Читать книгу Six Sizzling Sheikhs - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 13
ОглавлениеWEDDING. The word echoed through Lucy as she stared, horrified, at Khaled.
Khaled, however, didn’t answer that question—if he’d even heard it. He simply ploughed through the crowd, his head lowered, protecting Sam. Lucy followed.
They made it into a waiting sedan, and Lucy pressed back against the seat, grateful for the protection and privacy of the darkly tinted windows.
Sam struggled to sit up, looking about him with bright-eyed curiosity. ‘Who were all those people?’
‘A welcoming committee,’ Khaled said dryly, and the sedan pulled away from the airport.
She wouldn’t ask Khaled about that ridiculous question now, Lucy decided. She’d wait until tonight, when Sam was asleep and they had a moment’s privacy. Besides, it was undoubtedly just a stupid rumour. She had enough experience with the press to know they made up the most ridiculous things.
Except it had sounded as if the journalist knew about the wedding, and just wanted a set date. The question hadn’t been ‘are you getting married?’ but ‘when’.
As if it were a foregone conclusion.
Stop, Lucy told herself. You’re tired and overwrought and imagining things—just like the journalists had to have been.
The rest of the short trip to the palace was occupied by Sam’s incessant questions as he pressed his face to the window and demanded to know how high the mountains were, were those buildings really made of mud, and where were the spiders?
Khaled answered each question with laughing patience, until finally the car pulled to a halt in the palace courtyard.
The palace was just as impressive and forbidding as it had been a week ago, and this time Lucy felt even more like a prisoner. The gates closed behind them, and she was conscious of a sudden sense of loneliness. The last time she’d been here, she’d been part of a lively entourage, a diplomatic event. Now she was alone, in Khaled’s own country. At his mercy.
Khaled was holding Sam’s hand, drawing him into the palace, and Lucy told herself to stop being so horribly melodramatic. There was something gothic and even frightening about the palace, yes, but it didn’t mean that was the reality.
The reality, she told herself firmly, was that Khaled was getting to know his son and vice versa. They would have a few weeks’ holiday—just as Khaled had suggested—and then return to London.
If she told herself that often enough, Lucy thought grimly, perhaps she would begin to believe it.
Pasting on a bright smile, she followed Khaled and Sam into the palace.
‘So.’ King Ahmed stood in the foyer, dressed in a pure white thobe which made a stark contrast to Khaled’s casual Western clothes. His dark eyes swept over Sam’s small figure. ‘This is the child.’
Khaled laid a proprietary hand on Sam’s shoulder. ‘Sam, meet my father, King Ahmed.’
‘King?’ Sam repeated, his eyes rounding in wonder.
‘Yes, and I’m Prince Khaled, although you don’t need to call me that.’ Khaled’s voice was light, his hand still resting on Sam’s shoulder, and Lucy’s hands clenched into fists.
Great. Sam undoubtedly felt like he’d stepped into a fairy tale. He looked round the ornate reception room with its frescoed walls and pillars covered in gold leaf and breathed a single, happy sigh, his fingers twining with Khaled’s.
Ahmed’s gaze slid from Sam to Lucy. ‘And you are Sam’s mother.’ His mouth twisted in something close to a smile, cynical though it was. ‘My son’s bride.’
Lucy stared. Wedding. Bride. Something was going on, something she didn’t understand, didn’t even want to think about. She opened her mouth—although as to what she was going to say she had no idea—but Khaled cut her off before she uttered a word.
‘Lucy is tired from such a long journey,’ Khaled said smoothly. ‘As we all are. I’m sure we’ll look forward to chatting and getting to know each other over dinner, Father.’
Ahmed jerked his head in a terse nod of acceptance, and Khaled brought his hands together, touching them to his forehead in the classic gesture of obeisance. Then, with one hand returning to clasp Sam’s, he took Lucy’s elbow and guided her from the room.
She followed him through the twisting corridors to an upstairs hall of bedrooms. ‘You and Sam can stay here,’ Khaled said, stopping in front of a doorway. ‘I’m right down the hall if you need me.’
Lucy didn’t even glance in the bedroom. ‘Khaled, what was your father talking about, calling me your—’
‘You’re tired,’ Khaled cut her off. ‘Have a rest, and we’ll speak later.’
Frustration bubbled inside her. ‘I don’t want to rest,’ she hissed. Sam tugged on her hand, eager to explore their new bedroom. ‘I want to know what’s going on,’ Lucy insisted, keeping her voice low for Sam’s sake.
‘Now is not the time.’ Khaled’s voice and expression were both implacable. ‘Rest, Lucy, and later I will answer whatever questions you might care to ask.’
‘Trust me,’ she replied through gritted teeth, ‘there are quite a few.’
Khaled smiled faintly, a little sadly even, and to her surprise he brushed her cheek with his fingertips, causing an electric shock of awareness to ripple inwards from her skin. ‘I’m sure there are.’
Then he disappeared down the corridor, and Lucy followed Sam into their bedroom.
No luxury had been spared, she soon saw. There were two bedrooms, each with a king-size bed, and a sitting room connecting them. Each room had a pair of French doors that led out to a shared terrace twice as large as her garden back home.
Sam hung over the balcony, gazing in rapt wonder at the view of the gardens. Lucy saw a swimming pool on its own landscaped ledge glinting in the distance.
Clearly so did Sam, for he breathlessly asked, ‘Can we go swimming? Can we?’
‘Later,’ Lucy promised, pulling him back from the railing. Even though she’d been spoiling for a fight with Khaled, she reluctantly recognised the wisdom of his words. She was exhausted, and so was Sam. ‘I’m not even sure what time it is back home, but I think we both need a rest.’
Sam was surprisingly unresistant to the idea of a nap, and within a few minutes Lucy had settled him in one of the bedrooms. He looked so small in the huge bed, his hair dark against the crisp, white pillow. Lucy sat on the edge of the bed, stroking his hair as he drifted to sleep, until her own fatigue drove her to the other bedroom and the sanctuary of sleep herself.
She awoke several hours later, the sky outside just darkening to violet. A cool breeze blew in from the French doors, ruffling the gauzy curtains. The only other sound was the lazy whir of the ceiling fan.
Lucy rose from the bed and checked on Sam, who was still sprawled in the middle of the wide bed, fast asleep. Smiling at the sight, she went to have a shower and dress for dinner while she could.
An hour later, both she and Sam were washed and dressed and ready to head downstairs.
‘You both look refreshed,’ Khaled said as they came down the stairs into the foyer.
‘Thank you,’ Lucy murmured, and couldn’t help but notice that he also looked much refreshed—and irresistible. Her heart gave an extra two bumps as her gaze swept over him. He wore a crisp white shirt, open at the throat, and somehow she couldn’t quite tear her gaze away from that smooth column of brown skin. The memory of kissing his pulse there sent heat flaring to her cheeks. She forced herself to look away.
Khaled stretched out a hand to her, and after a second’s hesitation Lucy took it. She shouldn’t like the way his hand felt encasing hers, cool and dry and strong. She shouldn’t feel bereft when he let go to tousle Sam’s hair.
She shouldn’t want this…again.
Ahmed stood in the doorway to the dining room, his manner stiff and formal as he greeted both Lucy and Sam.
A few minutes later a servant ushered them to their places at the vast table. A week ago it had held places for twenty, but now one end was set only for four.
‘This has all come as a surprise,’ Ahmed said, smiling slightly as the first course was served. Sam looked down at the unfamiliar food—marag lahm, a meat soup—and grimaced. Lucy laid a warning hand on his shoulder. ‘I had no idea my son was hiding such secrets.’
‘It was a secret to him as well until recently,’ she said, meeting Ahmed’s gaze directly. She refused to be intimidated. She thought of how Khaled had spoken of his father, of his endless, senseless suspicion of his own son.
‘And not something that should be discussed at present,’ Khaled interjected mildly, although his pointed glance at Sam was clear enough.
Ahmed’s lips thinned. ‘I see.’
Sam wriggled impatiently. ‘I don’t like this,’ he said in a whisper that carried through the entire room. ‘I want pizza.’
‘I’m afraid we do not have English food,’ Ahmed said shortly. ‘In Biryal, boys eat what they are given and are glad.’
Sam stiffened under Lucy’s hand and she saw him bite his lip, near tears at the strangeness of everything, as well as Ahmed’s terse reproof. The fairy tale was unraveling, she thought.
‘Biryali boys eat Birayli food,’ Khaled agreed, smiling at Sam. ‘And English boys eat English food. Do you know which you are, Sam?’
Sam, still biting his lip, shook his head uncertainly.
‘You’re both,’ Khaled explained gently, and Lucy’s heart rate kicked up a notch. ‘You’re Biryali and English.’
‘Am I?’ Sam said, caught between excitement and uncertainty.
‘Yes. And while you’re here, perhaps you can eat both Biryali and English food. This soup,’ Khaled continued, taking a small spoonful, ‘is actually quite tasty. It’s just meat, the same kind of meat as in hamburgers.’
Sam did not look convinced, but to Lucy’s surprise he dutifully took a bite, wrinkling his nose before he shot Ahmed a nervous glance.
Smiling, Khaled leaned over and whispered, ‘Not too bad, eh?’
Actually, Lucy thought over an hour later, it was too bad. The whole meal had been interminable, with Sam’s squeamishness over the food and Ahmed’s terse conversation. He’d fired sudden, staccato questions at Sam or her, or even Khaled, who managed to keep his equanimity for the entire meal.
Lucy’s started to fray. She felt strange, tired and near tears, and she wanted desperately to be in her own house, her own bed, with a large glass of wine and a good book.
Khaled must have sensed something of what she felt, for as soon as the last course was cleared he excused both Lucy and Sam from the table and led them back to their rooms.
‘I’m not tired,’ Sam insisted, but Khaled hoisted him on his shoulder as he carried him upstairs, sending him into a fit of giggles.
‘But you have a big day tomorrow, Sam. I want to show you our lovely pool—that is, if you like swimming?’
‘I do!’
‘And I promised to show your mother the garden, and of course there are…’ Khaled paused dramatically. ‘The spiders.’
Sam squealed in delight, and, tickling him, Khaled brought him into the bedroom. Servants had tidied the mess of clothes Lucy had left about, and the beds were turned down and the lamps dimmed, creating warm pools of light and shadow.
With Khaled’s encouragement, Sam soon had his teeth brushed and his pyjamas put on, and Lucy tucked him in bed.
‘I like it here, Mummy,’ he said sleepily, his thumb creeping towards his mouth. ‘Let’s stay for ever.’
Lucy managed a laugh, despite the feeling of a fist squeezing her heart, draining it of its joy. ‘That’s a rather long time, Sam.’
‘I know,’ he said. His eyelids started to flutter, and Lucy watched him for a few moments before she slipped quietly from the room.
Khaled was in the sitting room, stretched out on the sofa, looking relaxed and comfortable. It was, Lucy knew, finally time to talk.
Yet, now that they were alone, she found herself strangely, stupidly tongue-tied. All she could think about—all she could remember—was the last time they’d been alone, when Khaled had reached out and touched her, and she had gone so willingly to him. As she always had.
Here: take me. Love me.
Use me. And then leave.
She moved around the room, mindlessly plumping pillows and aligning Sam’s shoes so they were perfectly straight, until in exasperation Khaled finally said, ‘Lucy?’
She turned. ‘What?’
‘You told me you had questions?’ There was a lilt to his voice, and he smiled. Something about his absolute, easy confidence annoyed her, finally spurring her to action, to words.
She planted her hands on her hips. ‘Why did those journalists ask when the—our—wedding was? Why did your father refer to me as your bride?’
Khaled’s smile widened; it was almost lazy. ‘Because they all think we’re going to get married.’
Lucy’s eyes narrowed. ‘And why would they think that, Khaled?’
He shrugged. ‘Because in this country, as in many others, if a man and woman have a child marriage is the expected outcome.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘Of course, marriage usually precedes children, but…’
‘That’s not true.’ Khaled arched an eyebrow, waiting, and Lucy shook her head. ‘Plenty of men, even in countries like Biryal, have illegitimate children. Mistresses. Harems, for heaven’s sake. That doesn’t mean they marry their—their concubines!’
Khaled smiled and his voice turned suggestively soft. ‘Are you calling yourself my concubine?’
‘No.’ Lucy glared at him. ‘I’m just pointing out that just because we have a child doesn’t mean that people would expect us to marry.’
‘True, but in this case, when Sam is my named heir…’ He trailed off, shrugging a bit, and Lucy felt herself turn cold.
‘Have you made that public knowledge?’
‘Of course.’
‘Of course?’
Khaled shrugged again, the movement more expansive, and yet somehow still indifferent. ‘If I had not, Biryal—not to mention the tabloids—would be rife with rumour and speculation. Sam’s place as my heir would be suspect. I will not have his position or inheritance jeopardised.’
Lucy let the words trickle into her consciousness like cold water dribbling down her spine. After a moment she sank slowly onto the sofa opposite Khaled. ‘I didn’t sign up for any of this,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
A flicker of sympathy lit Khaled’s eyes and then turned to cold ash. ‘Perhaps not, but you should have considered the implications of telling me about Sam.’
‘I just thought…’ Lucy stopped. Her brain felt fuzzy with both fatigue and sorrow. ‘I don’t know what I thought,’ she finally said with a little shrug of self-defeat. ‘I’d convinced myself you wouldn’t care about Sam, that you’d walk away.’
‘Like I walked away from you?’
‘Yes.’ She looked up and met his hard gaze. He didn’t look repentant, more resolute than anything. ‘And yet I’m honest enough to realise I would have been disappointed if you’d done that,’ Lucy admitted quietly. ‘I realise that now, seeing you with him. I want Sam to have a father. A good one, more than I’ve ever had—or you’ve had, for that matter.’
‘And he will.’ Khaled’s voice and gaze were both steady.
‘How?’ Lucy’s voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands, taking in a few deep breaths. She didn’t want to cry, not in front of Khaled. Not at all. But she couldn’t take this—all this sudden change, the way her life and Sam’s life were sliding out of control, out of context. Both were unrecognisable.
‘You could marry me.’
Any threat of tears evaporated in the face of complete incredulity. Lucy dropped her hands. ‘Are you insane?’
Khaled’s smile was crooked and somehow strangely vulnerable. ‘No, eminently sensible, I should think.’
‘Marry you?’ Lucy shook her head, scarcely able to believe he’d even suggested such a thing. ‘Those were just rumours!’
‘And don’t rumours hold a thread of truth?’ He was smiling, that fluid mouth she knew so well tilted up at the corners, yet his gaze was golden and intent.
‘You certainly didn’t deny the rumours,’ Lucy said slowly. ‘You didn’t answer the journalists, or correct your father.’ Realisation was dawning, creeping over her mind the way the sunlight peeked over the horizon, then flooded the world with harsh light. ‘These rumours hold more than a thread of truth, don’t they?’ Khaled didn’t answer; his expression didn’t even flicker. If anything it became more resolute. ‘Don’t they?’ she repeated more loudly.
He raised a finger to his lips. ‘You’ll wake Sam.’
At that moment, Lucy didn’t care if she woke the entire palace. Realisation was now as bright as the sun at midday, glittering with relentless heat. ‘And you’re still not denying them. Tell me I’m wrong, Khaled. Tell me I’m paranoid and ridiculous and absurd—tell me you didn’t tell people we’re getting married.’
‘Well.’ His mouth crooked upwards once more, and his eyes gleamed. ‘You’re putting me in a rather difficult position. I’m afraid I can’t say any of those things.’
Looking at him lying there, relaxed, confident and smiling, Lucy was forcefully reminded of the man who’d left her in London. Reminded of the reckless, feckless charmer she’d been in love with, the man who’d left her without a word—and she felt a hard, cold fury lodge in her stomach like a ball of ice.
‘How?’ she whispered. ‘How could you play with my life—with Sam’s life—without even a scruple? To suggest something so absurd—’
‘Is it?’ Khaled cut her off softly. He leaned forward, intent once more. ‘Is it so absurd, Lucy? Or is it, in fact, sensible?’
Sensible. The word stopped her short. Sensible, as opposed to romantic. A sensible marriage, a way of uniting their awkward little family, uniting the kingdom of Biryal if it came to that. No more custody battles, no more arguments about the future, how Sam would spend his time or his life. No awkward questions, no uncomfortable negotiations.
No possibility of distancing herself or keeping her heart safe.
No stability. No trust.
She didn’t need to hear his arguments. She knew them, felt them. Of course it was sensible. Who had suggested it first, Lucy wondered—Ahmed or Khaled? Some royal advisor with diplomacy in mind? Fortunately she wouldn’t be swayed by such sensible arguments. She didn’t even need to consider them. ‘Sensible, perhaps,’ she said coolly. ‘Possible, no.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t want to marry you,’ Lucy said flatly. ‘I don’t want to live in Biryal as your—your queen, I suppose, and give up my job, my life, my whole identity.’
‘Did I say it had to be like that?’ Khaled’s voice was mild, but his eyes flashed. So did Lucy’s.
‘You didn’t need to.’
‘More assumptions,’ Khaled said with the hint of a sneer. ‘Everything is so obvious.’
Lucy glared at him. ‘Sometimes it is, Khaled. Sometimes it’s very obvious. And, anyway, we don’t need to argue about it because I don’t love you. You don’t love me. Full stop.’ Why did it hurt to say that?
‘Is that obvious as well?’ His voice was no more than a whisper, a hiss of breath, a lilt of suggestion, yet it stole around Lucy’s heart and squeezed it. Painfully. Suddenly she couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think.
Yes. Yes, it was. It had to be.
Khaled rose from the sofa. He walked towards her with careful, calculated steps. ‘You told me you thought you loved me,’ he said, his voice still that entrancing whisper. ‘Do you think you could love me again?’ He stood in front of her, close enough to see his chest move as he drew a breath, and her eyes fastened on the bit of brown skin bared by the neck of his shirt.
Why couldn’t she stop looking at that little bit of skin? Stop imagining, remembering, how it felt against her fingers, her lips…
‘I don’t want to love you again,’ Lucy said. She leaned back against the sofa, not wanting Khaled to come closer—for if he reached out just one hand, one finger, and touched her…
She didn’t know what would happen. She didn’t know what she’d say yes to. And Khaled knew that, knew his power over her, always had.
He lifted a hand and Lucy flinched, bracing herself for the softly cruel invasion that the merest caress could cause. But he didn’t touch her; the threat, the promise hovered in the air between them, made her both yearn and fear.
‘Don’t,’ she whispered brokenly. ‘Don’t, please.’
For a moment Khaled’s hand hovered, his fingers outstretched, his face made harsh with—what?—desire or desperation. Then he shook his head, as if clearing it, and dropped his hand.
‘No, you’re right. I shouldn’t. We can’t…’ He stopped, swallowed. ‘We can’t love each other, can we?’ He turned away, and Lucy was gripped with the desperate urge to run to him, comfort him. To admit the truth: I loved you then…and I’m afraid I could fall in love with you now.
Somehow she managed to resist that devastating urge and stay silent, motionless. His back to her, his shoulders stiff with tension, Khaled resumed speaking in a brisk, neutral voice.
‘But we can still be sensible.’
‘Sensible?’ Lucy repeated, laughing without humour, memory giving rise to rage. ‘I’ll tell you what’s sensible.’ Khaled’s eyes narrowed, darkened, and, empowered by her own memory and anger, Lucy continued.
‘I trust you not to hurt Sam, because he means something to you. Because you care. But I don’t trust you not to hurt me, Khaled.’ Khaled’s mouth tightened, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Lucy didn’t care. No, she realised distantly, she did care—and she wanted him to be angry. She wanted him to hurt. She wanted him to hurt like she had done four years ago, like she’d always wished he had. Yet then she hadn’t been worth enough to cause him a moment’s anxiety or pain.
Was that obvious as well?
Yes, it was. He could hint now, he could act misunderstood and hard done by, but she knew the truth. The truth was in the blank, unending silence she’d been faced with four years ago.
No miss. I’m sorry.
She half rose from the sofa, a vengeful fury come to life, given wings. ‘I don’t care what secret reasons you had to leave four years ago. Nothing—nothing—excuses what you did. Not in my mind. Not in anyone’s. Not if you loved me, like you hint now that you did. You didn’t.’
Khaled’s face remained expressionless, yet it felt as if he’d flinched. Lucy drew a breath, determined to continue. ‘And that one little mistake, Khaled? It was big. The kind of man who does that doesn’t deserve a second chance in my mind. He doesn’t get one.’ Her breath came in tearing gasps, as if she’d been running, and pure adrenaline surged through her, fuelling her fury. When it was gone, what would be left? She didn’t want to know. She certainly didn’t want to feel it.
‘I see.’ Khaled’s voice was cool; everything about him, from his hard eyes to his thin-lipped mouth, was remote. Had she hurt him? Lucy couldn’t tell. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. ‘In that case, if there can be no second chances for us, perhaps you can at least think of a first one for Sam.’
‘What?’
‘The stigma of bastardy,’ Khaled informed her coolly, ‘can stick, even to a king.’
Lucy’s mouth was dry, and she strove to keep her voice even. ‘But surely you knew that when you decided to make Sam your heir?’ To disrupt his life. Ruin it, even. ‘You didn’t have to.’
Another shrug; such an uncaring little gesture. It made Lucy want to scream and stamp her feet, to shake him and make him feel as twisted and racked with pain as she was, as he had been the night she’d seen him in his bedroom, bent over his damaged knee.
Why did that man seem so different from this one? How could they be the same?
Which one was real?
‘As I said, marriage would be a sensible option for both of us,’ Khaled said. He sounded as if he were summing up a business report. ‘As well as for Sam. Love need not be involved. It usually isn’t in these kinds of marriages.’
Lucy blinked. ‘And why should I even think of it?’ she demanded. ‘What’s in it for me?’
Khaled subjected her to a long, level look. ‘Perhaps nothing, since you seem determined for it to be so. It’s what’s in it for Sam that should make you reconsider the flat refusal you just gave me.’ He stepped away from her, the movement stiff, awkward, even. Lucy wondered if his knee hurt him again. Now was not the time to ask. She didn’t even want to care about the answer. ‘Tomorrow we will spend some time together, with Sam, as a family. Perhaps that will help you in your…deliberations.’
He walked with that stiff, uneasy gait to the door, and Lucy thought he meant to leave her without a backward glance, like a haughty parent leaving a chastised child.
Then he turned round. He smiled; it was barely more than a flicker across his face, yet somehow it changed his whole countenance. It changed everything.
There was something tender, sweet and vulnerable about that tiny smile, something that made Lucy wonder about everything she’d assumed—everything that had seemed obvious. Something that even made her want to be wrong.
‘Goodnight, Lucy,’ Khaled said softly, and then he really was gone.
His knee felt like it was on fire. Khaled walked stiffly down the hall to his own bedroom, furious with his body’s weakness as well as his mind’s. His heart’s.
He wanted Lucy. He wanted her to love him, and yet he knew she didn’t. She couldn’t.
Not the wreck of the man he was now; not even the rugby star he’d once been. She didn’t love him at all.
Do you think you could you love me again?
Khaled closed his eyes, shamed by the memory of his own naked need. And she had told him plainly. She didn’t even want to love him.
Was it because he’d hurt her? Khaled wondered bleakly. Or because she’d never loved him in the first place? Did it even matter?
He’d accepted his father’s suggestion of a marriage of convenience because it had made sense. It made Sam safe in a family that was whole, not disjointed and conflicted by the turbulent resentments of four years ago.
Or would those remain?
Would Sam notice?
Khaled shook two pills into his hand and swallowed them dry. How long would it take, he wondered, before Lucy hated him? Perhaps she hated him already. Simple lust didn’t change that.
And yet still he had gone forward—announcing the marriage to the press, steamrolling the impossible plan into being—because he wanted her. Needed her.
And, no matter the cost to either of them, he would have her.
Khaled flung himself into a chair, the prescription drug stealing sweetly through his body, bringing temporary relief to his knee even though he still felt swamped with pain.
Was he really so selfish, so greedy, that he would force Lucy to marry him, bring them both pain and misery, simply because he wanted her so much?
He could pretend it was for Sam’s sake—he could almost make himself believe it—but his heart knew the truth.
It was for his sake… And it might well be his damnation.
