knowing for sure that a tide of colour had suffused her cheeks. ‘I have never eaten out alone with a bachelor before.’
‘Am I still like a single man, Zarri Bano? Surely not!’ She heard both the indignation and the hurt behind the words.
‘You are, Sikander, that is until I step into your home as your wife.’ Her eyes on a seventeenth century Mughal painting of a Maharani taking a walk in her garden, Zarri Bano felt the urge to clarify the situation to him. ‘At the moment, there is nothing between us.’
‘I dispute that, Zarri Bano.’ He leaned forward on the tablecloth, his soft gaze warming her face. ‘There is everything between us, and you know it! It was love at first