When she had packed for the trip to London, she had thought it would just be a few nights there and that they’d return. She’d have to buy some clothes to get her through the stay here.
Twelve nights, he’d told her. Twelve nights in a North African palace. That’s what it felt like. The grandeur was more than she’d ever seen as a Gallo. She sighed a little sadly at her clothing. It was unsuitable, either for Marrakesh or her feelings about what she wanted to look like. She sighed and opened the wardrobe to hang up her shirt before it crumpled and gasped.
Her phone buzzed.
I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of arranging some appropriate clothes for us. We can shop for more if none of these suit, I just wanted you to be comfortable.
From Micha, it was a veritable essay. But before she could ponder on how much easier it would be to talk to him over text message, her gaze was drawn to the beautiful clothes he’d arranged for her.
She loved themall. Colourful silks, all suiting her skin tone, hung in draped layers, soft easy clothes for lounging, all impeccable quality and incredible design—sleek, sophisticated, but just a little softer than perhaps she would have chosen for herself, and somehow more fitting. She wanted that softness.
When had she grown tired of the severe armour she’d felt necessary to wear around the men in Gallo Group? How long had she stifled that softness in order not to appear weak? And how ironic, that this was what was going to set off an existential crisis for her—and not her pregnancy.
Or was this just hormones? Could she keep blaming her hormones for the swirling mess of confusion she felt when she looked at Micha?
Liar.
What?
Liar. You know it’s not so confused any more.
She let the silk shirt fall from her hands. No, she couldn’t lie to herself any more. She wasn’t confused about how she felt about him. It was as if the closer she drew to him, he was becoming clearer and clearer, a lens adjusting until he was in focus.
Micha. The man who remembered where she’d always wanted to go. The man who, no matter what others had believed or how they had behaved, had never treated her business acumen with anything other than respect. Who had always stood up to the men in her family, honouring her grandfather’s wishes, no matter what they were. The man who had set her onfirewith a need so overwhelming and so incredible her body still reacted to just the thought of it. The man she had slept beside last night, who had given her everything she’d asked for. A man whose morals and character would make him the best father she could imagine for her child.
A soft knock on the door brought her out of her thoughts.
‘There are drinks on the terrace for when you’re ready,’ Micha called through the door.
He had given her so much already. Could he give her even more? Could he give her the one thing she truly wanted? His heart?
Maria emerged from the bedroom suite just fifteen minutes later, dressed in a deep olive-green silk dress that floated down to her toes. After the flight, her ankles had felt a little swollen and she’d decided to leave her feet bare. The sleeveless dress draped down from shoulders and the dramatic V was perfect for her chest, which felt fuller than it had done before her pregnancy.
To the left of the secluded terrace was a small, but exquisite pool, brilliant white contrasting with rich deep blue tiles that made her heart happy to see. The terrace looked out over an incredible view—the slash of dusk touching the azure-blue horizon line of the sea was breathtaking. The mountains in the distance provided texture to the vista, and it wasn’t that different to the Mediterranean view she loved so much. In fact, it reminded her of the little cottage she’d bought on Lake Trasimeno.
‘You look beautiful, Maria.’
The words came from behind her and she let them settle about her before she turned to take him in. He, too, had changed from his travel clothes. The cream linen suit and pale blue shirt were about as relaxed as he permitted himself in the impeccable fashion he wore. And for the first time she wondered if they were the same in that. If they chose their clothes as armour against those who would take from them, or try to diminish them.
And suddenly she wanted to ask him. Ask him everything she’d been wondering about over the years. The little thoughts and questions she’d gathered and noted, that had become lists long enough to fill books.
‘And you look very handsome,’ she replied.
Micha blinked, the words reaching a part of him that he usually kept hidden. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that he was attractive to most women, but handsome? From Maria? It felt like something shifted. He’d not been handsome to her back when they were younger—precisely because they had been younger. But they were adults now and everything was different in very small and very particular ways.
He gestured to the table set by the house staff, who had thankfully disappeared for the night. On pristine tablecloths had been placed a veritable feast of small plates containing food that looked incredible and smelled delicious. Only from the moment he’d spied Maria, his hunger for food had fled and been replaced by a desire that only she could satiate.
She came to the seat he held out for her and Micha caught the scent she wore, citrus, sweet,soft. That was what had surprised him about this Maria. The softness that didn’t make her any less, but instead only made her seemmore. More feminine, more powerful, more herself. As if she could finally beallthe things that she wanted to be, rather than trying to force herself into the boxes that other people expected or needed from her.
‘This looks wonderful,’ she said appreciatively.
He had already removed any of the little plates that she couldn’t have because of her pregnancy, and the chef had immediately presented him with a few alternatives. The plates were designed to be shared and he was happy to see her looking so eagerly at the food.
His mother had explained how ill she’d been with morning sickness. She hadn’t had to say how useless his father had been at the time, and Micha had sworn that Maria would not be left to deal with anything like that on her own.
‘There’s so much here, I’m not sure we’re going to eat even half of it,’ she whispered.
There was a sweet, meaty tagine, stuffed fried sardines,briwat, the triangle pastries stuffed with cheese and meat,zalookwith its stewed aubergine, tomatoes and spices, couscous and roasted vegetables, freshly cooked flatbreads and merguez sausages, and fresh tomato salads, with red onion and herbs.
