And telling Khaali that would not make her feel in the least secure or loved.
So Annie settled for, “I believe her trip here is a good thing, maybe even a start of something bigger.”
“I believe her coming will only start trouble.”
Wise child. Then old instincts tugged at her, making her wonder. “Why do you say that?”
Khaali traced a scratched word in the tabletop. “No special reason.”
Two rows up, the uptight math teacher—Mr. Gueye—shushed them and Annie rose, stepping back to her post on the back wall, by the rear exit. She bumped against—not a wall.
Gasping, she turned. “Samir?”
She eased away. Public contact between men and women was a tricky thing, even here. But their dinner together last night had been… nice. Really nice.
She’d expected some elaborate wooing, but he’d opted for a simple dinner he cooked himself, followed by watching a video. The normalcy of that appealed to her on a far deeper level. She’d had delicacies around the world.
Normal was actually more the non-norm for her.
He pressed a finger to his mouth and moved into the hall. She followed without even thinking—because she wanted to be with him. She wanted to sit across the table from him and just gaze at his handsome face with a strong jaw and the most adorable scholarly glasses. Oddly in some ways he reminded her of her husband with his calming quiet manner. But back in her youth she hadn’t appreciated that—and then it had been too late. Their marriage crumbled. Her chance to go home was gone. Now he was dead.
“Annie?” he asked, frowning. “What is wrong?”
She swiped a hand over her mouth and realized she’d been frowning too. “This isn’t the time. I should stay with the children and I want to hear the speech.”
“They’re fine with Mr. Gueye and Miss Veronique. You have time. The guest of honor’s plane hasn’t even landed.” His deeply melodic accent washed over her frayed nerves. “Now tell me. What’s wrong?”
She surrendered. For now. “I’m not sure.”
“What Khaali said bothered you.” He touched her elbow so lightly she almost missed the contact as he steered her farther away from the cafeteria. “Why?”
The television grew softer, the low hum from other classes behind closed doors giving a muffled melody of their life, the same year in and year out—until Samir arrived.
She walked alongside him down the deserted corridor, their students in good hands with the half-dozen other staff members watching over them. “It’s just a feeling, like when I knew my children were lying or maybe even just holding something back.”
“You have children?”
She stumbled over her own feet. How had she gotten this comfortable with him after one shared meal of beef and rice, followed by watching Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon? “I did,” she answered carefully. “They’re gone now.”
“Why did you never tell me this?”
Because it was damn stupid to discuss her old life. “It’s painful to talk about the past.”
He tucked her into a supply nook, away from any possible prying eyes and nestled her among the stockpile of paper, paste, and pencils. “I would like very much for you to talk about your past with me, let me help share the pain so it is less.”
“When you speak, it sounds so poetic.”
He scowled, his proud cheekbones more pronounced. “You make me sound weak.”
“That was not my intention at all.” She touched his chest lightly and oh my, the scholar must work out. “It’s nice to be around a man who can express what he thinks.”
“The father of your children could not?” The scent of musk and sandalwood reached to her.
Exotic. Enticing. She felt so disloyal for wanting this man more than the one she’d married.
Her hand fell away from him and she clenched her fists by her side. “He was a good man and he put up with a lot from me.”
Sam cupped one of her hands in his, rubbing a thumb along the inside of her wrist until her fingers unfurled. “Where is he now?”