‘Are we really having this conversation?’
‘We are.’ She smiled and looked at the purple marks that were still under his eyes. ‘You look as if you could use a day in bed,’ she said, ‘for sleeping.’
‘Well, that’s not going to happen any time soon.’ Mikael gave a thin smile. ‘But once the verdict is in I’m going to have some time away.’
‘On your yacht!’ Layla said. ‘With your blonde women!’
‘You really did do your homework, didn’t you?’
‘I told you that I did.’ She shrugged. ‘So, how long do you think the jury will take?’
‘As long as they take.’
‘I loved watching you today…’ she admitted. ‘I kept hoping that you would look up.’
‘I had other things on my mind.’
Now he had only Layla, and when her fingers nudged his Mikael took them.
‘How is your game of chess going?’ she asked, and they both smiled at her previous teasing.
‘Can you play?’ he asked.
‘I am very good,’ Layla said. ‘I play with my father when he has the time, and often myself, but now I also play it online. It’s fun—there is always someone in the world to play with and very often I win. Perhaps I could beat you?’
He saw the challenge in her eyes.
‘Perhaps you could,’ he said, ‘if I had a migraine.’
Layla laughed. ‘Don’t dismiss me,’ she warned.
And then she said something that meant he could not dismiss her—for it made them the same.
‘I get bored a lot in Ishla, though it is better now that I can teach…’ She gave a little smile. ‘And now that I have a computer!’
Bored.
Mikael took her other hand and looked down at their entwined fingers to steady himself just for a moment. That word he could more than relate to.
He recalled his years on the streets—hour after hour to fill with nothing.
Day after interminable day.
He did not remind her that she was privileged, he did not scold her with his eyes, for with that word she had him.
Mikael looked into her black eyes and saw the dance behind them, the intelligence that stretched beyond the world she’d been born to.
‘Are you nervous about going back to Ishla?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Layla said. ‘I will be in trouble when I return—I accept that—but trouble always settles. I love my family,’ she said, ‘and I feel sorry that I have had to upset them to get what I want, but there was no other way.’
His hands were warm and dry and his fingers moved to the tiny scar on her otherwise flawless skin.
‘What happened there?’ Mikael asked.
‘When we were nine Hussain, my future husband, showed me how to make a match burn twice.’
‘Do you love him?’
‘I don’t know him,’ Layla said. ‘We played as children. I get to choose my husband, but I have been told, for the good of Ishla, that Hussain would be the wisest choice. My heart does not think so, though.’
He wanted to lift her wrist and kiss it better. Mikael had never felt anything like it before. But then Layla got too close.
‘What are your family like?’ she asked.
‘I don’t have any family.’
‘Are your parents dead?’
Her question was so clinical he was able to answer.
‘I don’t know.’ He didn’t elaborate; instead he dropped hands and took up the menu, started to read out the choices, but she halted him.
‘You choose for me,’ she said. ‘I want what you order—I want to try your favourite thing.’
‘Is there anything you especially like or dislike?’
‘I want to try whatever.’
So Mikael ordered for them. He taught her how to peel the fattest, plumpest prawns and their fingers played together in the warm water bowl.