Читать книгу Six Sizzling Sheikhs - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 12
ОглавлениеSAM was, as always, enthralled with the zoo. He insisted on being Khaled’s personal tour-guide, dragging him by the hand to the Butterfly Paradise and rainforest lookout, and of course his favourite, the spiders.
Lucy shuddered as they stood in front of a glass case housing some alarmingly large and hairy tarantulas.
‘You like spiders?’ Khaled asked Sam, whose nose was pressed against the glass.
‘Big, hairy ones,’ Sam confirmed.
‘There are some big spiders in Biryal,’ Khaled told him. ‘Some of the largest in the world. They spin yellow webs, sometimes several metres wide.’
‘Really?’ Sam’s eyes had grown huge, and Lucy couldn’t help but wince. Spiders were not exactly a compelling reason to return to Biryal—not for her, anyway. She couldn’t think of any compelling reasons to return to Biryal…except for Sam. Instinctively her gaze slid to her son, so innocent of the changes in store for him, and something in her tightened.
Khaled glanced at her over Sam, his eyes laughing. ‘Don’t worry, Lucy, they’re harmless.’
‘Mum doesn’t like spiders,’ Sam confided, and then he was tugging on Khaled’s hand again, leading him off to the Gorilla Kingdom.
By the end of the day they had tramped through the entire zoo and seen most of the animals at least twice. Sam, exhausted and sticky with ice cream, fell asleep in the car with his head against Khaled’s shoulder.
‘He’s taken to you,’ Lucy said quietly, watching the two of them, her heart constricting at the sight.
Khaled smiled down at his son. ‘I’m glad.’
‘So am I,’ Lucy admitted, and Khaled glanced up at her, his eyes gleaming.
‘Are you?’
Lucy looked away, unable to meet that compelling golden gaze, a gaze that seemed to dive right inside her and clutch at her heart. ‘Yes. Sam deserves to know you…and you deserve to know him.’
They didn’t speak again until the car pulled up in front of Lucy’s house, and she instinctively reached for Sam.
‘I’ll take him.’ Sam was still slumped against Khaled, and he put his arms around him, ready to scoop him up.
‘Are you sure?’ Lucy asked. ‘Can you manage…?’ She trailed off as every muscle in Khaled’s body stiffened, his arms still cradling Sam.
‘I think I can carry my own son,’ he said, the words cold and stiff. Wordlessly, Lucy slipped from the car.
Khaled carried Sam inside—limping slightly, Lucy noticed—and she motioned to the sofa. ‘You can lay him there. He’ll need to wake up soon or he won’t go to bed tonight.’
‘We can’t have that.’ Gently Khaled laid Sam down, smoothing the soft, dark hair from his forehead, before stepping back. ‘He looks like me, like I was as a child.’
‘Yes, I noticed that.’
‘The DNA test will be no more than a formality.’
‘Right.’ Lucy escaped into the kitchen, concentrating on fetching things for tea. ‘Just yesterday I realised he has your eyes,’ she called back, trying to keep her voice friendly and light.
Khaled came in, propping one shoulder against the door-frame. ‘You didn’t notice before?’
Lucy hesitated, her back to him. ‘I must have done,’ she confessed. ‘Even if I didn’t admit it to myself.’
‘Were you so determined to forget me?’ Khaled asked softly. ‘Forget us?’
Lucy felt an ache deep inside at his words, at their sorrow. ‘Weren’t you?’ she said, and busied herself with filling a pot with water. ‘I hope spag bol is good enough for you. It’s Sam’s favourite.’
‘Sounds delicious.’ Khaled was silent, watching her, and Lucy felt like she couldn’t breathe for the tension uncoiling in the air, drawing her inexorably to him, even though neither of them moved.
Don’t do this, she wanted to say, to cry. Don’t make me want you again. Don’t make me remember how it was. I’m different. You’re different. We can’t…
‘Lucy.’ Khaled’s voice was low, insistent and sure. Lucy kept her head averted.
‘Could you get some salad from the fridge? I try to make Sam eat some greens.’
Wordlessly Khaled went to fetch the lettuce. This was so cozy, Lucy thought, reaching for some tomatoes. It was so domestic, so normal.
And yet the heightened atmosphere, the tension in the room and in her belly, didn’t feel normal at all.
Khaled didn’t say anything more, and Lucy was grateful for the reprieve. Yet she knew the tension between them couldn’t be ignored, not for ever. Not now that there was a for ever, or at least a very long time, with Sam between them.
‘Mummy…’ Sam, tousle-haired and sleepy-eyed, stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing his face with his fists. ‘Is Khaled still here?’
‘Yes, Sam,’ Khaled said and Sam dropped his fists to stare at him with obvious delight.
‘Are you staying overnight?’
Did Lucy imagine the tiny, charged hesitation before Khaled answered? She wasn’t sure. ‘No, Sam. But perhaps I can see you again tomorrow?’
‘I have to work tomorrow,’ Lucy interjected. ‘We’re getting ready for the Six Nations—’
‘Yes, I know.’ Khaled’s expression had darkened, but for Sam’s sake he merely shrugged. ‘We can talk about it later.’
Oh, and that was a conversation she was looking forward to, Lucy thought with just a little venom. No doubt Khaled would impose some of his royal decrees on her life and her job. And what could she do about it, when he had the threat of bringing a custody suit—and winning it—to hang over her?
Fortunately the rest of the evening passed in idle pleasantries, for Sam’s sake, and Khaled even helped with bath time. Lucy watched him perched incongruously on the edge of the tub, his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose strong forearms, and felt a lurch inside her.
She was tired of this feeling creeping up on her—the feeling that nothing could be the same, that she now wanted something, a life, she’d never hungered for before.
Before Khaled. Before he’d come into their lives and acted like he belonged there, carving a place in Sam’s heart in the space of a day, acting so natural and normal and right, somehow—and he wasn’t.
It wasn’t.
This couldn’t last; it wouldn’t last. At some point it would break down, break apart, and Khaled would walk away.
And break your heart.
No. She would not let herself think like that. Her heart was not involved. Not at all. She would not allow it to be.
Yet as soon as Sam was settled in bed the tension returned, taut and heavy with silent expectation. Lucy came downstairs after tucking Sam in, to see Khaled stretched out on the sofa scanning yesterday’s newspaper. The room was lit only by a single lamp, the curtains drawn against the night. Khaled looked so comfortable on her sofa, Lucy thought with a touch of resentment, so big, strong and sure. Like he owned it, owned this house, owned every situation he’d ever been in. She was reminded forcefully of the charming, arrogant man she had loved, who had broken her heart. She didn’t like that man. She didn’t want him in her lounge or lying on her sofa. She didn’t want to want him.
Yet she did.
‘Would you like a coffee or tea?’ she asked, and the ludicrous phrase ‘or me?’ popped into her mind. She pushed it away.
Khaled looked up. ‘Coffee, if you’re making it.’
She nodded mutely before going into the kitchen to boil water, spoon coffee, get out mugs. Mechanical actions that kept her from thinking, from picturing Khaled on the sofa—stretched out, his eyes glinting in the lamplight—from remembering how darkly golden his skin was, his muscles hard and chiselled from rugby, so hard against her own softness. Would he look the same? Feel the same?
It wasn’t working, Lucy realised as she put two mugs and a plate of shop-bought biscuits on a tray. She was thinking and picturing. Remembering.
‘Here we are.’ She kept her voice brisk and her smile sunny as she set the tray on the coffee table. Khaled sat up, murmuring his thanks, his left leg stretched out stiffly.
Lucy handed him his coffee. ‘Have you taken your medication today?’
‘I don’t need it,’ Khaled replied shortly.
‘Is your knee still flaring up?’
‘A bit, but I can handle it.’ His dark eyes clashed with hers, filled with warning. ‘Don’t talk to me as a therapist, Lucy.’
‘Then as what?’ She’d meant the question lightly, but it came out as more of a demand.
‘How about as a woman?’ Khaled said. His eyes had suddenly turned heavy-lidded, his smile languorous, and Lucy knew what that meant.
Come here, Lucy. Come here to me.
And she’d come. God help her, she’d always trotted to him with the pathetic obedience of a little lapdog.
‘Although it’s a difficult question, isn’t it, Lucy?’ Khaled continued lazily. ‘How are we to relate to one another? What can we be to one another?’
‘Nothing,’ Lucy replied, and was glad her voice didn’t waver. She was already feeling the tug of sensual hunger deep in her belly, sending a wave of need crashing through her.
‘Nothing?’ Khaled repeated musingly. He reached out and threaded his fingers through Lucy’s hair. The slight, simple touch nearly had her shuddering. How had she ever forgotten the kind of effect he had on her? It was more powerful than any drug or medication that could be prescribed.
She’d been a slave to it, to him, helplessly bound by her own attraction, her own need. And it was happening again; she was still, unmoving, letting him touch her.
Wanting it…
Khaled rubbed her hair between his fingers, his expression almost harsh with desire. ‘I’ve wanted this for a long time,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve dreamed of it, of touching you…’
Had he? Lucy wondered fuzzily. How was that possible, when she was so certain he’d completely forgotten her?
He had to have forgotten her, for nothing else made sense.
‘Khaled…’
‘Say my name,’ Khaled commanded, his voice ragged. ‘Say it again. I love it when you say my name.’
‘Khaled…’ she said again, desperately, for they had to stop this madness before it got too far.
Then his fingers slipped from her hair to her face, cradling her cheek, using the motion to draw her towards him. And Lucy went, drawn by her own need and desire, until she was half on her knees next to him on the sofa, every nerve, sense and sinew straining towards him.
‘Lucy.’ He spoke with a needy desperation that surprised her, for she’d never thought of him needing anything. Needing her. Yet at that moment, seeing his eyes clenched shut as he drew her to him, she felt as if he needed her very much.
And she needed him.
His other hand came up to cradle her face and draw her towards him, her hands braced against his shoulders as his lips hovered over hers. ‘Lucy.’
Her lips parted, waiting, wanting—and then he kissed her.
It was softly at first, little more than a brush, a kiss that said, ‘hello, do you remember me?’
And she did. Her lips parted under his, her mouth opening in invitation and acceptance.
Khaled deepened the kiss until the sensation of his touching her, tasting her, flooded her whole body; she melted towards him, his arms coming round to draw her in closer, fitting her so neatly, so perfectly, against him. Her head fell back and he kissed her lips, her cheek, her throat, behind her ear, as she moaned, remembering how he’d known that place turned her helpless.
Her hands drove into his hair, caressed the nape of his neck, the curve of his shoulder, before resting against the hard plane of his chest. Her hands remembered how he felt, all the hidden places, the way she’d touched him with such pleasurable abandon.
Somehow they’d both moved and were now stretched out along the sofa, Khaled half on top of her, his body braced on one forearm. It was a position that allowed Lucy to feel his whole body against hers, and one leg almost of its own accord twined around his.
Khaled groaned against her lips and captured her mouth once more in a kiss as his hands drifted down, leaving fire wherever they touched.
Stop. They had to stop. Her mind kept repeating this litany even as the rest of her resolutely ignored it. She wanted this. She wanted it more than she’d ever realised. So now that it was happening she wondered how she’d existed for so long without Khaled, without his touch, his love.
But he doesn’t love you.
And suddenly her body was recalling another memory, the pain and shame she’d felt wash through her when the doorman at his building had told her he’d left.
Is he coming back?
No, miss. He has left the flat. There’s no forwarding address.
There must be a letter…
No, miss. I’m sorry.
Lucy flattened her hands against Khaled’s chest and pushed. ‘We can’t do this.’
He stilled above her, and she was afraid that he would try to seduce her—afraid because she didn’t think she could resist.
A long, taut moment passed and then Khaled rolled off her into a sitting position. His hair was mussed, and a faint flush stained his cheekbones. Both of their breathing was ragged.
‘You’re right.’
Disappointment and, worse, rejection sliced through her, mingling with the unfulfilled desire coursing through her. She pushed the feelings away. ‘We can’t have a physical relationship, Khaled,’ she said, and was amazed at how strong and sure her voice sounded. Inside she felt a mess. Her lips were swollen, and her body tingled where he’d touched her. ‘For Sam’s sake we need to stay…professional.’
‘Professional?’ Khaled arched one eyebrow. He looked remarkably recovered from their kiss, and Lucy saw a new hardness in his eyes that she didn’t like. ‘Is that really possible, Lucy?’
‘Friends, then,’ she said with an edge of sharpness. ‘Acquaintances, colleagues—use whatever term you prefer, Khaled. But I can’t have a physical relationship with you again. I won’t.’
‘Just for Sam’s sake?’ Khaled asked softly. ‘Or for your own?’
‘Both,’ Lucy replied flatly. She could be honest, even if it humiliated her. ‘You hurt me four years ago, Khaled. I thought I loved you, and when you left it damn near destroyed me.’ She felt a blush staining her cheeks, and tears stinging her eyes. Memories could hold such power; they could hurt so much. She blinked back the tears and willed the blush to recede.
‘You thought you loved me?’ Khaled queried. His voice was soft, yet it still held a dangerous thread of steel.
‘Yes, thought. I realise now that what I believed was love was no more than a girlish infatuation. A crush, pure and simple.’
‘A crush,’ Khaled repeated neutrally, and Lucy found herself compelled to explain.
‘I was dazzled by you. You were England’s rugby star, adored by the press, surrounded by fans—many of them women. I never thought you’d even look once at me.’
‘I see,’ Khaled replied after a moment, and Lucy thought she heard a bleakness in his voice that she didn’t understand. ‘I see,’ he repeated, almost to himself, ‘what kind of man you loved.’
‘Thought I loved,’ Lucy corrected.
Khaled’s answering smile was hard and cold. ‘Right.’
For a moment Lucy felt like apologising, feeling almost as if she’d hurt him somehow. Yet she couldn’t have hurt him, because he’d never cared. Not like she had. Perhaps his ego was dented, she thought cynically. Perhaps he didn’t like the fact that she was no longer the woman she’d once been…even if he was still the same man.
For he was the same man, she realised. His hair was shorter, his face harder, and he’d clearly had some tough experiences in the last four years—but underneath? Lucy shook her head. Still the same arrogant charmer who thought he had the world and all of its women at his feet.
‘Well.’ Khaled stretched, running his fingers through his hair, and gave a little shrug and a smile. ‘Well, it’s all past history now, isn’t it?’ he said in a tone that relegated their relationship to some kind of trivial anecdote.
Lucy forced herself to smile back. ‘Yes. Past history.’ Although it hadn’t felt all that ‘past’ a few moments ago when she’d been lying under him.
A momentary lapse. A blip. Something they had to get out of their systems. That was all it had been, all it could be.
‘You mentioned you have to work tomorrow,’ Khaled said, his voice turning brisk and businesslike. ‘What were you planning to do with Sam?’
‘He has nursery in the morning, and my mother can pick him up—’
‘I’ll do that. Sam and I can spend the afternoon together.’
Lucy hesitated. She wanted to resist, yet she also knew Sam would love spending the afternoon with Khaled. And wouldn’t it be better for him to get used to Khaled sooner rather than later?
‘Trying to think of an excuse to say no?’ Khaled mocked gently. ‘Get used to it, Lucy. I’m staying in Sam’s life.’
‘Are you?’ The question slipped out involuntarily and Khaled’s face darkened. ‘Why?’ she pressed. ‘I mean, why do you want him so much? I never thought you’d—’
‘Care?’ Khaled finished for her. ‘Yes, I know. I’m amazed that you spent as long as you did with me, considering your low opinion. But the fact is I take my responsibilities seriously.’
‘Sam doesn’t have to be your responsibility,’ Lucy interjected and Khaled gazed at her coolly.
‘But he is.’
‘If you’re going to be in his life, I want him to be more than a responsibility,’ Lucy said in a low voice. Khaled made a grunt of disgust.
‘Do you think I’m here out of some sense of duty? If that was all it was, Lucy, I could have written a cheque. I want to be in Sam’s life because he’s my son, and I’m his father, and families are meant to be together. To love each other.’
‘Like yours?’ Lucy snapped, and then bit her lip as she saw Khaled’s expression close once more.
‘No, not like mine,’ he replied after a moment. ‘My own experience is all the more reason to give Sam a proper family. And I’d have thought you’d want the same for him, considering the absence of your own father—’
‘I was fine without my father!’ Lucy flashed.
‘Were you?’ Khaled queried softly. ‘I wasn’t.’ He stood up, effectively finishing the conversation. ‘Why should I not spend time with Sam?’
Lucy nibbled her lip, disarmed by the simple question. ‘Fine,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll call the nursery so they can expect you at noon.’
‘Good.’ Khaled paused, and Lucy braced herself for what was coming. Somehow she knew it wouldn’t be good. ‘I can spend a week in England,’ he said. ‘And then I want to bring Sam back to Biryal.’
Lucy jerked back. ‘A week? That’s no time at all!’
Khaled shrugged, every inch the regal prince who barked orders and didn’t wait for them to be obeyed, who just knew that they would. ‘It will have to be enough.’
‘He doesn’t even have a passport,’ Lucy argued, grabbing onto perhaps the most irrelevant detail. ‘Or proper clothes.’ No, that was even more irrelevant.
Khaled shrugged again. ‘We can have the passport expedited, perhaps through the Biryali embassy. As my son, he is a Biryal national.’
‘Is he?’ Her lips felt cold and numb, and her arms came around herself as a matter of instinctive protection. She dropped them. ‘Khaled, I don’t like this. It’s too soon. Sam doesn’t even know you’re his father.’
‘We’ll tell him when the time is right. Meanwhile, I’m sure he will be excited to learn of a holiday to a new and exciting destination.’ Khaled smiled faintly. ‘One with spiders.’
She didn’t need a reminder of those. ‘I want to come with him.’
Khaled was silent long enough for Lucy to glance at him and see his eyebrow arch speculatively. He looked almost smug, and with a jolt she wondered, Is this what he’d wanted?
‘Fine,’ he finally replied with a shrug. ‘But what about your job?’
Lucy gritted her teeth. ‘I suppose I’ll have to take a temporary leave of absence.’
‘At such a critical time?’ Khaled pressed, and Lucy knew it was hopeless.
Hadn’t she known everything would change once they started down this path? Sam’s life, her life, her job. She forced herself to shrug. ‘Let me worry about my job, Khaled. It’s not your concern.’
‘Very well. But we are leaving in a week…regardless.’ He stood up, and for a second his leg buckled underneath him.
Lucy sprang up, one hand reaching to steady his elbow, but Khaled jerked away.
‘Khaled—’
‘I’m fine.’ His voice was terse, his face momentarily clenched with pain. ‘I’m fine,’ he repeated, and stiffly he walked to the door. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Lucy,’ he said, and then he was gone.
I was dazzled by you. You were England’s rugby star…I thought I loved you.
Lucy’s words, so honestly given, hammered relentlessly through Khaled’s head and in his heart. She hadn’t even loved him, and the man she’d thought she loved… He wasn’t that man any more.
He leaned his head against the car’s leather seat as his driver pulled away from Lucy’s house onto the darkened street. Pain racked his body, but worse was the desolation that swept him as he considered Lucy’s words.
He didn’t want to feel that consuming emptiness again. It reminded him of the bleakest time in his life: alone in his hospital bed, refusing visitors, because for anyone—for Lucy—to have seen him like that—helpless, hopeless, with a crippling diagnosis—was more than he’d been able to bear. More than Lucy could have borne, even if she’d thought she could…
He’d seen what his kind of long-term diagnosis did to someone. He’d watched his father gaze at his mother, first in compassion, then pity, then disgust, and finally resentment and hatred. Oh, he’d disguised it, of course; his father had always been solicitous. But Khaled had seen it, his mother had seen it, and in the end it had caused her to wither away and die from despair rather than disease.
He wouldn’t let that happen to him; he wouldn’t let it happen to Lucy.
And it still wouldn’t, he reminded himself with harsh determination. He’d allowed himself a few moments of weakness. Lord, how he’d wanted, needed, to touch her! Even if he couldn’t have her for more than that moment.
He closed his eyes, battling against the images that danced through his mind anyway, enticing, impossible: Lucy in his bed. Lucy on his arm. Lucy as his wife, with Sam, a proper family…
The family he’d never had.
The family he couldn’t have.
Lucy didn’t want him. She didn’t want Khaled the cripple, she wanted Khaled the rugby star. The man he’d been—laughing, charming—the world as his oyster. That was the man the world had courted and admired, the man everyone had loved. The man Lucy had loved.
Not as he was now, both weakened and hardened. Weakened by his illness, the endless surgeries and rounds of therapy, the loss of the career he’d found his whole self in; hardened by his father’s constant mistrust and suspicion, his grudging admission of Khaled’s rights as prince, by four years of fighting for just one corner of the kingdom that would one day rightfully be his.
And Sam’s. This was all for Sam’s sake. The pain he’d have to endure living with Lucy—seeing her, needing her, and not having her, was for Sam. His son.
And that made it worth it, Khaled told himself. It had to.
A sudden, insistent trill had him flicking open his mobile. His mouth hardened into a grim line as he saw who was ringing him; it was the Biryali palace’s private number. His father. It was a conversation he’d been avoiding, and yet one he knew was inevitable. Setting his jaw, Khaled opened the connection and spoke into the phone.
The next few days passed in a flurry. It was strange, Lucy thought, how quickly Khaled had settled into their lives, how Sam—and even Lucy herself—had begun to expect his presence. Somehow the new had become routine. Lucy would set a third place at the table, and Sam would perch on top of the sofa, looking for Khaled’s sedan to come stealing softly down the street.
And yet, as each day slipped past, Lucy knew she needed to brace herself for irrevocable change. Sam and Khaled had both submitted to the DNA test, which had confirmed what had already been glaringly obvious. She’d taken Sam to the Birayli embassy, and with Khaled’s assistance a passport had speedily been arranged.
She spoke to the HR manager at work, and was reluctantly given a fortnight’s absence.
‘I suppose it’s important?’ Allie the manager asked with a raised eyebrow, and Lucy had smiled thinly.
‘Yes. Rather.’
Nothing was more important than Sam.
Questions niggled at her with insistent worry. How long did Khaled want Sam in Biryal? How often did he expect him to visit? It was a fourteen-hour flight; it was halfway around the world. For Sam’s sake, he couldn’t keep bouncing between England and Biryal; some kind of compromise would have to be made.
She just didn’t want to be the one to do it. Already her life had bent and stretched to a nearly unrecognisable shape; any more and Lucy was afraid it would break. Or that she would.
She knew she should consult a solicitor, or come to some formal custody arrangement with Khaled, yet she was unwilling to be the first to do so. Right now things were calm, cozy even, and though she knew it couldn’t last part of her wanted it to.
Yet how long did anything last?
And then suddenly, too soon, it was over, and a new phase began…Biryal.
‘This is the best aeroplane ever!’ Sam bounced in his seat, gazing round the sumptuous luxury of the Biryali royal jet with obvious delight.
Lucy leaned back in her own seat, her fingers nervously clicking and unclicking the metal clasp of her seat belt.
Smiling at Sam, Khaled reached over and covered her hand with his own. ‘You’re going to drive me crazy with that noise,’ he said, and Lucy gave a nervous little smile.
‘Sorry.’
‘Why are you so jumpy?’
She shook her head, unwilling, unable, to explain. Why was she so nervous? Why did going to Biryal feel like some kind of monumental, irrevocable step, so much more so than having Khaled in her life? Now she would be in his, and she didn’t know if there was a place for her.
‘Sam will love Biryal,’ Khaled said firmly. ‘Don’t worry.’
Lucy bit her lip and said nothing. Was that what she was afraid of—that Sam would love Biryal and his new life there more than the one she’d been able to give him? Was she actually jealous?
Lucy leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. The plane began to taxi down the runway, and within minutes they’d left the dank fog of London for cloudless blue sky.
Sam had started to fidget, and she busied herself organising him with an array of toy trains, glad to avoid talking with Khaled for a little while.
But of course she had to talk to him; she’d come to the conclusion several sleepless nights ago. Life was spiralling out of control, and it needed to stop. She needed stability. Safety. Security. And the only way to gain them was by talking to Khaled.
She waited until Sam had fallen asleep in his seat, exhausted from so much excitement, curled up with a fleecy throw tucked around him.
Khaled was sitting near the front of the plane, some papers spread out before him on a table. Lucy moved to sit across from him.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Work.’ Khaled smiled faintly and shrugged. ‘Trying to make Biryal a bit more of a tourist destination, and in so doing boost our revenue.’ He tapped the papers in front of him with a gold fountain pen. ‘These are plans for a luxury resort on the island—tasteful, in keeping with Biryal’s untouched beauty.’ There was a trace of irony to his voice, and he laughed aloud at Lucy’s expression. ‘You don’t think Biryal beautiful? But it is. This trip, I will make it my personal duty to show you all of its glory.’
‘That should be interesting,’ Lucy murmured. She pleated her fingers together, nerves starting to jump as she considered what to say. How to explain…
Khaled touched her hand. ‘Lucy, what is it?’
That was an opening if ever there was one. Lucy smiled with bright determination. ‘Khaled, we need to talk. We need to make some kind of plan for Sam’s future. One that is sustainable for both of us, and of course for him.’ She took a breath. ‘I think we should see a solicitor.’
Khaled leaned back in his seat, his eyes darkening to a deep bronze. ‘A formal custody arrangement?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see.’
Lucy knew he was at his most dangerous when his voice turned mild, but she pressed on anyway. ‘It makes sense. I think a formal arrangement will give us all a sense of stability—peace, even.’
‘Do you?’ Khaled turned back to his papers, seemingly done with their conversation.
Frustration bubbled inside her. ‘Yes, I do, Khaled. I’ve been flexible now, in the beginning, so you have a chance to get to know Sam. But we can’t go on spending a few weeks in Biryal, a few weeks in London. I have a job, and next year Sam will start school. It makes sense,’ she ploughed on, even though Khaled had not looked up from his damn papers, ‘to have a plan. Perhaps he could spend a portion of his school holidays in Biryal.’
Khaled sighed and finally looked up. ‘Indeed, a plan makes sense. But do you intend to speak to a solicitor on Biryal, Lucy? Because I don’t think you’d be pleased with the outcome.’
Lucy stiffened. ‘Is that a threat?’
‘No, of course not. Just a statement of fact.’ He paused, his head tilted thoughtfully to one side, his eyes intent on hers yet suddenly filled with a dangerous languor. ‘The last week has been pleasant, has it not?’
‘Yes,’ Lucy admitted reluctantly. ‘But that sort of arrangement can hardly continue.’
‘Can’t it?’ Khaled turned back to his papers, brisk and dismissive once more. ‘There is no point discussing this now. We can’t even think of a solicitor until we return to London.’
Lucy didn’t miss the ‘we’. Would Khaled be following them like a shadow? ‘When will that be?’
Khaled shrugged. ‘You took a fortnight’s leave of absence. We can think about returning then.’
Think about it? Lucy wanted hard facts, clear answers, yet she knew there was no point pushing for them now. Push Khaled, and he would just become more intractable, more imperious. It was better, Lucy decided, to spend a few days in Biryal, act amenable and then insist on a firm return date.
What other choice did she really have?
With a sigh she went back to her own seat and closed her eyes, determined to catch some sleep while Sam was still napping and to forget the worries and uncertainties that had dogged her since Khaled had come back into her life.
Khaled watched Lucy settle into an uneasy sleep. His own body and mind were too restless even to think of sleeping, and his knee ached abominably.
He gazed out of the window at the fathomless night sky, and recalled the terse conversation with his father just a week ago.
‘The reporters are circling, Khaled. They scent carrion. You cannot allow these rumours to continue.’
‘They will die down.’
‘That is not good enough!’ King Ahmed’s voice had been savage. ‘I did not wait two decades to win my kingdom only to hand it to a son who will tarnish the honour of our heritage and our land with rumours and half-truths too tawdry to be believed.’
‘My son,’ Khaled had replied through gritted teeth, ‘is not tawdry.’
Ahmed had ignored this, as he’d ignored every reasoned argument Khaled had ever made. If it did not suit him to hear, he did not listen. ‘You know what you have to do,’ he’d told Khaled, ‘To make this right. One way or the other… Take her or leave her, but it must be resolved.’
Khaled’s hand had tightened slickly around his mobile. ‘And do you have an opinion either way?’ he’d asked sardonically.
Ahmed had been silent for a long moment. ‘No, I don’t,’ he’d replied finally. ‘For, when you take the throne, I shall be dead and it will not matter to me.’
And that was the crux of his father’s sensibility, Khaled thought as he’d severed the connection—utterly self-centred, utterly dedicated to his own purpose, his own rule, without any thought of the legacy he might leave for his country or for his son.
He would not be that way with Sam, Khaled vowed. Sam would be his son in every respect; he would grow up at his side, learning the ways of the kingdom, his own sacred place. He would be respected, valued, loved.
One way or the other…it must be resolved.
Ahmed’s words echoed in Khaled’s mind, forcefully reminding him that he had a duty, a duty as both prince and father. Now, on the plane, he found himself considering it with both desperate hope and dread. Would Lucy despise him? Pity him?
Or could she possibly come to love him—him the man he was now?
Twelve hours later the plane taxied to a halt in front of Biryal’s airport. Glancing outside at the hard, bright sky, Lucy was amazed that it had only been a little over a week since she’d last been here. It felt like an age, a lifetime.
She scanned the tarmac, surprised and more than a little discomfited to see a crowd of people. Was this the royal welcome?
‘Who are all those people?’ she asked Khaled, who glanced out of the window, his expression turning ominously dark.
‘Journalists, by the look of it.’
‘Journalists?’ Lucy repeated incredulously. ‘Does Biryal have so many?’
He smiled faintly, although his eyes were still hard. ‘Indeed not. There is only one newspaper here. Besides, the Birayli journalists wouldn’t dare to inconvenience the royal family by showing up at an airport like this.’ He frowned. ‘Undoubtedly they are from other countries. I think I see a French photographer I recognise there.’
‘French…?’ Lucy peered out of the window again and saw from the television cameras and microphones that Khaled was indeed correct; it was a mini–United Nations out there.
Lucy was used to the press, having spent her working life among professional sports teams, but it had never been so relentlessly focussed on her. Now she found her mouth turning dry and her heart rate going up a notch or two.
‘Why are they here?’
‘Someone tipped them off,’ Khaled replied. ‘Leaks to the press are almost always unavoidable.’
‘But why are they so interested?’ Lucy pressed, and Khaled glanced at her, his second’s hesitation making Lucy wonder. Suspect.
‘Because I am the prince of this country, Lucy, and Sam is my newly discovered heir. You might not acknowledge it as such, but it is a momentous occasion. And a big story for them.’ He jerked a thumb towards the crowded tarmac. ‘You’ve faced the press before. Can’t you manage it now?’
‘Sam…’ Lucy glanced at Sam, who had managed to stay asleep through the bumpy landing.
‘I’ll carry him,’ Khaled replied. ‘I don’t want any photographs of him released at present.’
Now she really felt like things were spinning out of control. Was this why she’d been afraid to come to Biryal—because here Sam wasn’t just Khaled’s son but his heir-apparent? The thought made her nauseous and for a moment the cabin spun.
‘Lucy,’ Khaled said warningly, ‘pull yourself together. This is your life now. It is Sam’s life.’
For the first time, Lucy truly wished she’d never told Khaled about Sam. Yet even as the thought sprang to her mind her heart retracted it. Khaled was gathering a sleepy Sam into his arms, and the look of tenderness softening his features was unmistakable.
‘Ready?’ Khaled asked, and Lucy nodded.
Sam had wound his arms around Khaled’s neck with trusting ease. ‘Are we here? Are there spiders?’ he asked sleepily, and, smiling, Khaled tucked Sam’s head against his shoulder so the little boy wouldn’t be seen.
‘We’re here, sport, and I promise to show you the spiders soon. When your mum’s not around to be frightened by them.’ He smiled at Lucy, who tried to smile back, and almost managed it.
She felt perilously close to tears, caught between the strain of the press’s scrutiny and the tenderness Khaled showed towards Sam. It was too much, an emotional overload.
‘Right. Let’s go.’
One of the stewards opened the aeroplane’s door, and Khaled stepped out into the bright glare of sunlight and what felt like a thousand flashing cameras. Lucy followed him.
The questions fired at them like bullets, and Lucy heard at least a dozen different languages, each one incomprehensible. Then a question came in English, one she heard all too clearly.
‘Prince Khaled, when is the wedding date?’
