Royal Families Vs. Historicals. Rebecca Winters

public knowledge,” he dismissed, bringing his attention back to her with his thoughts and feelings well hidden.

      She instantly felt like a hypocrite for claiming she didn’t invade others’ privacy. She desperately wanted to know what he was thinking behind that stony mask. He fascinated her. That was why she had come to dinner. There. She’d admitted it to herself. She wanted to know more about him.

      “It seems I do have the advantage.” He shot his cuff as he leaned back to regard her. “In my defense, even the weather and financial pages have click-bait links with your name in them. I can’t help but see whichever headline is making the rounds.”

      “Which is why I look out the window to see if I need an umbrella and ask my doorman for the news. Thank you,” she murmured as their wine was poured.

      When they were alone, he said, “The story was very compelling. I was about your brothers’ age. Hasna was yours. I couldn’t help feeling invested in the outcome. I suppose the entire world presumed it gave them a stake in your lives.”

      The world had presumed a stake in their lives long before her sister was kidnapped. It was one of the reasons her family had been targeted.

      She didn’t bother lamenting it aloud. Her family had learned to accept what couldn’t be changed. Identical twin boys born to a French tycoon and his Spanish aristocrat wife had been fairly unremarkable, but when a pair of identical girls had come along six years later, and the four together had won the genetic lottery on good looks, well, the children had become media darlings without being consulted. She had never been Angelique. She was “one of The Sauveterre Twins.”

      Which she would never for a moment wish to change. She adored her siblings and wore the designation with pride. It was the attention they relentlessly attracted that exhausted her.

      “It’s been fifteen years. I would have thought the fascination would have died down,” she said with a self-deprecating smile.

      “With your sister living in seclusion? It only adds to the mystery.” He eyed her as though he wondered if it was a ploy to keep the attention at a fever pitch. “The free exposure can’t be hard on business.”

      “You’re wrong,” she said bluntly, amused by the way his expression stiffened at being accused of such a thing. “Discretion is one of the most valuable services we offer our clients. The planning of a maternity gown for the red carpet, for instance, when the pregnancy won’t be announced until closer to the event. Or a wedding gown when the engagement is still confidential. Sometimes the wedding itself is a secret affair. Trella and I live under such tight security it’s fairly easy to extend that amenity to clients.”

      She sent a pithy look at the screen beside them.

      “Until a tourist wants a selfie with me like I’m a historic fountain. Or a shopkeeper wants instant publicity and posts the brand of toothpaste I prefer. And yes, I know I can stay in and buy online. That’s what Trella does. But I like to be human and walk in the sun, browse shops for housewares and books. Being followed and photographed while doing it is far more nuisance than benefit and just makes poor Maurice’s job harder.”

      Kasim flicked his gaze beyond her to where she knew Maurice would have been seated at a table with a sight line on her. He was likely sipping a coffee while awaiting a light meal, gaze monitoring the restaurant’s employees and patrons.

      “It’s the reason I don’t date,” she said, noting where he was looking. “Men don’t care to be watched while they attempt to romance a woman.”

      “It would be a special predilection, wouldn’t it? One I don’t possess, I’ll admit.”

      She had to chuckle at that, relieved he had a sense of humor about it.

      “And if I were merely attempting something that had little chance of success, I might be self-conscious,” he added, gaze clashing into hers. “But I’m not.”

      Oh.

      “You’re a very confident man.” She allowed herself to lean into the fire, to let the heat of his interest warm her cheeks and glow in her eyes. “You come on very strong.”

      “I didn’t expect to find you so intriguing.” He held her gaze without actually looking into her eyes. Instead he visually caressed her face, touching her loose hair with his dark gaze. She couldn’t look away as he studied her like she was a painting. “A meeting in your office would have sufficed if you’d been less…impassioned. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever encountered.”

      She had expected another compliment on her looks. This was far more disarming. It made her feel like he saw within her, to the real woman inside, the one few noticed or understood. Plus it was an acknowledgment of something she’d had to work on most of her life: being unique from her sister and being comfortable with her own powerful emotions.

      If she wasn’t careful, she would be seduced without realizing it. He was very good at it.

      “I like your sister, you know. I wouldn’t want to hurt her. She’s delightful.” She waited a beat, deliberate with her timing as she added, “Not much like you at all.”

      His mouth twitched and he took a thoughtful sip of his wine. His lashes were so thick and long, they were almost pretty, but he was undeniably masculine as he lifted them to regard her. There was nothing soft in the dangerous air he projected.

      She held her breath.

      “Feel privileged, Angelique. I’m letting you get away with a lot.”

      She bit the inside of her lip, wondering if she should apologize. Was she ruining this little bit of rapport they’d arrived at?

      “Hasna is a lovely person,” he agreed. “And you’re right. She and I are opposites. Women lead different lives in our country so they grow up with gentler personalities.” Something about that statement made him briefly pensive. “At least that’s what I’ve always thought made her so tenderhearted and me more practical and assertive.”

      “Now you’re not so sure?” She tried to read his inscrutable expression. “Supporting her desire for a love marriage sounds rather sentimental, if you ask me.”

      His cheeks hollowed as though he considered his words carefully.

      “She was very upset about losing Jamal. I’m not incapable of compassion. I want her to be happy in her marriage and we’ve established that we both wish to protect our sisters from heartache, have we not? Is that how you came to open a fashion house with yours?”

      She heard that as the shift in topic it was, which intrigued her because something about the way he was trying to compensate Hasna for their brother’s loss struck her as guilt. Or responsibility, maybe.

      Because she was the sensitive, intuitive one. In some ways it was her burden, but she couldn’t deny that she often picked up on things others missed.

      “Trella started making her own clothes,” she began, then recalled why. Those early years of recovery had been so brutal. As if the kidnapping hadn’t been traumatic enough, the press had crucified Trella, dubbing her The Fat One among other things.

      “It’s not that interesting a story, actually. Just something that both of us enjoyed. We have an artistic flare and work well together so we gave it a shot.”

      Trella was actually The Smart One. Her business plan had been excellent. The boys would have underwritten anything she’d proposed, to spoil her and give her something she could control and succeed at, but she had been determined to make her mark on the world in a very specific way. Feminine strength imbued every aspect of Maison des Jumeaux. Angelique was deeply proud to be part of it.

      “The press makes a lot of the fact that family money gave us our start, but we’ve paid back the initial loan. I don’t know why it’s important to me that you know that.”

      “So I don’t think you’re chasing Sadiq’s money, presumably.”

      “No.”