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EPILOGUE

‘HE LOOKS VERY Qurhahian,’ said Gabe as he gazed into the crib where the sleeping infant lay.

Leila smiled, giving one last unnecessary twitch of the snowy cashmere blanket which now covered the crescent curve of Hafez’s perfect little foot. ‘Do you know, that’s exactly what Murat said to me today.’

‘Did he?’

She nodded as she looked down at their tiny son. His skin was faintly tinged with olive and already he had a hint of the slightly too-strong nose which had been the bane of her life, but which Gabe always told her was the most beautiful nose in the world. Deep down she suspected that her husband was relieved to discover that their firstborn looked more like her than him. But Leila was confident that, with time, his few remaining reservations about his heritage would melt beneath the power of her love.

Today had been Hafez’s naming ceremony, here in the palace in Simdahab where she’d grown up—and it had been the most glorious of visits. All the servants had clucked excitedly around the princess’s new baby. That was when they hadn’t been buzzing round the Western guests who had flown out for the occasion and who mingled with the dignitaries and kings from the neighbouring desert countries.

It had been a day of immense happiness and joy, but Leila thought that Murat seemed rather pensive and she wondered if it was because the woman he had been destined to marry had found happiness with another man.

She put her arms around Gabe and pressed her lips to his cheek. ‘My brother said something very strange to me today.’

‘Tell me.’ He started to kiss her neck.

Leila closed her eyes as shivers of sensation began to whisper over her skin. ‘He said that at least there was another generation of the Al-Maisan family, in case he never produced an heir of his own. He seemed to imply that he would never marry—and that he’d be contented with a long line of mistresses instead.’

Gabe smiled as he brushed his mouth over her scented skin. Hadn’t he once thought that way himself? When his heart had been so dark and cold that it had felt as if a lump of ice had been wedged in his chest. ‘All it takes is the right woman,’ he said. ‘And once she comes along, it seems that a man will happily change his entire life to please her. Just as I have done for you.’

‘Oh, darling,’ she said, closing her eyes with dreamy pleasure as she thought back to everything that had happened to them since Hafez had been born.

They had sold his apartment and moved to a large house overlooking Hampstead Heath, because Gabe realised that Leila had been right. That his minimalistic high-rise apartment was no place to bring up a baby—it had suited a phase of his life which was now over. Hafez needed grass and flowers, she had told him firmly. He needed a nearby nursery and hopefully a school he could walk to.

So a studio had been built for her in the basement of their new house, from which she would work as a freelance photographer. That way she got all the pleasures of working, but none of the regular commitment which would keep her away from their son.

Gabe lifted his hand and stroked back the glorious fall of hair from her face so that it streamed down over her shoulders in a cascade of ebony. The roseate curves of her lips were an irresistible invitation, and he kissed her with a steadily increasing hunger before drawing away from her.

‘I love you,’ he said.

‘I know. The feeling is shared and returned.’

‘And there’s a spare hour to fill before the palace banquet,’ he said a little unsteadily. ‘Shall we go to bed?’

She opened her eyes. ‘You’re insatiable.’

‘I thought you liked me that way.’

‘I like you any way I can get you,’ she whispered back. ‘But preferably without any clothes on and nobody else around.’

‘You are a shameless woman, Leila Steel.’

‘Lucky that’s the way you like me,’ she teased.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I never stop reminding myself how lucky I am.’

And this was the greatest of the many truths he’d discovered in a life now lived without pretence, or fear or regret.

Next week was his birthday but he wouldn’t be seeking to blot out the past with a bottle of Scotch and oblivion. He would be embracing the golden and glorious present with his wife and their beloved baby son.

And he would be telling Leila how much he loved her, just as he did every single day of his life. His beautiful Qurhahian princess who had brought his heart to life with the power of her love. Just as the rains fed the dormant flower seeds, to bring the desert miracle to the Mekathasinian Sands.

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Keep reading for an excerpt from WHEN FALCONE’S WORLD STOPS TURNING by Abby Green.