Page 228 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

“You’re going to get one.” Desmond pointed. “Green tray is from Van Cleef, the blue from Tiffany, and the red are either antique or locally made. All responsibly sourced gems. And no protesting—you’re not going to make me look cheap. The official story is that you’ve been hiding it along with our relationship, but now that our happy union is out in the open—” here, a lilt crept into his voice “—you’re going to flaunt this absolutely beautiful, carefully designed token of our love.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, and sat on her hands.

“You’rebeing ridiculous.” His long slim fingers hovered over the Tiffany tray, and he plucked one at random—a cushion-cut yellow diamond. He twirled it once and held it up for her inspection. “This is a little…”

“Flashy? I’d never wear that,” she said without thinking, and looked up to see him grinning.

“Oh, fine!” She filled her cheeks with air, then released them with a huff. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“What kind of ring did your husband give you?”

“He didn’t,” she said automatically. “I had a gold band that I bought myself. He didn’t—” His words came back to her. “He said there were better things to spend money on.”

Desmond gave her a look that conveyed precisely what he thought ofthatsentiment, and she pursed her lips, refusing to engage any further.

“I had a librarian,” Desmond said, “when I was in school. You look incredibly similar to—”

“Oh, hush!”

He smiled at her then, and her heart thumped deep in her chest because it had finally reached his eyes.

“Fine!” She bent over the trays in an effort to hide her face as much as to look closely at the rings.

“I could tell you the one that I thought looked most like you. But you pick one. I’d like to see how I did. No thinking about the cost, or anything like that, please. Choose the one you genuinely like the most.”

Val examined one or two, and finally picked up a simple solitaire set in a wide band rendered in a warm, rich shade of gold. It reminded her of the jewelry she’d seen while out with Hind in the souks. The teenager dismissed them as being deplorably old-fashioned, but Val liked the simplicity.

“Ah,” said Desmond softly. He took the ring from her, lifted up her left hand, and slid it onto her finger. It sparkled brilliantly. “Three carats. Simplest setting out of all of them. Beautiful, elegant and a little old-fashioned, like you.”

“How very gallant of you.” Oddly she could feel tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. What a tableau this was, but it was strangely touching.

“You’ll see over the next few days just how gallant I can be. This is just the beginning.”

* * *

Something had shifted between them.

The rest of the flight was spent companionably, with no deep, dark secrets revealed. It was as if they had some unspoken agreement to make the rest of their time as pleasant as possible and indulge in a fantasy that seemed to come from the clouds themselves. They ate their saffron-infused lobster thermidor and ate hot freshly baked bread and seasoned yellow rice, then washed their fingers in cool rosewater and applied a lotion that smelt of sun-warmed flowers. After dinner, the flight attendant came round and set up the entertainment system. Val elected to watch a Turkish drama that had been popular years ago, and they lost themselves in tales of sultans and princesses and desert intrigues until her eyes grew heavy and her head drooped down on his shoulder.

The soft, low light in the cabin made her ring sparkle. Impulsively, Desmond picked up her hand and kissed it. It felt so very natural, this little bubble of comfort, so removed from what lay ahead.

It would have been nice to linger there forever, but reality awaited them.

At that thought, Desmond’s jaw tightened. He lowered her hand back to her armrest and rearranged the linen and cashmere blend cabin blanket across her lap before drifting into a dreamless sleep, himself.

When he woke, it was to chatter in the cabin. He sat up blearily, rubbing his eyes as if he were four years old. He wondered when the last time was that he’d slept so deeply, anywhere? The flight attendants were preparing the cabin for landing and he sat up straight, yawning till his jaw cracked. Val was gone.

“She’s using the facilities,” a voice cut through his sleepiness as if reading his mind. A flight attendant shimmered over, offering a kit with mouthwash, a toothbrush, a small jar of La Mer and a rolled-up linen towel of unbelievable softness. He buried his face in it, inhaling jasmine and amber. When he lifted his head, Val stood before him as if conjured from the longings of his own mind and his body was suffused with warmth.

“Hello,” she said, smiling down at him, that dimple in her round cheek deepening. She was dressed in an abaya of shimmering blush pink that just touched the floor round her feet; the sleeves were long, bell-shaped and dramatically wide. The paleshayla, draped loosely round her shoulders, was a creamy color with just a hint of pink that made her skin glow. Tiny seed pearls adorned the sleeves and hem of the garment.

“National dress,” she said, as if it warranted some explanation. “Hind and I designed it.”

“You look beautiful,” he said softly.

She did not squirm in embarrassment or self-consciousness. Instead, she looked at him steadily, as if trying to figure out the answer to some question, before moving forward. The two halves of the abaya opened to reveal wide-legged trousers and a blouse in the same shade as theshayla. She eased herself back into her seat, crossing her legs at the ankle. “Black is the standard in the Gulf, of course,” she said, twisting her ring round her finger, “but the wife of the king is hugely popular, and she favors pastel colors. For this style of dress, all the colors of the rainbow are available, but soft, soft as if shrouded by a cloud. This fashion is called Al Farashat. Butterflies,” she translated. “The fabric is so gently woven that it flutters with even the slightest touch of wind.”

“Aptly named.”

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