had money—to buy a home for himself.
“You never lived very long in one place, did you?” When he’d told her they’d moved a lot, she’d assumed he meant every few months or so. When you were a kid, any upheaval was traumatic. Now, she was beginning to think it had been something more.
He turned back to her, his golden gaze both hard and sad at once. “The one thing I wanted more than anything as a child was to be able to have a room of my own. My own bed, my own walls, my own toys. If I unpacked my suitcase—when I still had a suitcase—we moved again. So I stopped unpacking. Then one day it was gone and everything we owned could fill the backseat of the rusty car my mom somehow managed to keep.”
“Raj,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. She wanted to hold him, wanted to tell him she was sorry. She wanted to take his pain away.
He leaned forward and kissed her, swiftly and surely. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Veronica. I didn’t tell you so you would feel sorry for me.”
She spread her palm over his jaw, caressed him. “I don’t. I’m just grateful you felt you could tell me.”
He turned and kissed her palm. “There’s no one else I’d rather share it with.”
The words were simple, but they choked her up. She dropped her gaze, stared at the bright tablecloth. If he knew the truth about her, he wouldn’t think so highly of her, would he?
She had to tell him. “Raj …”
“Yes?”
But a waiter walked out with fresh papadum and sauces and she lost her nerve.
“Nothing,” she said.
The rest of the meal came soon after. They talked and ate and enjoyed the view before Raj paid the bill and they walked back out to the street.
Soon, they were on their way to his house, the cars rolling through a beautiful tropical landscape. Goa was such a land of contrasts, she realized, as they passed a temple with a tall, conical bell tower, it’s layers crowned with carvings and dotted with arched windows. A short distance away they passed a distinctly Portuguese church, its grounds scattered with tourists wielding cameras.
It was a beautiful place, and she could see why Raj loved it so much.
Though she’d intended to meet with her staff again this afternoon, all it took was one hot look from the man she loved to make her amend her plans. They spent the next couple of hours in bed, wrapped in each other, living off of kisses, whispered words and slow, deep thrusts that took them to heaven and back. It would be so easy to forget the world when nothing seemed more important than what took place when they were alone together.
But later, when the sun was sinking into the sea and they were dozing in each other’s arms, there was a knock on the door.
“Yes,” Raj managed to say, his voice husky with sleep.
“There is a call for the president,” someone said.
Veronica looked up, met his gaze. She didn’t want the outside world intruding, not yet. But she had no choice. They both knew it.
“Who is it?” Raj asked.
“Someone named Monsieur Brun.”
VERONICA took the call on the terrace after hurriedly dragging on her clothes and wrapping an elastic band around her tangle of hair. Her chief of staff was in attendance, as well as her secretary.
Raj watched them all as Veronica sat like a queen—a rumpled queen, he thought with a surge of possessiveness—and spoke to the former president in French. Raj didn’t understand French, but he could tell that Veronica was cool and professional.
The sun was a bright orange ball now, the sea beneath it purple and black. High above the setting sun, bright stars were winking into existence like sequins against the midnight-blue background of the night sky.
But Raj was focused on Veronica, and on the two people watching her so intently.
Martine glanced up at him, then quickly looked away. Her fingers hooked together in front of her body, her knuckles whitening. She was afraid.
But Veronica’s eyes widened and Raj’s attention snapped to her. Her chief of staff thrust a fist into the air in triumph as Veronica said something to the man on the phone, her voice laced with shock.
Martine seemed pale, her big brown eyes blinking in surprise. And then Veronica was speaking rapidly, smiling openly and nodding. Another few moments and she put the phone down again. Then she jumped up and hugged Georges and Martine before throwing herself into his arms.
“Brun has denounced the police chief,” she said. “He is about to hold a press conference and publicly come out in support of me.” Her eyes were shiny with tears. “He loves Aliz and wants the best for her, just like I do. Oh, Raj, this means I can continue working for my people. This is truly the best day ever.”
He should be happy, and yet he felt as if she’d thrust a hot knife into his chest and twisted it. He’d begun to enjoy having her here, having her to himself. But when she returned to her life as president, he would return to his life, as well.
And it wasn’t a life that included her.
“That’s wonderful,” he said, because he had to say something.
She squeezed him, pressing her cheek to his chest. “We can go to Aliz now,” she told him. “It’s not quite like here, but I think you’ll like it. I want to show you everything, and I want you to have Christmas with me. It’ll be wonderful.”
He was numb. Absolutely numb. “Of course,” he replied. Because now was not the time to say anything different. Now was not the time to hang a dark cloud over her happiness. There would be time later to talk, time to explain. Time to return to reality.
She hugged him again, then turned and started talking with her people. He watched her, watched the gestures of her long, slim fingers, the slide of her throat as she spoke, the way she talked so fast and excitedly that Martine could barely take the dictation.
For her sake, he tried to imagine it. Tried to imagine himself in Aliz, with her. She would live in the presidential palace, of course. He would visit her there whenever he had the time. It could work.
But it couldn’t work. She deserved better. She deserved a man who could love her and give her the family she wanted. Without hesitation or reservation. He loved being with her, and he could happily spend the next several months—years, maybe—in her bed without ever wanting to leave.
But it wasn’t fair to her. He knew what she wanted out of life because she’d told him.
He did not want the same thing, and it wasn’t fair to let her believe he did. He’d known it wasn’t going to last. He just hadn’t thought it was going to end so soon.
It was late when Veronica wrapped up her meetings with her staff. There were more phone calls to be
