Читать книгу Born Royal - ALEXANDRA SELLERS - Страница 10

Princess Julia Sebastiani twitched awake, her heart pounding, sweat on her forehead. She lay without moving, wondering where she was, as the memory of pleasure subsided in her blood. After a moment she sighed. She was in her bedroom at the palace. Alone.

The clock across the room read 6:30. Well, that was more sleep than she usually got when she dreamt of Rashid Kamal. She struggled to a sitting position and dropped her face in her hands. It was no use to try to get back to sleep; she had learned that through experience.

She slipped off the bed, crossed the room to the windows that looked southeast, and stood there, gazing out at the sun rising in splendour out of the Mediterranean Sea. It was a view she had loved all her life, but even in childhood her pleasure had been coloured by the knowledge that in that direction, over the horizon, out of sight, lay Tamir.

He was home. He was alive. Her child had a father—who was the son of her own father’s sworn enemy.

She had never known whether to think him alive or dead. Sometimes she had wondered if it had all been a plot to cast doubt on the Sebastianis—if Rashid Kamal had set it all up, the unexpected meeting, the surprised passion, and then his disappearance, so that the Sebastianis would be suspected in his disappearance just as the Kamals were suspected in the loss of her brother, Lucas. Other times she had despaired, sure that he was dead and that her son would all his life bear the stigma of belonging to a family suspected of killing his father.

He must know by now that she was pregnant. She wondered if he accepted that he was the father of her child. There was so much accusation and counter-accusation between the Kamals and the Sebastianis that it would hardly be surprising if he did not.

Julia and Prince Rashid to Marry!

A Montebello Messenger World Exclusive!

Crown Prince Rashid of Tamir and Princess Julia will marry “as soon as it can be arranged,” the Montebello Messenger has learned. In an exclusive interview with this reporter, the heir to the throne of Tamir, whose family has maintained a long-standing and well-publicized feud with Montebello’s own royal family, said that he felt the ill feeling between the two families was “a thing of the past” which should be forgotten.

“A man and woman cannot carry on an ancient feud when they are about to have a child together,” he said. “My interest is not in the past, but in the future. It is time to look ahead, to a time of peace between our two countries.”

The prince confirmed unequivocally that he is the father of Princess Julia’s child, a question about which there has been intense media speculation since his unexpected return from the dead early this week.

The palace here in Montebello has not so far responded to Rashid’s claims that a wedding between the Crown Prince and Princess Julia is in the offing.

“Damn you! Damn you!” Julia flung the Montebello Messenger to the floor with a cry of disbelief.

“Ma—madame?” a voice trembled behind her.

In the mirror her hairdresser’s face looked startled and wary.

“Oh—Micheline! Not you! Sorry!” she said, forcing a smile. She had never felt less like smiling in her life.

The paper landed with the front page up, and Rashid’s beard-shadowed face grinned at her, black grease smudged on his cheekbone and forehead. His eyes seemed to mock her even from a distance of ten feet. Behind him was a military helicopter. In one hand he held an assault rifle.

The hairdresser’s eyes followed hers. “’E is veree ’andsome, madame,” she said shyly.

Until this moment, none of her staff had had the nerve to mention in her presence the one subject that was on everyone’s mind, though Julia knew it was about all they discussed behind her back.

“Who is?” the princess snapped, in her mother’s best we-are-not-amused tone.

But Micheline was just too thrilled by this latest turn of events in the months-long drama the world had been following with such excitement. Who could have kept silent now?

“But the prince, madame!” she supplied breathlessly. “Et quel héros! Si brave!” She slipped into her native French, English being insufficient for her feelings. “To conquer those terrorists, madame! To risk his life to save us from the anthrax…” She sighed luxuriously. “I am sure you are very happy, madame. Who would not be, with such a man to love her?”

Julia pressed her lips together and made no reply. She might almost have been fooled by the romance of it herself, if she hadn’t known better. She couldn’t understand what game he was playing. But that it was a game was certain.

“Everyone is so happy, madame, to know that you will be happy at last!”

Julia’s jaw clenched. Whatever this latest move meant, it boded no happiness for her. Happy? With a man whose family was still manipulating a painful, century-old tragedy into a totally unjustified claim on Sebastiani land?

“So, madame, what do you think?” Micheline prompted, unabashed. It was a moment before Julia realized that she was being urged to admire her own hair.

Julia no longer wore the smooth pleat that had once almost been her trademark. This morning her long, dark hair had been loosely caught back, with soft curling tendrils escaping all around her head.

The style emphasized the fine bones of her face, very prominent now because of the weight she had lost over the past year, the porcelain skin, the wide blue eyes. She was starting to gain the weight back now, with the pregnancy, but she was still much thinner than she had been in those days when her marriage had seemed storybook perfect from the outside.

“Perfect, Micheline, thank you,” the princess said, her smile reflected in the deep blue eyes in a way that ensured that most of her staff would walk across burning coals if she asked them to. She got to her feet just as her chief private secretary came through the door, a sheaf of papers in one arm, an extremely odd look on her face.

“Valerie,” said Julia, as Micheline brushed her down, “have you seen that?” She indicated the newspaper on the floor, and Valerie stopped short and bent to pick it up.

A stupid question at nearly 9:00 am. The entire island had read or heard the story by now.

“Uh—yes,” Valerie replied blankly.

“Will you tell Bertrand I want to talk to him? Immediately, please, if he can make it.”

“I’m sure he’s waiting to talk to you,” Valerie said, pulling out her phone.

Micheline handed Julia into her jacket. The soft dusty rose suit had a pencil skirt—she could still wear those—but the boxy jacket hung low over her hips, disguising the first signs of her pregnancy. Underneath she wore a neat white bodysuit with a low scooped neck. She slipped on gold medallion earrings as Micheline passed them to her. On her wrist she wore the bracelet of gold and diamonds she called her lucky bracelet.

“Thanks, Micheline,” Julia said, with another smile.

Valerie meanwhile was talking to Bertrand, passing on her message. She disconnected as Julia took the newspaper from her hand.

“He’ll meet us,” Valerie said, and the two women left the room to stride down the hall together.

Although obviously consumed with curiosity, Valerie calmly began her usual briefing. “You’ve got the Arts Council representatives due at nine-thirty. I’ll put them in the Blue Room. They’ll be asking…”

Julia tried to concentrate, but the world seemed to be behind a veil. It was happening more and more lately—no doubt it was pregnancy hormones. She just didn’t seem to have the attack, or the cool nerves, she was known for.

Or maybe it was because she was preoccupied with what Rashid Kamal had said to the media. What game was he playing? Everyone knew a Sebastiani could never marry a Kamal, baby on the way or not. Even if she wanted to.

Which Julia certainly did not. Marry a Kamal? Not if he was the last man standing.

Bertrand, in a smart blue suit and collarless shirt, was waiting in the anteroom of Julia’s private offices, one hand in his pocket, looking rather irritated. They all moved through to the inner office.

Julia tossed the newspaper down on a low table in the centre of a cluster of chairs and sofas before seating herself and waving at them to do the same.

“You’ve read it, Bertrand?”

Of course he had. As her press secretary he made it his business to see everything printed about her, usually before Julia did. He and Valerie slipped into seats facing hers on either side and he leaned forward and picked up the Montebello Messenger, looked at it, then at her.

“Yes, I got my own copy, as usual. May I say—”

“He’s got one hell of a nerve! I wonder what he’s playing at?”

Bertrand, his head bent, elbows on knees, lifted his gaze and looked at her under his brows in silent astonishment.

“I’d like to issue a statement as soon as possible, please.”

The press secretary paused, as if waiting for more. Then he prompted, “What do you want me to say, Princess?”

“A categorical denial that there’s any engagement or any possibility of a marriage, of course!”

“It’s not true?”

“I wish these—what?” She jumped as if her seat were suddenly electrified. “True? No, of course it’s not true! Are you crazy, Bertrand?”

His mouth relaxed imperceptibly. “Forgive me, Princess. I assumed the two of you had—”

“Had what?” Julia stared at him, and realized belatedly that Bertrand thought she had gone behind his back to make this announcement with Rashid. He had probably been mentally drafting up his letter of resignation, which was just one more sin to lay at Rashid Kamal’s door.

“Rashid Kamal is a Kamal. He is a long-standing enemy of the Sebastiani family, and that includes myself. I haven’t spoken to him since his return.”

Bertrand nodded, one eyebrow raised.

“Has Papa seen it? Has he called?” Her father and mother, thank God, were abroad this week. “He must be raving.”

“I understand that he has called. He did not speak to me,” her press secretary said carefully.

Julia almost laughed. “Well, and you’re grateful for that! Why didn’t he ask to speak to me?”

“I understand he has left a number and hopes that you will call when you have a moment.”

“That bad, huh?” Julia smiled, but inwardly she quailed a little. Her father would be in a towering rage until she could explain.

“I can’t believe the Messenger ran the story without calling us for a reaction! Why didn’t they check with us first?” she demanded furiously.

“Because what the prince said will sell papers,” Bertrand told her dryly. “Our reaction, which they hope to run in the later editions, will sell more copies. Prince Rashid has timed it very nicely. The Messenger is probably going to break all previous sales records today. And given the last few months, that’s saying something.”

“Well, make getting the statement out your first priority this morning. And I suppose I’d better make Papa mine.”

“Princess, if I may make a suggestion…”

She looked an inquiry.

“I’d like to suggest that we refuse to comment for the moment.”

Julia stared. “You want me to refuse to comment on a story that says I’m going to marry Rashid Kamal?” she repeated with slow precision. “Are you out of your mind?”

She felt the baby’s whisper of protest as adrenaline pumped into her blood. Julia paused, her hand automatically moving to her abdomen. She stroked for a moment and took a deep calming breath.

“Okay, Bertrand.” Julia’s other hand lifted gracefully, the palm pressing outward, as if to hold back the wave she felt coming towards her. Julia glanced at Valerie. “What’s your point?”

“Princess, all hell has broken loose this morning, which is no surprise. My private line alone has already logged over a hundred calls from journalists. We’ve had to call in half a dozen relief staff for the palace switchboard to cope with calls from citizens. And this is only a trickle compared with what’s to come,” Bertrand told her.

“Then the sooner we issue a statement, the better, surely?”

“We’re even getting calls from Tamiri citizens.”

“Screaming how appalled they are, I’m sure!”

“No. For once, Montebello and Tamir have synoptic vision on an issue. The truth is, Princess, everybody wants to believe it.”

Julia sucked in too much air too suddenly and started coughing. When the fit was over she stared at her press secretary.

“The citizens of both countries are thrilled at the prospect of a marriage that will put an end to this feud once and for all,” he informed her. “As a public relations coup, on top of the military action, it’s pretty damned good. He knows his stuff, Rashid.”

This made her furious.

“No doubt. I don’t know what Rashid Kamal has in mind, but he means us no good, you can be sure. No Kamal can be trusted.” She had a sudden sharp memory of his black eyes, burning into hers. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Valerie leaned forward. “Are you absolutely certain that he isn’t serious? It’s an extraordinary risk to take if he’s not. Where would he be if you publicly said yes?”

A little shock went through her. “Are you suggesting—no. No, of course he’s not serious! A Kamal marry a Sebastiani? Impossible!”

Valerie and Bertrand looked at her oddly. But neither wanted to be the one to point out a more impossible fact—that a Kamal had made a Sebastiani pregnant.

“I imagine the point of this exercise—” she waved at the newspaper “—is that Rashid Kamal gets to look like a knight in shining armour. I’m pregnant. He offers marriage. I turn him down. He’s squeaky clean.”

Her conscience tugged at her a little as she spoke. The Kamals had been characterized as monsters all her life, but Rashid had not seemed like that to her when she met him. If he hadn’t been a Kamal, she would even have called him… But her mind wouldn’t go there.

“Wouldn’t it be wiser to find out for certain what’s in his mind before we jump to any action? Everyone’s been very worried and stressed lately, Princess, afraid that another bomb was going to go off, or they’d be inhaling poison in the streets. It’s not going to hurt them to feel for a few hours that they’ve seen the end of animosity and the beginning of peace.”

Julia eyed Bertrand suspiciously, wondering what was in his mind.

“I don’t accept that the majority of the citizens of this country or of Tamir are rejoicing in the thought of such a marriage, however many calls there have been. But if they are, Bertrand, recollect that it is I who will tear this cup from their lips when the moment finally comes. I’d like to do that sooner rather than later.”

Bertrand gave her a steady look. “With respect, Princess, you’ll need to talk to Prince Rashid. I could start the ball rolling by calling my opposite number at the palace.”

“I’m not going to talk to him,” Julia said, keeping her voice as level as she could.

“Princess, that’s crazy. You—”

Julia got to her feet, catching the other two off guard. They scrambled to follow.

“All right, Bertrand, you can call the palace in Tamir,” she said. “And tell Prince Rashid from me that if he says any more about this supposed marriage to the media or anyone else, I’ll…he’ll…”

The threat, if it was one, was interrupted. There was a hurried knock, and then the office door burst open. One of the junior secretaries came in, wide-eyed and almost babbling with poorly suppressed excitement.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I thought I should—um…they’ve just notified me that he’s here! He’s actually in the palace. Prince Rashid! And he—he wants to see you!”

“Bertrand, go down to him, please,” Julia commanded, in a low, trembling voice he had to strain to hear. “Will you explain that we are going to issue an unqualified denial of this story, and ask that he support that with a statement of his own.”

“Princess, wouldn’t it be better—” Bertrand began.

“No, it wouldn’t!” she cried, feeling goaded beyond her endurance. “Allow me to be the judge, please! Tell him whatever you like about why. Just make it very clear that I am not going to see him.”

“Predicting the future is a risky business,” chided a deep masculine voice from the open doorway. Julia, Bertrand, Valerie and the junior secretary all whirled.

In the doorway, beside an embarrassed and apologetic member of King Marcus’s staff, stood Rashid Kamal, smiling like an angel of vengeance.

“See? Wrong already,” he said.