Chapter Twelve
ISPENT HOURS PREPARINGwhat I would say.
Standing in front of my mirror, I practiced the words until they stopped feeling like glass in my throat. Until I could say them without my voice breaking. Until I could look at my own reflection and pretend I believed them.
You’re too old for me.
There’s so much I still want to do with my life.
It was just infatuation.
Aretha had been so gentle when she asked. Had held my hand and wept and told me this was the only way. If Aurora truly loved the sheikh, Aretha said, then she would set him free. She would give him a reason to let her go without guilt. She would make him believe that leaving was her choice.
“Tell him you’ve realized the truth,” Aretha had whispered. “Tell him he’s too old for you. That you want to experience life before settling down. That what you felt for him was just a young girl’s infatuation.”
It killed me to eventhinkof saying such lies, but what choice did I have?
The walk to his study felt endless. Every step I took, I wanted to turn back. Every corridor I passed, I wanted to run to my room and hide under the covers like a child. But I kept walking, one foot in front of the other, because this was the right thing to do.
The noble thing.
The thing a woman who truly loved him would do.
When I reached his door, I had to stop and press my hand to my chest. My heart was beating so fast I could barely breathe. My palms were damp. My legs felt like they might give out at any moment.
Just get through this, I told myself.Just say the words and leave. You can fall apart later.
I knocked.
“Enter.”
His voice. Even now, even when I was about to destroy everything between us, the sound of it made my chest ache.
I opened the door and stepped inside.
The sheikh’s study was bathed in late afternoon light, dust motes floating lazily through the golden beams that streamed through the tall windows. Mik’hail sat behind his desk, papers spread before him, a pen in his hand. He looked up when I entered, and for just a moment—just a fraction of a second—I thought I saw something in his eyes.
Pain. Longing. Love.
But then it was gone, and his expression smoothed into something cold and distant.
“Aurora.” He set down his pen and gestured to the chair across from him. “Please. Sit down.”
His voice was stiff. Formal. Like he was addressing a stranger.
He had never spoken to me like this. Not once in all the years I had lived under his roof. Even when he was exasperated with me, even when I had pushed him too far, there had always been warmth beneath his words. Affection. Tenderness.
Now there was nothing.
