Rafe didn’t answer. She glanced at him and saw the set of his jaw. Anger radiated out of him. She instantly felt small and foolish.
“You think I’m complaining for no good reason,” she murmured. “After all, I wanted to find my father and I did. This is the price of that connection.”
He frowned at her. “No, I was thinking about those jackals and how different your life is going to be now. You think it’s going to be easy to return to your old world, but you’re wrong. Nothing is ever going to be simple again.”
His words didn’t make her feel any better. While she appreciated his concern for her, she had a bad feeling he was telling the truth about all the changes she would have to endure. As for not going back to her old life—she couldn’t think about that now.
“I miss Cleo,” she said as they walked toward her rooms. “I wish she was still in Bahania.”
Rafe didn’t answer, and she didn’t expect him to. After all this was her problem. She’d created it, and now that it existed, she didn’t have anyone else to blame.
Zara had never thought about what went into shooting a magazine cover. Maybe the model would try on a few different dresses and use different poses. The photographer would snap a few dozen pictures and it would be done.
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
It was nearly four in the afternoon, and the shoot had started shortly after eight. Zara hadn’t realized that changing clothes, getting her hair styled and standing, sitting and reclining in different positions would be so tiring. Plus she felt like a fraud. She was hardly model material. All the makeovers in the world weren’t going to make her into a beauty. She supposed the only thing she had in common with those who usually graced magazine covers was that she was naturally thin. Somehow she thought the world might be expecting more.
She glanced over and saw Rafe talking on his cell phone. He accompanied her to the shoot. Although he’d stayed in the background, she’d been aware of his presence, and it made her feel better. Of course, this was the easy part. In a week or so she was going to have a one-on-one interview with a writer for the story in the magazine. Sabrina had offered to sit in to guide Zara.
A stylist adjusted the collar of Zara’s shirt, then moved one lock of hair. The photographer—invisible behind bright lights—called out for her to “smile pretty.”
Zara obliged. She heard the rapid clicking of the camera. She tilted her head when told, raised her chin, thought of something fun she liked to do and prayed for it all to end soon. She was hungry, thirsty and wishing she’d stayed back in the States.
An hour later she was free to go.
“I saw an open-air market,” Zara said as she slid into the sleek sports car Rafe had driven them in that morning. “Would it be all right for us to stop there on our way back?”
He hesitated only a moment. “Sure. It’s late enough that it shouldn’t be crowded.”
He eased the car into the afternoon traffic. Zara sank back into the soft leather seat.
“I feel as if I spent the entire day working out in the fields, which is crazy. All I did was pose for a few pictures.”
“It looked like hard work.”
She flashed him a smile. “I suspect you’re just being nice, but I really appreciate the gesture.”
“Ready to trade in your day job for a life as a fashion model?”
“Not exactly. I love teaching.”
“Tell me about some of your classes.”
She laughed. “Rafe, I teach women’s studies. You’d hate it. The only guys who attend my classes either think it’s an easy way to get a good grade or they’re there to pick up girls.”
“Maybe I’m a closet feminist.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I do think women are just as capable as men.”
“We all genuflect in thanks.”
“Hey, I’m trying to be a sensitive guy, here. You should encourage me.”
He pulled into a side street and parked. Zara climbed out of the car and breathed in the scent of the city. She could smell a hint of the sea and several exotic spices. Overlaying everything was the intense heat of the summer afternoon. The air seemed to scorch her lungs with each breath. Yet she didn’t want to head back to the palace—not just yet. A few minutes in the marketplace would help her forget the feeling of being trapped.