A Whisper of Disgrace(51)
‘And it’ll be too late by then,’ she said, and now her voice was trembling. ‘Kulal, you’re making this very difficult for me. You don’t want a wife with a career, but neither do you want a wife who you’ll let close enough to love you. Can’t you see that I’m between a rock and a hard place here?’
His eyes flicked over her and he steeled himself against the tears which were sparking so brightly in her eyes. He remembered the night of their honeymoon when she’d sobbed against his bare chest as she’d told him about her mother’s betrayal and a shiver of something dark and empathetic had whispered over his skin. But the intensity of those feelings had made him feel raw and vulnerable—and hadn’t he vowed that he would never allow himself to feel that way again? He drew a deep breath as he stared at the flyaway mess of her dark hair and the flushed sheen of her face. ‘Can we discuss this later?’ he said. ‘When you’ve calmed down a little, and maybe had a chance to brush your hair?’
Rosa almost choked with frustration, until she realised that maybe this was exactly what she needed—to hear him utter the truth in all its stark brutality. Get out of his life, she told herself. Get out now while you still can—before he sees just how much he has hurt you. She sucked in a deep breath. ‘I’d like that drink now, if you don’t mind.’
He poured her a glass of water. ‘I can ring for some ice, if you like.’
‘No, thanks.’ Her smile was wan as she gulped down the tepid liquid. ‘Tell me, Kulal, do you always get exactly what it is you want?’
Her words took him back. He thought about what they used to say about him in Zahrastan. What Kulal wants, Kulal gets. But not always. Not the one time when it really mattered, when his heart had been shattered into a thousand little pieces—and he was damned if he was going to risk that happening again. ‘You’re talking in riddles again,’ he said.
‘Am I? Yet you’re a highly intelligent man. I’m sure you can understand exactly what I’m talking about, if only you’d let yourself. But there’s no need to look so worried. The discussion’s over and I’m going now.’
‘And we’ll talk about it some more tonight.’
‘Of course we will.’ The lie came easily to her lips, just as it had come to his. Because Kulal had no intention of talking about this any more. She knew that. The decision had been made—his decision—and he would just expect her to get used to it. To go along with it, like a good little girl. She could imagine the scene which would enfold tonight. The hungry kiss, heightened by all the tension, and then a session of lovemaking powerful enough to push any nagging doubts from her mind. Well, not any more. Because Rosa Corretti was through with being manipulated. She was going to start taking control of her life, as of now.
She looked up at him, but it felt as if her face might split in two with the effort it took to smile. ‘I’ll see you later.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
KULAL SHOULD HAVE felt better after Rosa had gone, leaving him alone in his vast office. He told himself that she needed to understand that they’d made a deal and that he wasn’t prepared for her to start reneging on it. He hadn’t signed up for someone who wouldn’t be there when he needed her. Until he reminded himself fiercely that he didn’t actually need anybody—because need was dangerous. It made you dependent and it made you weak.
He pulled a pile of papers towards him and started to read them, but the afternoon passed by much too slowly. He knew that he could have left the office any time he pleased, since he didn’t have any more meetings planned, and even if he did, he could always cancel them. But he didn’t go home. Why should he go home early to a woman who didn’t appreciate him?
What Kulal wanted, Kulal got.
The words stayed irritatingly in his head, like an advertising jingle which wouldn’t go away, and his temple was throbbing by the time he took the elevator up to the apartment. As the doors slid open he wondered what was the best way to handle what had happened earlier. He could quietly take Rosa aside and tell her that he wouldn’t tolerate a repeat of such a hysterical scene but mightn’t that make her stubborn? Mightn’t the argument then continue into the evening, when he had plenty of other things he’d rather be doing with her than arguing?
And he had made his point, hadn’t he? He had won. There would be no more missed cocktail parties, nor would they be disturbed by any phone calls from the infernal Bertrand. There would be no more business colleagues telling him that their wives had seen a picture of his wife in a magazine.