Kemora Archives - Book cover

Kemora Archives

Humi

Chapter 3

ZAVYAR

Fucking Faramins.

They’re practically blue-blooded, what with their Mughal ancestry and all. When the British Raj ousted the last emperor, one of the princes landed in Kemora and made it home.

We, the locals, helped them settle, and now they own half the island. Well, not exactly half, but a large chunk alongside the rest of the founding families—six of us in total.

There is no chance in hell Dad would pass up the opportunity to show off his wealth and impress the pants off the old real estate mogul Saladin Faramin.

It’s understandable why he’s salivating at the prospect of a matrimonial alliance. Royal blood plus local elite equals the strongest union in the land.

Looking at that seductive figure wrapped in a navy-blue jumper, I might be persuaded too. She has grown in my absence. Her body filled out at all the right places with the right proportions.

The way her long hair whips in the wind, exposing her slender neck one minute and framing her face the next…

The way she ties it into a bun, sticking a long pin in, her smile dimpling her cheeks and making the sea in her green eyes surge…

…I could lose myself to her.

If only her warmth lasts for more than a few seconds.

The moment our eyes lock or my fingers brush against her exposed arm by way of me guiding her to a chair or a path during the tour of our green acres and lake, she stiffens.

Clams up, and then out jumps a fake smile, a practiced nicety, the polite fucking princess I’ve seen all my life.

Maybe she should take a few pointers from her older sister over there chatting up a storm with anyone she pleases.

The way her husband can keep neither his eyes nor hands off her makes me want to gag and question why I’m wasting such a sunny afternoon with a wooden doll instead of being at the beach party one scrumptious client invited me to.

“How old are you, Serena?” Not that I care. But after the weather and how beautiful she is and how sprawling the farmhouse is, I’m fucking running out of topics here.

This gazebo is the perfect setting though. If I need to ditch her, I can. She won’t be alone. Our bistro-style table for two isn’t out of sight but surely out of earshot from the rest of our party.

I can see Dad and Adam laughing at something that Saladin’s son-in-law Madrid—or is it Mohib?—said, earning a clap on his shoulder from his father-in-law.

A trio of women comprising our two moms and Serena’s older sister—gosh, what’s her name? Amber?—are huddled near a rose bush that seems to be a topic of interest.

A slim girl with dark hair piled up in a messy bun steps away from the buffet with another helping of fruit and waves at us. That’s Serena’s cousin—Hana or Edna or Sienna or something.

It’s a stable of relatives there.

“Twenty-six.” Serena smiles.

“Hmm?” I turn to her. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m twenty-six. You asked my age?” She pauses politely. “You’re probably closer to Amber’s age—”

“Got a boyfriend?” I undo another button of my shirt and lean back, sweat running down my neck since the breeze decided to die suddenly.

I keep my gaze glued to her face. She’s not wearing any makeup, which probably would have melted anyway in this heat.

“Um, no.” She shifts uncomfortably and hides behind her tall glass of mango shake.

“Don’t you work in fashion?”

She nods. “I’m a fashion photographer, but that’s not all I do. The studio I work for does all kinds of—”

“You must meet a lot of hot guys then, working with models?” I tilt my head. “Never thought to make a romantic connection with one?” Or several?

“They’re clients. We have to be professional.”

Good answer. Too good to be honest.

“But what if you were attracted to someone?” I can’t help my smirk. “Surely, many must be attracted to you.”

Another sugary smile that just might give me diabetes. “My parents wouldn’t be pleased if I behaved that way. We were raised to care for family honor above all.”

Dear God, she couldn’t have given a more proper response if she were reading off a teleprompter.

I kill an urge to look over my shoulder and find someone standing there with a bunch of placards, feeding her these lines. She’s either truly this boring or really full of crap.

Let’s ruffle those feathers, shall we?

“So, you’re a virgin?” I sip my soda.

Her eyes jump to mine, and for a second there’s an intensity there that quickly dissipates. Wish she’d held onto that feeling a little longer, just so I could read it.

Was it anger? Lust? A confession? Curiosity? Or something else?

“Mr. Velshi—”

“Please call me Zavyar.”

“Zavyar…” She swallows the bitter pill. “What are you really asking?”

Direct. I like that.

“Do you know why you’re here today?”

She nods, setting her glass down but not saying anything.

“Do you agree with this arrangement?”

“You mean marriage.”

“An arranged marriage.”

“It’s what my father wants.”

The skin between my eyes creases. “What do you want?”

“I want this too.” Her smile never reaches her eyes.

“Why?”

“I think we’re a good match.”

“Really? How?” I want her to convince me—. Somebody should.

“We both come from the right circles and status, educational background. We’re the right age. Our families like each other, have known each other since…forever…”

She hunches one shoulder and giggles. “You are everything a family can want in a man for their daughter.”

“What about the daughter?” I study her. “Am I everything you want, Serena?”

She deepens her dimples and locks eyes with me. “I trust my family, and they chose you. You must be everything I want.”

Yeah, I’m gonna go.

A creepy “I want to marry you because I’m your biggest fan” would’ve been a more convincing argument than what she’s given me.

“Well, um, Serena, as much as I want to spend the rest of the afternoon with you, I have a business engagement I couldn’t shake off.” I glance at the silver Rolex on my wrist.

I wear that thing just for occasions such as these when I have to bail before my head explodes. It adds a little flavor to the urgency. “I’m afraid I have to go.”

“Oh, of course.” She sits at the edge of her chair. “It was very lovely meeting you.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” I take her hand and brush my lips against it, diving into full-on gentleman mode. But also to see how she responds to my touch.

As expected, her fingers stiffen. I release her hand with a smile, give her a slight tilt of my head, and walk away.

And may I never see Rapunzel again.

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