Читать книгу Penny Jordan Tribute Collection - Пенни Джордан, Penny Jordan - Страница 26

‘AUNT SORAYA,’ Petra exclaimed warmly as she saw her aunt approaching her. ‘I thought you were going out to spend the day with your friend.’

Her aunt had already told Petra with some excitement that she had been invited to visit an old schoolfriend whose daughter had just become betrothed to an extremely wealthy and highly placed prince.

To Petra’s concern her aunt immediately looked not merely flustered but also acutely distressed, with large tears filling her soft brown eyes.

Taking hold of her hands in her own, Petra begged her, ‘Aunt, what is it? What’s wrong? Please tell me—has something happened to your friend or her daughter?’

Emotionally her aunt shook her head.

‘Please,’ Petra urged her. ‘Tell me what’s wrong?’

She had, she realised, become closer to her aunt than she had imagined she would, and the older woman’s air of vulnerability made her feel very protective of her.

‘Petra. I did not wish to tell you this,’ her aunt was saying unhappily. ‘The last thing I want to do is to hurt or anger you.’

Hurt or anger her?

Petra began to frown as a cold finger of icy intuition pressed warningly against her spine.

‘I was to have seen my friend and her daughter today,’ her aunt admitted, ‘But she has telephoned to say that the visit must be cancelled. It is nothing personal against you, Petra. At least not intentionally! My friend understands that you did not mean to… Well, she knows you have had a European upbringing. It is just that she has her daughter to protect, and the family of her husband-to-be are… are very traditional in their outlook…’

She was beginning to stumble slightly over her explanation in very obvious embarrassment, but Petra had already guessed what was coming.

Even so it was still a shock to have her aunt confirm her fears.

‘There has been gossip about you, Petra! I know, of course, that there will be a perfectly acceptable reason for… for… everything… but my friend has heard that you are known to have been alone with Rashid, and that you and he—’

She broke off, blinking away her tears and pressing her hand to her mouth as though she could hardly bring herself to say any more.

‘I cannot believe that Rashid would knowingly behave in such a way, that he would expose you to… that he should not behave honourably and…’

‘Offer to marry me?’ Petra suggested grimly. ‘Well, as a matter of fact, Aunt, that is exactly what he has done. Although I…’

‘He has!’ Suddenly her aunt’s face was wreathed in a relieved smile. Reaching out, she hugged Petra warmly, patently oblivious to the cynicism Petra had been intending to convey in her voice. ‘Oh, Petra I am so happy… So overjoyed for you… for you both. He will make you a wonderful husband. Your grandfather will be so very very pleased.’

‘No, Aunt, you don’t understand,’ Petra tried to protest, suddenly beginning to panic as she realised the interpretation her aunt had put on her admission. It was one thing for her to tell her aunt for the sake of her own pride and her aunt’s comfort that Rashid had offered to marry her, but she had never intended that her aunt should assume she was pleased or, more importantly, that she actually intended to accept.

However, having made her own interpretation of Petra’s words her aunt proved stubbornly hard to change!

Rashid had proposed! Of course it was impossible that Petra might have refused, and every attempt Petra made to tell her that she had done just that was greeted with amused laugher and comments about Petra’s ‘teasing’ until Petra herself fell silent in despairing exasperation.

‘I should have trusted Rashid, of course,’ her aunt was saying. ‘Although it was very thoughtless of you both to put your reputation at so much risk, Petra. Your mother would have hated knowing that people were beginning to talk about you the way they were,’ she reproved her gently.

Her mother! Petra’s heart suddenly ached. Her mother would have hated knowing that her daughter’s name was being bandied about in a scurrilous way, that was true, but she would not have condemned her for what had happened. Petra knew that as well.

‘So, you and Rashid are betrothed,’ her aunt was saying happily. ‘We are going to be so busy, Petra. Oh, my, dear,’ she said, giving Petra another hug. ‘I had not meant to tell you this, but now that you have put my mind at ease with the news of your betrothal I feel that I can. Had Rashid not offered you marriage, it would have done our family a very great deal of harm, and lowered our standing in the community to such an extent that my own husband’s business would have been badly affected—as would your cousin’s chances of making a good marriage. And as for your grandfather… I do not exaggerate, Petra, when I tell you that I think the shame might have killed him.’

Killed him!

Petra stood frozen within her aunt’s warm embrace, feeling as though she had suddenly walked into a trap which had sprung so tightly around her that she would never be able to escape. And it made no difference at all that she had unwittingly and foolishly been the one to spring that trap herself!

There was no way out for her now. For the sake of her family she had no alternative other than to marry Rashid!

‘Oh, Petra! You look so beautiful,’ her aunt whispered emotionally. ‘A perfect bride.’

They were standing together in Petra’s bedroom at the family villa, waiting for Petra’s grandfather to escort her to the civil marriage ceremony that would make her Rashid’s wife.

After the civil ceremony there was to be a lavish banquet held in their honour in the specially decorated banqueting suite of the hotel.

Petra’s aunt had spent virtually the whole of the last three days there overseeing everything, along with some of Rashid’s female relatives, but despite her exhortations Petra had not been able to bring herself to go and view the scene of her own legal entrapment.

There was no point, she knew, in trying to tell her aunt that she did not want to marry Rashid. The older woman had a ridiculously high opinion of him and would, Petra knew, simply not be able to accept that Petra herself hated and despised him.

Rashid knew it, though—she had made sure of that the day he had come to formally ask her grandfather for her hand in marriage.

Unable to refuse him outright as she had wished, for the sake of her aunt and her family, she had had to content herself with a bitterly contemptuous and hostile glare at him when her grandfather had summoned her to receive his proposal.

‘I am pleased to see that you have had the good sense to realise there is no alternative to this—for either of us,’ he had managed to tell her grimly, gritting the words to her so quietly that no one else could hear them.

And, as though that hadn’t been bad enough, she had then had to endure the miserable, humiliating parody of being forced to pretend that she wanted to accept his proposal!

However, she had managed to avert her face when he had leaned towards her to kiss her, so that his mouth had merely grazed her cheek instead of touching her lips.

Beneath his breath he had taunted her, ‘How very modest! A traditional shrinking bride! However, I already know just how passionate you can be beneath that assumed cold exterior!’

And now there was no escape for her.

Her attendants—a swarm of pretty chattering girls from her aunt’s extended family and Rashid’s—had already left for the hotel in their stunning butterfly-hued outfits, and soon Petra herself would be leaving with her grandfather. She tensed as her bedroom door opened and her grandfather came in.

Giving her veil a final twitch, her aunt left them on their own.

As he came towards her Petra could see that her grandfather’s eyes were shining with emotion. ‘You are so like your mother,’ he whispered. ‘Every day I see more and more of her in you. I have something I would like you to wear today,’ he told her abruptly, producing a leather jewellery box and removing from it a diamond necklace of such delicate workmanship that Petra couldn’t help giving a small murmur of appreciation.

‘This is for you,’ she heard her grandfather telling her. ‘It would mean a great deal to me if you would wear it today, Petra.’

Now Petra could understand her aunt’s insistence on choosing a fabric for her wedding gown which was sewn with tiny crystals. Originally, when the silk merchant had come to the house with a selection of fabrics, Petra had wondered bitterly just what kind of fabric would best suit a sacrificial offering. It had been her aunt who had fallen on the heavy matt cream fabric with its scattering of tiny beads with an exclamation of triumph.

Petra could feel her grandfather’s hands shaking as he fastened the necklace for her. It fitted her so perfectly that it might have been made for her.

‘It was your mother’s,’ he said. ‘It was my last gift to her. She left it behind. She would have been so proud of you today, Petra. Both your parents would, and with good reason.’

Proud of her? For allowing herself to be tricked into a soulless, loveless marriage?

Panic suddenly filled her. She couldn’t marry Rashid. She wouldn’t! She turned to her grandfather, but before she could speak her aunt came back into the room.

‘It is time for you to leave,’ she told them both.

As her grandfather walked towards the stairs Petra made to follow him, but her aunt suddenly stopped her. ‘You are not wearing Rashid’s gift,’ she chided her.

Petra stared at her.

‘The perfume he sent you, which he had specially blended for you,’ her aunt reminded her, clicking her tongue as she hurried over to the table and picked up the heavy crystal bottle.

‘No… I don’t want to wear it…’ Petra started to say, but her aunt wasn’t listening to her.

Petra froze as the warm, sensual scent surrounded her in a fragrant cloud.

‘It is perfect for you,’ her aunt was saying. ‘It has the youthfulness of innocence and the maturity of womanliness. Rashid has chosen well. And your mother’s necklace is perfect on you, Petra. Your grandfather has never stopped missing her or loving her, you know.’

As her throat threatened to close up with tears, Petra demanded huskily, ‘If he loved her so much then why didn’t he at least come to the funeral? Even if he could not have been there he could have sent a message… something… anything…’

All the pain she had felt on that dreadful day, when she had stood at her parents’ graveside surrounded by their friends and her father’s family and yet feeling dreadfully alone, was in her voice.

She heard her aunt sigh.

‘Petra, he would have been there. But there was his heart attack—and then when your godfather wrote that he did not think it a good idea that you should come here to us, that you had your own life and friends, he was too proud to… to risk a second rejection.’

Petra stared at her. She had known that her grandfather had made a very belated and seemingly—to her—very reluctant offer to give her a home, following her parents’ death, but she had had no idea that he had been prevented from attending their funeral by a heart attack.

‘A heart attack?’ she faltered. ‘I…’

‘It was his second,’ her aunt informed her, and then suddenly looked acutely uncomfortable, as though she had said something she should not have said.

‘His second?’ Petra had known nothing of this. ‘Then… when… when did he have his first?’ she demanded with a small frown.

Her aunt was becoming increasingly agitated.

‘Petra, I should not have spoken of this. Your grandfather never wanted… He swore us all to secrecy when it happened because he didn’t want your mother to feel…’

‘My mother?’

She gave her aunt a determined look.

‘I am not leaving this room until you tell me everything,’ she informed her sturdily.

‘Petra, you will be late. The car is waiting, and your grandfather…’

‘Not one single step,’ Petra warned her.

‘Oh, dear. I should never… Very well, then. I suppose it can do no harm for you to know now… after all, it was your mother your grandfather wanted to protect. He loved her so much, you see, Petra… He loved his sons, of course, but he had that love for her that a father will often have for his girl-child. According to my husband he spoiled her outrageously, but then I suppose that is an older brother speaking. When she left like that, your grandfather was beside himself… with anger… and with despair. He had planned so much for her…

‘Your uncle—my husband—found him slumped across his desk, holding your mother’s photograph. The doctor did not think he would survive. He was ill for a very, very long time. Oh… I should not have told you—not today,’ her aunt said remorsefully as she saw how pale Petra had gone.

‘All those wasted years,’ Petra whispered. ‘When they could have been together—when we could all have been together as a family!’

‘He missed her dreadfully.’

‘But my father wrote, sent photographs…’

Her aunt sighed.

‘You have to understand, Petra. Your grandfather is a very proud man. He couldn’t bear to accept an olive branch extended by your father. He wanted… needed to know that your mother still wanted him in her life, that she still loved him.’

‘She believed that he would never forgive her,’ Petra told her chokily, shaking her head.

‘When the news came that your parents were dead, your grandfather…’ Her aunt paused and shook her head. ‘It was a terrible, terrible time for him, Petra. He couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t accept that she was gone, that he had lost her. When he had his second heart attack we honestly believed that it was in part because he simply no longer wanted to live. But mercifully he recovered. It was his greatest wish then that you might come to us, but your godfather—wisely, perhaps, in the circumstances, thought it best for you that you remained in an environment that was familiar to you. But your grandfather never gave up hoping, and when he knew that your uncle was to meet your godfather he begged him to try to persuade you to come here. I can’t tell you how happy you are making him today, Petra. I wish you every happiness, my dearest girl, for you most certainly deserve it.’

As her aunt leaned forward to embrace her Petra felt her eyes burn with emotional tears.

In a daze she made her way out to the waiting car and her grandfather. Suddenly she was seeing him with new eyes. Loving, compassionate eyes. As she sat beside him she reached out and touched his hand. Immediately he clasped hers.

‘You may kiss the bride!’

Petra felt her whole body clench against the pain of what was happening. Unable to move, she felt the coldness thrown by Rashid’s shadow as he bent towards her.

She waited until the last possible second to turn her head away, so that his dutiful kiss would only brush her cheek and not her lips. But to her shock, as though he had known what she would do, as she moved so did he, lifting his hand so that to their audience it looked at though he were cupping the side of her face in the most tender gesture of a lover, unable to stop himself from imbuing even this, a formal public rite, with the possessive adoration of a man deeply in love.

Only she knew that what he was actually doing was preventing her from turning away from him, that he was reinforcing to her his right, his legally given right as her husband, to demand her physical acceptance of him.

His mouth touched hers, and she trembled visibly with the force of her anger. She had believed in him, trusted him, loved him, but all the time he had been deceiving her, lying to her. How could she ever trust her own judgement again?

She would have to be constantly on her guard against it! And against him?

He moved, the smallest gesture that brought his nose against hers in the merest little touch, as though he wanted to offer her comfort and reassurance. Another lie… another deceit… and yet for an instant, caught up in the intensity of the moment, she had almost swayed yearningly towards him, wanting it to be real!

Suddenly Petra felt desperately afraid. She had thought in her ignorance that it would be enough simply for her to know what Rashid was to stop herself from continuing to love him, but now, shockingly, she wasn’t so sure!

She hated him for what he had done; she knew that! So why did he still have the power to move her physically, to make her want him?

What was she thinking? Was she going crazy? She did not want him. Not one tiny little bit! Fiercely she pushed against him. To her relief he released her immediately.

The ceremony was over. They were man and wife!

‘I never knew that Rashid’s middle name was Blaize.’ That was her cousin Saud, flushed and excited, openly proud of his new relationship with his hero.

‘Petra, my dear, your father would have been so proud had he been here today.’

Numbly Petra smiled automatically at the American Ambassador.

‘Petra, you look so breathtakingly beautiful,’ his wife, an elegant Texan with a slow drawl said with a warm smile. ‘Doesn’t she Rashid?’ she demanded, causing Petra to stiffen, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck lifting as Rashid turned to look at her.

‘She is my heart’s desire,’ Rashid responded quietly, without taking his gaze off her.

‘Petra, take him away and hide him before I turn green, you lucky girl,’ the Ambassador’s wife teased.

‘I am the one who is lucky,’ Rashid corrected her.

‘He certainly is,’ Petra chimed in brittly. ‘Today he isn’t just gaining a wife, are you, Rashid? He’s gaining the opportunity to design a new multi-million-pound-complex, and—’

‘I’m certainly going to need some good commissions if I’m to keep you in the style your grandfather is accustoming you to.’ Rashid cut across her outburst in a light drawl that masked the icy, glittering look of warning only she could see. ‘At least if that necklace you’re wearing is anything to go by.’

‘Yes, it’s gorgeous,’ another of the guests enthused.

Petra tensed as she felt Rashid’s hand beneath her elbow.

‘I don’t know why you’re so determined to play the adoring husband,’ she told him bitterly.

‘No, I don’t suppose you do,’ he agreed.

‘Why didn’t you tell me that your second name was Blaize?’

He gave a small dismissive shrug.

‘Does is it matter? Rashid or Blaize—I am still the same man, Petra. The man who—’

‘The man who lied to me and trapped me,’ Petra snapped at him. ‘Yes, you are.’

Out of the corner of her eye she could see his mouth compress.

‘We’re married now, Petra, and—’

‘For better, for worse… Don’t remind me. We both know which it will be, don’t we?’

‘Look, it doesn’t have to be like this, Petra. After all, we both already know that we have something in common, some shared ground…’

‘And what ground would that be? The ground you’re hoping to design another billion-pound complex on? Money! Is that all you can think about?’

Petra tensed as she felt his grip move from her elbow to her upper arm and tighten almost painfully on it as he bent his head and whispered with menacing silkiness in her ear, ‘I would have thought that I had already proved to you that it is not. But if you wish me to show you again…’

Petra jerked away from him as though she had been scalded.

‘If you ever, ever try to force me to… to accept you as my husband physically, then—’

‘Force you?’

For a minute he looked as though she had somehow shocked him, but then his expression changed, hardening.

‘Now you are being ridiculous,’ he told her curtly. ‘There has never been any question of my doing any such thing. Even though…’

‘Even though what?’ Petra challenged him bitterly. ‘Even though legally it is your right?’

She was almost beside herself with misery and anguish mixed to a toxic consistency by an over-active imagination and the fear that she was not as indifferent to him as she wanted to be.

Now that the ceremony was over she was face to face with the knowledge that tonight she would be his wife—his bride. He was a sensually passionate man; she already knew that! If he chose to consummate their marriage would she have the strength to reject and deny him?

‘Rashid, your uncle has been looking for you…’

Petra released her breath in a sigh of relief as he moved away from her.

Several hours later, blank-eyed with exhaustion and misery, Petra stared bitterly in front of her, wishing she was anywhere but where she was and anyone but who she was—or rather who she was now.

Her godfather had not been able to join them. No doubt he would save his celebrations until after the New Year and the announcement of his peerage, Petra reflected savagely.

Her marriage to Rashid had been trumpeted in the press as the romance of the year, but of course she knew better! She hated Rashid more than she had ever thought it possible for her to hate anyone, she decided wearily, and she knew she would never, ever forgive him for what he had done to her.

Finally the celebrations were drawing to a close. Finally her attendants were coming to carry her away to the suite that had been set aside for her to change out of her wedding dress and into her ‘going-away’ clothes.

‘Where is Rashid taking you on honeymoon? Do you know?’ one of the girls, a married niece of her aunt, asked Petra before shushing the knowing giggles of some of the younger bridesmaids.

Petra was tempted to reply that she neither knew nor cared, but good manners prevented her from doing so.

‘I don’t really know,’ she replied instead.

‘It’s a secret. Oh, how romantic,’ another of the girls exclaimed enviously.

Yet another chimed in, more practically, ‘But how did you know what clothes to pack if you don’t know where you are going?’

‘She’s going on honeymoon, silly,’ another one submitted. ‘So clothes won’t—’

‘Stop it, all of you,’ the oldest and most sensible of her attendants instructed. ‘You are supposed to be helping Petra, not gossiping like schoolgirls. You must not worry. A man as experienced as Rashid will know exactly what to do!’ she soothed Petra. ‘I can remember how nervous I was on my wedding night. I had no idea what to expect, and I was terrified that my husband would not know what I needed, but I should have had more trust in him… or rather in my mother.’ She grinned. ‘She had ensured that I had all the right clothes—although I suspect if it had been left to Sayeed I might not.’

Clothes! She was talking about clothes! Petra didn’t know whether to laugh or cry!

At last it was over and she was ready, dressed in the simple cream trouser suit she had bought in the exclusive shopping centre nearby. The plain diamond ear studs which had been her mother’s, and which she had worn since her death, had been removed from her ears and replaced by the much larger pair which had been part of Rashid’s wedding present to her. She felt like ripping them out and destroying them, but of course that wasn’t possible, with her attendants exclaiming excitedly over the clarity and perfection of the stones, obviously chosen to complement the diamonds in her platinum engagement and wedding rings.

She had been misted with a fresh cloud of Rashid’s perfume, and handed the minute scraps of silk and lace that her aunt was pleased to call underwear—Petra still couldn’t believe that such minute scraps of fabric could cost so very, very much. Her manicure and pedicure had been checked by her eagle-eyed chief attendant, who seemed to believe that it would be a lifelong reflection on her if Petra was not handed over into the hands of her new husband looking anything less than immaculate. Now she was apparently ready to be handed into the care of her husband like a sweetmeat to be unwrapped and enjoyed—or discarded as he saw fit!

‘Come—it is time. Rashid is waiting,’ her chief attendant announced importantly.

As Petra looked towards the closed door to the suite the busy giggles fluttering around her died away.

‘Be happy,’ the chief attendant told her as she kissed her.

‘May your life be full of the laughter of your children and the love of your husband,’ the second whispered, as all the girls queued up to offer her their good wishes for her future and exchange shy embraces with her.

‘May the nights of your marriage be filled with pleasure,’ the boldest-eyed and most daring told her.

The noise from outside her suite was becoming deafening.

‘If we do not open the door soon Rashid might break it down,’ someone giggled, and there was an instant flurry of excited and delighted female panic as the door was pulled open and Petra was prodded and pushed through it.

The assembled wedding guests standing outside cheered exuberantly when they saw her, but Petra barely noticed their enthusiasm. Across the small space that separated them her bitter gaze clashed with Rashid’s.

Like her, he was dressed in Western-style clothes. Designers the world over would have paid a fortune to have Rashid wearing their logo, Petra decided with clinical detachment, refusing to allow her heartbeat to react to the casual togetherness of his appearance. Place him in any city in the world and he would immediately be recognised as a man of style and class, a man of wealth and knowledge. Wealthy, educated people like Rashid shared a common bond, no matter what their place of birth, Petra acknowledged distantly.

Silently he extended his hand towards her.

The crowd started to cheer. Briefly Petra hesitated, her glance going betrayingly to the windows, as though seeking freedom, but someone gave her a firm little push and her fingertips touched Rashid’s hand and were swiftly enclosed by it.

With almost biblical immediacy, the crowd parted to allow them to pass through. The huge double doors to the private garden of the banqueting suite were flung open, and as they stepped out into the softness of the night perfectly timed fireworks exploded, sending sprays of brilliantly coloured stars showering earthwards.

At the same time they were deluged with handfuls of scented rose petals, and the air was filled with a pink-tinged cloud of strawberry scented shisha smoke. Doves swooped and flew, and a cloud of shimmering butterflies appeared as if by magic—music played, people laughed and called out good wishes to them, and Rashid drew her relentlessly towards the exit to the garden.

As he touched her arm and held her for one last second to face their audience, he whispered wryly in her ear, ‘Your aunt wanted me to whisk you away on an Arab steed, complete with traditional Arabic trappings, but I managed to dissuade her.’

Caught off guard by the note of humour underlining his words, Petra turned automatically to look at him. ‘You mean like a prince from an Arabian fairytale? Complete with medieval accoutrements including your falcon?’

‘I suspect she would have wanted to pass on the falcon—for the sake of the doves—and I certainly would not have wanted to expose my prize birds to this fairground.’

As she looked at him Petra felt her heart suddenly miss not one beat but two.

As though a veil had abruptly lifted, giving her a clear view of something she had previously only perceived in a shadowy distorted fashion, she recognised an unwanted, unpalatable, unbearably painful truth!

In believing that logic, reality, anger and moral right were enough to destroy her unwanted love for Rashid she had deceived herself even more thoroughly and cruelly than Rashid himself could ever have done.

Had she married Rashid because secretly deep down inside she still wanted him? Still loved him? Petra was filled with self-contempt and loathing, her fiery pride hating the very idea!

She had believed that her most dangerous enemy lay outside the armed citadel of her heart, in the shape of Rashid himself, but she had been wrong. Her worst enemy lay within herself, within her own heart, in the form of her love for him.

But Rashid must never ever know that. She must forever be on her guard to protect herself and her emotions. She and they must become a fortress which Rashid must never be allowed to penetrate!

‘Welcome to your new home!’

For the first time since they had left the hotel Rashid broke the silence between them. They had driven into the courtyard of the villa several seconds earlier, its creamy toned wall, warmed to gold by the discreet nightscape lighting. Her whole body rigid with the effort of maintaining the guard she was clinging to so desperately, Petra had discovered that her throat had locked so tensely that she couldn’t even speak!

Once inside the villa she felt no more relaxed—quite the opposite.

‘It’s late, and it has been a very long day,’ she heard Rashid saying calmly. ‘I suggest that we both get a good night’s sleep before you begin another round of hostilities. I have arranged for you to have your own suite of rooms. Not exactly the traditional way to conduct a wedding night, perhaps, but then it is not as though it would be our first time together.’ Her gave a small dismissive shrug whilst Petra struggled to assimilate a feeling which was not entirely composed of relief! ‘This has been a stressful time for you, and you need a little breathing space, I suspect, to accustom yourself to what is to be. Despite your comments earlier, I can assure you that there is no way I intend to… to force the issue between us, Petra!’

Petra stared at him. He sounded so controlled, so calm, so… so laid-back and casual almost. And as for his comment about arranging for her to have her own rooms—that was not at all what she had been expecting!

From the moment he had proposed formally to her this night had been at the back of Petra’s mind. This moment when they would be alone as husband and wife. Fiercely she had told herself that no matter what kind of pressure he put on her to break down her resolve she would not allow him to touch her!

And yet now he was the one telling her that he did not want her!

A distinctly unpleasant mix of emotions filled her. Shock, disbelief, chagrin… and…

Disappointment? Most certainly not! Relief—that was what she felt. Yes, she was perhaps just a touch disappointed that he had stolen her thunder by not allowing her the satisfaction of being the one to tell him that she didn’t want him. But at the end of the day what really mattered was that she was going to be free to sleep on her own… without him. Sleeping in her own bed and not his… just as though they were not married at all. And that was just what she wanted. Exactly what she wanted!

At last she was on her own. Which was just what she wanted. So why couldn’t she go to sleep? Why was she lying here feeling so… lost and abandoned? So unwanted… and unloved and so hurt?

What was it that she longed for so much? Rashid? Blaize?

No! What she ached for, so much that it hurt, Petra acknowledged tormentedly as she burrowed into the emptiness of her huge bed, was to be able to trust the man she loved. Because without such trust, without being able to be open and honest with one another, how could two people possibly claim to share love?