Page 63 of Modern Romance November 2024 5-8

‘I don’t hate,’ she retorted, because that was an active choice she had made long ago. ‘And I don’t hate you.’

‘Then why not listen?’

She looked up, and though she knew she ought to demand again to leave, so much of her wanted to stay...to at least understand what had occurred. Deep down, she knew that this was her only chance to have time with him, that if she left now she would have to live with so many unanswered questions.

She sat for a second, wanting to talk, but refusing to give in. Wanting to leave, while preferring to stay.

‘I’m going for a walk,’ she said at last.

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘I don’t need an escort.’

‘Violet, you do. You should know there is wind, and there could be a sand storm.’

Bedra helped her strap on desert footwear and Violet was ticklish. Both women laughed.

All smiles faded, though, as she stepped with him into the desert. It was dazzling, and bright, and she was glad not to be out here alone—not that she’d admit that.

‘It’s like being a prisoner, walking with an escort.’

‘Violet, this is not a prison,’ he told her again. ‘If you want to leave—’

She interrupted him, because that hadn’t been what she meant. And she truly didn’t know if she wanted to leave without hearing all he had to say.

‘My father was in and out of prison when I was growing up,’ she said, and then she paused, knowing from experience the next question people asked, so just answered it. ‘Fighting, assault, theft, public disorder...’ There was quite a list. ‘I always had to have someone with me when I visited him. Even if we went for a walk.’

‘Where was your mother?’

‘Who knows?’ Violet shrugged.

As she walked, she could feel his eyes on her, but he made no shocked comment—his silence was his only enquiry.

‘She tended to run wild when my father was inside,’ she told him. ‘I’d generally be placed in foster care till he got out. Or if he partied too hard on his return.’ She didn’t quite know why she was telling him this, yet there was an odd sense of relief in telling him the truth. ‘I’m sure the palace staff would be horrified at you sleeping with such riff-raff.’

‘Violet, I did not say that and nor would I.’ He asked a question. ‘Where are they now?’

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted.

‘How long since you’ve seen them?’

‘I got my own place at sixteen.’ She shrugged. He could do the maths himself—it felt too awful to admit it had been nine years. ‘There have been a couple of phone calls. Normally when they want money.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. I was just saying that this reminds me of that—walking with a stranger.’

‘I’m not a stranger.’

‘You are to me.’

Even so, being out in the desert was far less daunting with Sahir by her side—though she didn’t really want to admit that. Actually, everything—from weddings with angry mothers of the bride to highbrow receptions and, yes, even sex—was far less daunting with Sahir.

‘The desert abode is set so it cannot easily be seen. Good for enemies...not so much for English roses walking alone.’

‘I’m hardly an English rose...’

‘A violet.’

‘More like an overheated tulip,’ she said, and the return of his low laugh caught her by surprise.

She was starting to understand that his laughter was rare.

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