Maybe she had.
She glanced out of the window. Outside, the tame English skies were brewing what looked like the fiercest storm she had witnessed since she’d been here. Angry grey clouds billowed up behind St Paul’s Cathedral and the river was the colour of dark slate.
She had tried to reassure herself with the knowledge that, on the surface, things in their marriage were good. Better than before. She kept telling herself that, as if to accentuate the positive. Gabe was teaching her card games and how to cook eggs, and she was learning to be tidier. He massaged her shoulders at the end of a working day and they’d started going for country walks on the weekend. Her pregnancy was progressing well and she had passed the crucial twelve weeks without incident. Her doctor had told her that she was blooming—and physically she had never felt better.
Her job, too, was more fulfilling than she could ever have anticipated. At first, Leila had suspected that most of the staff at Zeitgeist had been wary of the boss’s wife being given a plum role as a photographer, but none of that wariness had lasted. According to Alastair, her outlook was fresh; her approach original—and she got along well with people.
Her photos for the spa campaign had confounded expectation—the expectation being that it was impossible to get an interesting shot of a woman wrapped in a towel.
But somehow Leila had pulled it off. Maybe it was the angle she had used, or the fact that her background had equipped her to understand that a woman didn’t have to show lots of flesh in order to look alluring.
‘And anyway,’ she had said to Gabe as they were driving home from work one evening, ‘these spas are trying to appeal to a female audience, not a male one. Which means that we don’t always have to portray women with the not-so-subtle subtext that they’re constantly thinking about sex.’
‘Unlike you, you mean?’ he had offered drily.
She had smiled.
Yes, on the surface things were very good.
So why did she feel as if something was missing—as if there was still a great gaping hole in her life which she couldn’t fill? Was it because after that awful disclosure about his mother, Gabe had never really let down his guard again? Or because her expectations of a relationship were far more demanding than she’d realised? That she had been lying to herself about not wanting his love in return, when it was pretty obvious that deep down she craved it.
There were moments which gave her hope—when she felt as if they were poised on the brink of a new understanding. When she felt as close to him as it was possible to feel and her heart was filled with joy. Like the other day, when they had been lying in bed, she’d been wrapped in his arms and he’d been kissing the top of her head and the air had felt full of lazy contentment.
But then she’d realised that for the first time she could feel the distinct swell of her belly, even though she was horizontal at the time.
With an excited little squeal, she’d caught hold of his hand and moved it to her stomach. ‘Gabe. Feel,’ she’d whispered. ‘Go on. Feel.’
She knew her husband well enough to realise that he would never give away his true feelings by doing something as obvious as snatching his hand away from her skin, as if he’d just been burned. But she felt his whole body tense as he made the most cursory of explorations, before disentangling himself from her embrace and telling her that he had to make an international call.
So what was going on beneath the surface of that cold and enigmatic face? Leila gave a sigh. She didn’t know. You could show a man love, but love only went so far. Love couldn’t penetrate brick walls if people were determined to erect them around their hearts. Love could only help heal a person if that person would allow themselves to be healed.
Gabe made her feel as if she’d wrested every secret from him and that he found any more attempts at soul-searching a bore. Maybe she just had to accept that this was as good as it got. That the real intimacy she longed for simply wasn’t going to happen.
But that didn’t mean she was going to stop loving him.
She turned away from the thundery skyline to where he was lying sprawled out on the leather sofa, and her heart gave a little twist.
She could never stop loving him.
‘Gabe?’
‘Mmm?’
‘I was wondering if we could give a party?’
He looked up and frowned. ‘What kind of party?’
‘Oh, you know—something revolutionary. Invite some people along, give them food and drink, maybe play a little music. That sort of thing.’
‘Very funny.’ Stretching his arms above his head, he gave a lazy yawn. ‘What exactly did you have in mind?’
She drew in a deep breath. ‘Well, we’ve never really had a wedding party, have we? I mean, we had that lunch with Sara and Suleiman, but that was all. And I’ve become quite friendly with Alice and a few of the others from work, so I’d quite like to invite them. And then there’s my brother. I’d quite like to see him.’ She wriggled her shoulders. ‘I’d just like a bit of a celebration before the baby comes. Some kind of acknowledgement that the wedding actually happened.’
He didn’t answer straight away.
‘As long as it’s not here,’ he said eventually. ‘But if you want to hire a hotel or a restaurant, then that’s fine by me.’
‘Oh, Gabe,’ she said, and walked back across the room to hug him and when she stopped hugging him she could see that he was actually smiling.
Leila threw herself into a frenzy of organisation. She booked the award-winning wedding room at the Granchester Hotel and hired a party planner who came highly recommended by Alice.
The party’s colour scheme of gold and indigo was chosen to reflect the colours of the Qurhahian flag and the cuisine was intended to offer delicacies from both cultures. A group of barber-shop singers had been booked for a cabaret spot at ten and dozens of fragrant crimson roses were on order.
Responses soon came flooding in. Everyone at Zeitgeist who’d been invited said yes. Sara and Suleiman were going to be there and also Sara’s brother. Even Murat accepted his invitation, much to Leila’s pleasure and surprise. It seemed that everybody wanted to attend the wedding celebration of a desert princess and a man known for never giving parties. Leila bought a new dress for the occasion—a gorgeous shimmery thing with threads of silver running through a grey silky material, which reminded her of the mercurial hue of Gabe’s eyes.
She took off the day before the party but Gabe was tied up with wall-to-wall meetings all morning.
He was frowning as he kissed her goodbye. ‘I’ll meet you for lunch,’ he said. ‘And for goodness’ sake—calm down, Leila. You’re wearing yourself out with this damned party.’
Something in his tone had made her tilt her head back to look at him. ‘You do want this party, don’t you?’
For a moment there was silence and his smile was faintly rueful as he shook his head. ‘I never said I wanted it, did I? I agreed to it because it makes you happy.’
She stared at the door as it closed behind him.
Wanting to make her happy was a step forward, she guessed—even if it made her feel a bit like a child who needed to be placated with a new toy. Like a spoilt little princess who’d stamped her foot and demanded a party. The same spoilt princess who had finally remembered to throw away her apple cores and to remember that there wasn’t a squad of servants poised to tidy up after her.
In an effort to subdue her sudden feeling of restlessness, she decided to try a little displacement therapy. Walking over to the concealed wardrobe, she pulled out her new skyscraper grey heels, which were jostling for room with the rest