The who’s who of the privileged world, resplendent in their pricey evening attire and stiff upper lip, congregated at an event that dripped with class and over-indulgence. Leila’s critical eye took in her surroundings and became immediately conscious of the fact that she might never belong to this world. Marco’s world. 

He led her through the maze of acquaintances, who politely expressed interest in the fact that she was titled and then lost some of that interest when they found out that it was of a little known kingdom in the Himalayas. 

It annoyed her that one’s worth was calculated by fame and fortune. Reminding herself that she had a purpose to fulfil and that purpose was to help her grandmother and the people of Oudh, she plastered on a smile, politely returned baseless chatter and left no doubt in anyone’s mind that she and Marco were the perfect couple. 

With the palm of his hand splayed on the small of her back, skin to skin, hot and electrifying, she found that she could almost believe it. Again, assailed by the memories of how he’d touched her, gently and urgently just nights ago, distracted her from curious stares and pretentious remarks.

Later when Marco’s conversation with a few of the guests veered toward business, Leila listened idly and then excused herself. She caught the gist of it and found her distaste for the evening increasing. 

So Marco was discussing the new oil fields reported in the small island of Comoros as a possible venture, she thought as she made her way to the ladies’ room. Well, more like he was being convinced to take the leap with Remy Rouse, business tycoon of the year, as the large bald man had smugly introduced himself earlier in the evening. 

Another third world country for them to plunder, she tried to swallow the thought. She hoped Marco was not lumped in with the likes of Rouse, but then he could be. Isn’t that how Bismah described him the first time she was warned about Marco Vincenzi, a ruthless businessman? He had told her himself that he would do whatever it took to get what he wanted. Their marriage was 

testament to that. But somehow she didn’t want to believe it. Somehow she hoped that he would prove her wrong. 

She wasn’t paying much attention to where she was going and so when she collided with a flounce of dazzling gold silk, she made her apologies instantly to the wearer. Then her eyes lifted to the face of the beautiful woman before her. She recognised her immediately. But it was the woman who spoke first. 

“Well, well, well—It’s Princess Leila of Oudh.” The tone was convincingly condescending. It put Leila on the defensive. “Enjoying the ball, Princess.”

As politely as she could muster, Leila said, “Yes, I am. You’ll have to forgive me. I recognise you from the auction but I don’t think we were formally introduced.”

“Oh! We were, but then you only had eyes for Marco, didn’t you? Bianca Scott.” She narrowed her eyes as she stuck out her hand. “I’m Marco’s business associate.” She shook Leila’s hand with a sure vigour. 

Leila smiled, again with effort. “Pleased to meet you.”

Bianca scanned the room and then let her eyes peruse Leila, taking in the dress and the necklace. “I see you’re playing your part perfectly. The happy titled wife, all according to the contract.” She flashed a row of straight white teeth, then nudged her gently with her elbow. “It’s good for business.” 

Leila was dumbfounded. But she pulled up her head and looked the woman straight in the eye. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” She side-stepped Bianca, kept her head up and moved toward the hall where she hoped she’d find the ladies’ room. 

She was shaking. Anger and embarrassment were at the top of her list of emotions in that moment, but there were more. Her heart kicked violently in her chest and all she wanted to do was leave. 

Forget that blasted contract and leave. At least she would be leaving with a modicum of pride. But sensibility overtook all else. After splashing cold water on her wrists and taking a few deep breaths, she realised that the greater good would have to steer her forward. She’d known from the beginning that her marriage to Marco was a mere arrangement. She was getting what she wanted and he was obviously getting what he wanted too. A trophy wife, to parade about in order to further his business interests. Of course, how dense could she have been?

Marco spotted her across the room. She still had the power to take his breath away, every single time. He watched as she made her way to him. The fiery silk clung to her shapely body with each step she made toward him. Her eyes glinted and he knew the moment she levelled them on his, that she was upset. 

“Let’s dance.” 

Before she could protest he twirled her onto the floor and pulled her gently toward him. She was fuming, he could sense from her rigid movements. But he ignored it. He let his fingers slide up and down her bare back. He wasn’t sure if it was a means to calm her down or whether he just wanted to torment himself. 

It would be so easy to give in. To kiss her and then watch her unravel under his touch. To see in her eyes, the reflection of his lust, his desperate hunger for her. So easy to forget that he was playing for the big time, and just make love to her like he so badly wanted to. 

But he had to put her first, he told himself. Her move would be the next move. She would decide when and where. She would fall in love with him. It was all he wanted now. And if he had to make sacrifices, then he would. 

“So, are you going to tell me?” He whispered in her ear. But she kept her face averted as they glided across the floor to a slow tune the band played. 

“Most times you’re frustratingly difficult to read, but tonight, I can see your fury, well that’s probably the only emotion I think I’m ever able to read clearly.” 

She stubbornly remained silent. But she softened a little in his arms. So he concentrated on the dance. Knowing full well that thinking too much of how close their bodies were; how the heat of hers permeated the flimsy material of her dress; how her shiny hair smelled of jasmine and vanilla 

and how her skin under his touch was so sweet and responsive— would be both dangerous and detrimental to his control.

When the dance ended, he led her to one of the many outdoor alcoves, where guests enjoyed further spoils. Under a spool of light, with the cooling fresh air on their faces, he turned her toward him, grasping her arms to keep her attention. “What is it, Leila?”

“Nothing.”

“Really. That’s new. You always speak your mind. You give me a good chunk of it when you’re upset, whether I want it or not.”

 Then she said what he’d been waiting to hear. 

“Just kiss me Marco.” 

The clinking of glassware; the murmuring voices; the sing-along tune played by the big brass band; the occasional spurts of laughter; the trickle and burble of the flowing water in the ornate marble fountain and the shudders of the leaves on trimmed shrubberies—faded into the nothing. 

The flutter of his breath on her lips, took hers away. Cautiously, they brushed against hers. Then again, before he captured them in his. Familiar, yet each time breath-taking, he kissed her. Slowly, gently but she could feel his trembling control fade as it became hungry and urgent. 

Leila gasped when the slated floor seemed to break away beneath her. But Marco held her, his arms firmly about her. Closer, they moved into each other, wanting more as the kiss deepened. 

At first they did not hear the drawn out clearing of someone’s throat. But the second time was louder and it was Marco who pulled himself away, Leila still lost in the sensuous moment, took a fraction more to register that they had company.  

“Bianca!” 

Leila was dazzled by the glitter of tiny gold threads that shimmered under the light of the overhead fixture. Bianca was striking in her golden dress.

“There isn’t an audience,” she said as she shifted weight onto her other expensive heel and bobbed her head from side to side, the movement causing each golden thread to catch the light. “So why do you feel it necessary to put on a show?” She placed her hands on her hips.

Clearly, she was annoyed but Leila was even more so.

“We weren’t putting on a show, as you put it!” Leila bit out.

“Really, princess.”

“It’s Leila.”

“Well Leila, don’t you think you’re taking the part too far?”

Before Leila could respond, Marco said, “That’s enough, Bianca.” He stepped between them. “What are you doing here? You were to come in tomorrow.” 

“This is an important deal Marco. I thought we could—you know, get a head start.” 

Leila noted that Bianca’s entire demeanour changed when she was addressing Marco. What was the nature of their business partnership? It was crystal clear that Bianca Scott did not like her. Leila was beginning to realise that she was perhaps only a pawn in this entire charade.

“I’m leaving.” Leila picked up the skirt of her dress to make a quick exit, but Marco grasped her arm. 

“Wait,” he said, then softly, “please.” 

He turned to Bianca. “Leila and I have something to discuss. If you’ll perhaps find our friends and assure them that all is well, we’ll join you soon.” With that he dismissed her. 

Bianca took a moment or two to leave, ensuring first that she sent a rather unfriendly glare toward Leila. For some reason Leila actually was sorry for her.

“I don’t know what this is Marco. But I’m clearly not ready for it.” Leila pried his fingers off her arm. “I am going back to the hotel. I think I’ve done my part, as your business associate pointed out.”

“What it is, is that we’re making the mistake of mixing business with pleasure.”

She got his meaning immediately. 

“I see.”

“No you don’t. I can see the wheels turning in your head and I know you’re coming to the wrong conclusion.” He pursed his lips. Those very same lips that brought her to the edge of passion just minutes ago. “I should not have involved you in this.”

“Well, I am. Our marriage is nothing but a business deal, so it makes no difference.”

“You’re wrong.” He sighed as he placed his hands in his pockets and looked off into the night. “I have a lot to prove to you, Leila. I just need you to give it some time.”

“I don’t want to play your games any more, Marco.” 

He studied her in the glow of the lamp light, while the moths made the final flights toward it. The curve of her face and the hang of her head were so familiar to him, yet so out of reach in that moment. It was a game they were playing, wasn’t it? She was the prize although she had no clue of it. 

“No games, Leila.”  

He escorted her to their waiting limo, saw that she was safely ensconced within and then instructed the driver to take her back to the hotel. He wanted to kiss her again but instead settled for a light touch along the side of her face.