‘Absolutely.’
‘So how did you get to Australia?’
‘Demyan,’ Mikael said. ‘He’s a friend of mine. I grew up with him but he had moved to Australia. I knew there would soon be a bullet with my name on it, so I called him and his aunt helped me get to Australia.’
Mikael got out of bed and went to get a drink. He did not want her shock and sympathy; he did not want the questions and the prolonged conversation afterwards.
He had told her—wasn’t that enough?
‘The woman you hate…?’ Layla asked, and Mikael gave a wry smile, because she could easily don a wig and robe, so perceptive were her questions. ‘Did you love her also?’
‘Almost,’ he said. ‘Well, it was the closest I’ve ever…’ He took a belt of his drink and then a very deep breath, wondering if Layla would notice his hesitation—because the way he had felt in the past didn’t come close to the way he was feeling right now.
Not that she would notice.
She was putting on her shoes in bed and admiring her long legs—but what he didn’t know was that it was for his sake.
She’d sensed that he no longer wanted to talk.
He had never met anyone like her. Mikael was far more used to women pleading for conversation, for emotion, for him to just open up a touch more.
Layla had had all three without even asking.
And the only thing opening up now was her knees as Layla offered a rather appealing distraction from his very dark thoughts.
‘Can you kiss me down there?’
It would, Mikael decided, be his absolute pleasure.
CHAPTER TEN
MIKAEL WOKE TO the sound of Layla ordering her usual thinly sliced and peeled apple with mint tea and water.
‘And coffee,’ Mikael said. ‘And cake.’
‘Cake?’ Layla frowned.
‘Cake,’ he said.
‘Could we have some chocolate cake and coffee too?’ Layla said to the chef. ‘And I would like my slice of cake just a little bit warm, with lots of cream to pour over it.’ She ended the call and gave Mikael a wide smile. ‘I love this phone; it’s just fantastic.’
‘I thought you’d always be ringing down your orders in your palace?’
‘No.’ Layla shook her head. ‘I just tell Jamila what I want and she gets it for me.’
‘So Jamila’s your maid?’
‘My handmaiden,’ Layla said. ‘She has been with me since the day I was born.’
‘Like a mum?’
‘No!’ She laughed at the very thought. ‘You don’t love servants…’ Her face was suddenly serious. ‘I do feel a bit sick, though, at the moment when I think of her. She will be so worried. Oh, poor Jamila!’