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CHAPTER THREE

WITHIN SECONDS MALIK had returned to the room and Aziz was speaking to him in rapid Arabic. Olivia felt as if she’d entered into some alternate reality. How on earth could she actually impersonate Queen Elena?

She’d been reluctant to agree, but she also saw the wisdom in going along with Aziz’s outrageous plan. Aziz held her livelihood in his hands and, while he hadn’t outright bribed or blackmailed her, Olivia had still felt the tit-for-tat exchange he was offering: do this and you’ll have a job for as long as you want.

And her job, the life she’d built for herself in Paris, was all she wanted now. All she hoped to have.

She wasn’t entirely self-serving, though, she told herself as she followed Malik down several marble-floored corridors. She understood Aziz’s dilemma and she didn’t want to exacerbate the instability of his country or rule. She didn’t know if pretending to be someone else actually would help things, but she supposed it would at least buy Aziz some time.

And hopefully no one would ever know and tomorrow she would be back in Paris.

‘This way, Miss Ellis.’

Malik opened a door and ushered Olivia into a bedroom decorated in peach and cream. She glanced around the sumptuous room, from the canopied bed with its satin cover and pile of pillows, to the brocade sofas and teakwood dressing table. It was a woman’s room, feminine and opulent, and she wondered who had last stayed in it.

‘Mada and Abra are here to help you prepare,’ Malik said and two smiling, sloe-eyed women stepped forward shyly to greet her. ‘I’m afraid they speak very little English,’ Malik said in apology. ‘But I trust you will be in good hands.’ With a brief nod, he turned and left Olivia alone with the two women.

With smiles and shy nods they ushered her towards the en suite bathroom, which if anything was even more sumptuous than the bedroom, with a sunken marble tub, a two-person shower and double sinks with what looked like solid gold taps.

One of the women said something to her in Arabic, and Olivia shook her head helplessly. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand...’

Smiling, she indicated her own clothes and then gestured to the buttons of Olivia’s blouse. The other woman held up a bottle of hair dye and belatedly Olivia understood. She needed to undress so they could dye her hair.

Why was she doing this again? she wondered as she slid off her blouse and trousers and then stood shivering in just her bra and pants. She felt embarrassingly self-conscious; she lived such a solitary life now, and she couldn’t remember the last time anyone but her doctor had seen her in her underwear.

One of the women draped a towel around her shoulders and the other laid out the preparations for the hair dye.

‘What is your name?’ Olivia asked the woman who had given her the towel. She wished she knew a little Arabic. Did Queen Elena know any?

The woman understood her question, for she smiled and ducked her head. ‘Mada.’

‘Thank you, Mada,’ Olivia said and Mada gave her a lovely, gap-toothed smile before leading her towards the marble sink.

Olivia leaned over the sink, closing her eyes as Mada ran warm water over her head and then worked in the hair dye. She realised she hadn’t even asked if it was a temporary colour. She hadn’t had time properly to consider the ramifications of this charade, she acknowledged as the other woman, Abra, snapped a plastic cover over her hair and eased her up from the sink.

She hadn’t had time to ask Aziz if it was even legal. Was impersonating someone—and especially a royal someone—a crime? What if she was arrested? What if someone twigged she wasn’t Elena and sold the story to the foreign press?

They might uncover other secrets. She couldn’t bear the thought of the world knowing her past, raking over her secrets, judging her. She judged herself harshly enough, God knew. She didn’t need everyone else doing it too.

And her father, she thought, would be disgraced. After selling her soul to keep him from disgrace ten years ago, the thought that he might end up humiliated anyway gave her a surprising surge of savage satisfaction, and then more familiar rush of guilt.

One appearance. Two minutes. Then it would be over.

A few moments later Mada indicated that she should rise from where she’d been seated, waiting for the dye to set, and Olivia returned to the sink and bent her head so the women could rinse the dye from her hair.

She watched the water in the sink stream blue-black with the dye. When it finally went clear Abra eased her up again, and she stared at herself in the mirror in shock.

She looked completely different. Her skin seemed paler, her eyes deeper, darker and wider somehow. Her hair, her smooth, caramel-coloured hair, now framed her face in a damp, inky tousle. She didn’t really look like Queen Elena, but neither did she look like herself. Perhaps from a distance she really would pass as the monarch.

Mada took her by the hand and led her back into the bedroom where clothes had been laid out: a dove-grey suit jacket and narrow skirt paired with an ivory silk blouse.

She dressed quickly, sliding on the gossamer-thin, sheer stockings first, and then the blouse and suit. Four-inch black stilettos heels completed the ensemble. Olivia hesitated; she always wore plain, sensible flats. The heels, she thought as she gazed down at them, felt too...sexy.

And that was not a word she wanted to associate with herself...or Aziz.

Next came hair and make-up; the women styled her newly dark hair in an elegant chignon, then did her face with subtle eye shadow, eyeliner, lipstick and blusher, all of it more than Olivia ever wore. The clothes had been familiar but the shoes, make-up and hair made her feel strange. An impostor.

Which was exactly what Aziz wanted her to be—a convincing one.

A knock sounded on the door and then Malik entered. ‘You are ready, Miss Ellis?’

She nodded stiffly. ‘As ready I can be, I suppose.’

He glanced up and down her body and then nodded, seemingly in approval. ‘Please come with me.’

As she followed him down the corridor, her heels clicking smartly on the marble tile, she remarked with a touch of acerbity, ‘Clearly Mada and Abra are both in on this plan, and both of them looked far more like Queen Elena than I do. They have the right colouring, at least. Why couldn’t one of them act as her stand-in?’

Malik slid her a sideways glance. ‘Neither of those women possesses the confidence or ability to enact such a masquerade. In any case, they would not even be comfortable wearing Western clothes.’

‘But you trust them? Aziz trusts them?’

Malik nodded. ‘Yes, of course. Very few people know about this deception, Miss Ellis. Only you, Sheikh Aziz, myself, Mada and Abra.’

‘And the crew of the royal jet,’ Olivia pointed out. ‘Plus the staff who escorted me here.’

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘True, but it is a contained group, and everyone in it is loyal to the Sheikh.’

‘Aziz said he had not been in Kadar long enough to gain the people’s loyalty.’

Malik gazed at her with an inscrutable expression. ‘So he seems to think. But there are more loyal to Aziz than he knows, or allows himself to believe.’

Before Olivia could consider a response to that rather cryptic remark, Malik opened a door and ushered her into an ornate reception room. French windows led out to a wide balcony, and even from across the room Olivia was able to glimpse the courtyard below already filled with people pressed shoulder to shoulder, all of them craning their necks to catch a glimpse of their new Sheikh and his future bride.

Her stomach lurched and she pressed a hand to her mouth.

‘Please don’t be sick,’ Aziz remarked dryly as he stepped into the room. ‘That would ruin quite a lovely outfit.’ He stopped in front of her, his silvery-grey gaze wandering up and down her figure, eyes gleaming with a blatant masculine approval that made Olivia’s stomach tighten. He’d never looked at her like that before. ‘Dark hair suits you. So do high heels.’ His mouth quirked in a smile. ‘Very much so. I’m almost sorry it’s only a temporary dye.’

She lifted her chin, forcing the feeling back that Aziz stirred so easily up inside her. Why was she reacting to him now, when she never had before? ‘As long as I look like Queen Elena. As much as I can, at any rate.’

‘I think you’ll pass. Very well, actually.’ His smile turned sympathetic. ‘I do recognise that I am asking much of you, Olivia. Your willingness to help me is deeply appreciated, believe me.’

Olivia met his compassionate gaze with a direct one of her own. ‘I just want to return to Paris.’

‘And so you shall. But first, the balcony.’ He nodded towards the doors; even from here, with them closed, Olivia could hear the muted roar of the crowd below. She swallowed hard.

‘You had the press conference?’

‘Just a few moments ago.’

‘Were the media concerned with why Queen Elena wasn’t there?’

‘A few asked, but I said you were tired from your journey and preparing to meet your new people. They accepted it. In any case, it would be unusual in this country for a woman to appear in front of the media and speak for herself.’

‘But Queen Elena has spoken for herself many times,’ Olivia observed. ‘She’s a reigning monarch.’

‘True, but in Kadar she is merely going to be the wife of a Sheikh. There is a difference.’

Olivia heard a surprising edge of bitterness in his voice and wondered at it. ‘Why did Queen Elena agree to this marriage if she would have few rights in your country? It wasn’t, I presume, a love match?’

‘Indeed not.’ Aziz flashed her a quick, hard smile. ‘The alliance suited us both, for different reasons.’

A surprisingly implacable note had entered Aziz’s voice, but Olivia ignored it. ‘You speak in the past tense. Does it not still suit you?’

‘It will,’ Aziz told her. ‘When I find her. But as for now...’ He gestured to the balcony doors. ‘Our adoring public awaits.’

Nerves coiled tightly in Olivia’s belly and she nodded. There was surely no going back now. ‘All right.’

‘It is important for you to know,’ Aziz said in a low voice as they walked towards the balcony, ‘That, though my marriage to Elena was for convenience only, the public assumed it was a love match. They want it to be a love match.’

Olivia shot him a sharp glance, nerves leaping now, like a nest of snakes had taken up residence in her stomach. ‘Even though you only became engaged a few weeks ago?’

Aziz shrugged. ‘People believe what they want to believe.’

That, she thought grimly, had certainly been true in her own experience. ‘So what does this mean for our appearance out there?’

Aziz gave her a teasing smile and reached out to brush her cheek with his fingers, sending a sudden shower of sparks cascading through Olivia’s senses. Instinctively she jerked back. ‘Only that we both need to act as if we are hopelessly in love. Try to restrain yourself from too much PDA, though, Olivia. This is a conservative country, after all.’

She opened her mouth in outrage, knowing he was joking yet still indignant. Aziz just chuckled softly then slipped his arm through hers and guided her out onto the balcony and the throng that waited below.

A cheer went up as soon as they both stepped outside; the hot, still air hit Olivia full in the face. She blinked, dumbfounded by the roar of approval that sounded from below and seemed to go on and on.

Aziz slid a hand around her waist, his fingers splayed across her hip as he raised one hand in greeting.

‘Wave,’ he murmured and obediently Olivia raised her hand. ‘Smile,’ he added, a hint of laughter in his voice, and she curved her lips upwards.

They stood like that, hip to hip, Aziz’s hand around her waist, waving as the crowd continued to cheer.

‘I thought,’ Olivia said in a whisper, even though no one could possibly hear, ‘That you said the Kadaran people were not loyal to you.’

He shrugged. ‘They are a romantic people as well as a traditional one. They like the idea of my marriage, of a fairy-tale wedding, more than they like me.’

‘It is indeed a fairy tale,’ Olivia answered tartly and Aziz just smiled.

After another endless minute he dropped his hand. Olivia thought they would be finally, thankfully heading back inside, but he stayed her with his hand still around her waist, the other coming up to frame her jaw.

‘What are you doing?’ she hissed.

‘The crowd wants to see us kiss.’

‘What happened to no PDA?’ she retorted through gritted teeth. ‘And this being a conservative country?’

‘Siyad is a little more modern. And we’ll keep it chaste, don’t worry. No tongues,’ he advised, and as her mouth dropped open in shock he kissed her.

Olivia froze beneath the touch of his lips; it had been so long since she’d been kissed she’d forgotten how it felt—how intimate, strange and frankly wonderful. Aziz’s lips were cool and soft, the hand that framed her face both tender and firm. Her eyes closed instinctively as she fought against the tidal wave of want that crashed so unexpectedly through her.

‘There.’ He eased back, smiling. ‘You managed to restrain yourself.’

‘Easily,’ she snapped, and he laughed softly.

‘It’s so delightfully simple to get a rise out of you, Olivia. It makes your eyes sparkle.’

‘How delightful to know,’ Olivia retorted, and he just laughed again.

‘Indeed.’

He was leading her back inside but Olivia was barely aware of her surroundings. Her mind spun with sensation and her lips buzzed, as if his brief kiss had electrocuted her. It had been an appropriately chaste kiss, little more than a brushing of mouths, yet her insides felt alarmingly shivery and weak. Why had a simple kiss affected her so much?

Because it hadn’t been simple for her. When you hadn’t been kissed in nearly a decade, Olivia thought, a little one like that could be explosive. Unforgettable.

It surely had nothing to do with Aziz. Although she had to admit that, in her limited experience at least, he seemed a very good kisser.

As soon as the balcony doors were closed, Olivia tugged her hand from Aziz’s. ‘There.’ She fought the urge to wipe her mouth, as if such a childish action could banish the memory of his kiss and the unwelcome feelings it had stirred up inside her. ‘We’re done. I can go back to Paris.’

‘And so you shall, in the morning.’

‘Why not tonight?’

‘It’s a long flight, Olivia. The pilot needs to rest; the plane to be refuelled. Besides, I am meant to be having dinner with my bride, and I know you don’t want to miss that.’

She ignored the teasing, even though part of her actually was tempted to smile. The man was incorrigible, determinedly so. ‘You never said anything about dinner.’

‘It must have slipped my mind.’

‘Liar.’

‘As Sheikh, I’m in control of how much information to disseminate at a given time, it’s true.’

‘Such big words.’

‘I looked them up in the dictionary.’

And then she did smile, helpless to keep herself from it, knowing that she, like every other woman, was falling prey to his charm. ‘And I’m meant to be Queen Elena at this dinner?’

‘It’s a private dinner, so you only have to pretend for me.’

‘And the staff who see us together,’ Olivia pointed out. ‘Aziz, this is ludicrous. I might be able to pass myself off as Queen Elena from a balcony, but I can hardly do so face to face. One look at me and your staff will know.’

‘You are assuming they will be suspicious,’ Aziz answered calmly. ‘And why should they be? Word went out that Queen Elena arrived by royal jet this afternoon. And so she did. Then she appeared with me on the balcony, as planned. Everything is going just as it should, Olivia. No one has reason to suspect otherwise.’

‘Except for the fact that I don’t look anything like her.’

‘Do you think anyone here has seen Queen Elena in the flesh?’

‘Photographs in the papers,’ she argued. ‘And, in any case, didn’t she come here to discuss your marriage?’

Aziz nodded, still unruffled. ‘Yes, but it was a private meeting, very discreet. At that point, neither of us wanted to make the negotiations public.’

‘Even so.’

He smiled, laid a hand over hers, and Olivia had to fight the urge to yank her hand away. She’d been numb for so long, she hadn’t thought she had any feelings or desires left for Aziz to stir up inside her. Yet he had. So easily, he had. ‘Just dinner, Olivia. And then you can leave in the morning.’

She shook her head again, feeling as if she’d been caught in a riptide. She was being carried away from everything she’d known and wanted, everything safe, so quickly. She couldn’t fight against it.

And yet she was honest enough to admit she was tempted—tempted to enjoy this fleeting time with Aziz, to let herself fall just a little bit under his spell. Just for a night. Then she’d go back to her little life.

‘You need to eat, Olivia,’ he murmured.

‘I could have a sandwich in my room.’

‘Fine, then I’ll join you. Of course, then the staff might really gossip.’

She pulled her hand from his. ‘You’re impossible.’

He smiled and inclined his head. ‘Thank you.’

‘It wasn’t,’ she informed him tartly, ‘A compliment.’

His smile just widened. ‘I know.’

What point was there in resisting? Olivia wondered. Aziz would wear her down eventually with his tireless charm that masked a far more steely sense of purpose. She hadn’t realised that before, hadn’t seen how determined he could be, but then they’d never been at cross purposes before. And were they even now?

You are tempted...

Tempted to enjoy one evening with a beautiful man. Tempted to access those deadened parts of herself and feel like a beautiful, desirable woman, even if it was just pretend.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll have dinner with you. But I leave first thing in the morning.’

She gazed at him in challenge and Aziz just smiled blandly. ‘Of course,’ he answered, and with a creeping sense of foreboding Olivia wondered if she dared to take him at his word—or if she even wanted to.