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Fatim downed the rest of his drink and set the glass on the table with a thunk before he took his leave. With each step out of the dining room, the weight of her confession bore down on him.
This had started out the perfect arrangement, and now it was the worst.
She’d fallen for him, and he would never allow himself to return it.
15
Two days spent in the interminable abyss of unrequited love, and Calla was ready to throw in the towel.
It wasn’t like she needed Fatim to say it back to her. She loved him whether or not he loved her back. But the fact that he wouldn’t address it, would barely even look at her, just drove home the point that she had been terribly mistaken about what she thought was growing between them.
Terribly mistaken and terribly naïve.
In fact, the longer it dragged on, the more embarrassed she felt. Maybe it was better to just pretend. Not open her mouth, never admit her feelings, and just live in a dreamland bubble about this fake relationship that had an expiration date and a completely unromantic origin.
Who was the stupid one here? The man who didn’t love her because she’d always been his easiest choice toward keeping the throne, or the woman who saw a business opportunity and mistook it for romance?
Regret and humiliation and sadness swarmed her, but she kept busy to avoid dealing with it. There was nothing to deal with, after all. She still had all her duties and plenty of items on her checklist. There was no time for wallowing in her ill-informed feelings.
Calla had recruited some of the tribal wives to help with the gala planning, mostly because she needed the help, but also because Fatim’s staunch silence toward her had left her a freewheeling mess. By the third day after her confession, she was just starting to feel the whispers of normalcy spreading through her. Maybe her skin would stop buzzing every time she thought back to that horrifying silence after she’d said the L word.
Luckily, having all these women around her gave an intrinsic sense of support, even if they didn’t realize they were lending it.
“We need to pick a theme today,” Sharisi said that morning in the royal tents. They’d expanded the seamstress area to include a makeshift command station for the gala planning.
“You’re right.” Calla felt listless and lost every time the theme idea circled back to greet her. But there was no more putting it off. “But I just don’t know what it should be.”
“Let’s stick to tradition,” Uli suggested.
“Even though we’re all so excited to break from it?” Calla cracked, lifting a brow. “Part of the reason behind this gala is precisely because we’re taking a turn toward modern times.”
“Exactly,” Uli said. “But we can twist it. In the style of ‘everything old is new again.’” Excitement shone on her face, her big, brown eyes sparkling. “What do you think?”
“We can bring back old traditions, maybe,” Sharisi added. “They’ll feel new again. Just for a night.”
Calla sighed. At this point, she didn’t care. She was just waiting for the time when she didn’t feel like such an idiot. Such a loving, heartsick idiot. “I think that sounds fine.”
“You know, we could have a buffet of ancient foods as well,” Uli went on.
Calla nodded, scribbling the idea in her notebook. Strange but good. “I can run these ideas by Fatim today when we meet. I’ll even arrange for a taste test of the ancient foods. But I imagine he’ll love them.”
Once Calla had arranged a few details with the kitchen staff about an ancient menu sampler, she texted Fatim to push back their meeting time to the evening so that she could come to him with the sampler and all the newly made decisions regarding the gala. They’d outright cancelled yesterday’s lunch meeting, Fatim claiming he had something come up, though she couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he wanted to avoid seeing her one on one. Like having to face the heavy L word was so outrageous that he’d rather cancel their luncheons for the rest of the year.
Maybe she was being overdramatic. Maybe she had this all wrong. Truthfully, she couldn’t tell any more. All her common sense had flown out the window the day she agreed to marry the king of Amatbah.
The rest of the morning passed quickly, and she opted to take lunch in the tents with the rest of the ladies as they continued planning. Calla snuck in some design work before the kids got home from school, then it was the non-stop wrangling of homework, playtime, cleaning scuffed knees and practicing her firm “no” each time Rashid asked if he could stick ants up his nose.
Calla sent the children with a palace employee when it was time for her taste test with Fatim. She had the cook bring the sampler plates of the ancient menu to the small breakfast nook, which was intimate and quiet. They didn’t often eat there, so it would be a nice change of pace. And it wouldn’t remind her of when she was sitting with him in the private dining room and dared to admit that she loved him.
Fatim breezed into the breakfast nook right on time, sending her an easygoing grin. “Hello there. How has your day been?”
She could only stare at him as he took his seat at the small table, his energy as unaffected and laidback as ever. No trace of awkwardness or tension, as she’d been imagining and fearing.
“Quite busy,” she said, trying to mimic his good mood. She should take a page out of his book. Just pretend like the awkward thing didn’t exist. “We’ve got a lot of decisions to go over, and I think you’ll like what we’ve come up with.”
The cook brought out eight total plates filled with a wide variety of ancient foods—including a pasty-looking gruel and some lumpy blobs of duck meat. Calla grimaced.
“Not extremely aesthetic, is it?” Fatim asked, sticking his fork into a strange taupe sauce.
