Читать книгу Midnight at the Oasis - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 16

WHEN Makin Al-Koury decided to act, he acted swiftly. And this time he’d acted so swiftly Emmeline’s head still spun.

She couldn’t quite believe she was seated on his jet as it taxied down the runway preparing for takeoff only thirty minutes after she’d told him his Bedouin tribesmen sounded delightful.

In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to say. But then, Emmeline had struggled with containing her emotions ever since she was a child. One day she would learn control. One day she’d bite her tongue.

But until then, she’d suffer the consequences as she was suffering now.

Because she wasn’t just flying to Brabant. She was being accompanied home by Sheikh Makin Al-Koury who had decided that she couldn’t be trusted to make it home to see her parents. No, he’d decided to escort her all the way to the d’Arcy palace and leave her in her parents’ care.

What a prince.

The jet was picking up speed, racing down the narrow black runway they’d landed on just twenty-four hours before.

It was déjà vu. Everything was as it had been—they were buckled into the very same seats they’d sat in on the way to Raha. She felt the same emotions, too. Anxiety. Dread. Fear of the unknown.

Emmeline felt Makin look at her as she choked on a gasp when the jet lifted off the ground in a dramatically steep ascent.

“Nervous flyer?” he asked.

“No.” She forced herself to take a deep breath. She wasn’t a nervous flyer, but she certainly hadn’t expected to spend the rest of the day in Makin’s company. It had been a tough morning and now it would be a very long day. “Just a little queasy from takeoff.”

He hesitated, before asking gruffly, “Do you need anything?”

Her head snapped up in shock, lips parting slightly at his audacity. Did she need anything? Was he serious?

He was hauling her—by force—across the Middle East to Europe, to return her—against her will—to the royal palace in Brabant, and he wondered if she needed anything?

This. This was exactly what she didn’t get. This is exactly what she didn’t understand about him.

If he was so angry with her—and he was—then why did he care about how she felt? Why ask her about her comfort, or pretend to care about her well-being?

“Aren’t your first guests arriving this afternoon?” she answered, suppressing her confusion, realizing she’d never understand him.

“Yes.”

“You won’t be there.”

“I am fully aware of that.”

“I thought this conference was so important to you.”

“It is.”

“Then shouldn’t you be home, welcoming everyone, instead of flying twenty-nine hundred miles to haul me before my parents?”

“I thought it prudent to get you out of Raha before my guests arrived.”

She saw his expression and understood. “You thought I’d be disruptive.”

She saw that she’d hit the nail squarely on the head.

He didn’t trust her. He thought she was a loose cannon, causing trouble wherever she went.

A weight settled in her chest, making it hard to breathe. He was no different than her parents. He looked at her and saw what he wanted to see instead of who she really was.

Chest tight, Emmeline glanced away, out the window at the sea of gold sand below. Let Makin think what he wants, she told herself. It doesn’t matter … he doesn’t matter …

And yet in a small part of her heart, she could admit that maybe he did.

It had happened when he’d kissed her.

In Makin’s arms she’d felt not just safe, but … desirable. Beautiful. And she never felt beautiful as a woman. She never felt like a real woman … and she hadn’t, not until Makin kissed her, bringing someone to life inside of her.

The kiss had been the most amazing thing she’d ever felt. And she’d wanted more.

“I’m not dangerous,” she said hoarsely, unable to hold the words in, or hide the hurt.

“You didn’t say dangerous, you said disruptive.”

“I wouldn’t have embarrassed you.”

“I couldn’t have taken the chance.”

“What about your guests? You’re not even going to be there now to greet them as they arrive.”

“My friend Sultan Nuri of Baraka has promised to do the honors.”

Emmeline knew Malek Nuri, had seen him and his wife, the European princess Nicolette Ducasse, at a number of social events over the years. They were a gorgeous couple and so very happy together. “Does he know why you’re not there? Does he know that you feel compelled personally to hand me over to the executioner?”

“You are so dramatic.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“As well as emotional.”

Blood surged to her cheeks. “And you are so critical.”

He studied her from beneath lowered lashes. “I hit a nerve, didn’t I?”

“I’ve been criticized for being emotional my entire life.”

Makin had been angry when they’d boarded the plane but now, seated across the aisle from Emmeline, he found it impossible to remain upset with her. He didn’t know if it was because she bore such a strong resemblance to Hannah, or if it was because Emmeline was an enigma, but he was intrigued by her and wanted to know more about her. “Who criticizes you?”

“My parents, particularly my mother.”

“What’s her complaint?”

“She has many.” Emmeline wrinkled her nose. “But the chief one seems to be my excessive emotion.”

“Excessive … how?”

She ticked her mother’s complaints off on her fingers. “I’m sensitive. I talk fast. I get nervous. I cry at the drop of a hat.”

His lips twitched. “Do you cry at the drop of a hat?”

“Depends on the hat.”

He grinned, amused, liking this Emmeline. She was unpretentious. Funny. Direct. “Have you and your mother always had a strained relationship?”

“Since birth.”

“Why?”

“I wish I knew.”

She suddenly sounded very serious and his brow furrowed. She’d changed into jeans and a white peasant blouse before the flight, and right now with her hair loose and no makeup, she looked young and fresh. Appealing. Like the kind of girl you’d want to take home to meet your parents, and he suddenly wondered what his parents would have thought of Emmeline d’Arcy. They’d known of her, of course, but due to his father’s health, they’d never met her.

“I was emotional as a boy,” he said abruptly. “Sensitive. I’ll never forget my mother pulling me aside when I was around eight or nine and telling me I was a big boy now and too old to cry.”

“Do you remember why you cried?”

“My father had fallen out of his wheelchair. I was scared.”

“But that would be frightening.”

“I would see worse things.”

“Sounds like you had to grow up at quite a young age.”

He shrugged. “My mother needed me. It was important I be strong for her, and my father.”

Emmeline’s expression was troubled and Makin realized the conversation had become too personal. He swiftly changed the subject to lighten the mood. “I’ve never seen you in jeans before.”

Emmeline glanced down, crossed her legs, running a hand over her thigh as she did so. “They’re Hannah’s. And Hannah’s top. I found them buried in the back of her closet.” She suddenly looked at him. “I’m going to return them to her. I promise. I’ll have them dry-cleaned and—”

“That’s between you and Hannah. I imagine she’s had to wear your clothes in Raguva. I can’t picture her playing princess in her wardrobe of brown, beige and gray.”

Emmeline smiled crookedly. “She doesn’t really have a couture wardrobe.”

“No. She’s too practical for that.”

Emmeline ran a hand over the worn denim again. “I’ve never owned a pair of jeans like these. They aren’t the designer ones. They’re real. Broken in, so soft.”

“Hannah was raised on her father’s ranch in Texas, just outside of San Antonio. Has she told you some of her stories about her life on the ranch?”

Emmeline shook her head.

“I think she found it lonely on the ranch. Her father raised her. She didn’t have a mother. She grew up riding and roping and helping with roundups.”

“Such a different life than mine.”

“I can’t see you on a ranch.”

“Neither can I, but I do ride. Not Western-style, of course. I used to compete.”

“Dressage?”

She grinned. “No, jumping. I was quite good.” She must have seen the disbelief in his eyes because she laughed and added, “I really was. Even made the Brabant Olympic Equestrian team at twenty.”

“You participated in the Olympics?”

“Well, I made it there, but ended up getting thrown in my first event. It was a nasty fall, and for almost twenty-four hours I had no feeling below my chest. Thank goodness full sensation eventually returned, but that was the end of my riding. I’m not allowed to compete again.”

“I had no idea.”

“I can’t imagine you reading tabloid magazines, so it’s unlikely you’d know I was mad about jumping. It’s not exactly mainstream news.”

“Your accident would have made headlines.”

“It was mentioned that I was thrown, but there was a massive earthquake the next day, and the focus turned to real news.”

“How many years ago was that?”

“Five.” She glanced down at her middle and pressed a hand to the peasant blouse, flattening the cotton fabric over her still-flat stomach. “That’s how I met Alejandro. He was at the course when I was thrown and he came to the hospital to check on me. The nurses wouldn’t let him in. Alejandro being Alejandro—” She broke off, swallowed. “—he told them he was my fiancé, and they let him in.”

Makin thought he’d known Princess Emmeline all of these years. He thought he’d known everything important about her—beautiful, fashionable, chic, as well as soft, pampered and lazy. He’d imagined that her only ambition was being seen and photographed. Instead she’d spent years training in a highly competitive, dangerous sport. She’d been thrown from a horse. She was far stronger than he’d ever imagined.

“That’s how the rumors and talk started,” she added. “About Alejandro and me. But we weren’t involved. There was nothing between us, not until March.”

“But over the years you were seen with him, time and again.”

“Because he would search me out. Never the other way around. I was never interested in him. He wasn’t my type. I know you don’t believe me, but I worked very hard to rebuff him. Only, I think that backfired. The more I pushed him away, the more determined he was to win.”

Looking at her stunning features—the high cheekbones, the angled jaw, the full mouth—he could believe it. She was beyond beautiful. She had a rare, luminous quality, as though there was a light inside of her making her shimmer and glow. “Men like the chase,” he said.

“So I’ve learned.” She tried to smile but it didn’t reach her eyes. “He didn’t love me. He didn’t even want me. He just wanted to. oh, what’s that English expression? Score. He just wanted to score.” She met his gaze, smiled mockingly. “And he did. Now he’s gone. I’m pregnant. And nothing will ever be the same, will it?”

He felt such a sharp tug of emotion that it almost took his breath away. She’d been through a difficult time and things weren’t going to be getting any easier. He suddenly knew she needed a friend, someone in her corner. Someone who would be there for her. “You’re right. It won’t be.”

“I’m scared.”

He felt another inexplicable tug on his emotions. Gone was the glossy, glamorous princess who had sailed through life untouched by the problems of ordinary mortals. She looked young and real and heartbreakingly vulnerable. “You could end the pregnancy. No one would be the wiser.”

“I would.”

“It’d be the best thing for you.”

“But not for the baby!” she flashed hotly, color suffusing her cheeks. “And I know you don’t like Alejandro—”

“This has nothing to do with him,” he interrupted sternly. “And I’m not a proponent of abortion. But I think you have to be very practical right now, think hard on your choices. You are Princess Emmeline d’Arcy and the world holds you to a different standard.”

“Perhaps. But I could no more abort the pregnancy than amputate an arm or leg. I love this baby, and I want this baby and am prepared to make the necessary sacrifices to ensure that he or she has the best possible life.”

Makin regarded her steadily, torn between admiration and concern, aware that the road ahead of her would not be easy. But life wasn’t about making the easy decision, it was about making the right decision, and if keeping the baby was the right thing for her, then he supported her one hundred percent. Life was fragile and precious and full of unknowns.

Makin was all too familiar with the fragility of life. He’d known since he was a teenager that he’d never be able to have children due to the gene he’d inherited from his father. And so at twenty, six months after his father’s death, Makin had elected to have a vasectomy to ensure that he couldn’t carelessly or accidentally impregnate his partner. He simply could not take the risk of passing on such a fatal, painful disease to his children. It had been bad enough watching his father suffer. He couldn’t imagine his own children suffering the same fate.

“Then you need to be strong,” he said to Emmeline at length. “You need to hold tightly to your convictions and do not let anyone sway you from what you believe is right and true.”

They traveled in silence for nearly forty minutes and then the captain announced that they would be starting their descent momentarily.

Emmeline looked out the window and then at Makin. “We’re still flying over desert.”

“We’re stopping in Nadir to refuel. We’ll only be on the ground fifteen or twenty minutes.” He paused, studied her brown hair, aware that it wasn’t her true color. “Do you have a personal hair stylist?”

“Yes. She’s in Raguva with Hannah.”

“Which means she could be anywhere.” He saw Emmeline’s expression and clarified, “Hannah’s no longer in Raguva. She left the palace early this morning and should be on her way back to Dallas now.”

“So King Patek knows?”

“He discovered the truth last night.”

“My parents must know then, too.”

“I did send word we were on the way and had to stop and refuel. They aren’t expecting us until midafternoon.”

“It’s going to be pretty ugly when we get to Brabant,” she said slowly.

“You have to face your family sooner or later.”

“Then later seems preferable.”

“Right now, maybe. But it’s always better to confront problems head-on. I act as soon as I can. It saves heartache down the road.”

“That’s why we’re on the plane now. Better to get me home quickly than delay and risk more trouble.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, and then realized how it must sound to her. He tried to soften the blow. “My father taught me not to sweep things under the carpet or play ostrich by burying your head in the sand. People will think you’re ashamed or have something to hide.”

“But I do feel shame. I’m not proud to be a single, unwed mother. I’ve made so many appearances trying to educate young girls, wanting them to be smart and careful, and yet I’ve failed to do the very thing I preach.”

“As you said, you made a mistake.”

“A terribly stupid one.”

Makin’s insides tightened, his chest knotting with sensation, and he realized now it wasn’t Hannah he’d wanted to send away yesterday. It was this person, this woman. Emmeline. Not because he disliked her, or because she’d failed him in some way, but because she was making him care. Not about grand or important things like politics and economics, but about something very small and personal. Her.

He did care for her. He was glad he was accompanying her home, if only to lend his moral support. “What’s done is done,” he said. “You can’t go back. All you can do is go forward.”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t think you should go home like this.” He indicated her hair. “Not as a brunette. Since your stylist isn’t available, I know someone who could help. She can meet us at the airport and board the plane when we refuel.”

Emmeline touched her hair. “You’re sure she’ll come?”

“She’s on my payroll.”

“She’s your stylist then?”

“No. She’s Madeline’s.”

“Madeline?”

“My … mistress.”

Emmeline frowned. “That’s right. You mentioned her last night.” She hesitated. “Does Madeline mind that her stylist will help with my hair?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable and impatient. He wished he hadn’t mentioned Madeline. There was no need to bring her up, and he certainly had no desire to discuss her with the princess. “Risa is an expert at doing hair on this jet and she’ll have you back to your natural color by the time we arrive in Brabant.”

Just a little over an hour later, they were back in the air after refueling in Nadir.

Risa, the hairstylist, had brought everything she might need in a large trunk. She had various boxes of color, foil squares, cotton strips, shampoo and conditioner, as well as a hair dryer, curling tongs, styling creams and finishing sprays.

On board, Risa immediately mixed color and applied it to Emmeline’s hair, taking little strips here and there and wrapping them in foil.

Now Emmeline sat on the bed flipping through one of the magazines Risa had brought with her while she waited for the color to finish processing, but her mind kept wandering from the magazine to Makin. Why did he have a mistress? What was the point of a mistress? Why not a girlfriend … or a wife?

A knock sounded on the door. It was Makin. He opened the door a crack. “Are you decent?”

“I’m dressed. But not sure how decent I look,” she answered, setting the magazine aside.

He opened the door wider. “You look like an alien,” he said, taking in the pieces of foil and purple cream.

Emmeline smiled wryly. “You’re not supposed to see this part.”

“Where’s Risa?”

“In the galley kitchen rinsing the bowls and brushes.” Emmeline closed the magazine and slid her legs off the bed. “Risa’s good, by the way. She knows what she’s doing.”

“She worked in Paris for ten years for a top salon before Madeline hired her away.”

“Risa told me Madeline’s blonde.” Emmeline didn’t know why she said it.

“She is,” he agreed.

Emmeline waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t. “Have you always had a mistress?”

Makin blinked. “What kind of question is that?”

“I’m curious. And you’ve asked me very personal things. I don’t know why I’m not allowed to know anything about you.”

“I never said you weren’t.”

“Good. So, why a mistress instead of a girlfriend? What’s the point of having a mistress?”

He hesitated a moment than shrugged. “Convenience.”

Her brows knit together. “For you?”

“Yes.”

“And what’s in it for her?”

“Comfort. Security.”

“Financial security, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Because it doesn’t sound as if there is emotional security.”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

“Because you have all the control. It’s a relationship on your terms. You see her when you want, and she must be available whenever you call. Which, by the way, is horrible.”

“Madeline’s not unhappy.”

“How do you know she’s not unhappy?”

“Because she’s never said she was.”

“Maybe she’s afraid to complain—”

“Madeline’s not afraid of me.”

“But she can’t feel all that secure. She’s not in a relationship with you—”

“Time to change the subject.”

“Do you love her?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Do you plan on marrying her?”

“Again, none of your business.”

“But she’s been your mistress for three years.”

“Risa told you that, didn’t she?”

“Don’t blame her. I ask too many questions.”

“I can believe that,” he said dryly.

Emmeline flushed. “It’s just that I would hate to be someone’s mistress. I would hate to spend my life waiting for someone to call me or come see me.”

“Madeline has friends in Nadir, and a busy social life attending parties and fashion shows.”

“I’d rather be poor and have someone to love me, than to have lots of money and no love.”

“You can say that because you wear couture and get invitations to the most exclusive parties—”

“But clothes and parties aren’t real. Clothes and parties are frills … window dressing. I’d rather someone like me—want me—for me, than for what I have in a bank account.”

Makin suddenly smiled and shook his head. “You’re like a little dog with a bone. You’re not going to drop it, are you?”

She looked at him for a long moment before smiling reluctantly. “I’m sorry. I guess I did get a little carried away.”

“I admire your strong convictions.”

Her smile stretched wider. “You know, you’re not all bad, Sheikh Al-Koury. There are some good things about you.”

“Just hours ago you were saying I was a power monger.”

She blushed, not sure if she should laugh or cry. “Haven’t forgotten. And I haven’t forgotten that we’re not friends. And that we don’t like each other.”

His lips curved faintly. “You’re incorrigible. I don’t think anyone could control you.”

“Many have tried.”

For a moment he just looked at her, his hard features set, his gray eyes narrowed. “You can’t move to England. You’d be miserable.”

“No.”

“You would. You’d be living in a fishbowl. You couldn’t go anywhere without a half dozen paparazzi following you.”

“Not in the country.”

“Most definitely. You are Princess Emmeline d’Arcy. Once the media discovers you are pregnant and single, you will never be left alone. The tabloids will haunt you. Photographers will shadow you. The paparazzi aren’t going to disappear just because you want to live quietly.”

“Well, I can’t stay in Brabant, locked behind the palace gate, under my parents’ thumb. It’s not healthy.”

“Don’t you have a home of your own in Brabant?”

“My grandparents left me an estate in the north. It’s quite pretty, a small castle with gorgeous grounds—orchards, a rose garden and even a small wood with a lake for fishing—but my parents have said that it’d cost too much for me to actually live there. Staffing it, running it, security. And so it’s mine, but unlivable.”

“I thought you said you had some money of your own now? That you’d come into your majority?”

“I do, but it’s not enough to fund the running of a château, and my parents won’t help cover the difference, nor will they ask the taxpayers to help. And I do agree with that. Our people don’t need me being a burden. That’s why I thought that I would just go somewhere else, like England, and find a small place that I could afford.”

“I think your citizens would be hurt if you left them. They love you.”

She thought of the large crowds that turned out every time she made an appearance, all ages, waving flags and carrying flowers, of all the little children who lifted their faces for a kiss. “And I love them. They have always been so very good to me. So loyal. But now I am pregnant, and it will bring them shame, which doesn’t seem right. I was to have been their perfect princess, a replacement for my aunt Jacqueline who was a most beloved princess. She’s been gone longer than she was alive, and yet they still mourn her.”

“She was stunning.”

“She was so young, too, when she died. Just twenty.”

“But now you create a new life,” he said firmly. “A new royal baby for your citizens to love and adore.”

Emmeline throat ached with emotion. “But I’m not royal—”

“What?”

She nodded. “And Alejandro is a commoner so the baby won’t be given a title, or be in line for the throne. That’s how it works in Brabant.” Her voice broke. “That’s why I had to marry King Patek. I had to marry a royal, a blue blood. And obviously I can’t marry Zale now—can’t marry any royal—and so I’m no longer in line for succession. Which means, my child won’t be, either.”

“I don’t understand. How can you not be royal? You are King William and Queen Claire’s daughter—”

“Adopted daughter.” Emmeline’s eyes met his. She hesitated, struggling to find the right words when none of them felt good. “They adopted me when I was six days old. Apparently I’m a bastard, which even today brings Claire, my adoptive mother, endless shame.”

He looked dumbstruck. “Do you know anything about your birth parents?”

“Only that my birth mother was a Brabant commoner. Young, pregnant and unwed.”

“And your father?”

“No one knows anything about him.”

“You can’t find out?”

Emmeline shook her head. “It wasn’t an open adoption. My birth mother had no idea who would be adopting me, and my parents are very private. I had no idea I was adopted until I was sixteen.” She paused, tugged on the cuff of the blouse with unsteady fingers. “My father broke the news to me just before my birthday party.”

Makin’s eyes narrowed fractionally. “The actual day of your birthday?”

She shrugged. “I know it sounds childish, but it crushed me. I’d had no idea, and then suddenly my father was telling me I was illegitimate—a bastard—born of sin.” Her lips twisted wryly. “There I was, in my beautiful party dress and brand-new high heels, my first real set of heels, feeling so grown-up and excited. Then Father called me aside and took it all away. I don’t think he meant to hurt me as much as he did. But to call me a bastard? To tell his only daughter that she was a product of sin?”

Her smile slipped for a moment, revealing raw, naked pain. “I fell apart. I think I cried the rest of the night. Silly, I know.”

“It would have been shocking for anyone.”

“Maybe.” She was silent a moment. “So you see, I understand the stigma and shame of being illegitimate. I know what it’s like to be judged and rejected. Who knows who my birth parents were, or why they had to give me up for adoption? But they did, and they must have imagined it was the best thing for me. And maybe it was. But I do know this—I want my child—he or she is not a mistake. And I will do everything in my power to ensure that he or she has the best life possible.”