Grace?’
The question seemed loaded with some hidden meaning, as if he suspected she hadn’t been all that well. He clearly hadn’t been impressed by her apartment last night, and why should he have? Judging by this limo, Malik was used to unbelievable luxury.
‘I’ve been fine,’ she said firmly.
So that was pleasantries out of the way. Gracie’s stomach swam with both nerves and champagne. She knew she should ask Malik what his intentions were, what he wanted for Sam, but she was too nervous to prod that sleeping dragon.
He leaned back in the seat, a relaxed and elegant sprawl, his finger and thumb braced against his temple. The gold and silver links of an expensive watch gleamed against one bronzed wrist. ‘What have you been doing for the last ten years?’
‘Besides raising our child?’ she retorted, and then wished she hadn’t. The word our suggested a reality that didn’t exist. Except perhaps now it did.
‘Besides that,’ he agreed, unfazed by her sniping. ‘Which of course is the most important job of all.’
‘Of course,’ she agreed, annoyed even by that. Malik no doubt had very traditional ideas about men’s and women’s roles. ‘I stayed home with Sam while he was young. That cheque helped with that,’ she added pointedly, but Malik remained unmoved. ‘When Sam started school, I began working as a teaching assistant. I’ve been hoping to get certified for full-time teaching, maybe in special needs like I wanted to.’ But she hadn’t started yet because she hadn’t saved up enough money for the course.
* * *
‘And you’ve been living...’ He trailed off, eyebrows raised expectantly.
‘Above my parents’ garage, yes,’ Gracie finished with a touch of defensive ire. ‘I like being near family and the price is right.’ Why, she wondered, did she feel she had to defend herself?
‘I’m glad you’ve had help,’ Malik returned, and leaned forward to place a hand on her knee. Gracie felt as if she’d just deliberately stuck her finger in an electric socket. Her whole body jolted and she stared down at Malik’s large brown hand, the fingers long and tapered, his palm seeming to burn through the fabric of her trousers. Did he realise how he was affecting her? Had that gesture been unthinking or calculated? What did Malik want?
With what felt like superhuman effort, Gracie pulled her leg away and angled her body towards the window. Her whole body still tingled from his touch. ‘Thank you,’ she muttered, and Malik just smiled.
‘Tell me more about Sam,’ he said after a moment, when Gracie’s heart rate had finally started to slow. It kicked right up again. ‘What is he like? Do you have a picture of him?’
‘Yes...’ With a weird mix of reluctance and anticipation, Gracie dug her phone out of her bag and scrolled through the photos, looking for a decent one of Sam. Most of them were of him in various states of activity, laughter and exuberance. She found a decent one of him head-on and silently handed the phone to Malik. Their fingers brushed as he took it and she tried to quell the frisson of awareness that went through her at that tiny touch. Ten years and he affected her just as he ever had, maybe even more.
Malik stared down at the phone, his expression impassive. Gracie’s heart lurched. What was he thinking as he looked at a picture of their son? Did he notice how Sam had his silvery eyes but her gap-toothed smile, at least the one she’d had as a child? But he wouldn’t know that, of course. There was so much he didn’t know about her, just as there was so much she didn’t know about him. They were strangers, bound by the beautiful and precious human being whose image Malik held in his hand.
Silently he started to hand the phone back to her, but his thumb slipped on the screen and the photos started to scroll forward. Another image of Sam appeared, this one of him goofing around in the kitchen, a silly expression on his face. Malik froze and then glanced at Gracie from under thick, dark lashes, his expression still shuttered.
‘May I?’ he asked, gesturing to the phone. Wordlessly she nodded and then sat there, her breath held, as Malik scrolled through the photos without speaking.
Sam grinning at the camera, Sam hamming it up in the backyard with some friends, Sam proudly holding third-place prize in the school spelling bee. Malik glanced at each photo for a few silent seconds before swiping to the next one. They were all, Gracie realised, pictures of Sam. And still he didn’t say a word.
Questions bubbled to her lips and she forced them down. She wasn’t going to ask Malik what he thought. She wasn’t going to beg for him to give some sign of what he was feeling, some word of praise or approval for the son he now claimed he wanted to know. Although, Gracie realised, he hadn’t actually claimed any such thing. Malik hadn’t told her one word about why he’d burst so suddenly into their lives, simply that he’d discovered Sam’s existence.
They didn’t talk until the limo pulled up to the restaurant in Chicago’s West Loop neighbourhood. As Gracie stepped out of the car, Malik rested one hand on the small of her back; she could feel the warm, insistent press of his palm and didn’t know whether to ignore it or lean into the caress.
The black-jacketed maître d’ opened the door himself and ushered them into an elegant restaurant that was lit by candles and completely empty.
Gracie turned to Malik in surprise. ‘I thought this place was booked months in advance...’
‘I took the liberty of hiring the entire restaurant,’ Malik replied with a shrug. ‘I wanted to ensure our privacy.’
‘Your Highness,’ the maître d’ murmured. ‘We are so pleased to have you visit us.’
Gracie had to keep her jaw from dropping as they were ushered to the single table set apart from the others, awash with candlelight and laden with crystal. She sat down, her mind still spinning, as Malik sat across from her and the sommelier handed him the extensive wine list.
‘You reserved the whole restaurant?’ she said, still disbelieving, her voice lowered to a whisper.
Malik raised his eyebrows as he looked up from the wine list. ‘Yes, what of it?’
‘It’s just...this place is being written up in all the magazines. People, even famous and rich people, wait months for a reservation.’
A small smile played about Malik’s mouth. ‘And?’
And with that single word Gracie realised afresh how powerful Malik was. The Sultan-in-Waiting of Alazar. A shiver of apprehension rippled through her.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were the heir to the throne?’ she asked. ‘Back then?’
Awareness and memory flared in Malik’s iron-grey eyes and too late Gracie realised she shouldn’t have referenced back then. That one magical, amazing, terrible night.
‘I wanted to keep a low profile.’
She decided to salvage her wounded pride by saying, ‘I would have thought your title would have added to your appeal.’
Black brows snapped together dangerously. ‘What do you mean?’
A shrug, to show how little it mattered now. ‘Only that it’s a good chat-up line, isn’t it? Not that you needed a chat-up line with me. I practically
