A Whisper of Disgrace(16)

He gave the room a deprecating glance. ‘Then I don’t imagine they’d be targeting a place like this, do you?’

Rosa didn’t rise to the taunt. Why should she, when it was true? She’d chosen the hotel precisely because it hadn’t been expensive. Because it was the last place on earth that you would ever expect to find a Corretti staying and therefore it was unlikely that any of her family would come looking for her here. But the Hotel Jasmin was exactly what she needed in her troubled state. She liked the peace of the place. The laid-back attitude and the old-fashioned gardens. There were mostly French people staying here and the service was simple and unobtrusive. There were no tourists, no dull international menu or any Wi-Fi connection which might have encouraged people to sit around, tapping away on their computers so that you felt as if you’d walked into a giant office.

‘If you don’t like it, then leave,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m not stopping you.’

Kulal hesitated—and for him, such hesitation was rare. But this conversation was not going according to plan. For a start, she had not fallen on him with lust in her eyes and a body impatient for the pleasure he could give her. He had thought that he would be in her bed by now and yet he was nowhere near it. She seemed completely different to the woman who had begged him to kiss her and he began to wonder why.

‘I know who you are,’ he said suddenly.

Rosa didn’t react. It had been one of the first lessons she had been taught—never show a stranger what you are thinking. She had broken that rule the other night, under the influence of the unaccustomed champagne, but she would not be repeating such a fundamental mistake tonight.

‘And who am I?’ she questioned lightly, thinking that perhaps he could provide a better answer than any she could come up with. Because she didn’t seem to know who she was herself any more.

He sucked in a deep breath. ‘Your name is Rosa Corretti and you are a member of the prestigious Sicilian family of that name.’

Rosa nodded. At least he hadn’t come out with the usual accusatory stereotype, as people usually did. They discovered that you came from a powerful family with a sometimes questionable past, and assumed that you were all gangsters. Hadn’t that been one of the reasons why she’d been so protected during her upbringing—to keep her away from the judgement of the outside world, as well as to protect her innocence?

‘Bravo, Sheikh Kulal Al-Dimashqi,’ she said softly. ‘And what else have you found out about me?’

He stared at her. ‘Nothing,’ he said, his words edged with frustration.

‘Nothing?’

He shook his head. He had some of the best intelligence sources in the world, but when it came to finding out more about the daughter of Carlo Corretti, it seemed that they had come up against a brick wall. There was plenty about her two brothers and a whole bunch of colourful cousins, but Rosa might as well not have existed for all the information they’d been able to provide. ‘Absolutely nothing. Oh, I know which schools you went to and that you studied linguistics at the University of Palermo, but other than that, not a thing. No lists of lovers and no recorded misdemeanours. No earlier experimentations with pole dancing. You come from a society which seems expert in keeping secrets,’ he observed caustically.

Somehow Rosa suppressed a bitter laugh. He didn’t know the half of it. Not just a society which was good at keeping secrets, but a family which was riddled with them. ‘I think I would agree with that,’ she said coolly.

Kulal was starting to feel confused and it was not a feeling he was used to. Because Rosa Corretti was perplexing him. The other night, her sexuality had shimmered off her half-clothed frame like the bright haloes of light which gleamed around the planet Saturn. But tonight, she seemed proud and untouchable. And why was the daughter of such a wealthy dynasty staying in a humble hotel room like this?

‘So what brings you to the French Riviera?’ he questioned.

Rosa wondered what he would say if she told him. How he would react if she explained that her identity crisis was very real and not the characteristic angst of some spoiled little rich girl. And for a second she was tempted to tell him. To unburden herself to someone who didn’t know the Corretti family, and who didn’t particularly care about them. Wouldn’t it be liberating to share her terrible story with someone else and to free herself from the resulting poison which had flooded through her veins?

But old habits died hard and Rosa was too well-taught in the art of keeping secrets to dare divulge the darkest one of all to this man who was dominating the small room. She could tell him something, yes—she just could not tell him everything.