Aofa told Dahlia that Kofi needed to see her, and she went downstairs and found him in the kitchen, spooning a rich-looking dark sauce onto a plate. The aroma of cloves, garlic, and peppers wafted over to where she stood.
“Have you eaten?” he asked, without looking up.
He continued working, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal mahogany arms sprinkled with hair. Seeing him in a domestic setting created heat low in her belly that spread to her loins. How many times had she trailed her fingers along those same arms, or melted into the warmth of his body when they held her tight against him?
Dahlia snapped out of her reverie. What was wrong with her? Kofi practically held her against her will, and all she could think about was how hot he looked.
“Not yet.” She entered the kitchen. “No one to serve you tonight?”
“There’s no need for staff to wait on me hand and foot every minute of every day.”
“That’s not how it was before.” She moved around him. He used to always have a servant or valet nearby at all times.
“I’ve become a bit more independent since then. Plates are in the cabinet over there.”
Dahlia retrieved one of the dishes. Kofi took it from her and spooned a piece of chicken and sauce on it. “You’re actually preparing my plate?” She cocked an eyebrow.
“Don’t look so shocked.”
“I can’t help but be surprised you’re serving and being nice.”
He added rice and beans and then vegetables to the dish, drizzling the spicy sauce over everything. “It’s easier to be nice when I get what I want. Winning mellows me out.”
She wanted to smack the smirk off his face. “You’re gloating, and it’s not a good look.”
Dahlia proceeded to the dining area, already set with water glasses, and where a bottle of wine chilled in a bucket of ice on the table. She sat down.
Seconds later, Kofi placed the plate in front of her before sitting across the table.
He spread a napkin across his lap. “Are you still doing photography?” he asked, before uncorking the wine.
“I take pictures, but not as often as before. Renting dark room space isn’t affordable anymore.”
He hesitated, his gaze meeting hers before pouring wine in her glass and then doing the same in his. An uncomfortable silence settled over the room.
She couldn’t afford to pursue her hobby after Kofi forced her and Melanie to close the property management business. Disposable income became a thing of the past, especially after having Noel. The same as her mother, she took tons of pictures but preferred a film camera to digital. There was nothing like the excitement of developing film in a dark room and uncovering the gem of a perfectly taken photo.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” Dahlia purposely shifted the conversation. Shoulders tight, she braced for more demands.
Kofi tore off a piece of bread and used it to sop up some of the sauce from the plate. He popped the chunk into his mouth and chewed. “You have a lot to learn when we arrive in Zamibia, and I’m sure you have questions.”
“I do. I’ve accepted a position I don’t know anything about.”
“The duties of the princess are general in nature, focused on building goodwill and PR. You’ll host dinners for visiting dignitaries, attend state functions, and become a patron for the charitable organizations of your choice.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
Kofi cut into a piece of chicken. “You’ll have a full staff to help you, people who consider working in the palace a privilege and an honor. Before you arrive, Kemal will make sure you learn the basics to get you past the press when we land. There are a few details about protocol you’ll need to learn, and after that, you’ll basically be in school, learning our history and culture. You’ll be expected to learn at least a few words and phrases in French and in Mbutu.”
No surprise there. Zamibia had three official languages—French, English, and Mbutu, spoken by the Mbutu people, the largest tribe in the country.
“Anything you want to ask me?” Kofi said.
Dahlia pushed the rice and beans around on her plate. Glancing up, she asked, “Can I get out of marrying you?”
He chewed slowly and took a sip of wine. Her nerves stretched taut as she waited for a reply.
“Of course. Let me take Noel and you can stay here.”
“You know that’s not an option.”
“Then why ask the question?”
She ate some of the chicken and took a swig of water to wash away the spiciness. “One of us should ask questions.”
“What does that mean?” He rested his wrists on the table and waited.
“You never asked if I was seeing anyone.”
“You’re not.”
“How do you know?”
“I found you, remember? My investigator gave me a full report of all your activities. I’m certain you moved to Georgia not only because of the lower cost of living, but because your best friend, Angela, lives here, and you’ve worked at the substance abuse center since you left New York. You go to work, pick up Noel, and go home. Some days you run errands.”
Her life sounded terribly boring when summarized in that fashion.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, and the only sounds were of the utensils hitting the porcelain plates. Dahlia observed him from across the table, taking stock of the majestic beauty of his face and each measured, controlled movement. Her insides twisted with nostalgia or regret, she couldn’t be sure. He seemed so aloof.
“You never told me why you came looking for me.” After the way they parted, she never thought she’d hear from him again.
Kofi kept his gaze on the plate, and she had the distinct feeling he didn’t want her to read his expression.
“I hadn’t been back to the United States in the three years since...since you and I were involved. I was curious about what you were up to.”
“What would you have done if you’d found me and there was no Noel?” She held her breath, anxious to hear his response.
“And you hadn’t kept my son from me?”
“Yes. If you found me and Noel didn’t exist at all.”
He picked up his glass of wine and studied it before looking at her again. “We’ll never know the answer to that question.”
Disappointed, Dahlia lowered her lashes and continued to eat.
Dinner ended, and Dahlia helped Kofi load the dishwasher, something she never thought she’d see him do. He really had relaxed since the last visit.
She dried her hands on a towel and edged past him. “Good night.”
“Before you go, there’s something I need to give you.”
She stopped her progress across the floor and turned to face him.
“Follow me.”
She followed him into the living room, where he opened the locked drawer of a desk and took out a red velvet pouch with a gold drawstring. He opened the little bag and removed a gold ring with the largest diamond Dahlia had ever seen.
She gasped.
Two trapezoid diamonds sandwiched a larger emerald cut stone, all of them shining with such brilliance she almost needed shades.
“It’s beautiful.” Dahlia said softly. It was the most exquisite piece of jewelry she’d ever laid her eyes on. Her throat locked up, and for a fleeting second she wished this could be a real engagement and he’d come to find her because he missed her.
Kofi set the pouch on the desk and extended his hand. Dahlia laid her palm over his, her fingers trembling slightly, an awkward tension in the air as he slid the ring onto her finger. A perfect fit.
“Now our engagement is official,” he said. A possessive gleam entered his eyes.
The warmth from his hand crept past her palm, moving steadily upward.
Dahlia laughed shakily. “Someone will probably cut off my hand to get this ring. I better be careful.”
His face hardened. “No one would dare harm you, or my son.”
He spoke with such conviction, she didn’t doubt his words for a minute. No one would want to have to deal with his wrath.
Kofi pressed his mouth against the back of her fingers. The act shocked and thrilled her, taking her back to the first time they met. She’d been charmed by him then, high on the idea that this man was paying so much attention to her, and the feeling never went away, only intensified over time.
Torn between wanting to maintain contact but heartsick over the memories, she tried to pull away.
His fingers tightened around hers. “Where would you like to go on our honeymoon?”
“Honeymoon?” Dahlia repeated. Her pulse skipped a beat.
“We’ll be married. It’s expected.”
“And what do you expect us to do on the honeymoon?”
“What do newlyweds do on a honeymoon?” Kofi asked.
Dahlia successfully tugged away her hand and distanced herself from him. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she said, “Are—are you saying you expect me to sleep with you? Because if you’re talking about sex, that’s not what we agreed to. This isn’t supposed to be a real marriage.” Her heart rate accelerated.
“You do realize that as my wife, you’ll be expected to bear me more heirs?”
“Bear you more...heirs?” He couldn’t be serious. Their marriage was to be in name only, to legitimize their son. Had she misunderstood?
“Of course. Sex between a husband and his wife is the most natural thing in the world,” he drawled. “I have a right to touch my own wife, don’t I?”
Dahlia’s breath caught in her throat as she remembered quite clearly being touched by him, the unbridled passion they’d shared etched in her memory as sure as a sculptor’s design in stone. Kofi may be composed and cultured in his day to day life, but in the bedroom, he was intense and demanding. His kisses were divine and his stroke damn near earth-shattering.
She couldn’t open herself up to that kind of intimacy and feeling again. Not when they almost destroyed her before, and not when she knew she would be competing with other women for his attention.
“You’ll have mistresses. You won’t need me.”
“On the contrary, I do need you. To conceive the legitimate line for the monarchy. That’s your duty.”
This was a nightmare. “Are you telling me you’re going to breed me like some kind of cow?”
“Don’t be crass.”
“Don’t be crass?” Her voice grew louder in dismay. “That’s exactly what you’re saying. Talk to the council, because I won’t do it. I’m going to Zamibia for my son, that’s the deal. Get yourself a mistress. Or another wife.”
His eyes flashed angrily at her. “The more you talk, the better I like those ideas.”
Her heart hollowed out. Enraged, Dahlia grabbed a pillow from the sofa and flung it at him.