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.
“Nothing showed on the X-ray. It’s fine,” her guard told her.
“Do you mind?” Girard said as he stepped back into the room and started to close the door.
Angelique moved to close the second door, then joined him at the coffee table, sitting in the opposite armchair from his.
“My request is very…” He frowned, searching for words, then poured out the contents of the pouch onto the coffee table.
It was a necklace, the chain three delicate strands of white gold, the pendant complex and simple at once. The stones were blue, set into a graceful sweep that almost looked like a cursive letter.
“Arabic?” she guessed, caught by both its whimsy and the suggestion of joy.
“It means ‘with.’” His smile flashed.
“It’s beautiful.” She was instantly taken by it and moved to the settee so she could examine it more closely.
“May I?” She reached out, adding in a murmur, “You want me to design something to go with it?” She would love to. The well of her creativity began to burble just feeling the weight of the piece against her fingers. It had a certain magic that penetrated her skin right into her blood.
“I believe you already have.”
“Pardon?” She dragged her stunned gaze off the crimping on the claws, experiencing a shiver as she recognized the workmanship. “Did you make something for my brother, Henri? A tennis bracelet with pink and white diamonds?”
“I don’t discuss my clients.” His mouth twitched as if he knew that she’d said that same thing more times than she could count. “But my work is carried by a jeweler here in Paris and one in London. And I did make something like that when I first moved to France. It’s quite possible the bracelet is mine.”
“I meant to ask him where he got it,” she murmured, but her brother wasn’t speaking to her, primarily because she had dared to invade the family flat and discovered that Cinnia had left him. “I would love to work together,” she blurted. “I’m bowled over by your skill.”
He smiled with shy pleasure, eyes gleaming. “That touches me. You can’t imagine how