal said with a wince. “I thought you might know.”

“How—? No.” She had to be white as a sheet, but managed to shoo Charles out.

He continued to watch her closely through the glass.

“Oh, my God, Jamal,” she breathed. “How on earth would I know? Your whole family thinks you’re dead.” She held her hand to her throat where she felt her own pulse thundering like a bullet train.

“Kasim didn’t tell you? He helped arrange it. The death certificate and name change…”

“No he didn’t tell me!” It caused her quite a pang to admit it, but she had already processed that however much she had thought she meant to Kasim, she had actually meant a lot less.

“Good God, why?” She moved to the settee and sank down, wilting as the shock wore off and her mind jammed with questions. “I mean, he told me that your father didn’t like that you were an artist, but—”

“Is that what he said?” His smile was crooked and poignant. “Our father couldn’t accept that I was gay.”

“Oh,” she breathed. More secrets with which Kasim hadn’t trusted her. She had been so open about her own family. It made her feel so callow to think of it. Where had her precious speech gone? The one from her first dinner with Kasim, when she had told him she was reticent out of respect for her siblings. But had he entrusted her with Jamal’s story? No.

“You couldn’t just…live in exile? Here?” she asked.

“My lover was already here and beaten to within an inch of his life for…leading me into that life.”

“No! Oh, dear God. Your father couldn’t have arranged that?”

“People in his government. There are those in Zhamair who are still very prejudiced. They said they were protecting the reputation of the crown, but my father did nothing to prevent or punish them.” Deep emotion gripped him for a moment and he struggled to regain his composure, swallowing audibly before continuing. “Either way, I couldn’t risk Bernard’s life again. I feared for my own. Merely leaving wouldn’t have been enough. I was afraid to even see Kasim again, in case it made things difficult for him, or exposed us.”

He propped his elbows on his thighs, back bowed with the weight of the world, expression weary. He rubbed his hands over his face, then looked at her over his clasped fingers.

“My mother’s life is not easy. The queen is very resentful of her. If my mother had had a gay son living flagrantly abroad…” He shook his head. “No. It was terribly cruel to tell her I was dead, but if the queen picks on her now, my father stands up for her out of respect for her grief.”

“I can’t imagine,” she murmured, appalled anew at the ugly aggression Kasim had grown up in. “I’m so sorry, Jamal.”

“Why?” he said, looking and sounding so much like Kasim, her throat tightened. “You had nothing to do with it.”

“I wish I could do something, I guess.” She realized immediately that she had backed herself into a corner.

His smile was sharp and amused. “Thank you. I would like that.”

She shook her head. “You’re so much like him it’s unnerving. But I can’t take that to Hasna and tell her it’s from you. You think I was shocked!”

“No,” he agreed. “She can’t know I’m alive, but Kasim could tell her it was in my old collection and that he had been saving it for her wedding day. It would mean a lot to me for her to wear this. I know she would.”

“We’re not, um… Kasim and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.” The press hadn’t quite caught on, so she wasn’t surprised he didn’t know. The words still abraded her throat. “I’m not going to Zhamair.”

“Ah. I didn’t realize.” His expression fell. “I’m sorry. From the photos I saw, you both looked quite…” He didn’t finish, only looked at the necklace, crestfallen.

She looked at it, too.

With. He wanted to be with his sister in the only way he could.

She couldn’t tell this to Trella or one of her brothers. It was Kasim’s secret. Jamal’s life.

I am a sucker, she thought. Trella would have a far better sense of self-protection. Kasim didn’t even want her there. She would be an embarrassment. He might even throw her out.

But Jamal looked so disconsolate. And Hasna missed her brother so much. It would mean the world to her to have this…

She closed her eyes, defeated. “I’ll go. I’ll go to Zhamair and give this to Kasim.”

CHAPTER NINE

THERE HAD BEEN many times over the years that Kasim wondered how his father could be such a pitiless, dictatorial bastard. These days, he understood the liberation in such an attitude as he adopted the same demeanor, contemptuous of those around him for being ruled by their emotions. What did the desires of others’ egos and libidos and hearts matter when his own had to be ignored? Everyone made sacrifices.

Don’t think of her.

Were it not for his sister marrying in two days, he would ride into the desert and take some much needed time to regroup. Instead, he was part of a ceaseless revolving door of relatives and dignitaries. One branch of the royal family had no sooner arrived and joined him and his parents for coffee, when a foreign dignitary was in the next room awaiting a chance to express felicitations.

This morning the parade had begun with an ambush. The king had introduced him to the father of the woman he thought would make a fine queen someday—when she grew up. Did his father seriously expect him to marry a child of barely eighteen?

To his prospective father-in-law’s credit, a concern for the age difference was expressed. Kasim smoothly stated he could wait until she completed her degree if that was preferred. It would serve the kingdom better if the future queen was well educated.

The king had correctly interpreted it as an effort to put things off and took him to task the minute they were alone.

“Did you give me your word or not?”

“I cleared the field for her, didn’t I?” Kasim replied in a similar snarl. A glance over the guest list a few days ago had shown that Angelique had sent her regrets. “Surely we can get one wedding over with before we host the next?”

Sadiq’s family were announced, cutting short the clash. Kasim sat down with Sadiq and their fathers to sign off on the marriage contracts, then they joined the queen and Sadiq’s mother.

“Hasna isn’t here?” Sadiq said, morose as he glanced around the room.

“The gown has arrived,” the queen said with a nettled look toward the king. “Fatina has been pestering to see it. Such a nuisance when Hasna has guests. What if she ruins it?”

“The girls will not let that happen,” Sadiq’s mother soothed. “They have been ever so careful this week, watching the unpacking of Hasna’s wardrobe.”

“The Sauveterres were staying with you?” the queen asked in her most benign yet shrewd tone.

“Oh, yes,” Sadiq’s mother said with a smile of pleasure. “The men went into the desert for what the Westerners call…a stag? Is that correct, Sadiq? I had a nice visit with their mother. We are all friends for many years.”

“And they all came with you here?” the king asked, gaze swinging like a scythe to Kasim. “Both girls?”

“Yes, Trella was the one we worried wouldn’t make it, but then Angelique came down with the flu. She recovered, though, and…” Sadiq’s mother lost some of her warm cheer as she sensed the growing tension. “Is there a problem?” She touched the draped folds of her hijab where it covered her throat. “I know we said she was not coming, but she shares a room with her sister so I didn’t think it would be an imposition when she made it after all?”

“It’s no problem,” Kasim said firmly, aiming it at his father.

Get rid of her, he read in the flick of his father’s imperious glance.

* * *

If she had left things as they’d been in Paris, Kasim brooded as he strode down the marbled hall of the palace, he would be resentful, but not furious.

This. This was unacceptable. Now he would be in for it with his father. Threats would be made. His uncle and several cousins were coming to the wedding. Tensions were high. Impulsive autocratic decisions could easily be made in a fit of temper.

Not only was he now courting that disastrous possibility, thanks to Angelique coming here against his orders, but he was raw all over again. Her rejection stung afresh and his intense feeling of being hemmed in by impossible circumstances was renewed.

He had resigned himself to never seeing her again, damn her! Now she was in his home.

He started to ask a passing servant which suite the Sauveterres had been given, but glimpsed a face he knew down near the end of the hall, standing outside the door to his sister’s apartment.

His heart rate spiked as he approached the guard.

“Charles,” he said, ears ringing. Angelique was behind this door.

“Your Highness.”

Kasim knocked.

Female laughter cut off and his youngest half sister cracked the door to peer out at him. Her smile beamed as she recognized him.

“Kasim!”

“Is Hasna dressed? May I come in?” He fought for a level tone. Distempered as he was, he would never take out his bad mood on a six-year-old.

There was a murmur of female voices, then Hasna called, “Yes, come in.”

He entered, picking up his baby sister as he did, kissing her cheek and using her small frame to cushion the rush of emotion that accosted him as he anticipated seeing Angelique.

Hasna’s suite was half the size of his, yet still one of the most opulent in the palace, decorated in peacock blues and silver, with high ceilings and the same sort of delicate curlicue furniture his mother favored.

She was in her lounge and stood on something because she was a foot taller than normal. He couldn’t see what it was because her wedding gown was belled over it, flaring a meter in each direction. A filmy veil was draped over her dark hair and all of it was covered in more seed pearls than there were in the ocean.

Fatina rose from her chair and came to kiss his hand, tsking as her older daughter charged at him, arms raised in a demand to be lifted and hugged.

Kasim concentrated on setting down his one sister and lifting the eight-year-old so she could squeeze his neck with her skinny little arms and press her lips to his cheek.

“You’re growing too fast,” he told her. “You’ll be wearing one of these soon and then who will draw me pictures? You look very beautiful, Hasna.”

He set down his sister and pretended he was taking in the extravagance of the gown when he was far more focused on the flash of movement behind the flare of her skirt.

The veil rippled slightly and Angelique rose, her attention remaining stubbornly fixed on her creation.

His heart skyrocketed as he took in the graceful drape of her pink dress and the way she’d covered her head in an ivory scarf so she looked like she was a part of his world—

She turned her head to meet his gaze.

The mercury shooting to the top of his head stalled and plummeted.

Trella.

He didn’t know how he knew. The resemblance was remarkable and he couldn’t say that her eyes were set closer or farther apart, or that her face seemed wider or thinner. He just knew this wasn’t Angelique, even though her greenish-hazel eyes stared at him.

Given the antagonism he sensed coming off her in waves, the straight pins poking out of her mouth were unabashedly symbolic.

He knew how she felt. He was ready to spit nails himself. Where the hell was her sister?

“Angelique has done an amazing job, hasn’t she?” Hasna said. He could hear the lilt of trickery in her voice, hoping to fool him.

“I understood this to be a collaboration between the twins. Hello, Trella. It’s nice to meet you. Is your sister here?” He looked around the lounge, returning to a state of tense anticipation.

“Oh! You can’t tell this is Trella!” Hasna accused. “I can’t. I still think this is Angelique and she’s tricking me.”

Trella pinned a place on the veil that she had marked with her fingers, then removed the rest of the pins from her mouth to say lightly, “I showed you my passport.”

Hasna chuckled and Trella glanced at Kasim, smile evaporating.

“She went back to our suite.”

He couldn’t stop staring, feeling as though he was looking at a film of Angelique. She was a faithful image of her sister, but there was a sense of being removed by time or space. She made him long to be in the presence of the real thing.

“Still recovering from her flu?” he said with false lightness. “Perhaps she should have stayed home after all.”

“It was minor. She’s over it.” Trella’s glance hit Kasim with pointed disparagement.

Did she recall that he had done her a favor, hiding her night with the Prince of Elazar? An attitude of deference wouldn’t be amiss here, he told her with a hard look, but he didn’t have time to teach her some manners.

He had to get her sister on the next plane back to Paris.

* * *

Angelique was normally at her most relaxed around her family, but not today. She was wound up about being here, feeling like she was smuggling drugs, that pouch of Jamal’s was so heavy on her conscience.