an idiot." She practically heard Daliya roll her eyes in the darkness. "I didn't think you had it in you. I mean, I suspected our stepmother was maneuvering to get you out of the house when she got those dresses made for you. I just didn't think you'd follow through."
Her throat closed. Daliya was right. She didn't have it in her. She never would have slept with Darius, she admitted to herself now. She had belonged to Javad for months, and after tonight, always would. Body and soul and poor, broken heart.
Her stepmother, Saminah, had been very encouraging about the two dresses she'd practically insisted Arya have made, even lending Arya her French designer. When Arya had pulled them out of the tissue, in the privacy of her own room, this one had been inches lower at the top, and inches higher at the bottom, than she'd discussed with Maxime. But actually wearing the dress, and on a night her father wouldn't be around to say anything, had been her own plan.
Her own dumb plan. That had worked, had backfired, and would now ruin her life.
"Hey." There was actual concern in Daliya's voice as she got up and came over, looking confident and elegant in turquoise satin pajamas with black lace trim.
Arya let herself be led to the rattan love seat where Daliya had been sitting alone. Her sister pushed down on her shoulders and Arya's knees gave way.
"Are you alright?"
It was only when Daliya handed her a tissue that she realized there were tears on her face. Was she alright? Probably not.
"Hey," Daliya said, as if reassuring a little girl who had fallen down. "I'm sure you'll see him again."
She wiped her eyes and blew her nose and decided she was done crying. "I know," she told Daliya, holding her head up to face the future that she hated. "He'll ask me to marry him tomorrow. That's the problem."
Daliya shrugged. "Well, if you don't love him, say no. If he tells Dad about tonight, say you were with me. I'll back you up."
Arya stared at her. Daliya would back her up? The idea gave her a jolt of pure happiness. She'd always wanted a good relationship with her sisters, but Daliya had always hated her, and Komal had no time for her. They both thought she sucked up to Dad.
Maybe things were different now they were back in Ulai. "I love him," she admitted.
"Oh, I get it," Daliya said. "He doesn't love you."
Javad had been silent as a star in the desert sky as he drove her home, and as distant. Not purposely, she knew. He'd been catching up to the new reality of their relationship. She'd left him to his mental calculations as terrible fears ripped through her. A silent and thoughtful Javad meant a planning Javad. And huge problems barreling down the train tracks.
If only he'd explained to her that their encounter was one night only and they would go back to being friends now.
"I think he does," she said, all misery. "To the extent that he's capable of actual emotion."
"Okay, you love him and he loves you and him asking to marry you is making you cry. You avoided guys until now, but you're somehow making up for lost time. This is some crazy angst." Daliya had genuine confusion in her voice. "Help me out here."
She had to admit it didn't make much sense. She treated the dark to an ironic smile. What a nightmare this was all going to be. There was nothing to do now but follow through. "He's going to ask me to marry him, and I will say yes, and then I'll be the perfect diplomat's wife, and that's it."
The light bulb seemed to click on above Daliya's head. "Not much of a romance."
"Not much of a romance," she agreed. "But more than that, he's just like Dad. All tight inside. Locked up. I'm going to spend the rest of my life with a guy who hides all his emotions."
Daliya straightened in her seat, beautiful features solidified into defiance. "No, you're not."
"But I love him, and I can be with him." She accepted her defeat. She'd gotten exactly what she wanted, and exactly what she was afraid of. She should have stayed in her
Her throat closed. Daliya was right. She didn't have it in her. She never would have slept with Darius, she admitted to herself now. She had belonged to Javad for months, and after tonight, always would. Body and soul and poor, broken heart.
Her stepmother, Saminah, had been very encouraging about the two dresses she'd practically insisted Arya have made, even lending Arya her French designer. When Arya had pulled them out of the tissue, in the privacy of her own room, this one had been inches lower at the top, and inches higher at the bottom, than she'd discussed with Maxime. But actually wearing the dress, and on a night her father wouldn't be around to say anything, had been her own plan.
Her own dumb plan. That had worked, had backfired, and would now ruin her life.
"Hey." There was actual concern in Daliya's voice as she got up and came over, looking confident and elegant in turquoise satin pajamas with black lace trim.
Arya let herself be led to the rattan love seat where Daliya had been sitting alone. Her sister pushed down on her shoulders and Arya's knees gave way.
"Are you alright?"
It was only when Daliya handed her a tissue that she realized there were tears on her face. Was she alright? Probably not.
"Hey," Daliya said, as if reassuring a little girl who had fallen down. "I'm sure you'll see him again."
She wiped her eyes and blew her nose and decided she was done crying. "I know," she told Daliya, holding her head up to face the future that she hated. "He'll ask me to marry him tomorrow. That's the problem."
Daliya shrugged. "Well, if you don't love him, say no. If he tells Dad about tonight, say you were with me. I'll back you up."
Arya stared at her. Daliya would back her up? The idea gave her a jolt of pure happiness. She'd always wanted a good relationship with her sisters, but Daliya had always hated her, and Komal had no time for her. They both thought she sucked up to Dad.
Maybe things were different now they were back in Ulai. "I love him," she admitted.
"Oh, I get it," Daliya said. "He doesn't love you."
Javad had been silent as a star in the desert sky as he drove her home, and as distant. Not purposely, she knew. He'd been catching up to the new reality of their relationship. She'd left him to his mental calculations as terrible fears ripped through her. A silent and thoughtful Javad meant a planning Javad. And huge problems barreling down the train tracks.
If only he'd explained to her that their encounter was one night only and they would go back to being friends now.
"I think he does," she said, all misery. "To the extent that he's capable of actual emotion."
"Okay, you love him and he loves you and him asking to marry you is making you cry. You avoided guys until now, but you're somehow making up for lost time. This is some crazy angst." Daliya had genuine confusion in her voice. "Help me out here."
She had to admit it didn't make much sense. She treated the dark to an ironic smile. What a nightmare this was all going to be. There was nothing to do now but follow through. "He's going to ask me to marry him, and I will say yes, and then I'll be the perfect diplomat's wife, and that's it."
The light bulb seemed to click on above Daliya's head. "Not much of a romance."
"Not much of a romance," she agreed. "But more than that, he's just like Dad. All tight inside. Locked up. I'm going to spend the rest of my life with a guy who hides all his emotions."
Daliya straightened in her seat, beautiful features solidified into defiance. "No, you're not."
"But I love him, and I can be with him." She accepted her defeat. She'd gotten exactly what she wanted, and exactly what she was afraid of. She should have stayed in her
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