impossible man. He had made her think about sleeping with him. Deliberately.
She didn’t let on that his trick had worked, although her pink cheeks probably gave her away. “The restaurant is fine. I’m rarely bothered there.”
The maître d’ greeted her warmly by name and assured Kasim it was an honor to serve him. He showed them to a table at a window where a decorative screen had been erected prior to their arrival, enclosing them in a semiprivate alcove.
Kasim held her chair and glanced at the screen as he seated himself. “Apparently we dine unseen regardless.”
“Did you want to be seen with me? You wouldn’t be the first.”
“I wouldn’t be ashamed,” he said drily. “You’re very beautiful. But if you’re more comfortable like this, by all means.”
Angelique tried not to bask in the compliment as their drink orders were taken. She had freshened her makeup and vetted her outfit over the tablet with Trella, settling on an ivory cocktail dress with a drop waist that ended above her knees in a light flare. The sleeves were overlong and held a belled cuff while the entire concoction was embellished with some of Trella’s best work in seed pearls and silver beads.
Public appearances were always this fine balancing act between avoiding being noticed but wanting to show Maison des Jumeaux in its best light if she happened to be photographed, all while trying not to look over-or underdressed for the actual event.
“Judging by what you said today, I didn’t think there’d been recent threats. Is this just the vigilance against them that you spoke of?” He nodded at the screen.
“That’s me trying to maintain some level of mystery,” she joked, but her voice was flat. “Yet another reason I don’t bother dating,” she expanded. “You already know far more about me than I do about you…not that whatever you’ve read online is true.” She so hoped he knew that and wondered why it mattered so much.
“You haven’t stalked me?” His brows angled with skepticism. “Asked Hasna about me?”
“I rarely surf at all. Too much chance of running into myself. And no. I’m too protective of my own privacy to invade someone else’s.” She didn’t bring up that Henri had been more than happy to check him out on her behalf. “In my months of working with your sister, she only volunteered the information that you insisted she finish school in exchange for supporting her desire for a love marriage and that you refuse to sing at the wedding, even though your voice is quite good.”
He snorted. “It’s not. And she’s lucky our father is allowing any music at all, let alone a handful of Western tunes. That’s it?”
She debated briefly, then admitted quietly, “She told me you lost your brother a few years ago. I’m very sorry.” At least her sister was alive. She was grateful for that every single day.
Kasim looked away to the window as though absorbing a slap.
“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” she murmured.
“It’s public knowledge,” he dismissed, bringing his attention back to her with his thoughts and feelings well hidden.
She instantly felt like a hypocrite for claiming she didn’t invade others’ privacy. She desperately wanted to know what he was thinking behind that stony mask. He fascinated her. That was why she had come to dinner. There. She’d admitted it to herself. She wanted to know more about him.
“It seems I do have the advantage.” He shot his cuff as he leaned back to regard her. “In my defense, even the weather and financial pages have click-bait links with your name in them. I can’t help but see whichever headline is making the rounds.”
“Which is why I look out the window to see if I need an umbrella and ask my doorman for the news. Thank you,” she murmured as their wine was poured.
When they were alone, he said, “The story was very compelling. I was about your brothers’ age. Hasna was yours. I couldn’t help feeling invested in the outcome. I suppose the entire world presumed it gave them a stake in your lives.”
The world had presumed a stake in their lives long before her sister was kidnapped. It was one of the reasons her family had been targeted.
She didn’t bother lamenting it aloud. Her family had learned to accept what couldn’t be changed. Identical twin boys born to a French tycoon and his Spanish aristocrat wife had been fairly unremarkable, but when a pair of identical girls had come along six years later, and the four together had won the genetic lottery on good looks, well, the children had become media darlings without being consulted. She had never been Angelique. She was “one of The Sauveterre Twins.”
Which she would never for a moment wish to change. She adored her siblings and wore the designation with pride. It was the attention they relentlessly attracted that exhausted her.
“It’s been fifteen years. I would have thought the fascination would have died down,” she said with a self-deprecating smile.
“With your sister living in seclusion? It only adds to the mystery.” He eyed her as though he wondered if it was a ploy to keep the attention at a fever pitch. “The free exposure can’t be hard on business.”
“You’re wrong,” she said bluntly, amused by the way his expression stiffened at being accused of such a thing. “Discretion is one of the most valuable services we offer our clients. The planning of a maternity gown for the red carpet, for instance, when the pregnancy won’t be announced until closer to the event. Or a wedding gown when the engagement is still confidential. Sometimes the wedding itself is a secret affair. Trella and I live under such tight security it’s fairly easy to extend that amenity to clients.”
She sent a pithy look at the screen beside them.
“Until a tourist wants a selfie with me like I’m a historic fountain. Or a shopkeeper wants instant publicity and posts the brand of toothpaste I prefer. And yes, I know I can stay in and buy online. That’s what Trella does. But I like to be human and walk in the sun, browse shops for housewares and books. Being followed and photographed while doing it is far more nuisance than benefit and just makes poor Maurice’s job harder.”
Kasim flicked his gaze beyond her to where she knew Maurice would have been seated at a table with a sight line on her. He was likely sipping a coffee while awaiting a light meal, gaze monitoring the restaurant’s employees and patrons.
“It’s the reason I don’t date,” she said, noting where he was looking. “Men don’t care to be watched while they attempt to romance a woman.”
“It would be a special predilection, wouldn’t it? One I don’t possess, I’ll admit.”
She had to chuckle at that, relieved he had a sense of humor about it.
“And if I were merely attempting something that had little chance of success, I might be self-conscious,” he added, gaze clashing into hers. “But I’m not.”
Oh.
“You’re a very confident man.” She allowed herself to lean into the fire, to let the heat of his interest warm her cheeks and glow in her eyes. “You come on very strong.”
“I
