The Sweetest Charade

by Jadesola James

“You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to,” he said simply, bringing his hands down to cup the full heaviness of her breasts. Her nipples were hardening in the rapidly cooling air; they’d make love again, he thought a little sleepily, and this time in bed. Comfortably. Maybe then they would order something in for dessert, fall asleep in front of the flat-screen mounted on the wall that he rarely used. “I mean it.”

  Delysia squirmed just enough to anchor her hips between his legs. She made little sounds as he touched her, not necessarily sexual, but content.

  It was worth it, he thought, if this was all he ever had of her.

  “You should go back,” she said finally. “We’ll work it out.”

  * * *

  The night Alexander left Dubai to go back to the States, Delysia was both mentally and physically exhausted—physically, from the effort of helping Alexander pack everything he’d managed to amass in three months of living in Dubai, and mentally from playing the part of the good, cheerful girlfriend. She drove him to the airport herself, managing to talk the twins into staying home, heartbroken at the loss of their American friend. She kissed him discreetly behind the tinted windows of their car and watched his straight back in its linen button-down until it disappeared in the crowd of passengers ready to make a long trek into arrivals.

  Alexander was not one for long, drawn-out, public goodbyes, and neither was she.

  She drove back home, slowly and soberly. It would still be several hours before he boarded. Alexander, in true form, arrived at the airport a full four hours before the flight. “I’ll have plenty to do, it’s Dubai International,” he said cheerfully, seemingly unable to see her downcast face. Now, she was home, and she smelled tsebhi even before she reached the door; the rich meatiness had filled the compound.

  Comfort food, and her mother knew it.

  “You’re not trying to cheer me up by fattening me up, are you, Mama?” she teased, but inside her heart was glad. Her mother had only begun slowly attempting housework in the past couple of weeks; this one was the first she’d attempted making a meal. Moving from Abraham’s villa and back into her own home after her convalescence had plenty to do with it, as well—things were slowly, but surely, going back to normal for her. She hurried into the villa’s small but immaculate kitchen, washed her hands. “And you shouldn’t be doing all this.”

  “I’m strong,” said her mother, shaking her shoulders as if to prove her words. She pressed a cool cheek to Delysia’s, then began stirring the stew briskly in the pot. “Besides, that young man of yours helped me prep everything this morning, while you were out cleaning the car.”

  “Oh,” Delysia said a little too brightly, and took down plates. She finally prevailed on her mother to sit, and set steaming plates and water glasses, cloudy on the outside with condensation, in front of them. Her mother crossed herself briefly, and the two began to eat.

  “How is Baba?” Delysia asked.

  “Ah, fine. Spends his day sitting and gossiping with your uncles.” Her mother chuckled. “Perhaps by winter I will be able to visit. Something to look forward to.”

  “If you’re well enough,” Delysia said, her mouth full, chasing pleasant spices round the surface of her tongue.

  “I’ll be well enough.” Her mother looked her over with sharp brown eyes, then pursed her lips, took another bit of spongy injera and attacked the stew on her plate. “I will need your help to clean out the guest rooms,” she said after a moment.

  “For your trip to Eritrea?” Delysia was only half-listening.

  “No, for your cousins’ trip here. I’ve asked Iman and Amani to move in with me till I go to Eretria,” her mother said, casually.

  “What?” Delysia dropped her fork. “Why—”

  “You’ve been here for almost six months, and I know you won’t leave unless I’m taken care of.” Her mother’s face curved up into a smile. “They are two of the silliest girls I know, but they are strong and capable. Abraham didn’t spoil them, and they’re dying to get out from under his roof so they can gallivant all over Dubai, trying to keep up with their Instagram auntie.”

  “Mama—”

  “You left a business over in New York, Delysia, to take care of me. A thriving business, one that you’ve ignored since coming back. I follow you, remember?” her mother said acidly. “It’s only that she-wolf you employed that’s kept the whole thing afloat. She’s recycling content at this point.”

  Delysia was dumbfounded. Her mother was right.

  “You need to go back and see to your business, talk to Faye. If you want to continue, figure out how that will happen, and where that will happen. If you don’t, shut things down properly, cash out, and come home.” Her mother reached out and covered Delysia’s hand with her own; it was cool, and the skin was dry, paper-thin, a hallmark of her long illness, as well as middle age. “Your Alexander, as well,” she added, mouth curving upward. “Again. If you don’t want him, shut things down properly.”

  Delysia could not speak even if she wanted to. There was an odd thudding deep in her chest, and suddenly the food she’d eaten seemed to rise, dense and high in her throat. She tried to take a sip of water, but her stomach closed against that, too, and she pushed her chair back a little abruptly.

  “Do try to get some rest, my child,” her mother said gently, and went back to her meal.

  Delysia left wordlessly, went into the sitting room, closed the door behind her. Her heart was beating oddly—she could hear it in her ears. She picked up her phone, and against all reason, all sense, she dialed.

  “Hello?” She was quiet for a long moment; she could hear Alexander breathing, softly. “Delysia?”

  She swallowed hard. When she spoke, her voice sounded nothing like her. It was croaky and low, far from the full-bodied husk she used for her video content. “I’m here.”

  “Are you all right?”

  I’m not, she wanted to say. But her mother was right. Things needed to be done properly; Alexander deserved that, at least. She cleared her throat, and when she spoke, it hadn’t helped at all.

  “Are you at the gate yet?” she asked.

  * * *

  Fifteen hours was a long time to be in the air, but Delysia barely felt the length, this time. Perhaps it was because this was the first time she hadn’t made the flight alone, and being with Alexander changed the feeling completely. Faye had arranged the next flight for them, of course with the caveat that they produce content for both their pages, but it hadn’t felt hard at all this time.

  There was so much to say, so much to show, and the first video—she smiled to think of it, tucked safely in her own private files.

  “We’re in a dreadful mess right now,” he’d said wryly to the camera, from where they were tucked in a little alcove in the first-class lounge of Emirates Airlines, sitting in front of a spread of fresh fruit and wine, ketchup and buttery-crisp french fries, on a little marble table. A screen in front of them gave an illusion of privacy, and the way Alexander looked at her kept her cheeks hot. All his natural reserve was completely gone, and he gazed at her as if she’d gifted him something he hadn’t asked for but had needed desperately. She’d worn that expression more than once, but never had she had it directed at her. Part of her wanted to revel in it, and another part wanted to bury her face in his chest, hide until her heart stopped beating so fast and her skin was no longer flushed.

  Then he spoke—and even when he was talking into the tiny camera lens at the corner of her phone, he was looking directly at her.

  “I’m not sure where we’ll go after this, but everywhere you are is beautiful, and I want that feeling to linger forever.” The words were quiet, simply said, and he had to clear his throat before continuing. “It’s actually funny—we started out trying to put up with each other. Literally. We still do sometimes, I think. I still don’t know how to Tik or Tok, and you still zone out when I discu
ss my work—”

  “Correct,” Delysia agreed, laughing. Her chin wobbled a bit. She was trying desperately to keep it together for the camera but wasn’t doing a very good job. Only this morning she didn’t think she’d ever have the courage to allow herself to be loved so recklessly, but with every word he spoke she felt that tight knot that had been in her chest for as long as she could remember loosening a little bit more, cracking wide open.

  “I’m rather at a loss without you, in many ways,” Alexander added, and then he did kiss her. It was whisper-soft and quick, but it resonated even more than the many he’d given her on the train journey, because this signaled the beginning of something that had no date of disembarkment. His words had her wiping her eyes in her seat, laughing and crying at the same time. They were everything she’d grown to love in him: funny, and generous, and tender, and true.

  “Faye is not getting that,” she told him firmly, after he lowered the phone, kissed her again, this time chastely on the cheek. They were words too intimate, too heartfelt for the world to consume, and she knew deep in her heart they were the foundation for years of happiness.

  He shot her a wry smile. “It wasn’t meant for her.” Their fingers were still laced. Delysia loved the way he touched her and looked at her with wonder, as if she were a precious thing that might be gone in an instant if he squeezed too hard.

  It was a testimony to both his and her mother’s personalities that neither seemed particularly surprised when she’d called, asked Alexander breathlessly if she could come back with him. He’d been silent for a moment.

  “Why?” he’d asked, and for once Delysia did have an answer.

  “Mama’s fine now,” she said quietly. “I’d like to—come with you, and worry about us a bit, if you’ll let me.”

  Now that they were ensconced forty thousand feet above the gray-blue sea, with nothing but time in front of them, she was able to explain. “She had the twins move in with her,” Delysia said, and wrinkled her nose. “She’s already sick of them. She practically packed my bags and put me on the plane herself.”

  “So you’re—” He took a breath, not sure how to ask.

  Delysia lifted her slender shoulders. “I’m here. For the moment. My influencer base is in the city, and I want to maintain that. And—” She stopped, cleared her throat, and spoke so fast it was hard to understand. “We... I guess we can work out the details later, but I want us to be together. You’ve proven already that you’ll move about for me, and—” She hesitated again, trying to find the words. “Home for us, I think, is wherever we are, together. And we’ll keep making sure that happens.”

  He did not speak, but Delysia saw the answer shining bright behind eyes that were very suddenly so vivid they seemed lighted from within. He kissed her temple, and they spoke quietly of dinners and coffee shops and museums in New York and strolls along the Corniche and weekends in Oman, and other things they could do, now that they’d united and the world lay open before them, rich, bright, eager to be explored through the eyes of new love.

  Faye’s content was forgotten for the moment; in that moment, they were completely wrapped up in themselves, in the wonder that comes from complete surrender. They spoke through the drinks service, and the meal service, chatted softly as their fellow passengers ate their food, pulled on their loungewear, tucked plush blankets round themselves as the attendants circulated to soften the lights.

  They listened to each other’s words as if they were lines in a book, the kind that brought tears to your eyes, because the story, while not always happy, would be tender, sincere, and full of life’s joy.

  * * *

  Author Note

  Dear Readers,

  I wouldn’t be a very good research librarian if I didn’t “cite my work,” so I’d love to share a few of the books I read while researching and getting into the spirit of this novel. I’m quite sure Alexander has most if not all of them on his shelf! They are:

  20th Century Limited by Karl R. Zimmermann

  Luxury Trains of the World by G. Freeman Allen

  Dining Car Line to the Pacific: An Illustrated History of the NP Railway’s “Famously Good” Food, With 150 Authentic Recipes by William A. McKenzie

  Mr. Pullman’s Elegant Palace Car: The Railway Carriage that Established a New Dimension of Luxury and Entered the National Lexicon as a Symbol of Splendor by Lucius Beebe

  I would also encourage my more visual readers to google the Lilly Belle, the last car on the Disneyland Railroad. It is plush and gorgeous, and simply marvelous. Another couple that inspired me were Great Britain’s Royal Train and South Africa’s Rovos Rail. All (excluding the Royal Train unless you’re way more important than I am) can still be ridden on today!

  Happy travels,

  Jadesola

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank Stephanie Doig at Carina Press for the “like” that set this all in motion, and thank my editor, Mackenzie Walton, for her kindness, humor, and help. I’m also grateful to Carina Press for all the support at every step of the way.

  Thanks to Fortune Whelan and Nikki for the late-night writing sessions and multiple beta-reads; you’ll always be my writing siblings! Extra love to my real-life sisters, “J, F, T & D,” who believed I could do this before I did. I love you four to eternity.

  Finally: thanks to libraries I’ve loved and worked in, both big and small, both online and in person. I wouldn’t know a thing about vintage trains without you.

  About the Author

  Jadesola James loves summer thunderstorms, Barbara Cartland novels, long train rides, hot buttered toast, and copious amounts of cake and tea.

  When she isn’t writing, she’s a reference librarian and a scholar of American publishing. Her hobbies include collecting vintage romance paperbacks and fantasy shopping online for summer cottages in the north of England.

  Find Jadesola and news about her upcoming books on Twitter at twitter.com/JJ_Nicola and on Facebook at facebook.com/jadesola.james.739.

  Advertising mogul Laurence thought he’d escaped

  his past long ago. But when it turns up in the form of Kitty Asare...she stirs up not only long-buried

  memories but an inescapable desire. After she saves his life, Laurence is intent on repaying the favor.

  So begins a bargain where power, passion

  and redemption are all to play for!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Jadesola James’s debut for Harlequin Presents,

  Redeemed by His New York Cinderella!

  Redeemed by His New York Cinderella

  by Jadesola James

  CHAPTER ONE

  LAURENCE JAMES STONE hadn’t eaten alone in a public dining room in years.

  He had no idea why he’d chosen to do so tonight. The Park Hotel’s quiet elegance, shrouded in greenery on the north end of a mid-Manhattan street, possessed the sort of shabby opulence that was no longer favored by the rich and young. However, the food was sublime, the service impeccable—and in a manner of hours, he would be hosting the biggest social event of the season here, in the Grand Ballroom.

  His advertising firm, recently gone public, would be the talk of the evening. He and his business partner were so close to hitting the billion-dollar mark that he could taste it. That number had eluded him for years, and though his personal fortune was vast, this was different. He wanted to be able to pay himself that amount, created by his own hand.

  This, in a way, was their debut.

  Laurence had arrived and had been ushered to the Penthouse Suite with plenty of time to rest and dress for the evening’s festivities after an eight-hour flight from Berlin, but his stomach started growling thirty minutes after his arrival. He was quite hungry, even though he’d been offered a bewildering assortment of food on the flight.

  He showered and threw on a sweater and wool trousers, then took the penthouse e
levator down. He looked forward this quiet meal; perhaps it was because he’d be forced to make small talk with hundreds of people in only a matter of hours, not to mention playing nice to a particular client he was hoping to sign...

  He was dreading it like most people did the dentist.

  “Oh, don’t be such a snob,” his partner, Desmond Haddad, said dismissively when Laurence had complained earlier. Desmond was everything Laurence was not—youthful, flashy and bafflingly optimistic. He was tall, slim and debonair in contrast to Laurence’s solid, grave steadiness, and always up for a party, when all Laurence really cared to do was work. Upon their arrival at JFK, Desmond had seized his friend’s laptop, tablet and work phone despite Laurence’s protests, then waved him off to his room.

  “It’s for four hours,” Desmond said mockingly, “and you won’t go drinking with me, I know that, so you might as well get some rest, look fresh for tonight. Surely you can make do without looking at a single ad campaign for four hours. God, Laurence. I find it hard to believe you grew up rich. You work as if you’re millions of dollars in debt.”

  Yes, fine. Laurence had grown up fairly well-off—after all, he’d met Desmond at Exeter. Hardly a school for the impoverished, although his senator father’s fortune paled in comparison to Desmond’s dynastic oil money. Still—he could not explain to Desmond, who spent his family coffers with gleeful abandon, the need to make a fortune that was completely his. And even when he did try to explain—

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, poor little rich boy, innit,” Desmond said scornfully, his English accent cutting like glass. “Your problem, Laurence, is that you’re too damned serious.”

  Well. Perhaps he was.

  Laurence was relieved to see that the dining room was empty, except for a young woman seated alone at a table in front of a large stone fireplace.

  “Do you mind, sir?” A harried-looking waiter ushered him to a table close to the young woman’s. “We’re short on staff right now, as there’s an event taking place in a couple of hours. They’ve closed off most of the dining room.”