knock sounded on the door. It was Makin. He opened the door a crack. “Are you decent?”
“I’m dressed. But not sure how decent I look,” she answered, setting the magazine aside.
He opened the door wider. “You look like an alien,” he said, taking in the pieces of foil and purple cream.
Emmeline smiled wryly. “You’re not supposed to see this part.”
“Where’s Risa?”
“In the galley kitchen rinsing the bowls and brushes.” Emmeline closed the magazine and slid her legs off the bed. “Risa’s good, by the way. She knows what she’s doing.”
“She worked in Paris for ten years for a top salon before Madeline hired her away.”
“Risa told me Madeline’s blonde.” Emmeline didn’t know why she said it.
“She is,” he agreed.
Emmeline waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t. “Have you always had a mistress?”
Makin blinked. “What kind of question is that?”
“I’m curious. And you’ve asked me very personal things. I don’t know why I’m not allowed to know anything about you.”
“I never said you weren’t.”
“Good. So, why a mistress instead of a girlfriend? What’s the point of having a mistress?”
He hesitated a moment than shrugged. “Convenience.”
Her brows knit together. “For you?”
“Yes.”
“And what’s in it for her?”
“Comfort. Security.”
“Financial security, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Because it doesn’t sound as if there is emotional security.”
“I wouldn’t say that—”
“Because you have all the control. It’s a relationship on your terms. You see her when you want, and she must be available whenever you call. Which, by the way, is horrible.”
“Madeline’s not unhappy.”
“How do you know she’s not unhappy?”
“Because she’s never said she was.”
“Maybe she’s afraid to complain—”
“Madeline’s not afraid of me.”
“But she can’t feel all that secure. She’s not in a relationship with you—”
“Time to change the subject.”
“Do you love her?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Do you plan on marrying her?”
“Again, none of your business.”
“But she’s been your mistress for three years.”
“Risa told you that, didn’t she?”
“Don’t blame her. I ask too many questions.”
“I can believe that,” he said dryly.
Emmeline flushed. “It’s just that I would hate to be someone’s mistress. I would hate to spend my life waiting for someone to call me or come see me.”
“Madeline has friends in Nadir, and a busy social life attending parties and fashion shows.”
“I’d rather be poor and have someone to love me, than to have lots of money and no love.”
“You can say that because you wear couture and get invitations to the most exclusive parties—”
“But clothes and parties aren’t real. Clothes and parties are frills … window dressing. I’d rather someone like me—want me—for me, than for what I have in a bank account.”
Makin suddenly smiled and shook his head. “You’re like a little dog with a bone. You’re not going to drop it, are you?”
She looked at him for a long moment before smiling reluctantly. “I’m sorry. I guess I did get a little carried away.”
“I admire your strong convictions.”
Her smile stretched wider. “You know, you’re not all bad, Sheikh Al-Koury. There are some good things about you.”
“Just hours ago you were saying I was a power monger.”
She blushed, not sure if she should laugh or cry. “Haven’t forgotten. And I haven’t forgotten that we’re not friends. And that we don’t like each other.”
His lips curved faintly. “You’re incorrigible. I don’t think anyone could control you.”
“Many have tried.”
For a moment he just looked at her, his hard features set, his gray eyes narrowed. “You can’t move to England. You’d be miserable.”
“No.”
“You would. You’d be living in a fishbowl. You couldn’t go anywhere without a half dozen paparazzi following you.”
“Not in the country.”
“Most definitely. You are Princess Emmeline d’Arcy. Once the media discovers you are pregnant and single, you will never be left alone. The tabloids will haunt you. Photographers will shadow you. The paparazzi aren’t going to disappear just because you want to live quietly.”
“Well, I can’t stay in Brabant, locked behind the palace gate, under my parents’ thumb. It’s not healthy.”
“Don’t you have a home of your own in Brabant?”
“My grandparents left me an estate in the north. It’s quite pretty, a small castle with gorgeous grounds—orchards, a rose garden and even a small wood with a lake for fishing—but my parents have said that it’d cost too much for me to actually live there. Staffing it, running it, security. And so it’s mine, but unlivable.”
“I thought you said you had some money of your own now? That you’d come into your majority?”
“I do, but it’s not enough to fund the running of a château, and my parents won’t help cover the difference, nor will they ask the taxpayers to help. And I do agree with that. Our people don’t need me being a burden. That’s why I thought that I would just go somewhere else, like England, and find a small place that I could afford.”
