𝔇𝔞𝔴𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔇𝔲𝔰𝔨 (The Legacy Duet - 2)

Malum

❞𝕴 can't believe he gave you the family ring," Zeenia stole a glance down at the jewellery on my left hand—and did a double-take. She gazed at the ring like she couldn't believe what she was seeing, lifting her confused, rapidly blinking eyes to mine. She turned my hand towards the light her fingers strangely cold. "I'm impressed."

I couldn't tell if she was pleased or not. Her words had no infliction in them. My mouth was dry and my mind was full of dust, making it impossible to swallow or think clearly. This whole family was an enigma. "I had no idea..."

"Of course you didn't."

I thought I'd have the day to explore my new fancy office, complete with a bathroom, but my phone had buzzed with a text message. Zeenia had messaged me to say that she'd be sending a car this morning, and she had several appointments set up for me. Once I'd been whisked to her, I met her and her personal shopper with a long list of occasions I needed to be styled for. Appearing as the model of seductive professionalism she'd taken charge. Her makeup present, but natural. Her hair in sculpted waves, pinned discreetly back on either side, she managed everyone with the grace of a well-seasoned queen managing her faithful subjects.

"When and how does this man have time for any of this? Who is he meeting at these events?"

There were fundraisers and charity galas. Golf outings, and regattas, and a whole slew of events I would be expected to attend with or for Taimoor. His schedule had been synced with my calendar, and I'd been warned this was only the beginning. More parties and events were coming.

"Taimoor is antisocial but not a pariah. He just chooses not to go," she flicked a strand of her hair away from her face. "Now, escorting you diverts the attention from him. You'll be the shiny new toy. That gives him time to let people get used to his presence," and to his scars. The mysterious scars. Could I ask Zeenia? Would she tell me? Probably not. She was fiercely protective about him, so I had to take another approach. "And with you on his arm, people would think of him as someone approachable. Charming."

"Like he was before," before whatever happened to him. Before he became a recluse. "Is he comfortable with all of this?"

She sat back in her chair when my eagerness made her realize how much information she was sharing. Which was not much. But when it was about a man with a half-scarred face who was bound to me by marriage, even a molehill of information provided mountains of insight.

"This is his legacy. He has to protect it. There's no room for comfort," and that was the end of that conversation.

After rinsing the conditioner from my hair, the stylist sat me in his chair and swiveled it away from the mirror, wanting to give me the "grand reveal" when he was done. He'd been blowing out my hair for at least thirty minutes, and every now and again I'd get a flash of a shiny lock before it was brushed out of my line of sight.

"Are you ready?" the stylist asked, but I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or to Zeenia. In any case, he didn't wait for an answer. The chair spun and, as I found my own gaze in the mirror my lips parted on a deep breath. "Well?" his voice teemed with pride. "What do you think?"