Page 105 of Modern Romance November 2024 5-8

‘You can leave any time. I just ask that you hear what I have to say. Although I would prefer us to have this conversation in private. I have a suite here...’

‘I’m not falling for that. Like your massage.’ She shook her head. She knew if she went to his suite they’d tumble into bed. And then she’d love him even more. And... ‘No.’

‘Why don’t we just have dessert?’

She nodded, and stared at the menu, but then he spoke with the waiter and the gorgeous velvet folder was removed.

‘I hadn’t chosen.’

‘Violet...’ He sighed in exasperation. ‘I’m trying to have a serious conversation.’

She’d hoped to sneak a copy of the menu, use it as a bookmark. But of course she couldn’t tell him that, so she nodded, and stopped thinking about strawberry tarts and lemon meringues—oh, and chocolate and chestnut terrine.

‘After that first night, when those images of us were briefly aired, my father saw them. He knew that his son was in love...’

She looked up.

‘We barely knew each other then—’ she attempted.

‘Violet,’ Sahir interrupted. ‘We might not have realised it, but my father did. Aadil had alerted him to the threat, and then I called, requesting a week off.’ He reached for her hand. ‘I think by the end of that week perhaps we would have caught up with the same idea?’

She stared at his face, right into those eyes, and it was like watching a door open. It was as if she was being invited in—as if the noisy restaurant had disappeared and they were alone in the desert, or in a garden in London, or even her tiny flat.

It mattered not. They were in love...

‘My father panicked...knew the danger. Because it is completely forbidden. A ruler can only...’

‘I know the law.’

‘My father...’ He looked at her. ‘He, more than most, knew the difficulties ahead if I broke that law.’

She wouldn’t tell him what his father had shared with her, Sahir realised, and he was so proud of her for that.

Violet frowned as the waiter came over, carrying a silver tray. He removed the cloche and lit up the dessert so it danced with blue fire.

‘I’ll give it a miss,’ she said, and gave him a smile.

‘You don’t want dessert?’ asked Sahir.

‘I don’t like fruit cake, or pudding, or anything...’ She went to grab her bag. ‘I really must go.’

‘Well, I asked the chef to prepare it especially. Apparently, it was my parents’ favourite treat when they were in London...’

‘Oh?’ Violet said airily, as if she didn’t already know.

‘Now...’ He took a jug and poured a very generous amount of cream over the dessert, and then scooped up some brandy butter with a silver spoon and held it out.

She reached forward, took the spoon in her mouth—because at least a mouthful of pudding would stop her from being indiscreet.

Oh, dear.

She loathed brandy, but this tasted of rum—and she hated that even more. It was so thick and rich, and he was watching her chewing it, forcing it down, and then taking a drink of water...

‘Here,’ he said, taking another scoop, still watching as she grimaced for a second time. ‘Violet, I know you and my father spoke.’

Thank goodness her mouth was full. She kept chewing.

‘I know.’ He nodded. ‘My father was stunned that you hadn’t told me.’ He took her hand. ‘I wasn’t. I was proud. Violet, he panicked because he’s unwell...’

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