Chapters (74)
- Dedication
- CONTENTS
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- EXCERPT – BEYOND THE TRUTH
- ALSO BY SAPNA BHOG
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- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
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Jonathan interrupts our staring contest as he jovially says, “Aaliya, of course, you know the Duke of Kittridge, right?”
“Of course,” she replies, her eyes on me.
He addresses me. “You see, I spoke to Aaliya at your mother’s gala. It was real good fortune that we were seated together. We spoke a lot about her work and I quite liked some of her ideas.”
“Hmmm,” I say between clenched teeth, my eyes still on Aaliya. Now I know exactly where this conversation is heading.
“Yes,” he replies, “we met last evening and discussed several design opportunities in detail and I’m certain she’ll be a great addition to our team to renovate this new wing. You see, her ideas are brilliant. She has so much knowledge on the Indian and Eastern cultures. That knowledge and experience is exactly what I’m looking for.”
“Is that right?” My voice is clipped and rather sharp, but he’s unperturbed.
He rubs his hands in delight. “I think we’re going to make a great team, the three of us. I can’t wait for you two to transform the new wing of this house.”
His cell phone rings before I can form a reply and he excuses himself, leaving Aaliya and me alone.
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Aaliya
I DRINK HIM IN. I RUN my eyes over every part of him, grateful that he’s in one piece. He’s once again dressed in a three-piece suit, charcoal grey with a white shirt. The bright red pocket square folded sharply in his left pocket stands out vividly. Dark shadows surround his eyes, there is a tick in his jaw visible even from where I’m standing and his lips are set in a sharp straight line. I’ve waited two days to see him, and now I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s fine—angry but fine nonetheless.
Damien hasn’t stopped staring at me since I’ve entered. His gaze is hard and assessing. I can practically hear the wheels spinning inside his head.
“Hello, again,” I tell him in a soft voice.
He takes his own time to reply.
“Hello...again, Miss Singh!” His tone is brusque, sharp.
“I saw the news about the shooting. How are you?”
He waves a hand out. “I’m fine. It’s been a tough time.”