Page 81 of A Thousand Painted Hours

A hot aura came off him, and I wished I could run upstairs and change immediately. As I looked at the room, I felt embarrassed of my friends, frivolous and rather too loud, some of them barely glazed by fabric, the fairyland theme an excuse for discarding the strictures of society. I’d known it would be that way, and yet, seeing it through Tanveer’s eyes, it reeked of spoiled children, misbehaving because there was no reason for them to behave.

“Prince,” Nina cried, joining us. She wore whispers of red that showed off her taut midriff and a lot of lean leg. “Where’s your costume?”

“Oh, but it is a costume. My native dress, you know.”

She smiled a little uncertainly. “Ah, well, I hope you’ll enjoy our little soirée.”

“Are you all right?” I asked quietly. We had not spoken about the scene at the picnic, but had gone to our rooms after returning to the house. I slept for an hour after the soporific sun and salt of the day, and assumed he’d done the same, though honestly, I had expected he might join me.

He caught his hands behind his back, and surveyed the room. “It is not what I expected.”

“I did warn you.”

“You did,” he agreed. “Because we are so close, Elsie, I think we are of one mind. And then I remember again that we are not.”

Stung, I frowned. “Of course we’re not. How could we be?”

“No, I know. I see that.”

An undercurrent of darkness wove through our conversation, and I felt something cold in my chest. A warning. “What are you saying, Tanveer? Speak plainly. That’s been our pact, always.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then: “Walk with me.”

We stepped into the mild evening. The sun had not yet set, and I thought of the lake where I’d seen Rocky swim. “This way.”

On the forest path, we walked in silence. Birds called out evening songs, robins and sparrows and the punctuating low notes of mourning doves. “The first time I walked through here,” I said, “I realized that forests like this are the settings of the fairy tales my mother told me.”

“And what sort of fairy are you tonight?”

I fluttered my fingers through the airy fabric. “I am not sure. A tree fairy, perhaps?”

“Did she ever read you tales from India?”

“No,” I said. “My ayah told them to me.”

We stepped into the clearing of the lake, and I could not have asked for a more splendid view. An egg-yolk sun had half sunk into the water, creating a spill of deep yellow over the lake. Trees framed it with feathery black, and there was even a swan floating gracefully across the scene.

“Perhaps this is what you should be painting,” Tanveer said.

“It is beautiful,” I said, “but perhaps not to my taste.”

“Oh, perhaps you’d rather paint the tent this afternoon?”

I frowned at him. “Are you angry with me?”

“Not angry, exactly. Just—” He sighed. “Disappointed, perhaps.”

“In me? Why? The picnic was absurd. Grayson was an ass. I understand all that, but how was any of it my doing?”

He turned, eyes blazing. “You brought me here. You must have known what it would be.”

“How could I know?” I frowned. “It’s a new world to me here, too.”

He bowed his head. “Yes, I see that, too. I just—”

“What? What have I done to so ruin the harmony between us? What haveIdone, Tanveer? Not my friends, not this world. Me.”

At last, he took my hands, and he spoke in Hindustani. “You did nothing,jaan. It was that I saw too clearly what lies between us.”