just words. Neither of us has any idea of how to work things out.’
Which was exactly why this was a terrible idea. Co-parenting sucked.
‘Fine. Then let’s work it out now,’ he said.
‘How?’
‘You tell me exactly why you are so adamant that boarding school is not an option. The truth. My brother loved his boarding school, and the few months I spent there were some of the happiest times of my life. I will not rule it out without reason.’
‘I...’ Explanations sucked as well, but she could see that she didn’t sound rational. ‘I’m scared for him. School was an unmitigated disaster for me—because I didn’t fit from day one. I was the only mixed race child in my school, and my mother’s status didn’t help. Plus, quite often she would pull me out of school to go on shoots with her—she had no one to leave me with, you see. I guess I was an obvious target.’
‘Were you bullied?’
Although his voice was gentle she could hear an underlying anger, saw the clench of his jaw.
‘No. It was much worse. I was ignored. Some girl decided that the best way to treat someone as low down the pecking order as me would be to pretend I was invisible.’
She could still hear it now. The high-pitched voice, so stuck-up and snobbish, the other girls gathering round to listen. ‘It is demeaning to even acknowledge a dirty girl like her. So we will ignore her. Are we all agreed?’
‘My whole experience of school was miserable. The only saving grace was the fact that it wasn’t boarding school—that I could go home to my mother. Amil will be different too. He will be royalty—there will be people who are envious of him. I don’t want him to be far away and miserable.’
Though in truth there was even more to it than that. There was her bone-deep knowledge that time was infinitely precious—she had had so few years with her mother, but at least they had had the maximum possible time together.
‘I don’t want him to be far away. Full stop. He is my child—I want to see him grow, and I want to be there for him.’
Frederick’s hazel eyes studied her expression with an intensity that made her feel he could read her soul.
Then he nodded. ‘OK. You get the casting vote on the boarding school question.’
‘Why?’ Wariness narrowed her eyes at his capitulation.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes. I need to know that you mean it. That these aren’t just words to sweeten the marriage offer.’
‘Because you still don’t trust me?’
She wanted to—she really did—but how could she when there was so much at stake?
‘Let’s say it would help if I knew what had changed your mind.’
‘You’ve made me realise why I enjoyed boarding school so much. Why Axel thrived there. It was the opposite to your situation. For us it was an escape from our home life—boarding school was a haven of certainty after the chaos of life at the palace. Somewhere I knew what was what, where I had an opportunity to actually get an education. Our home life was erratic, at best. It won’t be like that for Amil.’
Sunita’s heart ached at the thought of all those young princes, buffeted by the fallout from their father’s chaotic lifestyle. ‘No, it won’t.’
‘And by the time he goes to school I will have turned education around in Lycander. Teachers will be better paid, the curriculum will be overhauled in a good way, and there will be more money injected into schools everywhere.’
As if embarrassed by his own enthusiasm, he leant back with a rueful smile that flipped her heart again. A sure case of topsy-turvy heart syndrome. And it was messing with her head, making the idea of marriage more palatable. Ridiculous. Marriage equalled tying herself down, committing herself to a shared life, to a fairy tale ending. The idea hurt her teeth, sent her whole being into revolt.
Only that wasn’t true, was it? Horror surfaced at the identification of a tiny glimmer of sparkle inside her that desperately wanted a fairy tale ending... Frederick, Sunita and Amil, living happily ever after in a palace. Princess Sunita.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’ His voice interrupted her reverie.
‘They aren’t worth it.’
They weren’t worth even a fraction of a penny—she had lost the plot and it was time to get it back. This marriage deal wasn’t off the table, but there wouldn’t be any glimmer of fairy sparkle sprinkled on it.
She looked up as Deepali approached from across the courtyard. ‘Your meal is ready. The chef has prepared a selection of traditional Goan food—I trust you will enjoy it.’
Sunita managed a smile even as her brain scrambled around in panic, chasing down that stupid, sparkly bit of her that advocated the ringing out of wedding bells. How had this happened? In a little over twenty-four hours he had somehow persuaded her that marriage was not only a possibility but a sparkly one.
Enough. She had to halt this before this fairy tale place wove some sort of magic spell around her—before that stupid sparkly bit inside her grew.
* * *
Frederick studied Sunita’s expression as she looked round the dining room. Her eyes skittered over the colourful prints on the white walls, along the simple wooden table, and he could almost hear her brain whirring.
Deepali entered and put their plates in front of them. ‘Prawn rissoles,’ she said, and Sunita inhaled appreciatively.
‘They smell marvellous—and I’m sure they’ll taste just as good.’
The middle-aged woman smiled. ‘I’ll pass on your kind comments to the chef.’
Once she’d gone, Frederick watched as Sunita studied the rissole with more attention than any food warranted, however appetising.
‘This looks great.’ She popped a forkful into her mouth and closed her eyes. ‘Fabulous! The reason why melt-in-the-mouth is a cliché. Cumin, with perhaps a hint of coriander, and...’
But even as she spoke he knew that her thoughts were elsewhere. There was an almost manic quality to her culinary listing, and he interrupted without compunction.
‘So,’ he said, ‘you avoided my earlier question about what you were thinking.’
Her brown eyes watched him with almost a hint of defiance. ‘I was thinking how surreal this situation is—the idea that two people who don’t know each other at all could contemplate marriage. It’s...mad.’
‘That’s why we’re here—to get to know each other.’
‘We can’t pack that into two days—most people take years.’
‘And there is still a fifty per cent divorce rate.’
‘In which case we are definitely doomed.’
