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.
